Jupiter Myth

XII

It felt as if we had been out for hours. When Helena and I returned, the procurator's residence was aglow with lamps. The house had an after-banquet feel. Although Hilaris and his wife ran their home quietly, while the governor was living with them they readily joined in the grim business of overseas diplomacy. Tonight, for instance, they had been entertaining businessmen.

Helena went to see her new protegee lodged somewhere secure, with her wounds salved. I threw on a better class of tunic and searched for sustenance. Wanting to tackle Hilaris and Frontinus about the local situation, I braced myself and joined the after-dinner group. There were still platters of figs and other treats remaining from the dessert course that had concluded the meal we missed. I piled in. The figs must be locally grown; they were just about ripe, but had no taste. A passing slave promised to find me something more substantial, but he never got around to it.

My hard day in the watering holes of Londinium had left me jaded. I kept a low profile. I had been introduced as the procurator's relative, a detail that the other guests found pretty uninteresting. Neither the governor nor Hilaris gave away that I was an imperial agent, nor said I was charged to investigate the Verovolcus death. They would not mention the death at all, unless the subject came up, even though it must be the most exciting local news.

The diners were now sitting up on their cushioned couches, moving around to meet new people as the portable food tables were removed, and this gave us more space. When I arrived, they continued their conversations, expecting me to join in as and when I could or to sit tight meekly.

I can't say being a hanger-on appealed to me. I would never make a happy client to any patron. I wanted status of my own, even if it was a status people despised. As an informer I had been my own man; I had lived like that too long to change. Gratitude never came easy. I owed nobody anything, and I paid no tributes socially.

The guests were a type I don't care for: merchants looking to expand their markets. They were newcomers, or relative newcomers to Britain. Calling on the governor was meant to smooth their path. Of course, encouraging trade was part of the job for Frontinus. But tonight he kept talking about his plans to go west with the army: he was pleasant, but his heart lay in engineering and military strategy. He made it plain that he had spent part of his year establishing a big new base on the far side of the Sabrina Estuary and that he was preoccupied with going back to oversee a push against the unconquered tribes; so we were all lucky to have caught him on a brief return to the capital. Normally, he would only be here in winter.

I wondered if the governor's frequent absences on campaign contributed to lawlessness.

When I had gone to extract Silvanus from his barracks, I had gained the impression there was a standard vexillation stationed there-part of a particular cohort or possibly small detachments from each of the legions. Officially they were the governor's bodyguard, his equivalent of the Praetorian Guard nannying the Emperor. This was not because madman were likely to make assassination attempts. Attendant soldiery was part of the panoply of government. Whenever Julius Frontinus rode off to the scene of the action, most of those troops must go with him. Only a remnant of his guard would stay behind to do routine policing work.

I would put this problem to Frontinus. He was no fool, and far from vainglorious. He did not require every available legionary to be glued to him to promote his standing. Nor was the army his sole interest. He would deal with civil projects evenhandedly so Londinium's security would be attended to. If we needed extra manpower here, I could probably persuade him to supply it.

He had four legions in Britain; there was some slack to play with. The south and east had been consolidated and part-Romanized years ago. Pinning down the west was the subject of current attention. Unfortunately the north too had become a problem. Once the Brigantes, a major Rome-friendly tribe, had formed a large buffer zone, but under Frontinus' predecessor that famously changed. It was a story of scandal, sex, and jealousy: Queen Cartimandua, formidable and middle-aged, fell heavily for her husband's much younger spear-carrier. The lovers tried to take over. The outraged husband took against that. Torn loyalties plunged the once-stable Brigantes into civil war. Celebrity folly is fun, but not when the resulting strife loses Rome a good ally.

Cartimandua had been apprehended, no doubt amid many raucous jokes from the legionaries, but our alliance with the Brigantes crumbled. Frontinus or whoever succeeded to his post would have to square up to this: more military commitment, new forts, new roads, and perhaps a full-scale campaign to bring the wild northern hills under Roman control. Maybe not this year or next year, but soon.

Despite that, prudence dictated a reassessment of how the settled regions, including Londinium, were run. The troops ought to provide law-and-order cover; some of the lads would have to be withdrawn from biffing barbarians' heads. There was no point in the army pushing out in all directions if chaos raged behind them. That was damned dangerous. Boudicca had shown all too clearly the risks of disaffection in the rear.

"You're quiet, Falco!"

Frontinus called me over. He was talking to two of the most interesting guests, a glassmaker from the Syrian coast and a general trader, another easterner, a Palmyrene.

"Jove, you're both adventurous-you couldn't have traveled much farther across the Empire!" I knew how to be gracious when I bothered.

Frontinus slipped away and left me to it. He must have heard their stories already. The glassmaker had found the competition in famous Syrian workshops too much for him; he intended to set up in Londinium, train a few staff to blow down tubes and snap off multicolored rods, and get up a British production line. Since glass is so delicate, this seemed a better prospect than importing over long distances. Some fine-quality goods would undoubtedly continue to be brought from Tyre, but this man did seem to have chosen a province that could accommodate a new trade.

The general import man just liked travel, he told me. A few hints led me to think he might have left quarrels behind him. Or perhaps some personal tragedy made him want a new start; he was old enough to have lost a treasured wife, say. He found Britain exotic and untried and was willing to negotiate any commodities that were in demand. He had even found a girl, a Briton; they were planning to settle… So if my theory was right, he was a second-time romantic, choosing new happiness in a changed environment.

In another situation I would have been fascinated with these far-flung travelers-especially the fellow from Palmyra, where it so happened I had been. But neither appeared to be "preying" on this province in the way Silvanus had complained about. They had found avenues to explore, but that was to their credit. They posed no threat. They would be earning a living, providing sought-after goods, and offering the local people welcome opportunities.

The fact was, my questions would not have been answered here. These were the wrong kind of men-far too legitimate. As usual, it was not my task to delve among the dirtier layers of humanity. I would not find my culprits cozying up to the governor. Racketeers never register their presence openly.

I could be wasting my time anyway. However bad the scene shaping up behind the Londinium waterfront, it might be irrelevant to the Verovolcus killing. I did not even know that Verovolcus had run up against any extortionists. It was just a hunch.

Aelia Camilla was leaving the party To her husband, she merely signaled her intention to withdraw. She and Gaius were traditionalists; they shared a bedroom, without doubt. Later, they would exchange opinions of tonight's party, discussing their guests. They would probably note my late arrival and speculate where I had been all day.

On me, now a nephew by marriage, Aelia Camilla bestowed a few words and a goodnight kiss on the cheek. I told her briefly about Helena's scavenger (it seemed wise; by tomorrow the girl might have laid waste to the household).

Aelia Camilla pulled a face. But she made no complaint; she was loyal to Helena. "I am sure we can cope."

"Please don't blame me for this."

"Well, you do want a new nursemaid, Marcus."

"But I would rather place my children in the care of someone who has known a happy life."

"This girl may have one," disagreed Helena's aunt, "if Helena Justina takes to her."

I sighed. "Helena will turn her around, you mean?"

"Don't you think so?"

"She will try hard… Helena makes it her business. She turned me."

Then Aelia Camilla gave me a smile of enormous sweetness, which to my surprise seemed genuine. "Nonsense! Marcus Didius Falco, she never thought there was anything about you she needed to change."

It was all getting too much for me: I went to bed myself.