in the Circus Maximus; I knew where to find him then-somewhere among the two hundred thousand spectators who would be cheering Ferox on:
Famia, who liked to enjoy an occasion by making himself sick with excitement from the crack of dawn, tried to drag me out early, but if I spent all morning in the full glare of the stadium, I would be useless for anything. Once you have seen one opening procession winding into the arena, you can miss a few. What's another presiding magistrate with a smug expression leading the parade in his four-horse quadriga, when there are men to catch who murder priests, batter fathers of young families, and cut off the lives of unborn children before their parents have even had a chance to quarrel over what their names might be?
When I left my sister Maia's house, I took a detour by way of Galla's where luckily I found Larius.
'Excuse me, young sir, I want a hack artist!'
'Be quick then,' he grinned. 'We all have to go to the Circus to cheer a certain horse…'
'Spare me the honour! Look, do me a thumbnail sketch-'
'You modelling for a grotesque medallion on a Celtic drinking pot?'
'Not me.' I told him who. Then I told him why. Larius drew the portrait without another word.
The loss of the unborn is a private grief. To lighten the atmosphere I ragged him not to waste his money gambling on my horse. 'Don't worry,' agreed Larius frankly. 'We'll cheer yours-but the cash is on Ferox today!'
I walked to the Capena Gate. No one in the Camillus family was receiving visitors. I sent in my respects, with the distinct feeling the door porter would not deliver them.
I noticed a flowershop, so purchased a huge bunch of roses at an equally imposing cost.
'They came from Paestum!' wheezed the florist, excusing it.
'They would do!' I cried.
I sent in the roses for Helena. I knew very well that she would rather have had a flower I grew on my balcony, since she was a sentimentalist, but her mother looked like a woman who would appreciate the cost of a grand bouquet.
Helena must have been awake now but I was still refused admission. I left, with nothing but the memory of her white face yesterday.
•
Since nobody loved me I went to the races.
I arrived at noon; the athletics were on. Filling the outer vaults was the usual scene of deplorable commerce, a strange contrast to the delicacy of the paintings and gilt decoration which adorned the stucco and the stonework under the arcades. In the cookshops and liquor stalls the hot pies were lukewarm and greasy, and the cool drinks came in very small containers at twice the price you would pay outside. The loose women were plying for hire noisily, vying with the bookies' touts for spectators who were still trickling in.
Only I could attempt to snare a villain in the largest stadium in Rome. I entered by one of the gates on the Aventine side. I had the president's box on my far left above the starting gates, the glittering imperial balcony immediately opposite me against Palatine Hill, then the apsidal end with the triumphal exit away to my right. The dazzle off the first two tiers of marble seats was sizzling hot by then, and even in the lull at lunch-time I was met by a wall of sound.
In the old days, when men and women sat higgledy-piggledy together and the Circus Maximus was the best place to find a new love affair, I would have stood no chance of finding anyone without his seat number. Even now that the Augustan regulation had segregated people respectably, the only rows I could eliminate for certain were those allocated to women, boys with their tutors, or the priestly colleges. It was a fair bet Pertinax would not risk taking his place on the lower podium, where fellow senators would recognize him. And knowing what a snob he was, he would avoid the top gallery, which was frequented by the lowest orders and slaves. Even so, the Circus filled the whole valley between the Cattle Market Forum and the old Capena Gate; it could seat a quarter of a million, not to mention the hordes of auxiliary workers busily toing and froing on legitimate tasks, the aediles looking for bad behaviour in the crowd, the pickpockets and pimps keeping an eye out for the aediles, the perfume-sellers and garland girls and wine toters and nut merchants.
I did start to work along one block, scanning the crowds as I fought round the gangway which divided the first and second of the three tiers of seats. Staring up sideways soon made me dizzy, and the massed faces merged into one indistinguishable blur.
This was no way to find a bug in a sack of barley. I nipped down the next stairway back into the arcades, then passed among the booths and the knots of prostitutes, showing everyone the little plaque Larius had drawn for me. When I reached the business end of the stadium I found Famia, who introduced various other people to whom I also exhibited my sketch of Pertinax.
After that the only decent thing was to make a show of inspecting my brother-in-law's efforts to turn out my racehorse handsomely.
With his tail tied high and his ragged mane plaited, Little Sweetheart looked as good as he ever would, though still a disaster. Famia had found him a saddlecloth, though he would have to manage without the gold fringes and pearl-encrusted breastbands his rivals were tricked out in. To Famia's disgust, I insisted that even though he was bound to lose sensationally, if this was the only time in my life I could field my own racehorse, I would run the Sweetheart for the Blues; Famia made a stink, but I was adamant.
Ferox looked a million in his glossy mulberry coat; you could shave in his flanks. He was attracting plentiful attention as he and the Sweetheart waited side by side in the Cattle Market Forum; the buzz among the bookmakers was scintillating. Ferox would be running in the colours of the Marcellus-Pertinax faction, the Whites.
I acted up as an owner for a while, allowing the punters to jibe at me for the faith they assumed I placed in my gangling scruff, then Famia and I went off for lunch.
'You betting, Falco?'
'Just a flutter.'
Famia would think it bad form for an owner to back another horse, so I did not tell him Larius was putting fifty gold sesterces on Ferox for me: all my spare cash.
•
When we came back to the Circus they had started the horse races, though from our place on the card we had another hour to wait. I went to check that the Sweetheart was keeping Ferox calm, in order to safeguard my wager. While I was petting Ferox, I noticed a small, nervous, stuffed-vineleaf vendor hopping about: clearly a man with a gastric disturbance-or something significant to say. He said it to Famia, though they were looking at me. Money changed hands. The vineleaf tray skedaddled, then Famia came across.
'You owe me ten denarii.'
'See me tomorrow when I call in my bet!'
'Your man is in the second tier, on the Aventine side, near the judges' box; he's put himself level with the finishing line.'
'How can I get near him unobtrusively?' Famia cackled that with my well-known ugly visage it would be impossible. But he was useful: five minutes later I had slipped through one of the dark stalls at the starting gate end, and squeezed myself through the double doors.
Noise, heat, smells and colour assaulted me. I was in the arena, right down on the track. I had a bucket and a shovel. I waited until the riders passed, then wandered out across the sand, making a desultory scoop at the
