Time To Depart

LXVI

IN CASE THE sight of me veiled as a priest failed to cause a sufficient sensation, I had decided to attend Lenia's wedding in my Palmyrene suit. Frankly, there were not many other occasions in Rome where a decent man could appear in purple and gold silk trousers, a tunic embroidered all over with ribbons and florets, cloth slippers appliqued with tulips, and a flat-topped braided hat. To complete the picture, Helena had even found me a filigree scabbard containing a ceremonial sword, a curiosity we had bought from a travelling caravan in Arabia.

`I wanted an auspex,' complained Lenia. `Not King Vologaeses of the bloody Parthians.'

`In Palmyra this is modest streetwear, Lenia.' `Well in Rome it stinks!'

The ceremony began a little late. When the bridegroom's friends delivered him, they were staggering and yodelling; unnerved by his coming ordeal, he was so drunk we could not stand him up. As the ritual demands, a short verbal exchange took place between the bride and groom.

`You bastard! I'll never forgive you for this -' `What's the matter with the woman?'

`You've ruined my day!'

Lenia then retired to sob in a back room while the guests helped themselves to amphorae (of which there were many racks). While Smaractus was sobered up by his mother and mine, we all started gaily catching up. Members of the public had learned that there was a free-for-all, and found excuses to call at the laundry. Members of the wedding party, who were not paying the bill for refreshments, greeted them with loud cries of friendship and invited them in.

When Petronius arrived things were humming along warmly. It was late afternoon, and there were hours to go yet. After he and his family had finished laughing at my dramatic attire, Helena suggested we all went out for a meal in a decent chophouse to give us strength for the long night ahead. Nobody missed us. On our return, there was still nothing much happening, so Petronius jumped up on a table and called for quiet.

`Friends – Romans -' This address failed to please him for some reason, but he was in a merry mood. As well as the wine we had drunk with our dinner, he had brought a special alabastron of his own. He and I had already sampled it. `The bride is present.’

Lenia had been elsewhere in fact, still weeping, but she heard the new commotion and rushed straight out, suspicious that her wedding was being sabotaged.

`The groom,' proclaimed Petro, `is practising for his nuptials and having a short lie-down!' Everyone roared with delight, knowing that Smaractus was now unconscious in a laundry basket; he must have found himself more wine and was completely out of it. Petro adopted an oratorical stance. `I have consulted among those with legal knowledge – my friend Marcus Didius, who has frequently appeared in court, my colleague Tiberius Fusculus, who once trod on a judicial praetor's toe -'

There were impatient cries. `Get on with it!'

`We are agreed that for a marriage to be legal the bridegroom need not be present in person. He may signify consent through a letter or a messenger. Let's see if we can find someone who can tell us Smaractus consents!'

It was his mother who betrayed him. Annoyed by his continuing indisposition she jumped up and shouted, `I'll answer! He consents!' She was a fierce little body about as high as my elbow, as round as a tub of oysters, with a face like a squashed sponge and flashing black eyes.

`What about you?' Petronius asked Lenia.

Fired by her previous success, my landlord's mother screamed out hiliariously, `I'll answer for her too. She consents as well!'

So much for the exchange of vows. Petro swayed and fell off the table, to be caught safely by merrymaking strangers. A hubbub arose again, and it was clear we were in for much longer delays before I could impose enough order to begin the sacrifice and augury. Being in no hurry, I went out and across the street to inspect what was happening in my new rooms.

A group of patrolmen were sitting in the apartment discussing whether rats were more dangerous than women. I concealed my irritation, added a few philosophical comments, then offered to show them where the nearest fountain was. They picked up their buckets fairly agreeably (the fee they had negotiated with me was, to put it mildly, adequate) and followed me down to the street. I told them the way, but I stayed in Fountain Court. I had seen someone I knew.

