lamp. It looked like a gift. Maybe somebody was fond of him. It wasn't me.
`Do you want to be taken off the enquiry, Falco?' He knew this had thrown me. `Are you prepared to tell Titus you're ditching it?' This was a vicious man. Sympathetic staff management was not in his armoury.
`I can't afford that. I need his goodwill. I came to see you because I hoped you might be able to mediate.'
Rubella looked at me as though I was a cockroach crawling up his favourite stool. `Mediate?'
`Sorry. Did I slip into a rare Etruscan dialect? Try arbitrate.' `You're asking me to calm Petronius Longus down?' `Subtle.'
`Fly off a crag, Falco.'
`No use?'
`I value life too dearly.'
`You won't try.'
`He's your old tentmate.' '
`I don't find him in a nostalgic mood, unfortunately. Well it seems I'll be acting alone.' That was what I had wanted, though not this way. I told Rubella what I had learned from Lalage; he
thanked me, in his dry manner, for handing him the task of telling Petro how Nonnius Albius had played with him. `Rubella, since Petronius won't be using my valuable talents, I'm available to take instructions directly from you.'
`I like a man who co-operates. Well now, what nugget can I find for you? Petronius is in charge of finding Balbinus.'
`I can help with that.'
`No. I don't want your paths crossing until your feud is worked out.'
`I'll keep out of his way.'
`Yes.' Rubella gave me his slow, untrustworthy smile. `That's best.' He meant, he was making sure of it. `As I said, Petronius is looking for the escapee. What I'd like you to take on is tracing the goods stolen from the Saepta and the Emporium.' Before I could protest at this menial role, he added smoothly, `Following up the raids may be another way to find a trail to Balbinus. Besides, you have connections in the fine-art world. You seem ideal for this job – much better than anyone on my own staff.'
Always a sucker for personal flattery, I heard myself agree to it. `Do I get men to assist?'
Rubella flattened the stubs of his close haircut with one hand; it must have felt like abrading his palm with pumice stone. `I don't see that you'll need any initially. If you are on to something, come straight to me for backup.'
I had heard that before. I knew I would be searching for the stolen goods on my own. If I found them, I would be a solitary hero timidly approaching whichever giant was hoarding them and asking if he could please hand them over and explain himself… I started planning further visits for exercise at my local gymnasium.
I was ready to leave when the tribune raised his chin more than usual. `Do I take it that you are still pursuing the request to identify corrupt officers?'
`Certainly. I'm looking all the time.'
`That's interesting. You report to me on that, I think.'
`What are you getting at?'
'Linus was an unfortunate loss. I've been at the funeral; I noticed you didn't go to it…' I let that ride. `I've been waiting,' said Rubella, with an insinuating sneer, `for you to tell me that there must be a maggot in the Fourth Cohort's enquiry team.'
I managed to keep my voice quiet, though I may have flushed. `I thought you suspected a maggot all along. I thought that was why Titus brought me in!' We clashed eye to eye. Neither achieved supremacy. The sooner I stopped working with Marcus Rubella, the happier I would be. `Petronius Longus will be reporting on the traitor who betrayed Linus when we have discovered who it is.'
`You told him there was a traitor?'
Not even I as Petro's close friend could pretend that Petro had been aware of it. `It seemed best for me to warn him that he needs to be careful whom he trusts, so I did discuss the subject with him last night before we parted company.'
`I suppose that's why you quarrelled?' The reason was between the two of us. Rubella glared. `He and I have also spoken.' Relief. Petro had faced the issue. Petro had even come clean with his tribune. I wondered whether he had asked for an interview of his own accord, or whether Rubella – who was undeniably sharp in his dour way – had realised there had been an error and had insisted they discuss what had gone wrong. `No thoughts on it?' Rubella tried.
I was not inclined to share them. `I'm standing back. Petronius Longus wants to sort it out internally.' I knew that without having any contact with him.
`I have agreed his approach. He'll review events surrounding the failed attempt to send Balbinus into exile. Then he'll interview the entire team individually.' For a moment I experienced the odd feeling that whatever Petro or I said to Rubella would make its way to the other. It was like conversing through an intermediary to save face. Maybe the damned tribune understood men after all. Maybe he could arbitrate.
`Keep me informed,' he concluded, as if confirming it.
Then the hypocrite wished me luck (hoping I would fall flat on my face of course) and I took myself off to apply my special gifts to the world of stolen luxuries.
Rubella had given me the lists of stolen property. I had a quick glance at the endless details of six-foot-high Etruscan terracotta stands and bowls, ancient Athenian red-figure, gilt and jewellery, porphyry and ivory. Then, to deal with two commissions at once, I started with the piece I knew: Papa's glass jug.
There was one character involved in this saga whom nobody else seemed to be considering. So I pulled my cloak around my shoulders and decided to meet Florius. I had to find him first.
LIV
MY BROTHER-IN-LAW Famia, Maia's treasure, prided himself on being a man with contacts. It was rubbish. Famia's contacts were one-legged jockeys and liniment-sellers who drank too much. He was a vet, working for the Greens. Their pathetic choice of horse doctor may account for the fact that as a chariot team they stink.
Famia was no stranger to flagons of non-vintage grape juice himself. He had a florid face with puffy eyes. Maia fed him well and tried to keep him neat, but it was hard work. He favoured a long tunic the colour of estuary mud, over which went a filthy leather apron and a belt from which hung curious tools, some of which he had devised himself. I had never seen him use a single one of them on a sick animal.
I found him sitting on a barrel at the stables, talking to some visitors. A lame horse waited patiently. It appeared to know it stood no chance of attention this week if it had to depend on Famia. Hung on the wall behind it were an impressive selection of harness rings and roundels, blacksmiths' hammers and pliers, and hippo shoes.
`What ho, Falco! I hear you slipped up with your fancy piece?'
`If that's a course reference to my impending fatherhood -'
`Don't be stupid. I presume Helena will be getting rid of it.'
`That so? I like to be kept up to date, Famia. Thanks for telling me!'
`Well, that's the impression Maia gave me anyway.' Realising he was likely to get thumped, he sniffed and backed off. Famia simply could not believe that a senator's daughter would carry an informer's child. I had long given up any attempt to hack a path through the dark undergrowth of his social prejudice. He wasn't worth trying to talk to sensibly.
The bastard had upset me. No use denying it.
It was too much to hope Famia knew Florius, but since Florius was a gambling man Famia must know someone else who did. Prising the information out of him gave me indigestion for the rest of the day. He enjoyed being difficult.
