Shadows in Bronze

LXX

I needed a ship, fast.

I raced from the house. Outside, Nero, who had no shame, was making friends with a couple of lacklustre cheapskate mules who had been parked against a portico in a haze of flies. I knew the mules. Larius was leaning on a wall in the shade, chatting to their riders: a sinister hulk who was not safe on the streets and a whiskery midget with a furtive face. They both wore white tunics with green bindings; the livery was all too familiar: the Gordianus steward and his shrimpy sidekick.

'Larius, don't associate with strange men!'

'This is Milo-'

'Milo's bad news. Come on; we need to move. Gallop Nero to the seafront so I can commandeer a boat-'

'Oh, Milo's got a boat on the seafront-'

'That so?' I forced myself to sound polite.

Milo smirked at me. He gave me a pain in the head; the only consolation was that it could not be half as bad as the headache I had once given him with a certain piece of porphyry. 'Find out!' he threatened with a leer: Croton etiquette again.

'Let me ask politely: show me your ship and I promise not to tell Gordianus you declined to co-operate! Let's go – the magistrate's sister has come up with a lead on Pertinax-'

At the south end of town sea walls pierced with sturdy arches provided a vantage point where the citizens of Herculaneum on their way to the Suburban Baths could stroll above any shipping which braved their fierce waterfront regulations to tie up picturesquely on the wharf. The harbour facilities were not exactly throbbing with cranes and unloading pulleys, but provided a berth for the occasional tentative craft. Milo's shrimp took charge of Nero and the mules. 'He's good with animals-'

'That must be why he tags along with you!'

The ship Milo indicated was a chunky piece of timberwork called the Sea Scorpios. The crew were on watch for trouble and had seen us approaching; a sailor was ready to pull in the gangway as soon as Larius, Milo and I tumbled aboard.

The familiar unkempt, heavy shape of the Chief Priest Gordianus was waiting on deck, snuggling his huge webby ears in a long cloak as if since his brother's death he felt unable to get warm. He still looked unhealthily grey, though his bald skin had acquired patches of rose-coloured sunburn.

We shook hands like army commanders in the middle of a war: the same sense of a great deal having happened since we last met, and the same faint tinge of jealousy.

'Good to meet up with you, Falco! All well?'

'I've had some narrow shaves. Pertinax has just tried to murder me the same way he attacked you… Tell me, how did you discover he was still alive?'

'You were right, my brother had written to warn me. He had left the letter with his banker; after you left Colonna it came to me.'

'Any news of your wounded deputy, sir?' I was half prepared for the answer. Gordianus raised his eyes to heaven: the stand-in priest was dead. Another charge against Pertinax, though as usual without proof.

We put out across the Bay with a brisk breeze in the Set Saltine's favour. Gordianus asked if I recognized the ship. I thought not, and I was right because in fact I had never seen her, but when he called out to the captain to make for Capreae, I realized I had heard of her. The captain was a friend of mine: a lively, beady-eyed little fellow in a curly hat like an upturned field mushroom, who had been standing by rather sheepishly, waiting to be recognized…

‘Lau! This would be a happy moment on a better day!'

I introduced my nephew, who was craning to get an artistic perspective on my friend from Croton's strange two- sided face. Larius slouched up shyly, a suspicious beanpole in a grimy tunic, still wearing his satchel from when we were selling lead. Then I glanced sharply between Gordianus and the sea captain. 'Did you two know each other all along?'

Gordianus laughed. 'No; we met when I needed a charter to bring my household from Cape Colonna to Paestum. Your name came up later, and I heard about your adventures together then.'

‘Bit of luck falling in with somebody reliable!'

'True. Laesus will stay until this business is settled. He helped me find Aufidius Crispus; then when Crispus confirmed the truth about "Barnabas", Laesus worked with Milo keeping track of Pertinax.' We leaned back against the ship's rail, as the crew adjusted the mainsail for a long haul out along the Surrentum coast. 'Tell me what you think of this man Rufus?' Gordianus abruptly asked. 'It struck me he had rather a casual attitude.'

