Saturnalia

XI

'What are you buying for Mother?'

Maia, the most ruthlessly organised of my sisters, was working on a list. A stylus was pushed into her dark curly hair, and her big brown eyes were glaring at a waxed tablet where various relatives' names had been assigned tasteful (but economical) gifts.

'Maia, the best thing about being married is that at last I can leave my mother's Saturnalia present to somebody else. Helena knows her duties. It saves Ma having to grit her teeth over one more manicure set that she doesn't need since five people bought one at the last minute from the same stall for her birthday.'

'Tell Helena she can do bath oils. There won't be duplicates. I had a brilliant idea – I'm clubbing together with the others to pay for an eye doctor. Galla and I are paying for the left eye operation, Junia and Allia are getting the right.' I raised an eyebrow gently. 'Discount for the pair?' 'Special one-time-only offer – two for the price of one on his low-interest instalment plan.' 'Does Ma know?' 'Of course not. She'd run off to the country. Don't you let on, Marcus. '

'Not me!' Personally, I thought another set of ear-scoop and tweezers was safer. I knew what would be involved in the cataract operation; I had investigated cures when the white scales appeared and Mother first started bumping into the furniture. I'd like to be there when my four sisters explained to Ma how she had to endure some quack pushing cataracts aside with a couching needle. The girls would probably expect me to be the heavy who held our mother down while it happened. 'In case you're wondering,' I said to Maia, 'I could use some extra weight training sessions from Glaucus at the gym.' 'You're getting a new note-tablet,' sneered Maia. I was still trying to think up ways to suggest I already owned enough notebooks to write a Greek novel, when Petro came in. He appeared to have woken from a nap, and was now gearing himself up for an evening shift on duty. This involved winding on leather wrist bands, rubbing his eyes a lot, and belching.

Petro had been out-stationed at Ostia for most of the summer, but with typical skill had wangled a move back to Rome just in time for the big festival. He and Maia, who had been living together for just over a year, were renting half a house three streets from the vigiles' Aventine patrol house. They needed plenty of room, with Maia's four growing children, Petro's daughter who was staying with them for the holiday, the cats he always allowed around the house, and young Marius' exuberant dog; Arctos had to be kept in a room away from the cats, who tyrannised him and raided his bowl. Nux, who was his mother, had gone in to see Arctos when we arrived.

Despite the way he tolerated his mangy cats, Petronius Longus had been my best mend since we were eighteen. We were both born on the Aventine, though we really met up when we knocked into each other in the recruiting queue and were jointly assigned to the Second Augustan legion. We survived our nightmare posting to Britain only by comforting each other with tall stories and drink. As we both threw up in the boat on the way over there, we already realised we had made a mistake; the subsequent horrors of the Boudiccan Rebellion only confirmed that. We got out of the army, no one needs to know how. Now he ran criminal investigations for the Fourth Cohort of vigiles, while I ran a private enquiry business. We were both damned good at what we did and we were on the same side in fighting life's filthy surprises. Now he had finally settled with Maia, after yearning after her for years, and for both their sakes, I hoped it lasted.

'Io, Marcus!' Petro thumped me on the shoulder. He enjoyed festivals. He knew I hated them. I gave him the gloomy scowl he expected.

He was taller than me, though not enough for it to matter, and broader. As a vigiles officer, he had to be. When the arsonists and other villains weren't attacking him with fists and knives, the ex-slaves he commanded were giving him almost as much trouble. He handled it. Petronius Longus could handle most things except the death of a child or an accident to a pet cat. In our time, I had seen him through both. He had stuck by me in bad situations too. 'What are you working on, Marcus?' 'I am not allowed to tell you,' I complained solemnly. 'Well, spit it out at once then, lad. I won't pass it on.' 'That a promise?' 'Same as the one you must have given somebody…' 'I gave my oath to Tiberius Claudius Laeta.' Petronius grinned broadly. 'The big poppy at the Palace? Well that's all right; it doesn't count.' Trust a public servant to take a realistic view. In a few taut sentences I summed up the mission for him.

There was a reason why I was bringing Petronius into my confidence. I explained – though to him it was perfectly obvious – that with the whole of Rome to search and no clues, I stood little chance of finding Veleda, let alone both Veleda and Justinus, aided by only a handful of lackadaisical legionaries from Germany. 'This stinks.' He sounded calm. 'Surprised?' 'It's one of your jobs, you idiot. You're going to need our help as usual.'

'It's a rat's arse,' I agreed quietly. 'In which, as you so rightly notice, it differs from my usual commissions by not one digit of linear measurement. That Veleda is on the loose in Rome, and has been for over ten days, is a State Secret of some delicacy -'

'Everyone's heard about it,' scoffed Petro. He let out another belch; he claimed this kept him fit. Maia just glowered. They were like an old married couple; although both had been previously hitched to other people, most of us thought these two should have been sharing a bed from the start.

