laughed.
Probably Florius had never realised. He would not be the first clean-living, self-righteous equestrian whose portfolio, unbeknown to him, was bursting with legendary brothels and cover joints.
I shifted. It was agonising. I was yearning to escape. `When you got here, did you see Martinus, Sergius and the rest?'
`Martinus was hustling out some half-dead pickpocket an informant, I presume.'
`Igullius?'
`If you say so. I didn't see the others.' Petro's voice was clipped. `And if they had any sense they'd make damn sure they weren't near me to be seen.'
Tibullinus must have left the door on the catch. A draught had blown it ajar slightly. All noises had ceased in the entertainment room now, as though the night must be well over. The audience and performers had gone home. Well, they had slunk off somewhere more private anyway.
Nobody else had been brought to join us. Maybe that meant the others from the troop had found nothing of interest; maybe they had abandoned us. Typical of Martinus, Petro commented. I said nothing. In view of my presuming on his deputy's disloyalty, I was treading with care.
Tread was the wrong word. I could hardly move. Any attempt was torture. My flesh had swollen and my arms felt as though they would never work again. I tried various ways of manipulating my body, but there was only one that permitted any kind of relief. So, if only to help my bruised feelings, I let out a mighty belch.
Then a small female voice outside the door whimpered, `Uncle Marcus, is that you?'
I heard a sharp intake of breath from Petro. Keeping down hysteria as much as possible, I managed to sound like an uncle who had a pocket full of honeyed dates. `Tertulla! Goodness, you'll be my favourite niece for this. Tertulla, pick up one of those big torches. Make sure you don't touch the flaming part, then bring it in to us…'
`I don't want to play this game.'
`But come in and say hello to us,' Petronius said. `Anyway, we haven't told you yet what the game is.'
There was a pause that made me ache with irritation, then a squeak, then the door widened and in came a frightened little figure. She wore a dress that even her mother would disapprove of. She was dirty and exhausted, but she had the mournful air that told us she was terrified of being in trouble yet now wanted to go home. If we promised her a big enough bribe – for instance, protection against her distraught mother – Tertulla might be on our side.
LXII
PETRONIUS LONGUS HAD always possessed a special smile,
which he kept for certain situations when whatever he was planning did not require my presence. Now I learned that with this smile, subtly applied while talking quietly in that slow and friendly manner, Petronius could make a woman forget entirely that she did not want to co-operate. It was probably practice. He was, after all, the father of three little girls.
Somehow Petronius engaged Tertulla in the game of unwinding the chains that trussed him, then he and she together worked for a much longer time on the vicious cat's cradle that had been pinioning me.
He jerked my arms up and down. `Does this hurt?' 'Ow! Yes.'
`That's good,' he said. `You've still got some nerves left.'
The entertainment room was deserted. Its floral decor had suffered a pounding. Behind the large obscene statue of the peculiar group intertwining, we spotted a window. It led onto a roof, which gave onto the street. I had to admit that my arms were unlikely to take weight yet; the pain was excruciating as the blood came back. So it was Petro who carefully lowered himself outside, who prayed that the tiles would hold him, and then dropped to the ground. Tertulla needed no encouragement to trust herself to the open if this wonderful man would catch her. Now his fervent devotee, she was soon out of there and jumping into his arms. I had had to grab her dress to hold her back until Petronius was standing in place.
We had agreed it was time to be sensible. I waited until I saw Petronius hoist my niece in his arms and lope away. He would carry the child to safety, then come back with reinforcements – this time convincing the sober Rubella that the Sixth Cohort had no sensibilities we needed to respect. Left alone, I too would be sensible. I would just wait quietly out of sight.
As soon as he had gone I tossed that thought aside, and crossed to the doorway which would take me to Lalage's room.
It was all very quiet. I knocked gently, in case she was engaged in work of a sensitive nature, then I ventured in.
She was standing opposite, against a curtain. She appeared to be alone. Though she had not replied to my knocking, I was welcomed in with a deliciously courteous wave of one arm. The room was deeply scented with its usual perfumes. Lalage was wearing the bracelet I had mended. Her gown was of glowing golden silk, so fine it both covered and expressly described the magnificent womanhood beneath. Straight-backed and bejewelled, this fabulous creature had come a long way from the girl I had once known. I was angry and battered, but I warmed to her dangerous magic.
`Marcus Didius! Why do I feel that I should have expected you? Welcome to my bower.'
I paused, staring around. There could be no one behind the curtain. It was attached to a rod that would allow it to be drawn modestly to hide a bed in an alcove I had never seen before. Maybe it was her own bed. Even prostitutes have to sleep. Maybe once she lay flat just to dream, a prostitute of her calibre earned the luxury of privacy.
The curtain was now gathered up in a tasselled cord against the wall. Nobody was concealed there, as I said. It was not clear why Lalage continued standing there. But she did, erect as a javelin, with one slim hand catching on to the embroidered folds. Her fingers were buried so deeply in the material I could not see whether she was wearing rings.
I folded my arms. The air in this place was alive with danger of all kinds tonight. My eyes wandered to all the furniture, continuing until I was satisfied. I could see floor space beneath the bed in the niche, and also under the couch where she normally sat. Tables, stools, display shelves, all looked innocent. No windows. The ceiling was solid plaster, no rafters to crouch in. I searched the walls for doors; none visible. The frilled rose-coloured fittings were too flimsy to hide a fugitive.
Lalage smiled. `Done like a professional.' `We all have skills. I know how to use mine.' `Are you working tonight, Falco?'
`Afraid so.' I knew that tonight we were on equal terms. I permitted myself a rueful grin, which she took up with a quiet incline of her head. `Where is he?' I asked in a low voice.
`Not here. He fled.'
`Are you prepared to explain?'
`Do I need to?' Her voice was arch. `The big villain was so powerful he conquered and swept me aside. Balbinus took over the establishment, while I languished helplessly.'
I had to laugh. `I don't believe that!'
`Thank you.' Her eyes were bright though her sigh seemed weary. `You have good manners, Falco. In addition to a desirable body, attractive intelligence, and gorgeous eyes.'
`You're playing with me.'
`Oh we all have skills!'
`Where is he?' I asked again stubbornly.
`Gone to a place where he holes up. He's probably in disguise.
His hideaway is on the Aventine. I don't know where. I was trying to find out for you.'
`Not for me.'
