The Silver Pigs

XLII

He had just spent five years in the desert, but by Jove he was fit. He was bursting with talent. You could see at once how he carried off commanding a legion at twenty-six, then mobilized half the Empire to win his father's throne.

Titus Flavins Vespasianus. The back of my throat, which had been tingling from a fiercely peppered sauce, rasped with dry ash. Two employers: Titus and Vespasian. Or two rather important victims, if we got it wrong.

This cheery young general was supposed to be locked in siege warfare at Jerusalem; he had evidently dealt with Jerusalem, and I quite believed that he swept up in his conquest the fabulous Judaean queen. Who could blame him? Whatever anyone thought of her background and morals (she had once married her uncle and was rumoured to sleep with her brother the king), Queen Berenice was the most beautiful woman in the world.

"Helena Justina!"

My teeth ground on a fragment of lobster shell. Having pocketed a queen for himself, he need not have encroached so keenly on my personal naiad. I could tell he had impressed her by the quiet way she asked him, "You want to talk to Falco, sir; shall I withdraw?"

A pang of panic caught me when I thought that she might, but he waved us both rapidly into the room.

"No please; this concerns you too."

We were in a chamber twenty-foot-high where painted figures from mythology leapt lightly about fantastic panels beneath arbours of intricate flowers. Every conceivable surface was lacquered with gold leaf. I blinked.

"Sorry about the dazzle," Titus smiled. "Nero's obscene idea of good taste. My poor father is in a quandary, as you can imagine, whether to put up with it or commit funds to building yet another new Palace on the site."

I envied them the problem of whether to keep the Palace they already owned, or buy a new one.

Titus carried on gravely. "Some of the rooms are so disgusting we have had to seal them up. With a complex that sprawls across three of the Seven Hills we are still hard put to find modest family accommodation, let alone a really functional public suite. Still, more urgent projects first' I had not come here to bandy taste in decor but he changed pace, indicating business, so I relaxed. "My father has asked me to see you informally, because a public audience might be dangerous. Your news about the stolen ingots being stripped of their silver has been hinted to the Praetorians. They seemed interested to hear it, loyal as they are!" He was ironic without appearing cynical.

It still leaves the conspirators at large I replied.

"Let me bring you up to date. This morning we arrested Atius Pertinax Marcellus. The evidence was thin, but we must find out who else is involved. So…" He hesitated.

The Mamertine Jail?" I asked. The political cells?"

Princes had died in them; the cells were notorious. Helena Justina drew a sharp breath. Titus told her, almost without apology, "Not for long. He had a visitor quite against the rules don't yet know who. Half an hour later the prison guards found him strangled."

"Oh no!"

He sprang this news of her husband's death quite casually; Helena Justina was visibly moved. So was I. I had promised myself the pleasure of dealing with Pertinax. It seemed typical that he chose the kind of associates who robbed me of the chance.

"Helena Justina, did you and Pertinax remain on good terms?"

"No terms at all." Her answer was steady.

He stared at her thoughtfully: "Are you mentioned in his will?"

"No. He was generous when we divided our property, then he made a new will."

"You discussed that?"

"No. But my uncle was one of the witnesses."

"Have you spoken to Atius Pertinax since your return from abroad?"

"No."

Then will you tell me," Titus Caesar requested coolly, "why you went to his house today?"

The Emperor's son was landing the kind of shocks I like to use myself. He had slid from pleasantries into inquisition in one seamless move. Helena answered him in her calm, positive way, though this turn of events plainly caught her unprepared.

"I had some idea, sir, knowing him, that I would face him with what we believed. His people told me he was not there"

"No." In the Mamertine; already dead. Titus looked slyly at me. "So why did you go, Falco?"

"Stepping in, in case her man should turn uncouth."

At that he smiled, then turned back to Helena; she had whisked towards me with a jerk of her head so the beaten gold disks on her antique earrings trembled in a slight shower of rustling sound. Ignoring her reproach, I prepared to intervene if Titus overstepped the mark.

The Pertinax will has a codicil," he announced. "Written only yesterday, with new witnesses. It demands an explanation."

"I know nothing about it," Helena stated. Her face became tense.

Ts this necessary, Caesar?" I interrupted lightly. His jaw set but I persisted. "Excuse me, sir. A woman summoned to the law courts expects a friend to speak for her."

"I imagine Helena Justina can answer for herself!"

"Oh she can!" I gave him a swift grin. That's why you may prefer to deal with me!"

She sat in silence, as a woman should when she is being formally discussed by men. Her eyes remained on me. I liked that; though his Caesarship seemed none too keen.

"Your lady is not in court," Titus remarked quietly, but I saw I had checked him. "Falco, I thought you were working for us! Don't we pay you enough?" A man whose heart has been seduced by the world's most beautiful woman can be excused his romantic streak.

"Frankly, your rates are on the meagre side," I told him without a flicker.

He smiled faintly. Everyone knew Vespasian was tight with cash.

"I'm afraid the new Emperor is famous for that! He needs four hundred million sesterces to restore the Empire to prosperity, and in his list of priorities you stand somewhere after rebuilding the Temple of Jupiter and draining the great lake in Nero's Golden House. He'll be relieved Helena Justina is ensuring you don't starve! So, Didius Falco, as her friend in court, let me tell you your client's ex-husband has left her a rather unusual bequest."

"Any bequest from that leaking pustule is unusual in my book. What is it?" I demanded.

Titus sucked the back of his thumbnail, though it was perfectly manicured.

"The contents of a pepper warehouse in Nap Lane," he said.