Time To Depart

LIV

MY BROTHER-IN-LAW Famia, Maia's treasure, prided himself on being a man with contacts. It was rubbish. Famia's contacts were one-legged jockeys and liniment-sellers who drank too much. He was a vet, working for the Greens. Their pathetic choice of horse doctor may account for the fact that as a chariot team they stink.

Famia was no stranger to flagons of non-vintage grape juice himself. He had a florid face with puffy eyes. Maia fed him well and tried to keep him neat, but it was hard work. He favoured a long tunic the colour of estuary mud, over which went a filthy leather apron and a belt from which hung curious tools, some of which he had devised himself. I had never seen him use a single one of them on a sick animal.

I found him sitting on a barrel at the stables, talking to some visitors. A lame horse waited patiently. It appeared to know it stood no chance of attention this week if it had to depend on Famia. Hung on the wall behind it were an impressive selection of harness rings and roundels, blacksmiths' hammers and pliers, and hippo shoes.

`What ho, Falco! I hear you slipped up with your fancy piece?'

`If that's a course reference to my impending fatherhood -'

`Don't be stupid. I presume Helena will be getting rid of it.'

`That so? I like to be kept up to date, Famia. Thanks for telling me!'

`Well, that's the impression Maia gave me anyway.' Realising he was likely to get thumped, he sniffed and backed off. Famia simply could not believe that a senator's daughter would carry an informer's child. I had long given up any attempt to hack a path through the dark undergrowth of his social prejudice. He wasn't worth trying to talk to sensibly.

The bastard had upset me. No use denying it.

It was too much to hope Famia knew Florius, but since Florius was a gambling man Famia must know someone else who did. Prising the information out of him gave me indigestion for the rest of the day. He enjoyed being difficult.

It took me most of the afternoon. A long stream of undesirable characters whom Famia had suggested I consult finally ended with a snooty ex-charioteer who kept a training stable near the Plain of Mars. His office was full of the silver crowns he had won when he himself raced, but somehow lacked the odour of real money that I associate with retired champions, most of whom are nearly millionaires. Famia had hinted darkly there was some scandal attached to him, though needless to say he then sent me in there without saying what. Maybe the fellow tried to diddle on the slave tax when he bought his drivers, and had been found out. Many a hopeful setting up a new business assumes the fiscal rules don't apply to him. Catching them out works wonders for the Treasury's income from fines.

One reason it was so difficult to trace Florius was that it turned out he supported the Whites. `The Whites?' I was incredulous. No wonder he was elusive. Nobody in Rome supports the Whites. Even the Reds are less unpopular. A man who supported the Whites could well wish to remain invisible.

The ex-charioteer thought he might be seeing Florius later. Naturally he viewed me with suspicion. People never entertain the thought that an informer might be tracing folk for a good reason, such as to bring them news of an unexpected legacy. I was interpreted as trouble. It was quite likely Florius would be warned of my visit and advised to avoid me. Determined to better him, I pretended to go along with it, said I'd call back in an hour, and concealed myself in a wine bar to await developments. At least I got a drink.

The racing snob went out in his cloak almost immediately. I gulped down my tipple and followed him. He met Florius at the Pantheon, obviously a regular rendezous. I stood back, but neither was keeping watch for trouble. Shading my eyes against the glitter of the gold tiles on the domed roof, I observed them without them even once looking in my direction. They had a short chat together, fairly unexciting and perhaps even routine business, then the charioteer strolled off again. Florius sat among the forest of columns in Agrippa's confrontational portico. He appeared to be working out figures on a note tablet. I walked across the open area in front of the temple, then slid up to talk to him.

Florius was a mess. He. was a shapeless lump, too heavy for his own good and unkempt with it. His baggy tunic had spots of dried fish pickle down the front. It was untidily hooked up over his belt, from which hung a fat hide purse so old its creases were black and shiny and stiffened with use. His boots had been handsome kneehighs once, but their complex thongs were mud-splashed and needed grease. His feet were badly misshapen with corns; the thick toenails had been hacked short, apparently with a meat knife. His brown hair looked as if it had been cuts in tufts by several barbers over several days. He wore his equestrian ring, plus a haematite seal and a couple of other heavy gold lumps. This was hardly for personal adornment; his fingernails were ferociously bitten, with ragged cuticles. His hands looked in need of a wash.