He was standing down by the barber's, an unmistakable, untidy lump. He had a bundle of scrolls, and was writing notes against one of them. When I came up, I could see the same intense concentration on his face and the same little squiggly lettering that I had seen once when I interrupted him outside the Pantheon making detailed comments on racehorses. It was Florius. Across the street, detailed to tail him everywhere in case he was contacted by his father-in-law, stood Martinus; he had stationed himself by the baker's, pretending he could not decide which loaf to choose. He looked an idiot.

`The barber's is closed, Florius. We have a wedding locally. He wore himself out this morning snipping the guests.' `Hello, Falco!'

`You remember me.'

`You gave me advice.'

`Did you follow it?'

He blushed. `Yes. I'm being friendly to my wife.' I tried not to speculate what form his friendliness might take. Poor little Milvia.

`I'm sure your attentions will be happily received. Let me tell you something else: whatever trouble it causes, don't let your mother-in-law come to stay in your house.'

He opened his mouth, then said nothing. He understood exactly what I meant about Flaccida.

I was curious. At the same time, I was beginning to feel I knew what he would answer when I asked, `So what brings you here to Fountain Court?'

He gestured to the scrolls he was holding under his elbow. `The same as when I saw you at that brothel the other day. I have decided I ought to go around and take a look at all the properties which Milvia and I were given as her dowry.'

I folded my arms. Together we stared at the place he had been inspecting. `You own the whole block up to the roof?'

`Yes. Most of the rest of this street belongs to another man.' Smaractus. `There are domestic tenants on the upper floors. This small shop was leased out recently, but it's not open and I cannot make anyone reply.'

He was talking about the cave of delights that offered secondhand `Gifts of Charm'. The place where I had declined to buy Helena a birthday present, though where she had found a refined set of eating tools to give Lenia as her wedding gift. I had seen the snail picks now: they were bronze, big heavy spoons with pointed ends, probably from the fine workshops of central Italy. I had a similar set myself, though of more refined design. Lenia's looked like consular heirlooms, but were sold to us extremely cheaply. I knew what that could mean.

`Don't knock any more.' Florius looked surprised by my sharp tone. `Wait here. I'll fetch someone.'

Back at the wedding Maia had arrived. Her sons Marius and Ancus and Galla's son Gaius sat lined up on a bench, ready to act as the three escorts when the bride went in procession to her new husband's house. Marius was looking cross; he probably knew the torchlight procession would be an occasion of rude songs and obscene jokes: not his style. Gaius was pretty sullen too, but that was just because Maia had insisted the young scruff should be clean. Ancus, who was only. five, just sat there with his ears sticking out and wished he could go home.

I waved to them, then found Petro. `Sober up!'

Without a word, and without revealing that he was sloping off, he slid out with me. We walked back down the street to the jumble shop. My heart was knocking. I began to wish I had drunk less. When we reached Florius he straightened up slightly at the sight of Petro; Petro gave him a polite official nod.

I explained to Petro what the problem was. He listened like a man whose concentration needed help. I recounted my visit to the shop when it was open, describing the kinds of items I had seen. His initial disinterest gradually faded. `Are you suggesting what I'm thinking, Falco?'

`Well, booths of old clutter are everywhere, and some of them probably contain the odd thing that was bought in a legitimate sale, but they are ideal cover for receiving. One reason I'm suspicious is that I saw Gaius and Phlosis, those two boat thieves, in our street not long ago. I now think they may have been up here to hand in swag they'd pinched. And there's something else, Petro: the man who ran this joint was called Castus.'

Petronius made the link far quicker than I' had done: `Same as the weasel who stabbed the Lycian at Plato's.' He was no longer as drunk as he seemed.

`Exactly. That Castus was a Balbinus man. He had been booted out by Lalage but he was still-helping the girls who ran the kidnap scheme. My niece Tertulla was snatched very near here. And I found the baby in my skip just along the street.'

