Enemies at Home

34

Titianus may have felt surprised that Faustus made no attempt to blame him. The aedile barely reacted; he merely asked what next?

Titianus had details of one last location supplied by Juventus. He led us to a street on the Cispian ridge, one of those happy havens that are lined throughout with eating places. Mostly you find these on seaside quays, where the restaurant owners all keep little boats and go out fishing. You eat fish, unless you are crazy. That day’s catch will be varied and though never as fresh as they tell you, much fresher than any other item scrawled on the menu board. Never, ever opt for the beef hotpot in a harbourside fish restaurant.

Roscius might choose any bar for lunch; Juventus had said it varied. We sat down to wait midway, at a place that had outside tables. Manlius Faustus imposed his punishment on the vigilis for what happened earlier. Faustus elected that now he and I would be the close cronies, with Titianus being made to feel left out, so he told Titianus to go inside to order drinks — not giving him any money.

‘A working threesome!’ exclaimed my client when the tired-eyed vigilis wandered back. ‘This reminds me of happy times, with you, me and Morellus, Flavia Albia.’ Faustus leaned back in his seat, in a relaxed pose with his hands linked behind his head. It sounded sociable, but Titianus looked unhappy, realising that the balance in our trio had shifted.

Titianus had been too easily conned by Roscius, so I allied myself with Faustus. ‘Dear Tiberius, I have not seen Morellus recently. Is he working on a case — or working on a love affair?’

‘Dice,’ announced Faustus, impressively deadpan as he invented. ‘There’s a three-day league at a dive called the Sweaty Armpit — you would love it; I must take you there some time − Morellus is in knots because gambling for money is illegal; he thinks I’ll pop along and close the place, then he’ll be blamed by the whole district. Of course it’s never going to happen; they paid the usual sweetener as soon as I told them to.’

I could not help laughing. Faustus chuckled with me. Titianus knew Faustus and I were playing him up.

In fact Titus Morellus, Titianus’ counterpart in the Fourth Cohort, was stuck at home, recovering from a near-fatal attack by a serial killer. Morellus was a miserable character, but he had been brave. I knew Faustus visited the invalid from time to time, probably taking baskets of plums and toys for Morellus’ children. I could even envisage him slipping cash to Morellus’ wife Pullia; supporting someone who had suffered in a public role would be natural philanthropy for Manlius Faustus, a good citizen’s duty. Probably the kind of behaviour that had won him votes when he stood as aedile.

‘Where’s your waiter?’ Faustus asked. Titianus’ request for service had not worked. It was one of those bars. All frantic bustle, where strangers can never get a drink.

We were still waiting for any refreshment to appear when Titianus decided to give up. He claimed he had to be back at the station house; it was probably the end of his shift. He lingered, as if he thought Faustus and I should come too, but we stayed put on observation, waving airy goodbyes at him and insincerely promising to let him know what happened.

‘Don’t worry,’ murmured Faustus in a lazy tone. ‘I can look after Flavia Albia.’

Titianus could only amble off, while Faustus watched him go, rather narrow-eyed. When the aedile turned back to me, I thought he was going to be critical of me cosying up with someone else, but he merely looked delighted we had got rid of the man.

Faustus caught a server’s eye immediately. Titianus was still near enough to see how easily the aedile managed it.

We two had positioned ourselves side by side on a bench, both looking out at the street so we could watch for Roscius in two directions. The area was busy. I had a stole, which I pulled up over my hair; this was partly a professional move, so I looked different from when I was following Roscius. I rarely veiled up from modesty, but sometimes I liked the subtle extra level of privacy.

Faustus could sense a mood. ‘Feeling down?’

‘Polycarpus.’ I sipped my drink.

He nodded, then touched his cup against mine and slowly swallowed wine himself. The other tables were too close and crowded for us to talk about the case. At first we talked about nothing. We must have looked like a man and woman who knew each other, easy together as we enjoyed a small flagon of house wine (with a lot of water) in the warm sunlight.

Sometimes we exchanged a glance, confirming that some character in the street who had looked like our subject was not him. Once I acknowledged how much the latest murder had depressed me, my mind cleared, so I slipped more happily into sharing our task. We had a good working relationship and Tiberius seemed content to be here. ‘Could be worse,’ he commented.

I agreed quietly, ‘One of those times when you wish it wasn’t work.’

He smiled, raising his cup in a mild salute to me again.

Almost at once I saw him stiffen. He gestured slightly with one forefinger.

‘He’s coming! − Shit, we’ll lose him again, he’ll see us …’ It had to be presumed that when Roscius spotted Titianus tailing him earlier, he had noticed us as well.

As Tiberius nodded down the street, I moved. I swung round in front of him like a girl who cared nothing about her reputation. With a shameless lunge, I came in close and hid my companion from where Roscius must be. Tiberius gave a nervous start, then he went with the act, playing a tipsy opportunist as he grabbed hold of me. My stole began to slide off my hair, but he noticed and pegged it. His flattened palm felt strong against my head.

We held the pose, so close our breaths intermingled. I watched his grey eyes following the suspect. There was absolutely no need to embellish our charade, but suddenly he leaned in and kissed me.

As he did it, he was watching. Roscius must have gone in somewhere, but Tiberius continued. He was an unexpectedly good kisser. I liked his faint disconcertion because he was enjoying it more than he had been ready for … Classic male surprise.

When he released me, he flashed a quick gleam, all the recognition he would give or I would want; after all, we were play-acting for work. ‘He’s in the Three-tailed Dog.’

‘Looks a dump!’ I slid back into my seat, feeling warm. I could act suave, however. ‘We know him now. He’ll buy a drink, gulp it quickly, leave half in the beaker then go for a pee out the back. He’ll shunt down the alley and saunter out through one of the other bars.’

‘You’re good.’

‘You too!’ I remarked ambiguously.

I was watching as many bars opposite as I could. Tiberius spent a moment watching me, then he too reapplied himself to surveillance.

I glanced back at him. He steadily scrutinised the exit from the Victorious Soldier and the public counters of the Moon and Stars. I resumed my careful watch on the Ship, the Castor and Pollux, the Cow and the Dead Man’s Fingers.

Roscius emerged through the food counters of the Diana, a workaday thermopolium that seemed to be full of bricklayers. He had somebody with him, a bald man who looked Cappadocian, possibly the subordinate we had earlier seen him leave behind at the Galatea. They strolled together down from the Cispian Hill, with us gently following. We did not bother with the dodging technique, but merely paced ourselves to remain a good distance behind, where we might not be noticed.

They reached the Clivus Suburanus at the Porticus of Livia. They stayed together on the main road as far as the Esquiline Gate, where Roscius waved off the other man. He went on alone through the arch and into the Gardens of Maecenas.

Faustus gripped my elbow, then we quickened our pace and caught up with him.