I carried on: 'Anacrites has been put in charge of an official hunt, using the Praetorians -' This time Petronius really swore. 'Right! If the Praetorian Guard, fired up with Saturnalia drink, find Veleda, she'll become a new, and ghastly, festival game.' The vigiles would not be delicate with her either, but I left that to his imagination. Petro was well aware that his cohort was composed of roughs and toughs; in truth he was proud of them. 'And the common people are terrified of barbarians invading the citadel, so they will tear Veleda apart.'

Maia, who had been silent and apparently absorbed in her Saturnalia list, looked up and inserted in a caustic tone, 'That is nothing to what Claudia Rufina will do if she catches her.' Petronius and I both winced. 'Give me a description to circulate,' Petro offered. 'I'd like this to be kept from your tribune, you know.' 'Be realistic, Falco. Rubella needs to know – and what's more, so do his oppos: you need this to be given to all the cohort tribunes because Veleda could be anywhere. She may know that you live on the Aventine and Justinus lives by the Capena Gate, but in what? – nearly two weeks – she hasn't come looking for either you or him. So by now she could be hiding up in any of the districts – assuming she is hiding up, and not being held by some bastards against her will somewhere.' I was protesting, but he stopped me. 'I can put it forward as a game the tribunes will all like: "find the lost prisoner first, to annoy the Praetorians". They will do it, and be discreet.'

I could see this would work. In theory the Praetorian Prefect looked after the Emperor, the Urban Prefect looked after the city by day, and the Prefect of Vigiles controlled the Night Watch; according to their rulebook, the three forces worked in harmony. In fact, there was serious rivalry. Bad feeling went back at least as far as when Emperor Tiberius found himself under threat from the usurper Sejanus, who had the loyalty of the Praetorians. Unable to trust his own imperial guards, Tiberius had cunningly used the vigiles to arrest Sejanus. The Praetorians now liked to pretend it had never happened – but the vigiles never forgot.

'You could also whisper to the Urban Cohorts why their big brothers are stonking all over the city; the Urbans will defend their patch. ' 'Unfortunately our lot are not talking to the Urbans either. But I'd thought of that,' said Petro.

Of course if it became known that I had brought in the vigiles on a confidential, entirely Praetorian matter, my position would be… difficult. I decided I would deal with that if the issue ever arose. I could now trust Petronius to put in place a city-wide search for the priestess. He understood that it needed to be an observation and reporting back exercise, nothing too visible. For all we knew, Veleda might have assembled a support group; they could be armed and plotting trouble. We also had to avoid causing general alarm. I asked Petro for advice on where to start looking myself 'The obvious way to disappear,' he said, 'is for her to get a job in some backstreet bar.'

'Not feasible. She's never been in a city. She's never lived as a free woman anywhere. We call her a barbarian, though she's more sophisticated than you would expect – yet she'll stick out as a stranger. She's always held a position of respect among the tribes; she's been tended and protected – she lived at the top of a signal tower, for heavens' sake – so she won't know anything about normal life. She probably couldn't live alone unnoticed, even in her own country -' 'Does she have any money, Falco?' 'Probably not. She should have been stripped of her valuables. Perhaps some jewellery. I can ask Pa to put the word out in case she tries to sell anything.' Ganna should be able to tell me what Veleda possessed. Anything worthwhile would find its way to the gem stalls at the Saepta Julia. 'I am told she wants to get back to Free Germany. It's the wrong time of year to travel and the alarm is raised. Unless she makes contact with sympathisers who are willing to help her, she can't even pay for the journey.' 'So she has to go underground.' Petro was thinking. He ticked off people I should contact. 'The German community in Rome.' 'Is there one?' He shrugged. 'Traders. Must be. Your father should know, from colleagues at the Emporium.' 'Aren't traders by definition friends of Rome?'

'When were traders friends of anyone but themselves?' Petronius was cynical. 'Traders come from all over the place, you know that. They have no qualms about making money from their nations' enemies. Aliens can get here. There's probably some tight little nest of Bructeran barterers right under our noses, if we knew where to look. But don't ask me.' 'No handy list of Free German interlopers?' Petronius ignored my jibe about vigiles' lists. They kept one for informers, and I knew my name was on it. 'I can't think what the Bructeri would have to sell in Rome.'

'People come here to buy, Falco.' He was right there. He thought of another unpleasant group to search: 'Then assuming your priestess is destitute, she might find a refuge among runaway slaves.'

'And how,' I asked sarcastically, 'do I find them, given that their wronged masters have failed to do so? Aren't they invisible on principle?' 'Plenty out there. Doorways. Under the arches. A large colony sleeps rough among the tombs on the Via Appia.' 'I thought the necropolis was haunted by ghosts?'

'Be bloody careful if you go there!' Petro warned. He did not offer to accompany me, I noticed. 'There's one more place. She is a priestess – you could try looking in temples.'

Oh thanks very much. It must have escaped his notice how many of those there were in Rome.

One of his cats crept into the room. The beast could tell I was a dog man, so it smugly came straight for me, purring. Petronius started grinning. I was already flea-bitten after Stringy at the caupona, so I made my excuses rapidly and went home.