Three Hands in The Fountain

XXII

There are women who would panic when presented with a consul. One benefit of importing a senator's daughter to be my unpaid secretary was that instead of shrieking with horror, Helena Justina was more likely to greet the prestigious one as an honorary uncle and calmly ask after his haemorrhoids.

The fellow had been supplied with a bowl of refreshing hot cinnamon, which I happened to know Helena could brew up with honey and a hint of wine until it tasted like ambrosia. He already looked impressed by her suave hospitality and crisp common sense. So when I marched in, hooking my thumbs in my festival belt like an irritated Cyclops, I was presented with an ex-consul who was already tame.

'Afternoon. My name's Falco.'

'My husband,' smiled Helena, being especially respectable.

'Her devoted slave,' I returned, honouring her courteously with this blithe romantic note. Well, it was a public holiday.

'Julius Frontinus,' said the eminent man, in a plain tone. I nodded. He shadowed the gesture.

I took a seat at the table and was handed my personal bowl by the elegant hostess. Helena was striking in white, the proper colour for the Circus; although she wore no jewellery because of the marauding pickpockets, she was bound up in braided ribbons which made her frivolously neat. To emphasise how things were in this house, I pulled up another bowl and poured her a drink too. Then we both raised our cups solemnly to the Consul, while I took a good look at him.

If he was the usual age for a consul he was forty three; forty four if he had had this year's birthday by now. Clean-shaven and close-shorn. A Vespasian appointment, so bound to be competent, confident and shrewd. Undeterred by my scrutiny and unfazed by his poor surroundings. He was a man with a solid career behind him, yet the energy to carry him through several more top-notch roles before he went senile. Physically spare, a trim weight, undebauched. Someone to respect – or walking trouble: primed to stir things up.

He was assessing me too. Fresh from the gym and in festive clothes, but with militaristic boots. I lived in a squalid area, with a girl who had high social standards: a sophisticated mix. He knew he was facing plebeian aggression, yet he had been soothed with expensive cinnamon from the luxurious east. He was being bombarded by the peppery scent from late summer lilies in a Campanian bronze vase. And his drink came in a high-gloss redware bowl, decorated with exquisite running antelopes. We had taste. We had interesting trade connections – or were travellers ourselves – or could win friends who gave us handsome gifts.

'I'm looking for someone to work with me, Falco. Camillus Verus recommended you.'

Any commission sent via Helena's papa had to be welcomed politely. 'What's the job and what's your role in it? What would my role be?'

'First I need to know your background.'

'Surely Camillus briefed you?'

'I'd like to hear it from you.'

I shrugged. I never complain if a client is particular. 'I'm a private informer: court work, acting for executors, financial assessments, tracing stolen art. At present I have a partner who is ex-vigiles. From time to time the Palace employs me in an official capacity for work I can't discuss, usually abroad. I have been doing this for the past eight years. I served in the Second Augustan legion in Britain before that.'

'Britain!' Frontinus jerked. 'What did you think of Britain?'

'Not enough to want to go back.'

'Thanks,' he commented drily. 'I've just been appointed to the next governorship.'

I grinned. 'I'm sure you'll find it a fascinating province, sir. I've been twice; my first mission for Vespasian also took me there.'

'We liked Britain more than Marcus Didius admits,' put in Helena diplomatically. 'I think if informers are ever barred from Rome we might even retire there; Marcus dreams of a quiet farm in a fertile green valley -' The girl was wicked. She knew I loathed the place.

'It's a new country with everything to do,' I said, sounding like any pompous forum orator. I was trying not to meet Helena's dancing eyes. 'If you like work, and a challenge, you should enjoy your term there, sir.'

He seemed to relax. 'I'd like to talk further – but there's something more urgent first. Before I leave for Britain I have been asked to supervise a commission of enquiry. I would like to see it completed as swiftly as possible.'

'So this is not about a private investigation?' Helena enquired innocently.

'No.'

She fished the cinnamon stick from her bowl, squeezing it slightly against the rim. Nobody was rushing the formalities. Well, I could rely on Helena's finely probing curiosity. 'Is the commission for the Senate?' she asked.

'The Emperor.'

'Did he suggest Marcus to assist you?'

'Vespasian suggested your father could put me in touch with someone reliable.'

'To do what?' she insisted sweetly.

Frontinus turned to me. 'Do you have to be given approval?' He sounded amused.

'I don't even sneeze without permission.'

'You never listen to me,' Helena corrected.

'Always, lady!'

'Accept the job, then.'

'I don't know that it is.'

'Papa wants you to do it, and so does the Emperor. You need their goodwill.' Ignoring Frontinus, she leaned towards me, beating my wrist lightly with the long slim fingers of her left hand. On one was the silver ring I had given her as a love token. I looked at the ring, then at her, playing moody. She flushed. I clapped my fist to one shoulder and hung my head: the gladiator's submission. Helena clucked reprovingly. 'Too much of the Circus! Stop playing. Julius Frontinus will think you're a clown.'

'He won't. If an ex-consul demeans himself by a hike up the Aventine, it's because he has already read my immaculate record and been impressed.'

Frontinus pursed his lips.

Helena was still urgent: 'Listen; I can guess what you are being asked to do. There was a public disturbance today in the Forum -'

'I was there.'

She looked surprised, then suspicious. 'Did you cause it?'

'Thanks for the faith, sweetheart! I'm not a delinquent. But maybe the public anxiety did originate with me and Lucius Petronius.'

'Your discoveries are the talk of the town. You stirred it up; you ought to sort it out,' Helena said sternly.

'Not me. There is already an enquiry into the aqueduct murders. It's under the auspices of the Curator, and he's using that bastard Anacrites.'

'But now Vespasian must have ordered a superior commission,' said Helena.

We both stared at Julius Frontinus. He had put down his bowl. He opened his hands in a gesture of acknowledgement, though slightly baffled at the way we had talked around him and pre-empted his request.

Once more I grinned. 'All I need to hear from you, sir, is that your commission takes precedence over anything being carried out by the Curator of Aqueducts – so your assistants take precedence over his.'

'Count my lictors,' responded Frontinus rather tetchily. 'Six.' He must have been awarded a special pack to match the special task.

'The Curator of Aqueducts is only entitled to two.' So Frontinus outranked him – and I would outrank Anacrites.

'It's a pleasure to do business, Consul,' I said. Then we swept aside the pretty drinking cups and settled down for a practical review of what needed to be done.

'I'd like to borrow a dish,' Frontinus requested calmly. 'One you don't use very much, I suggest.'

Helena's eyes met mine, dark with concern. We both realised what he probably wanted it for.