“It seems to me,” Helena carried on, growing fiercer, “Marcus has done as much for the Empire as he should do without formal recognition.”
“What do you think, Marcus Didius?” asked Caenis, ignoring Helena's anger.
“I would like to tackle this Census job. It poses a good challenge, and I don't deny it could be very lucrative.”
“I was not aware Vespasian paid you exorbitant fees!”
“He never has,” I grinned. “But this would be different. I won't act on piecework rates. I want a percentage of whatever income I recover for the state.”
‘Vespasian could never agree to that.” The lady was emphatic.
“Think about it.” I could be tough too.
“Why, what sort of amounts are we discussing?”
“If as many people as I suspect are attempting to fiddle their returns, the sums to be extracted from culprits will be enormous. The only limitation would be my personal stamina.”
“But you have a partner?” So she knew that.
“He's untried as yet, though I'm confident.”
“Who is he?”
“Just an out of work scrutineer my old mother took pity on.”
“Indeed.” I reckoned Antonia Caenis had discovered it was Anacrites. She might know him. She could dislike him as much as I did-or she could view him as Vespasian's servant and ally. I stared her out.
She smiled abruptly. It was frank, intelligent, and startlingly full of character. There was no recognition that she was an elderly woman who should feel ready to relinquish her place in the world. For a moment I glimpsed what Vespasian must always have seen in her. She must be well up to the old man's undoubted calibre. “Your proposition sounds attractive, Marcus Didius. I shall certainly discuss it with Vespasian if an occasion arises.”
“I bet you keep a note tablet with a formal list of queries that you and he pore over at a set hour every day!”
“You have a peculiar notion of our daily routine.”
I smiled gently. “No, I just thought you might pin down Titus Flavius Vespasianus in the same way that Helena tackles me.”
They both laughed. They were laughing at me. I could bear it. I was a happy man. I knew Antonia Caenis was going to land me the job I wanted, and I had high hopes that she might do more than that.
“I suppose,” she said, still being direct, “you want to explain to me what went wrong about promoting you?”
“I expect you know what went wrong, lady! Domitian was of the opinion that informers are sordid characters, none of whom is worthy of inclusion in the lists for the middle rank.”
“Is he correct?”
“Informers are far less sordid than some of the musty gargoyles with clammy ethics who people the upper rank lists.”
“No doubt,” said Caenis with the slightest suggestion of reproof: “The Emperor will bear your strictures in mind when he reviews the lists.”
“I hope he does.”
“Your remarks could indicate, Marcus Didius, that you would not now wish to be aligned near the musty gargoyles.”
“I can't afford to feel superior.”
“But you can risk outspokenness?”
“It's one of the talents that will help me screw cash from Census cheats.”
She looked severe. “If I were writing minutes of this meeting, Marcus Didius, I should rephrase that as ‘recovery of revenue'.”
“Is there to be a formal record?” Helena asked her quietly.
Caenis looked even more stern. “Only in my head.”
“So there is no guarantee that any reward promised to Marcus Didius will be acknowledged at a future date?” Helena never lost sight of her original aim.
I leant forwards abruptly. “Don't worry It could be safely written on twenty scrolls, yet if I lost favour they could all be lost in the archives by inattentive scribes. If Antonia Caenis is prepared to support me, her word is enough.”
Antonia Caenis was well used to being badgered for favours. “I can only make recommendations. All matters of state are at the discretion of the Emperor.”
I bet! Vespasian had been listening to her since she was a girl, when he was just an impoverished young senator. I grinned at Helena. “There you are. That's the best guarantee you could want.”
At the time I really thought it was.
4
HALF A DAY later I was called to the Palace. I saw neither Vespasian nor Titus. A silky administrator called Claudius Laeta pretended he was responsible for employing me. I knew Laeta. He was responsible only for chaos and grief
“I don't seem to have the name of your new partner.” He was fumbling with scrolls to avoid my eye.
“How unusually casual. I'll send you in a chitty with his name and a full resume.” Laeta could see I had no intention of doing it.
Acting pleasant (a certain sign that he had been leaned on hard by the Emperor) he then gave me the job I had asked for. We agreed my percentage of the profits. Numeracy must be Laeta's weak point. He knew everything about inventive drafting and greasy diplomacy, but could not spot an inflated tender. I came away feeling smug.
Our first subject to investigate was Calliopus, a semi-successful lanista from Tripolitania who trained and promoted gladiators, mainly the kind who fight wild beasts. When Calliopus produced his personnel list I had heard of none of them. He owned no top fighters in the glamour class. No women would throw themselves at his mediocre crew, and there were no gold victory crowns displayed in his office. But I did know the name of his lion: Leonidas.
The lion shared his praenomen with a great Spartan general; that hardly endeared him to Romans like me, who had been brought up from the crawling frame to be wary of Greeks in case we became infected with touch? habits like wearing beards and discussing philosophy. But I loved this lion before I even met him. Leonidas was a man-eater, a trained one. At the next suitable Games he was going to execute a repulsive sexual killer called Thurius. Thurius had been preying on women for decades, then chopping them into pieces and dumping the remains; I myself had identified and brought him to court. The first thing I had done when Anacrites and I met Calliopus was to ask for a conducted tour of the cages, and once there, I made a beeline for the lion.
Addressing Leonidas like a trusted colleague, I explained very carefully the degree of ferocious savagery I expected from him on the day. “I'm sorry we can't get it over with at the Saturnalia, but that's a festival of jollity, so the priests say doing away with criminals would pollute the event. Well this gives the bastard longer to dwell on his agony when you finally get to him. Rip him to shreds just as slowly as you can, Leo make him linger.”
“No use, Falco.” The keeper, Buxus, had listened. “Lions are kind and polite killers. One paw swipe and you're out.”
“I'll make a note to ask for the big cats if I ever fall foul of the law!”
Leonidas was still young. He was fit and bright-eyed, though foul of breath from eating bloody meat. Not too much of it-they kept him starved so he would do his work efficiently. He lay at the far edge of his cage in the semi-darkness. The heavy twitch of his tail was filled with contemptuous menace. Distrustful golden eyes watched us.
“What I admire about you, Falco,” Anacrites commented, coming up behind me on stealthy feet, “is your personal attention to the most obscure detail.”
