Saturnalia

XVIII

Nux had been recaptured by Petronius himself. He had spotted her slinking up an alley, covered with mud and worse. Fortunately the vigiles keep a plentiful cache of water. Now washed and fluffed up prettily, my dog had established herself as a guest in the all-night galley that kept the men supplied with hot rissoles and mulsum. She had her snout in a bowl of delightfully rich broth and did not want to come home. She wagged her pert tail when she saw us. Nux did not believe in guilt.

'Oh you naughty girl; they've been spoiling you!' Albia was entranced.

None of Petro's cohort were likely to pass up the chance of showing a bright young woman around the excubitorium, their local outstation here in the Thirteenth District, so I had to wait with the dog while pumping engines sprayed water all over the yard and long ladders were rushed to imaginary blazes; then even the cells were opened up so Albia could look in wide-eyed at that evening's bunch of really stupid drunks who had thrown nuts at the watch. While I waited, lolling in the doorway of Petro's office so I could keep an eye on Albia and prevent any malpractice, Petro took delight in telling me there had been no progress in the surreptitious search for Veleda. 'Your trail is cold, Falco.' I thanked him courteously.

The lads had led my foster-daughter into the depths of their equipment store, so I had to saunter over there. Of course they would be stupid to try anything on with her – but in their eyes, once presented with the opportunity, they would be stupid not to try. They were all ex-slaves, all with a hard attitude; they needed it to do their job. Left to themselves, they would have my teenager bemused on a pile of esparto mats in ten minutes, wooing her with a private demonstration of their ropes and fire axes – then luring her into other things. Albia could look after herself. Still, best to avoid that situation. If the alarm sounded, we did not want half the duty fire response group to be doubled up in pain after a kneeing from a lass who was far more streetwise than she looked.

I gave the girl the wink that it was time to go. Always alert, she took the hint, thanked the men sweetly, and came with me. We had crossed the yard, waving to Petronius, who saluted us satirically. As we approached the big double-gated exit, Fusculus came in. He was Petro's best officer, increasingly rotund, cheery and totally imperturbable. 'I0, Fusculus! How goes it with the king of nipping and foisting?' Fusculus loved lore and cant. If a criminal activity lacked technical terms to describe it, he would invent some.

Now he squinted at me, unsure whether these were real variations he ought to know; his eyes showed suspicion, though he rallied fast. 'All posy-posy on the Via Derelicta, Falco.' While Albia stared in puzzlement, I let him chatter happily. 'Is that dog yours? She's a ferrikin!'

'Right up there with the champions of fragonage,' I agreed. I was so glad to have found Nux so easily, I had stopped being sour. The way my mission was going, to have found any missing person, even a lost pet, was a bonus.

'A woozIer,' nodded Fusculus approvingly. I think that was one of his coinages. But you never knew with this dictionary dabbler. Canine woozling could be traditional among totters' lurchers. Romulus might have owned a woozIer, queen among beasts around the antique shepherds' folds… No, probably not. I bet my Nux was scared stiff of wolves. '- I'm glad I've seen you, Falco.' 'I'm honoured to bring joy to you, my dear Fusculus.' He went with the joke. 'It's a pleasure to be in the company of a civilised man. Top-pigeonhole in life's columbarium -' Eventually even Fusculus grew tired of playing weird man's bluff 'Dear gods, I do maunder on, don't I? What a wonk.' I raised my eyebrows as if in great surprise. His friendly face wrinkled with fun, then sobered. He was, despite the soft-sponge impression, a rather good vigiles officer. Astute and with an eye for detail. Good in a fight too. Petronius Longus knew how to pick them. 'I gather you're searching for somebody, Falco?' 'Apart from the lost dog? – Nasty but handsome barbarian lady. I believe, with a very bad headache.' 'Oh don't give up! You can work your charm on her.' Albia shot me a sharp sideways glance. Fusculus carried on blithely, as if unaware of the damage he had just done to my domestic reputation. He knew all right. 'But I don't mean the priestly pullet.'

'There's Justinus too; you know him. We work together. He's missing. My brother-in-law, the mild one.'

