'We parted company in Gaul-'
'I shall want to know,' I growled, 'in which town, which district of the town and which bath house you were both destroying when you did him in!'
'Oh don't say that! You've got it all wrong, Falco. Cotta is not dead.'
'I do hope not. I shall be very annoyed if you deprive me of the pleasure of killing him. So where did he go?'
'I've no idea.'
'Back to Rome?'
'Could be.'
'He was coming to Britain with you.'
'He may have been.'
'Why did you part? Surely not a falling out?'
'Oh no, not us.'
'Of course not he's family! Don't you want to know,' I asked, 'why I thought you might have finished him off?'
Gloccus knew that.
I told him anyway. 'We found Stephanus.'
'Who would that be?'
He was sitting on a stool with his feet tucked under it. I lashed out. I hooked my right foot under, kicking out his legs. Aelianus grabbed him by the shoulders lest he fall. I pointed to the builder's feet. Gloccus wore worn but well-kept boots, with hob-nailed soles. They had three broad thongs across the arch of the foot, crossed straps around the heel and a couple more wide straps going up the ankle. These thongs were black; the one that had been repaired was narrower, with tight new brown stitching.
'Stephanus,' I announced clearly, 'was the last owner of these boots. He was well dead when I saw him. Word is, he went to work angry because he thought you had diddled his wages.'
'Yes, he was a bit put out that day… But I never killed him,' Gloccus insisted. 'That was Cotta.'
'And what will Cotta say? 'jeered Aelianus. He leaned on the man's shoulder heavily. ''Gloccus did it!' I suppose?'
Gloccus returned the fearless gaze of a man who has had to face sticky questions many, many times before. We would not find it easy to break him. Too many furious householders had tackled him, all determined not to be put off again. Too many customers had screamed their frustration when his labourers failed to turn up yet again, or mould grew in the wall flues, or the plunge bath was lined finally after months of delay- but in the wrong colour.
Maybe he had even had to face interrogation by the vi giles
Nothing was new to him. He answered everything in that infuriating way denying nothing, promising all, yet never coming good. All my fury about the bath house returned. I hated him. I hated him for the weeks of bad feeling we had endured, for the waste of money, for Helena's disappointment and stress. That was even before I remembered the scene when Pa and I set to with picks and unearthed that hideous corpse.
I said I was arresting him. Gloccus would be tried. He would go to the arena beasts. There was an amphitheatre in Londinium; Hades, there was even an arena here. Lions and tigers were in short supply but Britain had wolves, bulls and Caledonian bears… First I would make him tell me where to find Cotta. If that required torture, I would personally set light to the tapers and tighten the screws.
Maybe I laid it on too thick. He jumped up suddenly. Justinus and Larius were blocking his escape route to the street. He turned to make a run for it through the back exit. He barged Aelianus. Aelianus knocked against the corner table. The Cupid statue clanged against the wall. There was a loud retort. The bow twanged. Gloccus was shot by the great iron nail, straight through the throat.
LVII
it was a freak accident. It killed him. Not instantly. He suffered. Not enough for me, yet too much for the humane to find bearable. I sent the lads off. I stayed.
There was no point trying to ask again whether it was him or Cotta who had killed Stephanus. Even if he had been able to speak, he would not have told me. If he had said anything, I would never have been sure I could believe it. To finish the business, to draw the requisite line in the sand, I waited there until he croaked.
All right. In the circumstances croaked is the wrong word. I can still hear Gloccus in his dying moments. I mention it purely to give comfort to those of you who have found raw sewage backing up a waste pipe in your new caldarium, three days after your contractors vanished off the site.
I was in a dark hole where life was brutal. The Rainbow Trout stayed open, whoever might be dying on their filthy floor. Customers did move aside to give me light and air as I crouched beside Gloccus. Someone even handed me a drink during the ghastly vigil. When Gloccus died, they just towed the body out through the back exit.
Once he had gone, I felt no more cheerful. At least we avoided formalities. In Britain you don't hear the vi giles whistle, then find yourself stuck with hours of questions all implying you are guilty of some crime. Given how I felt about Gloccus, his end lay lightly on my conscience. It was fitting. Best not to think that the arrow could have struck down one of us and we too would have been dumped in a narrow alley for the wild dogs. But the sense of unfinished business crippled me.
As I made to leave, Timagenes the landscape gardener came in with Rectus the engineer. They must be regular drinking pals. In shock, perhaps, I blurted out what had happened. Rectus took a deep interest and decided he would haggle with the landlord to acquire the fart-arse Cupid. Its arm dropped off while he inspected it, but Rectus reckoned he could fix that.
They too bought me a drink. It helped my toothache, which had started up again.
'What are you two doing here? If you've come to watch the dancer '
'Not us.' Rectus grimaced. 'We came here on purpose to avoid all that.' Quiet types, unimpressed by the twirling of elderly pulchritude. Still, Rectus was a man who noticed things. He knew what was going on.
'So where is she appearing?'
'At the Nemesis.'
That sounded like a place where any accidents would be neatly planned by Fate.
Rectus and Timagenes gave me directions. Starting to feel lightheaded, I roamed off alone. Summer evenings in southern Britain can be pleasant enough (by their standards). If this had been a port there would have been noise and action, but Noviomagus lay slightly inland. It was partly surrounded by a river, nothing significant, not enough to encourage nightlife or any life that would satisfy Rome. The town was only half developed, still with many empty plots lining the silent streets. Where there were houses, they displayed no lights. I found my way purely by luck.
This new dive lurked by the Calleva Gate, which was on the western edge of town. It was the approach road from the palace handiest for the site workers. I found the venue by the soft glow of lamps shining from the open doorway and the loud hum of men's voices. It was the only place in Novio that night with any real hint of activity. I was sure this was the right location, next door lay a darkened lock-up, where a large signboard showed a human tooth. Gaius had mentioned the adjacent tooth-puller. Had he been open for business, I would have rushed in, demanding that the mouth-mangier relieve my pain. Like everywhere else except the bar, it was closed for the night.
As I approached, I saw a tall woman, her body and head decently shrouded in a Roman matron's stole. She paused briefly outside, then made herself go in boldly. She was no mystery to me: Helena. I called her; she never heard me; I rushed after her.
Indoors was pandemonium. Helena could be determined, but she hated noisy crowds. She had stopped, nervous. I fought my way to her, breaking into my best grin.
'You wicked piece! Is this how you spend your evenings? I never had you for a barfly-'
'It's you! Thank goodness.' I do like grateful women. 'Marcus, we have to find Hyspale -'
