`I'll keep my eyes open.'
`Thanks, Anacrites.' I managed to say it without bile rising.
To my relief he moved off, though he was heading on a course that would bring him to the Street of the Three Altars and Petro. Well, Petro could handle Anacrites.
At least I thought he could. However, unknown to me, my stalwart partner was no longer there.
It was a dreary night. It seemed more tedious than usual. At regular intervals the applause rippled skywards from the, Circus. Bursts of ear-splitting music from the cornu bands disturbed my weary reverie: A slow trickle of exiting ticket holders began early.
The crowds started to disperse more quickly than, they had after the Ludi Romani, as if people sensed the approaching chill of autumn evenings, though in fact a warm j and sunny day was, ending in a perfect late summer night. I served my watch beneath swarms of bats, and then under the stars.
Enjoying the night too, the crowds slowed up again. Men suddenly discovered a need for one more drink in a bar. Women lingered, chatting, though eventually they flung their bright stoles around them – for effect rather than necessity on this balmy night- shook out the creases from their clinging skirts and strolled off amid plenty of chaperons. The
Augustales were very restrained Games. Too respectable for the hardcore rabble. Too staid for the keenest race-goers. Lacking the pagan edge of longer-established series whose histories of spilt blood went back for centuries. Honouring a man-made, self-made god lacked the gut attraction of the old Games that had been inaugurated under more ancient, more mysterious deities.
Strange rites had been enacted, however, for instance a visit to the, second-day events by five pistachio- chewing, mulsum-swigging, parasol-wielding, late-staying, man-baiting members of the Braidmakers' Old Girls. Their leader was the loudest, crudest, brightest, boldest wench that I had seen all night. She was, of course, Marina: the fast fickle mother of my favourite niece.
`Oh, Juno – it's Falco, girls!' How could anyone so beautiful in repose become so raucous when she spoke? Easily, in Marina's' case. Just as well, perhaps. Armed with
breeding and refinement too, she would have been desperately dangerous. `Let's chase him around the Temple and see who- can rip his tunic off'
'Hello, Marina.' I sounded pompous already.
`Hello, you bastard. Can you lend me some money?'
'Not tonight.' Lending to Marina could only be viewed as a form of civic charity; though nobody put up a-statue to you in return for doing it 'Where are you off to?' At least she seemed sober. I was wondering how to get rid of her.
'Home, dearie. Where else? Marcia likes me to sing her a lullaby.'
'No, she doesn't.'
`That's right; – she hates it. I just like to remind the little madam who's in charge.'
I refrained from saying that her mother had stopped out so late, little Marcia would be getting up for a new day soon.
The other retired braid-knotters were bobbing around my brother's girlfriend like a flock of vibrant, slightly uncoordinated birds. They went in for giggles and whispered bad language. They were worse than the marauding schoolgirls who normally patrolled in packs looking for boys to harass. These women had learned how to wield their power, and in the long process had gained nothing but contempt for men. No shred of romance was allowed to, besmirch; their brashness. They wanted to terrify me The gods only knew what they would do if they achieved it.,
`I've been looking for you ' I said.
`Oooh!' Marina's escort set up a round of mock-shocked twittering. I groaned.
`You dirty dog!'
`Settle down; this is business -'
`Ooh-hoof They were off again.
`Rome's finest,' I commented; `As highly commendable as Cornelia, the mother of the Gracchi!'
'Oh, don't go on -' Marina had a short attention span, even for making life a misery for a man.`What do you want, Falco?'
'A question. That night we met in the Forum -'
`When that weird girl threw up over the Vestals?'
`I thought she was a friend of yours?'
`Never met her before. Never seen her since. No idea who she was. She was feeling a bit demoralised so I thought I ought to see her home.' Ah well. Clearly the Braidmakers were a loving sisterhood.
'Well, never mind her – it's not the girl I'm curious about. Who was the man in the carriage that went by, the man you were shouting at??
'What carriage?' asked- Marina,; totally, unaware she had done anything of the sort. Her current friends reduced their bad behaviour to shuffling about impatiently. Bored with me, they were already looking around for somebody different to tyrannise. `I never shout at men in the Forum; don't insult me, Marcus Didius.'
I described how the vehicle had appeared out of the darkness, and how I had, overheard what sounded like a ribald exchange with somebody Marina thought she knew.
Marina thought about it.
I stood quietly, allowing her to pilot her thoughts woozily around the very small piece of human tissue that served her, as a brain. I had learned from experience that this process could take time. I also knew it would probably not be worth it, but I was the kind of dumb professional who always had to try.
`What do you mean by a carriage?' she demanded.
`Things on wheels; horse in front; person or persons can travel long distances in huge discomfort at unbearable expense
`Gods, you do like to mess around, Marcus! I must have thought it was the one I see sometimes.'
`Don't you remember? Are you guessing now?'
`Oh, I'm sure I will remember if I think about it long enough – to tell you the, truth, I was somewhat incapable of noticing much that night.'
`Well, that's frank.'
Marina was still slowly pondering. A neat frown creased her alabaster forehead; some men might have wanted to smooth away the creases, but I was on the verge of imprinting them there with a clenched fist. `It can't have been him, or he would have stopped; we have a chat if I pass him.'
`Who are we talking about?'
'A fellow who parks in our street. We all have a great laugh over it. You'll love this. He brings his master to visit respectable people, very prim family but what they don't know is: the night before he arrives looking, pious at their house, the master drops off to visit some old girl. She used to be a professional, and he's her last loyal client. He looks about a hundred; heaven knows what they can get up to We never see her; she can hardly totter to the window to wave him off next day.'
`What's his name?'
`The master or the driver? Don't ask me. I don't inspect people's birth certificates just to pass the time of day.'
`Where do they come from? Is it outside Rome? Could it be somewhere like Tibur?'
'I shouldn't think so,' murmured Marina. `You said it was a carriage, but it's not what I would call one. I'm talking about one of those sit-up-and-suffer carts like a box on two big wheels.'
No covering, but they nip along?' Getaway! The old fellow can't sit up, on front?'
`Oh, he clings on manfully.'
`Have they been in your street this week?'
`I haven't noticed,' Marina had a slightly shifty look; I guessed she wanted to avoid telling me she had been out a lot, dumping Marcia somewhere else. There was no point in trying to pursue that.
`This driver isn't a small red-haired man with a limp?''
`Oh, gods, where do you think them up? No; he's a man, so he's ugly – but ordinary.' Once again I reluctantly, acknowledged that this was not our convenient suspect Damon.