'Well, I'm glad it's not the vicious one.' This time Albia bridled; she seemed to have a latent admiration for Aelianus. Not all that latent sometimes. When they were together they tended to gang up like starlings. 'No, Aulus is in Greece. I've only one of them to worry about. He hasn't been seen for two days now.' Fusculus now lowered his voice. 'I've just come from a recce. Heard word of a possible.' I stiffened. 'Straight stuff?' 'Partially reliable. Seventh Cohort.' I fumbled to recall the cohort delegations. 'Seventh – that's the Fourteenth district and… the Ninth?'

'Transtib and Circus Ham,' said Fusculus. 'What a hotchpotch – the immigrant quarter over the river, and all the public monuments around the Field of Mars. Includes,' he said, gently tapping his pug nose, 'the Saepta Julia.' 'Right! Justinus was last seen at the Saepta.' 'You have a fit then. The Seventh are indignant that a man was lifted from their patch. You know we're all taking strop from the bloody Praetorians? Pushing their way in all over the shop -' 'Hunting my barbarian.' 'So that's why they're at it!' He gave me a look. I didn't react. I was used to taking blame for other people's messes. 'Well, they hijacked a mark who could be Justinus two days ago, as you say, in the Saepta. The Seventh think the Guards must have been following him. They let him carry out his business and he seemed to be heading homeward. They jumped him just by the exit next to the Pantheon, and had him away like a flea up a barmaid's skirt.' 'Was he doing something the Palace grandees objected to?' 'Nothing at all, I heard.' 'No official explanation then?' 'Nobody asked them. Would you do it?' I tried to look like a hero. 'If I suspected a miscarriage of justice, I might politely enquire.'

'Nuts, Falco! The Guards dragged him off, no questions asked. The Seventh keep a finger-man permanently at the Saepta, and he saw it all. Happened in the proverbial flash. Most people noticed nothing. For the Guards,' admitted Fusculus grudgingly, 'it was professional… Mind you, your fellow dropped his arm-purse in the scuffle. Now I know who he was, I wonder if he dropped it non-accidentally.' 'A signal? Who has it?' 'The Seventh's nark. Name of Victor. You'll find him most days lurking in the Saepta, not looking inconspicuous… Or just ask anybody there to point to him. They all know Victor. As an undercover operative, he's rubbish. Bloody Seventh! Incompetent whosits.'

Fusculus was enjoying himself, insulting his rivals. I felt more benign towards them. The Seventh Cohort (Transtiberina and Circus Flaminius) might not meet the exclusive professional standards of the glorious Fourth (Aventine and Piscina Publica), but so far they were the only people who had given me a lead. 'Were all those words ones I need to learn to be a Roman?' Albia asked, as we walked home. She had waited a while before she spoke, aware that I was glumly lost in thought. The streets were dark and fairly quiet now; I was watching out for trouble, as I always did, but that only accounted for half of my preoccupied air. 'Definitely not, Albia. You don't want people thinking you are eccentric. ' There was a pause. 'Is Fusculus eccentric?' 'Not him. Rock-solid character.' 'What about you?' 'I'm a total grozzle.' Another pause. 'Oh no, Marcus Didius. I'd say you're a woozIer!' Albia decided forcefully. '… So are they real words?' 'Words are real if other people think they understand their meaning. ' 'What do those words mean then, Marcus Didius?' 'Albia, I have no idea.' We walked along in silence for a while. The Aventine is packed with temples. We had come past the great dominating bulk of Diana on the Aventine, high on the main part of the hill, and were heading down via Minerva, Liberty and Juno the Queen. As we then jumped down the Stairs of Cassius with Flora, Luna and Ceres away on our right, we were almost on the Embankment, by the Probus Bridge. Nearly home. Before it was too late, Albia asked her real question: 'So will you have to ask the Praetorian Guard why they arrested Quintus?' 'I shall ask, certainly. But not the Guard.' The girl waited. When she got tired of that she demanded, 'Ask who, then?' 'The man who gave them their orders. But I won't tell you who. You don't need to know.'

For another short moment Albia was silent. She was a bright young woman, my foster-daughter from Britain. There were many things I had never explained or discussed with her, yet she had picked them up from fragments of conversation, almost from facts that Helena and I had left unsaid.

We walked maybe another five paces, sauntering to accommodate the pace of Nux, who had to sniff every inch of the pavement. Finally, Albia stated quietly, 'Anacrites!'

Then Nux stopped dead; she looked up at us both, with her ears right back, and growled faintly. Even my dog loathed to hear the name of the Chief Spy.