`Castus was one of the men we arrested at the brothel,' said Petro. `In view of his past history the Prefect has kept him in close custody. Which explains why there is no one here.' He screwed up his mouth. 'Of course,' he went on reflectively, `I'm spending my time checking over all the places we know that had links to Balbinus. I haven't finished the dowry properties. I'm kicking myself.'

I said quietly, `I told you what Lalage reckoned: Balbinus was living "somewhere on the Aventine".'

Petronius took a deep breath, flexing his wide shoulders. Then he shook his head like an athlete trying to concentrate before a big race. `Jupiter, I should have been sober for this!' He signalled to Martinus and ordered him to fetch Fusculus from the wedding. At that moment my helpers came back from the fountain, so they were summoned too. They set down their buckets carefully and began to size up the shop. Florius asked us what was happening. Petro looked grave. `Let's say that as a concerned landlord whose tenant may have done a bunk, I assume you would like us to break in?'

`Try not to do any damage,' protested Florius at once. As a landlord he was learning fast. Then he paled. `What are you expecting to discover?'

`Loot,' I said. `Stolen goods. Everything from luxuries robbed at the Saepta Julia and flagons pinched from food shops right down to all the bedcovers old ladies have been losing from their balconies recently. And if I'm right about how the premises have been used, I think we'll find a foundry at the back where precious metal has been melted down.'

`And your father's glass?' enquired Petro dryly.

`Oh Lucius Petronius, I have to tell you honestly I fear not!'

`Do I need to be here?' Florius was feeling nervous.

`Better slide off home.' Petronius gave him a kindly pat on the shoulder. `I don't like to see trouble in a family; you'd best not be involved. One of the items I'm now hoping to recover is your missing father-in-law.'

Florius looked more interested. `Can I help?' Clearly the worm had turned. From being a passive victim of Milvia's parents, he was now eager to see Balbinus recaptured. In view of the situation, with Balbinus under a death sentence if he was found on Roman soil, that meant mild-mannered Florius was longing for rather more than a mere arrest. The keen glint in his eye said he knew very well what recapture meant.

We broke in at a rush. The vigiles are trained to smash their way into buildings during fires. Even without their heavy equipment they can go through a door without raising a sweat. Making Florius wait outside, Petronius, Martinus, Fusculus and I followed the patrol straight in. We marched through the premises without stopping to investigate. It was evident, once you viewed the place as a possible receiving shop, that it was packed with items of interest – and I don't just mean potential Saturnalia gifts. As I had suspected, beyond the curtain at the back lay a cold furnace and plenty of encrusted crucibles.

`A melting pot – and they've been painting the Emperor's picture for him too!' Fusculus held up a mould for counterfeit coins.

We searched the shop, and the attached living quarters. Then we left a guard and searched every apartment upstairs, breaking into any where nobody replied when we knocked.

We disturbed a lot of people doing things they would have preferred to keep private, but we did not discover any trace of Balbinus Pius.

'Ah well. Just have to keep looking.' Petronius managed to sound neutral. But I knew his true feelings. Hope had been raised for a moment. The disappointment that followed was twice as acute as our gloom before. `I'll get him,' said Petro quietly.

`Oh yes.' I thumped him on the shoulder. `You'd better. Old friend, there's still a nasty chance that he's hoping to get you!'

We walked down to the street. We gave Florius the news that his wife's father was still at large, told him to report anything suspicious, and watched him leave. Martinus sauntered after him, still pretending to be unobtrusive.

I had a dark sensation as Florius loped off with his scrolls and stylus. The thought of him so carefully researching his father-in-law's property made me wonder if one day he might want to research other aspects of the Balbinus empire too. Clearly he meant to expand his business interests. He had told me he wanted to start a racing stable, and I already knew from Famia that the partner Florius had chosen had an off-colour reputation. Why stop there? His wife came from a notorious criminal family. Florius had never seen any need to abandon her once he realised this. Maybe I had just witnessed the beginning of another depressing cycle in the endless rise and fall of villains in the underworld.

Well, it should take him a few years yet to establish himself.