This neglected bundle received my greeting without alarm. He put away his notes, which looked like details of form. (I craned for a look, hoping they would be lists of stolen goods nothing so obvious.) He was sharp enough in his obsession; as I had approached the temple I had seen him scribbling away with his stylus so rapidly that in minutes his little squiggly figures filled a whole waxed board. I determined not to ask him about racing. He was clearly one of those mad devotees who would bore you to death.

A gusty wind had driven a sharp rain shower over the Plain, so I suggested we take shelter. He clambered to his feet and we strolled inside the temple, passing the statues of Augustus and Agrippa in the vestibule. Though I rarely entered the Pantheon, it always had a calming effect on me. The gods looked out peacefully from their niches in the lower drum while clouds covered the open circle in the roof.

`Wonderful building,' I commented. I liked to reassure my subjects with some casual chat a few pleasantries about the beauty of concrete before suggesting that they had better talk or I'd tear their liver out. `They say it's the first piece of architecture that was designed from the inside outwards instead of the other way. Don't you think the proportions are perfect? The height of the dome is exactly the same as its diameter.' Florius took no notice. That did not surprise me. The Pantheon would have needed four legs and a bad-tempered, pockmarked Cappadocian rider before Florius raised a flicker of interest. `Well! You're a hard man to catch up with, I must say!' He looked nervous. `Your friend seemed to be protecting you. Have you been bothered by any unwelcome visitors?'

Florius cleared his throat. `What do you want?' He had one of those light, over-cheerful voices that always sound unreliable.

`I'm Didius Falco. A special investigator working on your father-in-law's case.'

He exclaimed in considerable anguish, `Oh no!'

`Sorry, does this bother you?'

`I don't want anything to do with it.'

I took a chance. `I sympathise. When you discovered what kind of family had tricked you into marriage, you must have felt really trapped.' He said nothing, but made no protest, `I've come to you because I realise you're different.'

`I don't know anything about what my father-in-law does.'

`Have you seen him?' I asked pleasantly.

`Oh don't get me into this!' he pleaded.

`You have? How long ago was that?'

`Five or six days ago.' Interesting. It was only a week since we put the big rissole aboard the Aphrodite at Ostia. Florius had spoken without intending to co-operate, but now he decided to ditch Balbinus anyway. `I'm not supposed to tell anyone.'

`Of course not. It's very unfair of him to put pressure on you this way.'

`Oh I wish he'd just go away.'

`I hope he will do soon. We're working on it hourly.'

`Oh?' Florius seemed puzzled. `I must have misunderstood. I thought you said you were a special investigator. But you're with the vigiles?'

`Can it be that you don't think the vigiles are pursuing matters energetically?'

`My father-in-law reckons they do what he likes,' he answered flatly.

That was bad news for Rome. I was supposed to be looking into this. Rubella would be overjoyed. I broached the issue carefully: `Look. This is just between us.' He looked grateful for the confidence. A simple soul. `The vigiles are themselves the subject of a probe at the moment. Obviously I cannot be too specific, but my role includes reviewing them… Perhaps you can help.'

`I doubt it!' The great booby just wanted to hide his head in a sack.

`I don't suppose Balbinus mentioned names?' `No.'

`Did he say anything about his escape from the ship?'

`The ship he was supposed to leave on? No.' `Can you tell me what he wanted with you?'

`He only wanted me to tell him how Milvia was. He's very fond of her. Actually, he wanted me to tell her he was home again, but I refused.'

`If he's so close to her, why didn't he come to your house?' `He was afraid people might be watching it.' `Does Milvia know he's here in Rome?'

`No. I don't want her to know. She's my wife, and I want to keep her out of all this. He doesn't understand.'

`Oh he wouldn't, Florius. He's been a villain all his life. His wife is as bad. They wanted Milvia to have a respectable place in society, but that doesn't mean they really think there is anything wrong with their own way of life.'

`Well it's made them rich enough!' snapped Florius.

`Oh quite. Do you know where I can find Balbinus?'

`No. He just appeared one day. I used to spend time in the Portico of Octavia; he found me there. So now I come here just to get away from him.'

`I'm very glad to hear your attitude.' There was no harm in putting pressure of our own on him. `It's wise, Florius. I expect you realise your position could be awkward. There are people who keep saying you may work with Balbinus in some kind of partnership.'

`That's nonsense!' His fists were clenched. I sympathised. Innocence can be hard to prove. `I answered all their questions before the trial happened. They assured me there would be no more trouble.'

`Of course… Going back to Balbinus being here now, is there a system set up for you to contact him?'

`No.' Florius was exasperated. `I don't want to contact him; I want to forget he exists! I told him not to bother me again.'