'Oh, he's intelligent, and hard working in the community.' I knew better than to criticize a fellow senator to Gordianus merely for enjoying old wine and young waiters. On the other hand, the bungled attempt to arrest Pertinax was unforgivable. 'His shambles at the Villa Marcella speaks for itself.'

Gordianus humphed. 'Self-centred and immature!' was his terse verdict on the magistrate. It explained why he had opted to continue his private search for Pertinax even after raising an official hue and cry.

Something struck me and I turned to Milo, who was slouching by the mainmast forestay. 'If you were trailing Pertinax, you must have been there when he bludgeoned my friend at the inn!' He was. Milo always made me angry – but never so angry as this. 'Jupiter and Mars! When Petronius Longus came to the doorway, why didn't you shout?'

'We had heard Pertinax ask for you!' Milo jibed unpleasantly. 'Sorry we couldn't stay to help; we followed him back to the yacht…'

I had to walk away by myself to the far end of the ship, to stop myself feeding the steward to the porpoises in shreds.

The journey out to Capreae always seems further than it looks. The sour old Emperor Tiberius chose himself a good sanctuary; plenty of time to prepare visitors a grim welcome before incoming ships berthed.

I was not seasick, though I thought about it uneasily.

'You all right?' Larius asked solicitously. I explained that making kind enquiries of people who had queasy stomachs never helps.

Larius, who loved ships and never felt ill at sea, leaned on the rail beside me, enjoying his trip. As the endless cliffs of the Laetarii peninsula eased slowly past he squinted against the breeze, happily absorbing the spray and the sunlit ocean scenery.

'Uncle Marcus, Helena suggests I ought to talk to you.'

'If it's about your bloody wall painting, I'm not in the mood.'

‘It's about Ollia.'

'Oh, it's a joke!' He gave me a disapproving look. 'Sorry! Go on then.' Larius, the shocking romantic, adjusted his pose like a figure – head braving the storms of life, with his limp hair blowing back from his forehead and a stalwart expression. A sea trip brought out the worst in him.

‘Ollia is not having a baby; that was Silvia's mistake. As a matter of fact, there was never anything between Ollia and the fisherboy-'

'Goodness!' I scoffed. 'Then why didn't she deny it? Or him?'

'They both did.'

True. ‘So what's the real story?'

'He kept hanging around and she didn't know how to get rid of him. Everyone else had the wrong idea about it-'

'Except you?' I hazarded.

Larius blushed. I hid a smile. He went on earnestly. ‘Ollia was too frightened of Silvia to explain.' I grinned. The fisherboy never wanted her-'

‘So what was his angle?'

'He wants to go to Rome. To better himself ' I let out an expression of contempt. 'Oh, he's all right,' Larius muttered. ‘Petro says he has tried so hard we ought to take him anyway. My father would have him as an oarsman; it gives a let-out for me…'

'In order to do what, sunshine?'

'To be a wall painter in Pompeii.' I told Larius if he wanted to be so stupid I was still not in the mood.

I had a good look at him; he seemed to have filled out to a more easy-going figure while we were away. He dropped the fresco painting plea, but I had the impression that was only because it was all fixed anyway.

'Well, give Ollia my congratulations on her escape from motherhood-'

'About Ollia' Larius began.

I groaned, trying not to laugh. 'I can guess. Ollia has decided her great dream is a poetry-reading lank with ochre paint in his fingernails? Larius hid his hands but I was pleased to see he stood up to me.

They had one of those sweet, neat plans young people so rashly inflict on themselves. Larius insisted on describing it to me: home to Rome; explain to his mother; back to Pompeii; learn his trade; earn enough to hire a room with a balcony 'Vital equipment for a bachelor on his own!'

'Uncle Marcus, why are you always so cynical?'

'I'm a bachelor blessed with a balcony!'

