'It means I have my work cut out but that's what I'm here for. These are simple lads, mostly. When they start a feud, I can find out what's up by reading the curse tablets they lay lovingly at shrines. May Vertigius the snotty tiler lose his willy for stealing my red tunic, and may his chilblains hurt him very much indeed. Vertigius is a swine and I don't like him. Also, may the foreman, that cruel and unfair person Lupus, rot and have no luck with girls.'
I laughed quietly. Then I threw in, 'Are you unfair, Lupus?'
'Oh I look after my favourites scrupulously, Falco.'
I thought not. He seemed like a man who was as much in control of a slippery situation as he could be. He seemed to understand his men, to love their craziness, to tolerate their stupidity. I reckoned he would defend them against outsiders. I thought only the truly mad among them and a few real lunatics would be on the payroll would seriously curse Lupus.
'And how are you with girls?' I asked mischievously.
'Mind your own business! Well, I do all right,' Lupus could not resist boasting.
He was an ugly trout. But that meant nothing. Toothless whippers in can be popular. He held a position of authority and his manner was confident. Some women will sidle up to anyone in charge.
I stretched. 'Thanks for all that. Now tell me, have you a couple of recent acquisitions from Rome called Gloccus and Cotta?'
'Um -not that I can think of. Do you want to scan my rolls of honour?'
'You keep lists?'
'Of course. Pay,' he explained sarcastically.
'Yes, I'll look through them, please.' They could be using false names. Any pair of tradesmen who had turned up just before me would be worth checking out. 'Just one more question you control the immigrant labour, but I gather there are British workers too?'
Perhaps Lupus closed in slightly. 'That's right, Falco.' He stood up and was already leaving. 'Mandumerus runs the local team. You'll have to ask him.'
There was nothing in his tone to imply a feud directly, yet I felt he and Mandumerus were not friends.
'By the way, Falco,' he informed me as we parted. 'Pomponius asked me to pass on his apologies; he mistook you for a travelling salesman we get a lot coming around to bother us.'
'Mistook me, eh?' I sucked my teeth.
'He sent a message he's found the scroll explaining you. He wants to give you a presentation about the full scheme. Tomorrow. In the plan room.'
'Sounds like that's all of tomorrow taken care of, then!'
He grinned.
XIII
helena came with me from Noviomagus for the project presentation. On arrival at the palace, we wandered around the scaffolded part and looked at the roof where poor Valla must have fallen to his death.
It was a straightforward case of sending a man aloft, on his own, too high up, with inadequate protection. Apparently.
We had time in hand. Turning back, we surveyed what they called the old house. Togidubnus' palace, his reward for allowing the Romans into Britain, must have stood out in the land of hill forts and forest hovels. Even this early version was a gem. His fellow-kings and their tribesmen were still living in those large round huts with smoke holes in their pointed roofs, where several families would cram in festively together along with their chickens, ticks and favourite goats; but Togi was fabulously set up. The main range of the royal home comprised a fine and substantial rornanised stone building. It would be a desirable property if it stood on the shores of the lake at Nemi; in this wilderness it was an absolute cracker.
A double veranda gave protection from the weather, opening onto a large colonnaded garden. It was well tended; someone enjoyed this amenity. Set slightly apart from the living suite for safety, the unmistakable domed roofs of what might well be the only private bath house in this province lay on the seaward side. Gentle smoke from the furnace told us Vespasian did not need to send the King a civilisation trainer to teach him what the baths were for.
Helena dragged me to explore. I made her take care, for some architectural features were in the process of being stripped by the builders. This included the colonnaded pillars around the garden; they had highly unusual, rather elegant capitals, with extravagant rams' horn volutes, from between which worrying tribal faces wreathed in oak leaves peered out at us.
'Too wild and woody for me!' Helena cried. 'Give me simple bead and dart tops.'
I agreed with her. 'The mystical eyes seem to be an outdated tad. I gestured at the columns being dismantled. 'Pomponius starts a client's refit by tearing down everything in sight.' I noticed that these columns were coated with stucco, 'which in some places was peeling as the stone beneath flaked. Weathering had forced hideous cracks in their render. 'Poor Togi! Let down by tacky Claudian tat. See; this apparently noble Corinthian pillar is just a composite- thrown together on the cheap, with a lifespan of less than twenty years!'
'You are shocked, Marcus Didius,' Helena's eyes danced.
'This is no way for the Golden City to reward a valued ally- nasty chunks of old tile and packing material, thrown together and surfaced over.'
'Yet I can see why the King likes it,' said Helena. 'It has been a fine home; I expect he's very fond of it.'
'He's fonder still of expensive fiddling.'
A window flew open. No tat this; it was a tightly carpentered hardwood effort with opaque panes, set in a beautifully moulded marble frame. The marble looked conspicuously Carraran. Not many of my neighbours could afford the genuine white stuff. I felt my sell growing envious.
Wild ginger dreadlocks flailed; around a fleshy bull neck I recognised the heavy electrum torque that must be nearly choking its excited owner.
'You are the man!' shrieked the King's representative in stilted Latin.
'The man from Rome,' I corrected him firmly. I like to pass on colloquial phrases when I travel among the barbarians. 'Gives a better tone of menace.'
'Menace?'
'More frightening.' Helena smiled. The tribesman let himself be charmed by this refined vision in white; she was wearing earrings with rows of golden acorns and he was a connoisseur of jewellery. There were not many women on site. None would match mine for style, taste and mischief-making. 'His name is Falco.'
'Falco is the man.' We gazed at him. 'From Rome,' he added lamely. Education claimed another demoralised victim. 'You have to come, man from Rome- and your woman.' Leering, he waved an arm, resplendent in checked wool, towards an entrance. We were amenable to the hospitality of strangers. We agreed to go.
It took us some time to find him indoors. There were quite a few rooms, furnished with imported goods and all ornamented strikingly. Blue-black dados had dashing floral designs, painted with a sure hand and dramatic brushwork; friezes were divided into elegant rectangles, set off either with white borderlines or with faux fluted pilasters; a perspective painter had created mock-cornices so well they looked like real mouldings bathed in an evening glow. Floors were restrained black and white, or had those cut work stones in multi colours – a calm geometry of pale wine-juice red, aqua blue, dull white, shades of grey, and corn. In Italy and Gaul these are considered old-fashioned. If his interior designer 'was alert to trends, the King would undoubtedly change them.
'I am Verovolcus!' The client's representative had at least mastered that language lesson where he learned to say his name. 'You are Falco.' Yes, we had done that. I introduced Helena Justina, by her full name and with her most excellent father's details. She managed not to look surprised by this ludicrous formality.
I could see Verovolcus liked Helena. That's the trouble with foreign travel. You spend half your time trying to find edible food, and the rest fighting off men who profess extravagant love to your female companions. I'm amazed how many women believe outright lies from foreigners.
This could become embarrassing. I was primed to be a perfect diplomat in Britain- but if anybody laid a hand
