'I have some ideas.'
That was all he would say, so I sprang the thrill for him: 'I'm not short of ideas myself. I bet the ship that Festus came home in discovered a sudden need to call at Paros, the Marble Isle.'
Pa chortled. He agreed with me. 'I wonder how our canny lad persuaded the captain to stop off for him?'
Gaius Baebius was squirming like a child left out of adult secrets. 'Are you talking about Festus? What would he want marble for?'
'Having something made, no doubt,' I replied offhandedly.
'Could have been anything,' Father murmured, smiling to himself. 'Copies of statues, for instance:'
My own thoughts exactly. Festus would reason, Why sell only one half-million Phidias, when a sculptor like Orontes could be making you quadruplets?
'Oh that reminds me!' uttered my sister's bright spark. 'The ballast was not all he had to pay duty on. I nearly forgot to mention-there was some sort of statue as well.'
LVI
We came up from Ostia by river. It was a cold, slow trip. We made a silent party, all lost in contemplating the mystery that Gaius Baebius had handed us.
It had stopped raining, but when we reached Rome the sky was full of unshed showers. The roads were glistening. Pools of water lapped over the pavements where careless stall-holders and frontagers had let cabbage leaves and old brick-ends block gullies. Roofs dripped occasionally. The air was damp with Tiber fog, through which our breath wreathed extra moisture trails.
As we disembarked, one of Petro's men who had been keeping an eye on the river barges came up. 'Falco!' he coughed. 'Petronius has us all looking for you.'
'I haven't skipped bail. I was with my surety-' My laughter died. 'Problem?'
'He wants a word. Says it's urgent.'
'Mars Ultor! What's up?'
'That other centurion who's connected with the stabbed legionary made himself known. The boss interviewed him once, but he deferred a final judgement while we checked the man's story.'
'Am I cleared, or did he come up with an alibi?'
'Don't they always? Better hear it from Petro. I'll run up to the guardhouse and say you're back.'
'Thanks. I'll be at Fountain Court. Any time Petronius wants me, I'll make myself available.'
'You sound like one of his women!' remarked the trooper mysteriously.
We met at Flora's. I found Petronius Longus sitting over his lunch while he talked to the waiter and one of his own men, Martinus. Martinus stepped outside when I turned up. Another meal, previously ordered by my courteous friend, appeared at once in front of me. Epimandos served us with great diffidence, a mark of respect for Petronius, presumably.
I noticed that alongside Petro his thick brown cloak lay folded neatly on a pile of gear that I recognised as the dead soldier's kit. I ignored it politely for the time being. Epimandos, who may also have recognised the stuff, walked around that part of our bench as if the watch captain had brought a witch's cauldron into the bar.
Petronius was as placid and unperturbed as usual. 'You look depressed, Falco. Do I blame the caupona broth?'
'Blame Festus,' I confessed. He laughed briefly.
I had known Petronius long enough to tell him the worst. He listened with his usual impassivity. He had a low opinion of people with artistic interests, so the Carus deceit came as no surprise. He had a low opinion of heroics too; hearing that my brother's demise might not have been so glorious as we had all been pretending left Petro equally unmoved.
'So when were the civic crowns ever awarded to the right men? I'd sooner your Festus snapped one up than some bugger who happened to know the faces in a war council.'
'I suppose you have a poor opinion of the Didius family anyway?'
'Oh, some of you can be all right!' he replied with a faint smile.
'Thanks for the recommendation!' We had covered enough formalities. I could broach business now. 'So what's with the centurion?'
Petronius stretched his long legs. 'Laurentius? Seems a straight sucker who happened to have palled up with an unlucky one. He came to the guardhouse, saying he had only just heard the news, what could I tell him about it, and could he take charge of Censorinus's effects?' Petro patted the kitbag in acknowledgement.
'You've arranged to meet him here? What's the idea?'
'Well, probably nothing. A vague hope of unnerving him with the scene of the crime,' Petro grinned. 'It might work if he did it-if not, you and I are poisoning ourselves with Epimandos's broth for nothing, as usual!'
'You don't think he did do it.' I had deduced this from his tone. 'What's his story?'
'They both had leave. Censorinus was supposed to be staying with a 'friend's family'. I haven't let on so far that I know you all. Laurentius is Roman-born, so he was at his own sister's house.'
'You checked that?'
'Of course. It matched.'
'And where was Laurentius when the murder occurred?'
'Laurentius, plus sister, plus sister's four children, were all staying with an aunt at Lavinium. They went for a month.'
'And you've now been to Lavinium?' I asked him gloomily.
'Would I fail you? I did my best, Falco! But everyone at Lavinium from the town magistrate downwards confirms the tale. The actual night in question was somebody's wedding, and I can't even make out that the centurion could have slipped away unnoticed and come back to Rome secretly. He was much in evidence at the festivities, and until halfway through the next morning he was lying in a kitchen, nicely drunk. The whole wedding party can vouch for him-except the bridegroom, whose mind was on other things. Laurentius didn't do it,' Petro confirmed in his steady voice. He picked his teeth with a fingernail. 'Actually, having met him, he is just not the type.'
'Who is?'
'Well:' Petronius graciously accepted that hard and fast theories, like instinctive judgements, only exist to be disproved. But I knew what he was saying. He had liked the centurion. That meant I would probably like him too- though his easily proven innocence unfortunately left me the much harder task of proving my own. I was starting to feel gloomy again-once more a suspect under threat.
I leaned my chin in my hands, staring at the filthy table. Stringy the cat jumped up onto it, but walked around my patch as if its greasy condition was too disgusting for an animal to tolerate. Petronius stroked him absently, while signalling Epimandos to bring more wine.
'Something will turn up, Falco.'
I refused to be consoled.
We were drinking in silence when Laurentius arrived.
As soon as he leaned on the outdoor counter I could see what Petro meant. He may well have killed in his professional capacity, but this was no casual murderer. He was about fifty, a calm, wry, sensible type with a small-featured, intelligent face and neat strong hands that were used to practical work. His uniform was well cared-for, though the bronze studs were not ostentatiously buffed. His manner was rational and quiet.
He looked for us then ordered a drink, in that order. He came over without fuss, politely bringing his flagon with him.
Then he gave me a second look, so I would notice it, and said, 'You must be related to Didius Festus?' People who had known my brother always spotted the likeness.
I acknowledged the relationship. Petronius introduced us both, without commenting on why I was there.
'I checked your story,' Petronius told the centurion. 'Regarding your whereabouts when the murder was
