`Oh we can come to some arrangement,' murmured Pa in his airy fashion. He knew Helena would be so upset when she heard this that I would probably end up searching for him for free. He also knew that finding stolen art was my speciality, so he had come to the best man. Other people would be after my services too. Pa had got to me first, before anyone else who had suffered losses today – anyone who might actually pay me – could claim my time.
I downed my wine, then shoved the bill across the table pointedly. If he was paying my expenses he could start with the one for entertaining him. `I'm off then.'
`Beginning already?' Pa had the grace to look impressed. `Do you know where to look?'
`That's right.' Well, I knew how to lie well.
In fact, I had only one plan at this stage. Petronius Longus had been hauled to the Palace by the imperial guard. He was in grave trouble. After all the times he had criticised the way I carried out my own work, I could stand watching him squirm. I was off to see how he tried to convince the Emperor that he knew what he was doing.
Besides, Petro was my oldest friend. There was a risk he was about to lose his job for today's action. If I could, I would help him bluff his way out of that.
X
I MARCHED up the Clivus Victoriae to the old Palace of Tiberius,where the bureaucrats still had their offices.
Petronius Longus was sitting on a bench in a corridor. He had been there long enough to start looking worried. His face was pale. He was leaning forwards with his knees apart, staring at his upturned palms. I saw him twitch as I arrived. He pretended to look suave. I thumped his shoulder and berthed alongside.
`Lucius Petronius – the man who brought Rome to a standstill!'
`Don't harass me, Falco!'
`Don't fidget. I'm here to back you up.' `I can manage.'
`Well you can manage to get yourself into a fix.' `I don't need a nursemaid.'
`No, you need a friend at court.' He knew I was right. `You've been there, I take it, Falco? What's going on now?' `Fusculus is keeping the crowds penned out. Porcius is distributing riot shields. I didn't see Martinus. Pa told me the gist of last night's disaster.'
'He lost that glass of yours, he says.' Petro knew my father well enough to allow for possible deception. I was unperturbed by the insult to the family name. It had never stood high, least of all in respect of Papa. `They were a sharp crowd of thieves, Falco. I don't like the smell of it. Geminus lost his glass; we know that was quality. Calpurnius was deprived of a huge haul of porphyry that also only came in yesterday. Someone else lost ivory.' I wondered what, if anything, was special about goods landed yesterday. `Martinus is collecting full details, but we can see the losses are serious.'
'I thought the Emporium was guarded at night?'
Petro growled in the back of his throat. `All hit over the head and laid but in a line like dead sardines, tied up and gagged.'
`Neat. Too neat?' I queried thoughtfully. `An inside job, maybe?'
`Possibly.' Petro had thought of. it, `I'll work some of the guards over. When I get the chance.'
`If!' I grinned, reminding him that his position was about to be tested. `This could be your big chance to meet the Emperor.'
`I've met him.' Petro was terse. `I met him with you, Falco! On the famous occasion when he offered you a fortune to keep quiet about a scandal but you opted for the high moral ground and threw away the cash.'
`Sorry.' I had not forgotten refusing the fortune, merely that Petro had been there watching me play the fool. I had made the mistake of uncovering a plot that impinged too- closely on the imperial family; struck by an urgent need to protect his son Domitian, Vespasian had rashly promised me advancement, a ploy he now regretted, probably. It had been pointless in any case, given that I had turned the offer down in a high-handed manner. `Nobody buys my silence.'
`Hah!' Petronius knew the only loser had been myself.
Suddenly a chamberlain slid out through a curtain and gave Petro the nod.
I stood up too. `I'm with him.' The official had recognised me. If he thought I was trouble he was too well groomed to let it show.
`Didius Falco,' he greeted me smoothly. The two Praetorian Guards flanking the doorway gave no sign of hearing what was said, but I knew they would now let me pass inside without tying my arms in a Hercules knot. I had no wish to approach anyone of regal status looking flustered after a fight. I knew, even though we were not in the right part of the Palace, that we were about to meet regality: hence the Praetorians.
Petronius had shot towards the curtain the minute he was signalled. Before he could object I stepped past him and entered the audience chamber. He grabbed the curtain and bounced in after me.
Petronius would have been expecting an office, one full of people perhaps, but all with the kind of status he felt free to ignore. I heard him utter something, then cut it off short. It was a lofty room full of scribes. But there was one other, very particular occupant. Petro choked. Even though I had warned him, he had not seriously expected that he would meet the Emperor.
Vespasian was reclining on a reading couch, glancing over a note tablet. His craggy face was unmistakable; he had certainly not bothered to demand a flattering portrait when he approved the new coin issue.
There was no pomp. The couch was against a side wall, as if it had been placed there for casual visitors. The whole impression was that the lord of the Empire had just dropped in and made himself at home in someone else's cubbyhole.
Centrally, there was the long table, covered with scrolls and piles of tablets. Secretaries were stationed there with their styli. They were scratching away very fast, but the speed was unforced. A young slave, smart though not particularly handsome, stood quietly near the Emperor, a napkin over one arm. In fact Vespasian was pouring his own drink – half a cup, just to wet his whistle. He left it on a bronze pedestal so that he was free to stare at us.
He was a big, easy-going, competent character. An organiser. he had the direct glance of a blacksmith, with the country-born arrogance that reminded me of my grandfather: He knew what he believed. He said what he thought. People acted on what he said. They did it nowadays because they had to, but people had been jumping when Vespasian barked since long before he was Emperor.
He had held all the civil magistracies and the highest military ranks. Every post in his career through the cursus honorem had been screwed out on merit and in the face of Establishment prejudice. Now he held the final post available. The Establishment was still prejudiced against him, but he need not care.
He wore the purple; it was his entitlement. With it he had neither wreath nor jewels. For him the best adornment of rank was acute native intelligence. That was aimed at us. An uncomfortable experience.
`Falco! What are you doing here, and who's your big bodyguard?'
I walked forwards. `I act as his guardian actually, sir.' Petronius, annoyed at my joke, followed me; I shoved him to the front. `This is my friend Lucius Petronius Longus, whom you want to see: the enquiry captain of the Aventine sector in the Fourth Cohort of the vigiles. He's one of the best – but he's also the happy fellow who shut the Emporium today.'
Vespasian Augustus stared at Petronius. Petronius looked selfconscious, then thought better of it and stared boldly at the floor. It was marble; a tasteful acreage in black and white. The tesselations had been laid by a sharp tiler.
`That took nerve!' commented the Emperor. Petronius looked up again, and grinned slightly. He would be all right. I folded my arms and beamed at him like a proud trainer showing off his best gladiator.
`I apologise for any inconvenience, sir.' Petronius always sounded good. He had a mellow voice and a calm delivery. He gave a trustworthy impression. That explained his success with civic selection boards,, and with women.
