A Dying Light In Corduba Part 2

'h.e.l.lo, Nux.'

Nux farted quietly, then turned round to survey her rear with mild surprise.

I tapped the lintel gently, and opened the door. Part of me hoped the usual occupant had gone out for a stroll.

There was no reprieve. She was there. I should have known. If she went out without me I had ordered her to take the guard dog. She was not in the habit of obeying my instructions, but she had become fond of the hound.

'h.e.l.lo, brown eyes. Is this where Falco lives?'

'Apparently not.'

'Don't tell me he's run off to become a gladiator? What a swine.'

'The man is grown up. He can do as he likes.' Not if he had any sense.

Routinely, Falco's new office had been furnished as a bedroom. Informing is a sordid job and clients expect to be shocked by their surroundings. Besides, everyone knows that an informer spends half his time giving his accountant instructions how to cheat his clients, and any spare moments seducing his secretary.

Falco's secretary was lying against the pleasant scallop- sh.e.l.l bedhead reading a Greek novel. She doubled as Falco's accountant, which might explain her disillusioned manner. I did not attempt to seduce her. A tall, talented young woman, her expression hit me like a sudden gulp of snow-chilled wine. She was draped in white, with fine dark hair, loosely pinned up with ivory side combs. On a small table beside her lay a manicure set, a bowl of figs, and a shorthand copy of yesterday's Daily Gazette. With these she occupied her time while awaiting the master's return.

This had left her copious spare capacity for inventing whiplash retorts.

'How are you?' I enquired, tenderly checking up on her condition.

'Angry.' She enjoyed being frank.

'That's bad for the baby.'

'Leave the baby out of this. I hope to s.h.i.+eld the baby from knowing it has a father who is a degenerate stop-out whose respect for his home life is as minimal as his courtesy to me.'

'Nice talking, Demosthenes! - Helena, my heart, you are angry!'

'Yes, and it's bad for you.'

'I do have an explanation.'

'Don't make me tired, Falco.'

'I've tried to produce something lucid and witty. Want to hear?'

'No. I'll be happy with your shrieks of grief as a posse of soldiers marches you away.'

'I made a stupid mistake, fruit. I had too much to drink and went home to the wrong house.'

'Lucid,' she smiled weakly. 'Though only witty in the sense that it's ludicrous ... Whose house?' Suspicion dies slowly.

'Ours. Over the road. Whose did you think?' I jerked my head in the direction of my old apartment.

Helena had always taken the line that she hated half the things I did - yet chose to believe that I told her the truth. In fact I did. She was too shrewd for deceit. In sudden relief she dropped her face in her hands and burst into tears. It was involuntary, but the worst punishment she could have chosen to whack me with.

I reflected sadly on the fact I was still half drunk and bound to have the ghastly breath to prove it. Rubbing one hand over my chin, I met relentless stubble. Then I crossed the room and gathered my poor c.u.mbersome darling into my arms, taking the opportunity to slide my own body alongside her on the bed.

I had reached the point of comforting Helena just in time. I needed to get horizontal. The ravages of the night before would have had me keeling over otherwise.

We were still there, collapsed in a comfortable mound, about an hour later. Helena had been holding me and staring at the ceiling. I was not asleep, just slowly recovering.

'I love you,' I gurgled eventually, to take her mind off whatever dark thoughts held her transfixed.

'You do know when to splash out on a romantic phrase!' She gripped me by the bristled chin and stared into my bleary eyes. A girl of great courage, even she went slightly pale. 'Falco, your raffish good looks are the worse for wear.'

'You're a charitable woman.'

'I'm a fool!' she frowned. Helena Justina knew she had let herself be lured into caring for an unsatisfactory lowlife who would only bring her sorrow. She had convinced herself she enjoyed the challenge. Her influence had already refined me, though I managed to conceal the evidence. 'd.a.m.n you, Marcus, I thought you had been carried away by the excitement of your orgy and were lying in the lap of a dancing girl.'

I grinned. If Helena cared enough for me to be upset there was always hope. 'There was a dancing girl at the party but I had nothing to do with her. She was got up as Diana in a fraction of a costume. Spent her time leaning backwards so you could look right down -'

'At your foodbowl, if you were sensible!'