Then they would get married; wait two years while Larius saved more money; have three children at two- year intervals; and sedately spend the rest of their days deploring the raggedness of other people's lives. There were two possibilities; either they would grow out of each other and Ollia would run off with a sandalmaker – or, knowing Larius, he would manage the whole daft scheme.

'Helena Justina found out all this? What does she think?'

'She thought it was a good idea. Helena gave me my first commission,' Larius told me with a sly look. 'I drew her a still life: you, fast asleep with your mouth open.'

'She never kept it?'

'Oh yes! She wanted a souvenir of her holiday…'

I said nothing, because a sailor gave a cry: Capreae.

When we set out the day had been overcast. Passing Surrentum the shoreline cliffs had been a shadowed mix of dark-green vegetation and honey-toned rocks against the hazier colours of the mountain range behind; the sea was a rippling pewter grey, slightly threatening beneath the sullen sky. Now, as we approached the island which lay like the double hump of two basking whales, the cloud cover thinned. Only the frothy white triangle which often hovers above Capreae still served as a marker from afar. We sailed on in bright sunlight, over a blue sea of gemstone intensity.

The island seemed to rush nearer at a faster speed. From the main harbour a small regatta of pleasure boats streamed out, their sails making a line of dark red dots in apparently haphazard chase. If the kit Africans had been among them we should never have picked her out, but as Curtius Gordianus gave Laesus directions we left the little boats far to one side while we pressed in close to the sheer crags. Slowly we explored these deep secluded bays where access could only ever be by water. Sometimes dark cave mouths gaped in the rock wall above. All round the island there was plenty of activity from fishing and excursion boats, though none disturbed the limpidly bright lagoon where the Sea Scorpion finally crept in and found the Isis moored.

Crispus and Pertinax were bathing. It was a strangely relaxed scene.

We sailed closer without fuss, and Laesus dropped anchor. The swimmers were watching us. Keeping his face hidden, Gordianus hailed Crispus cheerfully, like some old friend whose arrival today was a happy coincidence. We saw Crispus float on his back as if he were considering, and possibly cursing, us; then he set off to his yacht with a lazy overarm stroke, following Pertinax who had started swimming at once. Once it became clear they were not weighing anchor the Chief Priest and I were rowed across to them, taking Milo, in a skiff.

When we clambered abroad, Aufidius Crispus was towelling off on deck, a squat, muscular figure covered in dark hair. Pertinax had disappeared into the galley, as if to dress in privacy; perhaps he hoped we were casual visitors who would not stay. Crispus pulled on a loose red tunic whose metallic braid was well tarnished from frequent exposure to salt spray. He shook water from his ears with a vigour I remembered him applying to other things.

'What a surprise!' he said, with no surprise at all on his swarthy jowls. He was expecting the magistrate, but accepted we had come to take over the arrangement, for he called out robustly, 'Gnaeus! Come out here; I want you to meet some old friends!'

Since there was little else for it, Atius Pertinax shuffled on deck. He wore a white tunic already belted, and his usual tight expression. When he recognized Gordianus his river-water eyes became guarded. Reluctantly he grinned; then slouched closer, offering to shake hands.

Remembering his brother, Gordianus hand dropped. He could not bear the proffered handclasp. I stepped forward myself.

'The name's Falco,' I announced, as our quarry jerked his head in annoyance and shock. 'I'm supposed to be dead – but so are you.' Then I stood to attention and formally announced: 'Gnaeus Atius Pertinax Caprenius Marcellus, also known as Barnabas, in the name of Vespasian Augustus you are under arrest! I am taking you into custody and transferring you to Rome. You have the right to a trial by your equals in the Senate, or you may exercise every citizen's privilege and appeal to the Emperor himself. To do that,' I informed him with relish, 'you must prove who you are first!'

'What are the charges?' Pertinax blustered.

'Oh, conspiracy against the Empire, murder, religious arson, assault on a Roman watch captain – and intending to murder me!'