little livelier than this morning. `How about concentrating on the job I gave you? I'm anxious to see the Chrysippus case wrapped up, Falco.'
`Don't tell me – Rubella is expected back?' `Smart boy.'
`When?'
`End of August.'
`That calls for action then. I suppose you want to present your beloved superior with a success?'
`Yes. I want this sorted – before he finds out how much of the slack in our budget I used up on your unconventional services,' agreed Petro, with force. `Another reason,' he told me more mildly, `is that I ordered Fusculus to put the bank's new owners under observation, now it's crashed. He reported back on signs that both Lucrio and Lysa are intending to pack themselves off in a hurry to Greece.'
`Oh rats. Showdown time, then.' `Yes – results, please, Falco.' `I have a plan, of course.'
Petro glared at me suspiciously. `I thought you were stuck?' `Who me?'
Until then my plan had been to eat an omelette and a bowl of wild strawberries, then snooze in bed all afternoon. Instead, I devoured the snack, lay awake on the bed – and planned out what I
had to do.
`When in doubt, make a list,' snorted Petro from the doorway, craning his neck to peer at my notes.
`Stop supervising; I have Helena for that. If I may say so, you seem well enough to return to your own apartment now.'
`I'm enjoying it here… Anyway, my place is wrecked,' Petro groaned. Then he nagged me again: `You come up with something,
Falco – or else!'
He was worried. That suited me. When I sorted out the case, he would be relieved and grateful.
Once I was satisfied that I had covered everything, I jumped up, tucked my notes in a pouch on my belt, and strapped on my favourite boots. `Where are you going?' Petro niggled, fretting to come with me, though he was still too pasty.
`Out!'
`Oh grow up, Falco.'
He was always bored stiff as an invalid; I took pity on him. `Listen, tribune, I am getting somewhere -'
`Even though you don't know who killed Chrysippus, and you can't prove who strung up Avienus?'
`Pedantic swine. We may never be able to finger the Ritusii for Avienus, you know that. Professional enforcers leave no tracks, and Lucrio is clever; he knows he only has to keep his mouth permanently shut in order to get away with hiring them. If it was him. It could have been Lysa.'
`So what's happening?' Petronius frowned.
`I need to ask one or two more questions of almost all the suspects and witnesses. To save me running around like a crazed ant in this summer heat, I shall pull them all in together for one big enquiry session.
`I want to be there, Falco.'
`Hush, hush, my boy! You will be in on it; I want you to see me triumphantly unmasking the villain.'
`And where are you going now?' he insisted. `To check one last alibi.'
First, I placed one finger on Helena's scroll just when she was about to unravel the next column. She glared up at me, avid to continue reading. `Don't, or I'll bite!'
I lifted my finger away quickly. `Good is it, this one?'
`Yes, Passus was right. It's excellent. Quite different from the first awful thing I read for you.'
`And it looks like the author's own manuscript?'
Helena waved the papyrus impatiently, so I could see it was written in a difficult hand and littered with alterations. She was racing through it though. `Yes, it's as blotty as a child learning the alphabet. And someone has stuck together all sorts of old documents to make a scroll to compose on – there are even a few luncheon receipts.'
`Stuffed vine leaves?'
'Chickpea mash. Are you going out, Marcus?' `Devotions at a temple.'
Helena found time for a smile. `Your geese on the Capitol, procurator?'
`No, the Chrysippus case.' In the background, Petronius snorted. `I'll be back in time to cook dinner for you and the malingerer. You enjoy yourself with the zippy prose adventure. If I do any shopping for the meal, should I include Marius?'
`No. Maia took him home.'
`She wants her brood where she can see them.'
`Actually, she wants time to herself. But Junia has decided to do something nice for somebody. She is going to Ostia with Gaius Baebius.' Ostia was where Gaius worked as a supervisor of customs clerks. `She offered to take all the children, so they can swim at the seaside.'
Junia, on a beach? With a swarm of little ones? And they will have to stay overnight!' Doubt struck me. `Is Maia going too?'
`I believe not,' said Helena disingenuously. I glanced at Petro and we both scowled. Helena kept her eyes fixed on the scroll. `The whole point is to give Maia a little peace alone.'
Alone? Or sharing a few delicious moments with her admirer Anacrites?
IL
THE TEMPLE of Minerva on the Aventine lay only a few minutes' walk away, though I cannot pretend it was one of my haunts. Now that I had started thinking about our local temples, I came to see the Aventine as an ancient holy place. Once it had lain outside the pomerium, the official city boundary that had been ploughed out by Romulus. That original exclusion had allowed the positioning here of shrines that possessed for our forefathers a remote, out-of-town mystique; in the quieter squares of the modem Aventine, they still maintained their historical air of privacy. Perhaps they always would. The Aventine has a special atmosphere. The views once enjoyed from here must have been stunning. We who lived here now could still see the river and the distant hills, or in open spaces feel close to the sky and the moon.
Cacus, a god of fire who must have been a foul rapscallion, had lived in a cave at the base of the cliff, slain by Hercules, his haunt became the Cattle Market Forum. Above, we had Ceres, the great queen of agricultural growth and grain; Liberty the freed slaves' patroness in her turned-over felt cap; Bona Dea, the Good Goddess; and Luna, the moon goddess, whose temple had been one of the few buildings on the Aventine destroyed in Nero's Great Fire. Two local temples were at present working up to their annual festivals. One was Diana's majestic sanctuary in the plebeian part of the Hill, where the goddess was traditionally worshipped by working people and slaves. The other was the small shrine of Vertumnus, god of the seasons, change, and ripening plants, a fruit-wreathed garden deity of whom I had always been secretly fond.
Most classically cool was Minerva. It seemed fully appropriate that the son of a family with a Greek background would attend this temple. I could not argue with that. Diomedes was thoroughly Romanised, yet I had seen how firmly he was influenced by his mother. If Lysa loved Athene, he might well offer prayers to the armoured owl-goddess himself. A good boy – well, one who was pushed about firmly by Mama.
In the echoing sanctum, I forced a priest to speak to me. Gaining attention was so difficult I even tried citing my position as Procurator of the Sacred Geese of Juno. Hah! That got me nowhere. So I had to resort to simpler methods: threatening the shrine with a visit from the vigiles.
One of their refined operatives then deigned to take questions. I still might as well not have bothered. His answers were useless. He seemed unable to recognise my careful description of my suspect, and had no recollection of him attending the Temple on the day Chrysippus died. The priest had heard of Aurelius Chrysippus and Lysa. They had been benefactors of the Temple in the past. So I knew there was a link with the family. It hardly amounted to an alibi for murder.
Annoyed, I set off for Lysa's house to re-interview her son. I accepted that Diomedes had never been