'Exactly,' I a.s.sured my beloved.

She gave me a fierce hug; by accident I let out a revolting belch. 'Then I thought you had been set upon and were bleeding in a gutter somewhere.'

'Just as well it didn't happen. I was carrying a valuable quant.i.ty of top-quality liquamen, which I managed to pinch from the party as a gift for my lady love, whose pregnancy has given her insatiable cravings for the most expensive kind of sauce.'

'My unerring good taste! As a bribe, it's virtually enough,' she conceded. Always fair.

'It's a whole amphora.'

'That's the way to show your remorse!'

'I had to borrow two slaves to drag it home.' 'My hero. So is it from Baetica?'

'The label on the shoulder says Gades.'

'Sure it's not just cheap old Muria?'

'Do I look like a second-cla.s.s tunnyfish salesman? Entrails of prime mackerel, I promise you.' I had not tested the garum but the boast seemed safe. Given the high standard of food at the dinner, the condiments were bound to be excellent. 'Am I forgiven, then?'

'For not knowing where you live?' she jibed pointedly. 'Yes, I'm suitably embarra.s.sed.'

Helena Justina smiled. 'I'm afraid you will have to face quite a lot more embarra.s.sment. You see, Marcus my darling - I was so worried by your non-appearance that I rushed out at first light to see petronius Longus.' Petronius, my best friend, was not above sarcasm when it came to my escapades. He worked as an enquiry officer in the local watch. Helena gurgled prettily. 'I was distraught, Marcus. I insisted he get the vigiles to look everywhere for you ...'

Helena a.s.sumed the demure expression of a girl who intended to enjoy herself, knowing I was condemned to suffer in a very public manner. She did not need to continue. Everyone on the Aventine would have heard that I disappeared last night. And whatever lies about my drunken return I tried telling, the true story was bound to come out.

VI

Luckily Petronius must have had enough to do chasing real villains. He had no time to come looking for me.

I spent my morning in modest domestic pursuits. Sleeping. Asking for headache remedies. Giving attention to the selfless woman who had chosen to spend her life with me.

Then a distraction turned up. We heard a man who was hot and fractious arriving on the outer stairs. We ignored the noise until he burst in on us. It was Claudius Laeta: he seemed to expect rather more ceremony than the quiet stare he received from both of us.

I had got myself bathed, shaved, ma.s.saged, combed, dressed in a clean tunic, revitalised with several pints of cold water, then further nourished with a simple meal of lightly cooked cuc.u.mber in eggs. I was sitting like a decent householder at my own table, talking to my own woman and politely allowing her to select whatever subject she liked. The chat was undemanding because Helena had her mouth full of mustcake. She had bought it for herself that morning, half suspecting I would turn up eventually with some disgraceful tale. There had been no suggestion of offering me any.

So we sat, decorous and peaceful after lunch, when a man with a commission I didn't want or care for burst into our home: for an informer, this was a normal event. I greeted him resignedly. Luckily we had our temporary table in the room without the obscene plasterwork. I took my time fetching another seat from a cubbyhole. I knew whatever Laeta had come to say would be burdensome.

Laeta sat down. Here, in a low street on the turbulent Aventine, the great man was well out of his fishpond. Like a grounded carp he was gasping, too. I never told anyone my new address, preferring to let trouble go to the old one. He must have stomped up the six flights to my room across the road, then stumbled down them all again before Lenia at the laundry (who had callously watched him going up) drawled out that I also leased an apartment over the basket shop opposite. He had vented his curses on the ox-wagon driver who had knocked him down as he was crossing Fountain Court.

'Perhaps Marcus Didius can advise you on suing the driver?' murmured Helena, with the refined patrician mockery which was the last thing he could cope with in his present indignant state.

I introduced her formally: 'Helena Justina, daughter of Camillus Verus, the senator; he's a friend of Vespasian, as I expect you know.'

'Your wife?' quavered Laeta, alarmed by the incongruity and trying not to sound surprised.

We smiled at him.

'What's the problem?' I asked gently. There had to be a problem, or a high-cla.s.s official would not have dragged himself here, especially without an escort.

