Jupiter Myth

VI

Abandoned by Petronius, that afternoon I settled down to work. Being asked to investigate the Verovolcus case would keep me trapped in Londinium even longer than I wanted, but I could not refuse the procurator and governor.

The governor, for one, thought it amusing to see me lumbered. Sextus Julius Frontinus was in his forties, a dedicated ex-consul whom I had met a couple of years before in Rome. We had worked together to solve a cruel series of female fatalities. Most consuls stink; he seemed different and I took to him. Frontinus had all the making of an old-time Roman in power: soldierly, cultured, intrigued by administrative problems of all kinds, decent, absolutely straight. He had asked for me by name as his trouble-solver on the Togidubnus palace audit. My success there made me even more popular.

"If anyone can decipher what happened to the King's crony it's you, Falco."

"Honeyed words!" I never treated men of rank with fake respect. If my manner seemed abrasive, that was tough. Frontinus knew I would do a good job; I had a fair idea what this crime was about, and I was blunt: "My guess is, Verovolcus skulked up to Londinium hoping to escape notice. He wanted to stay in Britain. Then he cut across some locals at the bar. The hothead tried to lord it. They took exception. Someone tipped him arse up in the cask-lined water hole. While he was gurgling-or just before they plunged him in-they took the chance to pinch his torque. They scarpered. Any officer on your staff with local knowledge should track them down. Find the torque and it should convict them."

"Nice theory," retorted the governor, unmoved. "I can accept that. Now prove it, Falco, before Togidubnus hears the tragic news and gallops here with sparks flying."

He was very down-to-earth. He must have been chosen for Britain because the Emperor thought him both efficient and adaptable. I knew from talking to him already that he had a heavy program ahead. In the three years he would administer Britain, Frontinus was planning to Romanize the province completely. He was about to embark on a major military expansion, with a big campaign against the untamed western tribes, then perhaps another campaign in the north. In the stabilized interior, he wanted to establish ten or twelve new civic centers, self-governing coloniae where the tribes would be semiautonomous. Londinium, his winter headquarters, was to become a full municipality, and a major works program would aggrandize the place. If all this came off, as I thought it would, Britain would be transformed. Julius Frontinus would haul this marginal, barbarian province properly into the Empire.

Britain was a hard posting. It took its toll on every grade. Flavius Hilaris had taken over the financial role after his predecessor, the Gaul who restored order after Boudicca, died in harness. The governorship had a worse history. Suetonius Paullinus had been formally reported to Rome for incompetence. In the Year of the Four Emperors, Turpilianus was ousted by his military legates, who then-unthinkably-ran Britain as a committee. Petilius Cerialis, the immediate past incumbent, had a history of ludicrous errors; he had acquired the job only because he was related to Vespasian.

Frontinus would do well. He was both active and conciliatory. But the last thing he needed while he found his feet was a tricky situation with a dead British notable. "This has the potential to turn bad, Falco."

"I know, sir." I used my frank and trustworthy gaze. That was a look I had once kept for women, and still employed with creditors. Frontinus may well have noticed that I was a devious, double-dealing toad, but he tolerated that. My next question was a fair one: "Flavius Hilaris mentioned some administrative problems. Any chance I can be told what's up?"

"Better ask him. He has it all at his fingertips." The governor took the classic way out. It was impossible to tell whether he even knew about these problems.

I asked Hilaris. He now seemed unable to remember having mentioned them.

Right. Thanks, lads! You mighty legates of Augustus sit tight in your frescoed headquarters dealing with dispatches, while I barge off into the mire.

Why did I always opt for clients who tried to conceal dirty situations? I spent more time investigating the people who hired me than dealing with whatever they had asked me to investigate.

As usual I refused to let my secretive employers have their way. If there was mud on the marble, I was perfectly able to step in it by myself. Then everyone would have to endure the mess.