`All right. Calm down. Let me ask you something different. Was it Balbinus who gave you the glass water jug, the one all the fuss has been about?'

`Yes.'

`He approves of you then?'

`No, he thinks I'm nothing. It was a present for Milvia.'

`Did you tell her that?'

'No. I took the damned thing home, then I had to be vague about it. I don't want her to know he's here. I don't want him to give her gifts paid for from his illegal activities.'

`Pardon me, but you and Milvia seem to have a strange relationship. I've been trying to meet you at your house, but you're never there. You hate your wife's family, and you seem to have little to do with her, yet you stay married. Is this for purely financial reasons? I thought you had money of your own?'

`I do.'

`Are your gambling debts exorbitant?'

'Certainly not. I've been very successful.' He might support the Whites, but clearly he did not bet on them – unless he bet on them losing. But no one would give him long odds. `I'm just about to buy a training stable of my own.'

I whistled jealously. 'So what's with Milvia?'

He shrugged. Complete disinterest. Amazing.

I gave him a stern look. `Take my advice, young man!' He was about my own age, but I was streets ahead of him in experience. `Either get a divorce, or pay some attention to your wife. Be businesslike. A racing trainer wants to impress the punters. You can't afford to have whiffs of scandal sullying your name. People you depend on will just laugh at you.,'

Forgetting that people would know he had a father-in-law who was a condemned extortionist and murderer, Florius fell for the domestic threat. `Milvia wouldn't.

`She's a woman; of course she would. She's a pretty girl who's very lonely. She's just waiting for a handsome piece of trouble to walk in and smile at her.'

`Who are you talking about?' It would have been tough talk, had he not been less worked up than a scallop basking open on a sandbank. Pardon me; scallops lead lives of vivacious incident compared with Florius.

`It's hypothetical.' I was terse. `Let's stick with your father-in-law. It sounds to me as if you have a very strong interest in helping the officials discover him. To start with, you can assist me. I was enquiring into the glassware. It is stolen property -' Florius groaned. He was a man in a nightmare. Everything he heard about the Balbinus family including my instructions about his wife – made him more anxious. `I don't suppose Balbinus made up a story about where he got it from?'

`He didn't have to make it up,' said Florius, sounding surprised. `I was with him at the time.'

`How come?'

`He kept insisting he wanted to send a present to my wife. He made me go with him to buy something.'

Taking a hostile witness to a receiver's lockup sounded strangely careless for a king of crime. I was amazed. `Balbinus bought his gift? Where from?'

`A place in the Saepta Julia.'

It was still raining, but the Saepta lies right alongside the Pantheon. I dragged Florius across the street and into the covered market. I made him show me the booth where the jug had been purchased. Almost as soon as we reached it, the eager proprietor hurried out to greet us, clearly hoping his previous customer had come back for more. When I stepped into view, the atmosphere cooled rapidly.

I told Florius to go. He already had a jaded view of life. I didn't want him more upset. And I did not want, any strangers present when I spoke my mind about the glass to its slimy, seditious retailer. All our efforts to follow up the Syrian water jug had been a waste of time. It had no bearing on the Balbinus case. The `stolen' glass had never been lost. All I was pursuing here was a sleazy compensation fraud – one to which I was myself inextricably linked.

`Hello, Marcus,' beamed the dealer, utterly unabashed as usual. I answered in my blackest tone, `Hello, Pa.'

`That crown of yours was a gorgeous bit of stuff. I can make you

a fortune if you want to sell. I had one customer who was interested -'

`Who actually bought it, you mean?'

`I told him Alexander the Great had worn it once.'

`Funnily enough, that's one of the ludicrous stories the original salesman tried out on me. You're all the same. Though not all of you steal from your own sons and go in for blatant fraud!' `Don't be unkind.'

`Don't make me livid. You bastard, you've got some explaining to do.'

Frankly, now I knew the `loss' of the glass was just another example of my father on the fiddle, I did not want to hear any more. 'Ah Marcus, settle down – '

`Stop warbling. Just describe the man who came here with the limp lettuce leaf who was just with me – the man who bought the glass water jug.'

`Balbinus Pius,' answered Pa. `You know that thug?' `Everyone knows him.'

`Do you know he's an exile case?' `I heard so.'

`Why didn't you report seeing him?'

`He was buying; I don't throw trade away. I knew someone would be on to him eventually. That great po-faced lump of a friend of yours, presumably… Come in for a drink,' invited my father cheerily. Instead I left.