He cast a wild glance towards Helena, meaning I should get rid of her. Not easy. Not easy, even if I had wanted to. Quite impossible while she was two months away from giving birth and shamelessly exploiting it: groaning with restrained discomfort as she settled into her wicker armchair with her tired feet on her personal footstool. She folded her stole around herself and smiled at Laeta again - then continued with the remains of her cake. He was not worldly enough to suggest he and I went out to a wine bar, so Helena prepared to listen.

As she licked her long fingers I watched her wicked brown eyes survey the top clerk. He was sweating badly, partly from his hike up to my old eyrie and partly from agonies of awkwardness here. I wondered what Helena made of him. In fact, I wondered what I really made of him myself.

'Did you enjoy the dinner, Falco?'

'Excellent.' Years of encouraging difficult clients had taught me to lie smoothly. I seemed to have a prospective client here. Well, I had already turned down people who were more important than him.

'Good; good ... I need your help,' he confessed.

I raised an eyebrow as if that sordid idea had never crossed my mind. 'What can I do for you?'

This time Laeta turned to Helena directly. 'Perhaps you have some weaving you want to attend to?' He was persistent, yet had the sense to make it sound like a joke in case she still refused to budge.

'Afraid not.' She waved her arm around the empty room. 'We're still waiting for the loom to be delivered.'

I grinned. Helena Justina had never promised me the traditional attributes of a good Roman wife: reclusive social habits, a submissive demeanour, obedience to her male relatives, a big fat dowry - let alone home-woven tunics. All I got was bed and banter. Somehow I still ended up convinced that I had it better than the old republicans.

Laeta stopped fidgeting. He fixed his gaze on me as if to make my eccentric companion invisible. 'I need a.s.sistance from someone who is totally reliable.'

I had heard that before. 'You're saying the job is dangerous!'

'This could bring you large rewards, Falco.'

'That old song! This is work of an official nature?' 'Yes.'

'And is it official as in "just between friends", offrcial as in "a highly placed person whose name I won't mention needs this", or official as in "the highly placed person must never know about it and if you get in trouble I'll deny I've ever heard of you"?'

'Are you always so cynical?'

'I've worked for the Palace before.'

Helena cut in, 'Marcus Didius has risked his life on public service. His reward has been slow payment, followed by a refusal of social promotion even though it had previously been promised him.'

'Well, I know nothing of your past employment terms, Marcus Didius.' Laeta knew how to blame other departments. A natural. 'My own secretariat has an unblemished record.'

'Oh good!' I jeered. 'Yet my enthusiasm for your bureau's clean habits doesn't mean I accept the job.'

'I have not told you what it is,' he twinkled.

'By Jove; no you haven't! My curiosity is bursting.' 'You're being satirical.'

'I'm being rude, Laeta.'

'Well, I'm sorry you take this att.i.tude, Falco -' There was an unspoken hint of regret that he had honoured me with his invitation to the oil producers' party. I ignored it. 'I had been told you were a good agent.'

'Good means selective.'

'But you refuse my work?'

'I'm waiting to hear about it.'

'Ah!' He a.s.sumed an expression of huge relief. 'I can promise I shall take personal responsibility for the payment of your fees. How much are we talking about, by the way?'

'I'll fix the terms when I accept the work - and I'll only accept if I know what it is.'

There was no escape. He looked uncomfortable, then he came out with it: 'Someone from our dinner last night has been found badly beaten in the street.'

'Then you must call for a surgeon and inform the local cohort of the watch!'

I avoided looking at Helena, aware she was newly anxious on my own behalf. If I had known we had to talk about people being beaten up, I would have whipped Laeta out of doors as soon as he arrived.

He pinched his mouth. 'This is not for the watch.' 'What makes a late-night street mugging peculiar?

Home-going revellers are always being attacked'

'He lives at the Palace. So he wasn't going home.' 'Is that significant? Who is this man?'

I should have worked out the answer, if only from the high status of my visitor and his unhealthy excitement. Yet it was quite unexpected when Laeta informed me with an air of panache: 'Anacrites, the Chief of Intelligence!'

VII