Frontinus had pulled out his note-tablet and was writing this down. I foresaw him encouraging Vespasian to restore the aqueduct. For the struggling treasury to find the enormous budget for an extension might take longer. Still, Julius Frontinus was only in his mid-forties. He was the type who would mull over a suggestion like this for years. In a, few decades' time, I could well find myself, smiling as the Daily Gazette saluted an Anio Novus extension, when I would remember standing here above Nero's lake while an engineer's assistant earnestly propounded his theories…
This had nothing to do with the murders. I quietly mentioned that.
I sensed that the dogged Bolanus had another of his long educational talks ready. I shifted unhappily, looking at the sky. It was blue, with the slight chilly tinge of approaching autumn. Far away, buzzards or kestrels wheeled. Bolanus, who had a weak eye, had been suffering from the. glare and the breeze. Even so he had removed his hat, in case the wind lifted it and spun it over the dam and down the valley.
`I've been thinking a lot about the Anio Novus.' Bolanus liked to drop in a vital point, then leave his audience tantalised.
`Oh?' I said, in the cool tone of a man who knew he was being sneakily played with.
`You asked me to consider how human hands and such could enter the water supply. From where they end up in Rome, I decided they must come via the four major systems that start above Tibur. That's the Claudia, Marcia, Anio Vetus and Anio Novus aqueducts. The Anio Vetus, the oldest of all, and the Marcia both, run mainly underground. Another point: the Marca and Claudia are both fed by several springs, connected to the aqueducts by tunnels.' But the Anio Vetus and Anio Novus are drawn direct from the river whose name they both bear.'
We gazed down at the damned river running far below us.
`Relevant? 'prodded Frontinus.
`I think so.'`
`You always believed the remains were first thrown into the river,' I said. `You suggested that when we first talked.' `Good memory!' He beamed.
A bad thought struck. `You think they are thrown in here!'
We glanced at one another, then once more looked down over the dam. I immediately saw problems; anyone up here on the bridge tossing things off the top would be visible for miles. The dam had a vertical face on its reservoir side, but a long sloped bank on the river side.' Hurling limbs far enough to ensure they landed in the Anio would be impossible, and for the killer entailed a risk of throwing himself off with them. It would be particularly dangerous if there was more wind; even today, when the valley itself was full of birdsong and wild flowers, warm, humid and still, up here constant blusters threatened to make us lose our step.
I explained my doubts. `Picturesque thought – but think again!'
Bolanus shrugged. `Then you have to look at the river between here and the Via Valeria.'
All I wanted was to walk very carefully back to the firm ground at the end of the dam.
FIFTY
My companions eagerly consigned to me the task of surveying the relevant estates. We lodged, that night at Sublaqueum, and I spent the rest of the afternoon ascertaining that most of the cultivated land at the head of the valley and on the lower slopes of Mount Livata now formed part of the huge Imperial estate. Any Emperor planning a pleasure park is wise to ensure that he will only be overlooked by the flatterers he brings along to help him enjoy his isolation. Gossipmongers are never off duty.
Now the villa had passed to Vespasian. It lay almost deserted and could well remain so. Our new ruler and his two, sons had a distaste for the flamboyant trappings of power, which Nero revelled in. When they wanted to visit the Sabine Hills – as they frequently did, in fact – they went north: to Reate, Vespasian's birthplace, where the family owned several estates and spent their summers in old-fashioned peace and quiet, like clean-living country
boys.
None of the Imperial slaves who nowadays tended Nero's spread, or the ordinary folk in its associated village, would be able to afford to make a habit of visits to Rome for entertainment. We still needed to look for a private villa, owned by people with the leisure, the money, and the social inclination to honour the major festivals year after; year.
Next day we returned as far as the Via Valeria, looking out for that kind of estate. Frontinus and Bolanus went ahead to install us in overnight lodgings again, while I stopped to make enquiries, at one private villa that looked sufficiently substantial.
`Over to you. I did my share at Tibur,' Frontinus cheerfully informed me.
`Yes, sir. What about you, Bolanus? Want to help out at an interview?'
`No, Falco. I just contribute technical expertise.' Thanks, friends.
This villa was owned by the Fulvius brothers, a jolly trio of bachelors. They were all in their forties, and happily admitted they liked going to Rome for the Games. I asked if their driver returned here after delivering them: oh no, because the Fulvii did not bother with an extra hand; they took it in turns to drive themselves. They were fat, curious, bursting with funny stories, and quite uninhibited. I quickly acquired a picture of a riotous group, merry on wine and squabbling gently, trundling up to Rome and back when the fancy took. They said they went often, though were not slavish attenders and sometimes missed a festival. Although none of them had ever married, they seemed too fun-loving (and too much in each other's pockets) for one of them to be a secret, brooding murderer of the kind I sought.
`By the way – did you happen to go to the city for the last Ludi Romani?'
`Actually, no.' Well, that absolved them from the murder of Asinia.
When I pressed them, it turned out they had probably not been to Rome since the Apolline Games, which take place in July – and they confessed rather shamefacedly they meant the July of the previous year. So much for these men off the world. The jolly bachelors were positively home-loving.
In the end I told the Fulvii the reason for my enquiries, and asked whether they knew of any of their neighbours who habitually travelled to Rome for festivals. Did they, for instance, on their own noisy journeys ever pass another local vehicle on the same errand? They said no. They glanced at one, another afterwards, and looked as if they might be sharing a private joke of some kind, but I took them at their word.
That could be a mistake. The Anio flowed right through their estate. They let me look round. Their grounds were full of huts, stables, animal pens, storage barns, and even a gazebo in the form of a mock-temple on the sunny riverbank, in any of which abducted females might be held, tortured, killed and hacked to bits. I was well aware that the Fulvii might look like happy, open-natured souls, yet could well harbour dark jealousies and, indulge long-held hates through vicious acts.
I was a Roman. I had a deep-seated suspicion of anyone who chose to live in the countryside.
Moving on down the valley, I reached another private entrance, not far above where water was diverted from the river into the conduit of the Anio Novus. This estate looked subtly different from the flourishing groves of the Fulvii. There were olive trees, though as on so many hillsides these looked as if nobody owned them; it rarely, means they are abandoned in fact. The owner here probably turned up to harvest them. Still, the trees had a tangled, unpruned look which would have made my olive-growing friends in Baetica eye them askance: Too much vegetation grew around the trunks. Tame rabbits sat and looked at me instead, of scampering for their lives.
I nearly rode on, but duty compelled me: to turn off and investigate. I followed an overgrown track, buried in a tangled wood. Before I had gone any distance I met a man. He was standing by a pile of logs at the side of the track, doing nothing in particular. If he had had an, axe or any other sharp tool with him I might have felt nervous, but he was just looking as if he hoped nobody would come along and ask him to do any work. Since this, was private land I had to stop.'
`Hello!'
His answer was a fathomless country stare. He was a slave, probably: tanned and sturdy from outdoor work. Hair unstyled, several teeth missing, coarse skin. Age indeterminate, but fifty maybe. Neither over-tall nor
