I decided to stop feinting. 'And a pragmatic one. He has plenty to occupy his energies within his own borders. If he believes the Nabataeans are interested only in pursuing their own affairs peacefully, you can rely on it that he will elect, like his predecessors, to make gestures of friendship to Petra.'
'And were you sent to say that?' queried The Brother, rather haughtily. For once I saw him tighten his mouth. So the Petrans were afraid of Rome – which meant there were terms we might negotiate.
I lowered my voice. 'If and when Rome chooses to assimilate Nabataea within its Empire, then Nabataea will come to us. This is a fact. It is no treachery towards you, and perhaps not even an unkindness, to state it.' I was taking a lot upon myself here, even by my risky standards. 'I am a simple man, but it seems to me that time is not yet here. Even so, Nabataea might do well to plan ahead. You lie in an enclave between Judaea and Egypt, so the questions are not w ill yon join the Empire, but when and on what terms. At present these are within your own control. A partnership could be achieved both peacefully and at a time that suited you.'
'This is what your Emperor says to me?' queried The Brother. Since I had been told by Anacrites to avoid official contact, I had of course been given no instructions about speaking for Vespasian.
'You will realise,' I confessed frankly, 'I am a fairly low-grade messenger.' The hooded eyes darkened angrily. One lean hand played with the jewelled dagger at his belt. 'Don't be insulted,' I urged him quietly. 'The advantage to you is that a higher-powered embassy would necessitate action. Important men sent on delicate missions expect results; they have careers to found. The day you find a Roman senator measuring your civic monuments, you'll know he's trying to find a space for a statue of himself in a laurel wreath, looking like a conqueror. But any report I make can be filed away in a casket if Vespasian wants to preserve the status quo.'
'Assuming you make a report!' The Brother rejoined, going back to the fun of threatening me.
I was blunt. 'Best that I do. Pegging me out on top of one of your crow-step altars could rebound on you. The peremptory death of a Roman citizen – which I am, despite shabby appearances – might be a neat excuse for sending in a Roman army and annexing Nabataea immediately.'
The Brother smiled faintly at this idea. The death of an informer, travelling without official documents, was unlikely to justify world-scale political initiatives. Besides, Anacrites had told him I was coming. Apart from his personal hatred of me, in diplomatic terms that was probably meant as a warning to the Nabataeans: Here's one observer you know about; there may be others you fail to detect. Rome feels so confident, she's even spying on you openly.
My own fate was not a diplomatic issue. Anyone who took a dislike to my face could safely cast my corpse on their local rubbish tip. Accepting it, I smiled back peacefully.
At our feet the man who really was dead still waited for attention.
'Falco, what does this unknown body have to do with you?'
'Nothing. I found him. It was coincidence.'
'He brought you to me.'
Coincidence has a habit of landing me in tight situations. 'Neither the victim nor his killer knew me. I have merely reported the incident.'
'Why did you do that?' enquired The Brother sedately.
'I believe his killer should be traced and brought to justice.'
'There are laws in the desert!' he rebuked me, his deep voice soft.
'I was not suggesting otherwise. For that reason I alerted you.'
'You may have wished to remain silent!' He was still niggling about my role in Petra.
Reluctantly I conceded: 'It might have been more convenient! I'm sorry if you have been informed I'm a spy. To get this in perspective, let me tell you that your helpful informant is also the man who paid me to come here.'
The Brother smiled. More than ever he looked like somebody you wouldn't trust to hold your purse while you were undressing at the baths. 'Didius Falco, you have dangerous friends.'
'He and I were never friends.'
We had stood talking in the open outdoor area for much longer than could be customary. At first it must have appeared to the onlookers that we were speculating about the dead man. Now people in the crowd were growing restless as they sensed more going on.
This corpse had become a useful cover for The Brother. It could well be that at some future date the sensible Nabataeans would hand themselves over to Rome on negotiated terms – but there would be ample preparation. No disturbing rumour would be permitted to ruffle commerce prematurely. At this stage The Brother needed to hide from his people the fact that he had been talking with an official from Rome.
Suddenly my interview reached its end. The Brother told me that he would see me again tomorrow. He stared at the young priest for a moment, said something in Arabian, then instructed him in Greek to conduct me to my lodging. I understood that all too well: I had been released on parole. I was being watched. I would not be permitted to inspect places they wished to keep secret. I would not be allowed free talk with the populace. Meanwhile, a decision on whether or not to let me leave Petra would be taken without my knowledge and without leave to appeal.
From now on, the Chief Minister would always know where I was. All my movements and even my continued existence, were at his whim. In fact, it struck me he was the sort of unreliable potentate who could well send me off now with a smile and a promise of mint tea and sesame cakes tomorrow – then dispatch his executioner after me in half an hour's time.
I was escorted from the sanctuary. I had no idea what was intended for the corpse. I never did find out what happened to it.
But that would not be my last connection with the man I had found on the High Place of Sacrifice.
Chapter XI
Helena was waiting in our room. Expecting trouble, she had dressed her hair neatly in a decorated net, though she covered it demurely with a white stole when we entered. Discreet strands of beads were evenly hung on her fine bosom; hints of gold glinted at the tips of her ears. She was sitting very upright. Her hands were folded; her ankles crossed. She looked severe and expectant. There was a stillness about her that spoke of quality.
'This is Helena Justina,' I informed the young priest, as if he ought to treat her respectfully. 'I am Didius Falco, as you know. And you are?'
This time he could not ignore it. 'My name is Musa.'
'We have been adopted as personal guests of The Brother,' I stated, for Helena's benefit. Maybe I could impose duties of hospitality on the priest. (Maybe not.) 'Musa, at The Brother's request, is to look after us while we are in Petra.'
I could see that Helena understood.
Now we all knew everyone. All we had to do was communicate. 'How are we off for languages?' I asked, making it a matter of politeness. I was wondering how to shake Musa loose and drag Helena safely out of here. 'Helena is fluent in Greek; she used to kidnap her brothers' tutor. Musa speaks Greek, Arabic and I presume Aramaic. My Latin's low class but I can insult an Athenian, read the price-list in a Gallic inn or ask what's for breakfast of a Celt: Let's stick with Greek,' I offered gallantly, then switched to Latin, using an impenetrable street dialect. 'What's the news, beautiful?' I asked Helena, as if I were accosting her in an Aventine fish market. Even if Musa understood more Latin than he was letting on, this ought to fool him. The only problem was, a respectable young noblewoman born in a Capena Gate mansion might not understand me either.
I helped Helena unpack some olives we had bought earlier that day; it seemed like weeks ago.
Helena busied herself dividing salad into bowls. She replied to me off-handedly as if discussing dressed beans and chickpeas: 'When I came down from the High Place, I reported what had happened to a man who looked in authority who was standing outside the theatre – ' She peered at some strangely white cheeses.
'Ewe's milk,' I said cheerfully, in Greek. 'Or camel's!' I was not sure that was possible.
'People nearby must have been listening in,' Helena continued. 'I overheard speculation from a company of actors that the drowned man might belong to them, but I was so exhausted I just said they could contact you if they wanted more information. They seemed an odd lot; I don't know if we'll hear from them. The official collected
