Jupiter Myth

XXXVIII

The atrebates managed not to smirk. There were four of the King's retainers, loose-limbed warriors with flyaway red hair. In the summer heat they had cast off their colorful long-sleeved tunics and were bare-chested (with sunburn). All boasted gold bracelets and neck chains. A bunch of spears leaned against a wall, while their owners lounged about in a yard. They were hiding their prize at a farm in the northeast of the town. When I was brought to see her at least it livened up a boring day for them.

"Obviously we have to protect her," the King had said to me. "Once she has given her evidence and helped to secure a conviction, she will be set up in a wine shop of her own in my tribal capital, away from here. You may not approve of the way we have handled her," Togidubnus suggested rather warily.

I grinned. "When dealing with people who trade in vice and extortion, it seems only fair to retaliate with bribery."

He bridled. "I am not paying her to lie, you know!"

"Of course not, sir." Even if he was, so long as she piped up boldly and stuck to her story with due diligence, my conscience would cope.

???

She was still too stout, too ugly, and too slow on the uptake for me. She was still four feet high. But they had provided her with new clothes, so she looked like a middle-class shop owner: a role that, with the King's promise of the new wine bar in Noviomagus, she intended to achieve.

The former waitress had already assumed an expression of great respectability. She reminded me of my mother, laying aside her working clothes for a festival, combing her hair in a fancy style (which did not suit her), and suddenly turning into a stranger. Ma used to drink too much and be indiscreet about the neighbors on such occasions. This one was sober at the moment, and certainly wanted to appear polite.

When I was taken to her by the slightly po-faced Atrebatan warriors, she did not exactly offer me cinnamon bread and borage tea, but she sat, with her knees close together and her hands firmly clasped in her lap, waiting to impress me with her newfound status. She was apparently looking forward to a life where she no longer had to sleep with customers; or at least, she said, not unless she wanted to. It almost sounded as if some sharp lawyer had been talking to her about the legal rights of tavern landladies. As such, I reckoned she would be a terror. She seemed extremely keen on the idea that she would be in charge. Of course, most underlings reckon they can run places far better than the boss. (This was certainly true in the case of the legendary Flora's, a caupona run by my sister Junia, who had all the public catering skills of a ten-year-old.)

"We meet again!" I challenged her. "I don't suppose you remember me; I'm Falco. I like to think women find me looming large in the memory, but modesty is a fine Roman virtue."

She giggled. That was a new and decidedly offputting trait.

She was now being called Flavia Fronta. One of the weapons in the governor's armory was to extend Roman citizenship to favored barbarians. In return, he hoped to people his province with loyal little friends of the Emperor, obsequiously named after him. It had a knack of working. And it cost nothing.

"So, Flavia Fronta!" I was trying hard not to remember her as the grimy purveyor of sex and bad temper that I had seen twice at the Shower of Gold. The Atrebatans were observing me. Access to their witness was only granted on condition they watched to see that I did not new clues from her unfairly. It put my methods under closer scrutiny than I liked. "I understand you are now giving a statement about the death of Verovolcus?"

"Yes, sir, that was terrible." I nearly choked with laughter at her change of tune. She was quiet, dutiful, and respectful. Frankly, I thought she was lying through her teeth.

"Tell me, please."

Civilization had a lot to answer for. She had come up with a painful new speaking accent. In these affected vowels, she recited the evidence as if tutored: "A British man I had never seen before came to our bar that evening and sat down with Splice and Pyro."

"Did you hear what they talked about?"

"Yes, sir. The British man wanted to join in their business-which is rather unpleasant, as you probably know. They did not want to let him in on it."

"So they were not all friendly together?"

"No. They had met him to complain about his interest. He offered to work with them, but they laughed at him. He said he was from this province and would do what he liked in Londinium. They soon showed him how wrong he was. You know what happened. They tipped him up and pushed him in the well."

"Did none of you try to stop them?"

"I was too scared. The owner would not interfere."

"Was he paying Pyro and Splice for protection?"

"Oh yes. He's terrified of them."

"Pyro and Splice are well known at your bar? And you consider them violent?"

"Yes, sir. Very violent."

"And what about the third man, their companion?"

"He comes in sometimes."

"How do you regard him?" "Someone to avoid very carefully."

"And who is he?"

"I only know he comes from Rome, sir."

"You think he is a leader of the gang?"

"Oh yes. Everybody knows he is; he brought Pyro and Splice and other people over to Britain. They had always worked for him. He runs everything."

"And let's be quite sure-he was the man giving the orders, the night Verovolcus was killed? Did you yourself hear him do that?"

"Yes, he said, 'Do the deed, boys!' And so they did."

"Did he go out into the yard where the well was?"

"No, he just sat at the table where he was. And smiled," Flavia Fronta shuddered. "That was horrible…"

"I'm sorry I have to ask you to remember. Now, when this man gave them that order, Pyro and Splice knew exactly what to do? They must have discussed it beforehand?"

"Yes. The man could not believe it was happening to him. I'll never forget the look in his eyes…" Her expression of pity for Verovolcus seemed genuine. The Atrebatans glanced at each other, nervous of the chilling, deliberate violence she described. They had all known Verovolcus, presumably.

I pursed my lips. "This organizer is an evil man. We badly need to know who he is. It is a shame you have no idea of his name."

"Oh don't I?" the woman asked, enjoying herself.

I paused. "You told me all you know is that he comes from Rome."

"That's right," said Flavia Fronta. "But I do know his name."

For a blissful moment, I thought she was going to tell me. No such luck. Working in a downtown bar had taught the lady basic self-preservation. She gave me a whimsical smile. "Now go on-you must think I'm daft! If you stick Pyro and Splice in court, then yes, I'll give evidence. After I'm safe in my own little wine shop, far away down south, then I'll tell you who the big man is."

I managed to keep my temper. I did wonder whether to hand over this self-satisfied baggage to Amicus. But I came from Rome; I knew how tough women could be. She was just the sort to become his first non-responsive victim and thwart us.

"You're very wise," I told her with admiration. "Let me give you a warning, however. Pyro is dead. He died last night; it seems this gang have a long reach, and they got to him even in the official residence." She looked worried. "If anything happens to Splice now-or if he confesses voluntarily when tortured-you will be left with no bargaining power." She looked really worried. "King Togidubnus will have no need for gratitude; there will be no wine bar in the south. If I were in your shoes…" I glanced down, and yes, the Atrebatans had bought the frowsty dame a pair of new patterned footgear in which to cram her misshapen hooves. "Then I would cooperate at once."

Flavia Fronta was watching me thoughtfully.

"We are going to find this man anyway," I bragged. Maybe it was even true. "But speed matters. That's where your help could be invaluable." She was still silent. I shrugged. "Of course, it is your choice."

Never underrate the appeal of choice for those whose lives have, until then, lacked any chance of it. Flavia Fronta half covered her mouth with a nervous hand. Then she whispered, "His name is Florius."