Time To Depart

XVI

RUBELLA WAS STILL eating sunflower seeds.

He looked about fifty. Must have been, to have put in a full stint in the legions. He had been a chief centurion; that takes sticking power as well as a clean nose. Once he would have been about my level socially. Twenty years had pushed him on: promotion the whole way in the legions, discharge with honour, and buying himself into the middle rank. Now he commanded a thousand men; poor quality, it's true – the vigiles were ex-slaves for the most part – but if he continued to dodge disasters he could aspire to the Urban Cohorts, and maybe even the Praetorian Guard. Rubella was made – though he had spent his whole useful life getting there.

He was big physically; quiet; not tired by life. His grey hair was still close-cropped in the military manner, giving him a tough appearance. His strength was enough to move an ox aside merely by leaning on it. The knowledge soothed him. Rubella took the world at his own pace. He was utterly composed.

Fusculus introduced me. Rubella forced himself to pause between the seeds. `Thanks for coming over. I like to induct new attachments personally. Welcome to the squad, Falco.'

The tribune's welcome was deceptive. Like Petro, he didn't want me near the squad. He seemed friendly, but it was a barely concealed front. I was an outsider. Uninvited. Liable to uncover private grief.

Some officials would have made me talk about my work for the Emperor. Rubella must have been told of my past career. He might have picked it over, full of prejudice and seeking to belittle me. Instead he ignored that side completely: a worse insult.

`You're an old colleague of Petronius'.'

'We go back ten years.'

`Same legion?'

`Second Augusta. Britain.'

`A good man,' said Rubella. `Absolutely straight…' His mind seemed somewhere else. `I've been having a talk with Petro about this task with the gangsters. He suggested I assign you to looking up some past history.'

I noticed the subtle way Rubella had put himself in charge of allocating duties. Clearly it wouldn't just be Petro and me haggling over the booty. Rubella wanted in. Any moment I expected the Prefect of the Vigiles to put an oar in the stream too. Then there was probably the Fourth Cohort's interrogation officer – Petro's immediate superior – to contend with. And no doubt each of the seven cohort centurions thought himself top man on the Aventine. If I wanted work, I would have to grapple for it.

`Past history?' I asked, giving nothing away. If a client paid I would look up birth certificates or wills, but it was not my favourite activity.

`You have skills we should be using.' I noticed his dismissive tone. I had plenty of skills available. Informing needs rugged persistence, intelligence, intuition and hard feet. `Attention to detail,' Rubella selected.

`Oh dear. I feel like a rather plain barmaid when offered as a chat-up line, "I like you, you're different from the other girls…" '

Rubella stared at me. Apparently he had as much sense of humour as a centipede. He couldn't take an interruption either. `Petro doesn't agree, but I think we should send you to meet Nonnius.'

`The nark who used to work with Balbinus? The rent-collector whose testimony put the big rissole away?'

`We have an excuse to intervene. The man is involved with tracing Balbinus' assets’

'Oh I'm thrilled!' I was annoyed. I let it show. `So while there's juicy work on the streets, I'm to be sitting with an abacus playing at audits!'

'No. There already is an auditor.' He had failed to notice I was ready to explode. `A priest from the Temple of Saturn is representing the state's interest.'

He could represent the Establishment on this enquiry too, if blinking at profit-and-loss columns was supposed to be my fate. `I can contribute something more useful than spotting a few dodgy figures on a balance sheet!'

`I hope so! You were assigned to us with a reputation, Falco. You'll want to sustain the myth.' Rubella was smiling now. He could. All he had to do was munch endless seeds in his official throne of office while minions scurried in the dust. He knew he had riled me; he was openly enjoying it. `Do I detect a problem with rank? I bet when you were in the army you hated your centurion!'

`I don't expect he liked me much either.' Aware of the goad, I came under control at once. Maybe he was trying to pack me back to the Palace with a complaint that I was uncooperative. If he imagined he could shed me before we had started, tough. I wasn't intending to play.

Rubella walked away from the fight. Barely pausing, he reiterated, `Past history, yes. If we believe that the gangsters who robbed the Emporium have dropped into a hole that formed after Balbinus was removed, maybe we should have a look at what existed before the hole.'

The man made sense. My mind leapt, and I threw in quickly: `Whoever ploughed the Emporium was lined up and waiting to go. Balbinus had only taken ship the night before. Someone could hardly wait to announce there was a new criminal regime.'

`They were effective,' Rubella commented. His manner was restrained. He looked like a cook who hopes the pudding will get stirred if he just stands gazing at the bowl.

`They knew how to get things done,' I agreed. `Maybe it is someone from the Balbinus organisation – maybe even Nonnius himself.'

`That's an interesting suggestion,' Rubella murmured, apparently taking no interest at all.

Suddenly I quite liked being given Nonnius to tackle. I said I would visit him at once; Fusculus offered to come with me and effect the introductions.

At the door I paused. Rubella was busy opening a new cone of sunflower seeds. `Tribune, a question. How much am I allowed to say to Nonnius?'

He looked back at me almost dreamily. `Anything you like.'

`He turned state evidence. Doesn't that mean he gets treated with circumspection?'

`He's a hardened criminal,' said Rubella. `He knows the numbers on the dice. Balbinus has been safely put away. Nonnius is no use to the state now, not unless he comes up with further evidence. If he helps you, you may feel it is appropriate to behave respectfully. If not, feel free to trample his toes.'

`Fine.' I could trample toes. I could even be respectful if the situation really warranted. I had one more question. It concerned another sensitive area. `Does Petronius know that I'm being given a wider brief than he suggested?'

`You can tell him when you see him,' said Marcus Rubella, like a man who really did not know he had just put the lid down on a very old friendship. He was still smiling benignly as I shut the door.

He could be one of those dark types who like to pretend they never lift a digit, while all the time they have a swift comprehension of events, a warm grasp of human relationships, and an incisive grip on their duties in public life. He could be loyal, trustworthy and intelligent.

On the other hand, he could be just as he appeared: a lazy carefree overpromoted swine.