`That's the one good part of this.' I took up the story quietly. `Metellus senior had brought up Negrinus as his own and could not reject him. Yet he had to keep the secret. No alternative. It's more than merely scandalous. This supposititious child could have any parentage. To blackmail Calpurnia, you can bet Euboule suggested the very worst.'
`What's that?' asked Aelianus.
`Well, Negrinus could be Euboule's own child, in itself no recommendation. There are terrible alternatives, as the poor man must know. To be slave-born will make him a slave too; in theory, an owner could still claim him.'
Appreciating the problem now, Aelianus chimed in: `Either of his parents could be infamous. If he is the child of an actor, a pimp or a gladiator, he's a legal outcast. Rufus was right – he is completely disqualified from the Senate.'
`That's nothing. He has even lost his citizenship,' I added. `He has no birth certificate, we can be sure. His marriage was illegal. His children are now nobodies as well.'
`However much his sisters want to help,' Helena groaned, `they cannot give him any status. The worst of all is – he doesn't even know who he is. I bet Euboule won't tell him.'
`Whatever she does say, he won't feel able to believe her,' Justinus groaned.
What Verginius Laco had hygienically called the `situation' was dire. There was no chance of passing off Negrinus as of senatorial rank now. He and his children were lost souls. He could only leave Rome and begin afresh. Many have done it. In the Empire, a man of character could achieve much. But it would be hard for anyone who had been brought up, as he was, with such vastly different expectations.
We had our own problems. This case had left us with serious troubles. But when our transport came and we said farewell to her brothers, Helena and I went home that night in a subdued mood, not thinking of ourselves. `Gnaeus Metellus Negrinus' had been a diffident, well-meaning young man, a good father with strength of character. Now he could no longer even use his name. To be born with nothing was grim. But to be born with everything, then to lose it, was far more cruel.
LVIII
I WAS RECONCILED to never knowing what happened to our client. Since we never defended him, because his trial was aborted, we could not even send a bill. I know, I know. Only a hard-hearted bastard – or an informer – would have thought of it. Still, I too had informers waiting for a payment. Unfortunately, my debt was a large one.
Spring was beginning to waft advance notice of its presence. Light breezes rustled the desiccated leaves that collected in the corners and crannies of fine buildings in the Forum of the Romans. Occasional shafts of sunlight reminded even hard-baked cynics that ours was a city of light, warmth and colour, any of which could reappear slyly any day now to disconcert us. The inconveniences of spring floods and flower festivals were waiting to make the streets impassable. The swollen Tiber oozed with murky silt. Birds were getting excited. Even I was, sometimes. And one fine, rather bright morning, when I thought the keen edge of their enmity might have mellowed, I took myself to the Porticus of Gaius and Lucius, to share a cup of cinnamon wine and a honey cake with two acquaintances.
Silius Italicus had lost a few pounds; Paccius Africanus looked a little greyer. I myself felt lean and sour, but that was old news. I was tough; we all acknowledged, they were tougher. Sitting at ease with morning refreshments on a napkin-laid tray and with their togas bunched over their shoulders ready for that day in court, they just hid their ruthlessness better than I did.
We exchanged courtesies. I asked after Honorius; he was at his ex-wife’s wedding. He had expected she would return to him, but she dumped him and chose someone else. They said he had grown bitter. I said, I was glad he was learning. If the remark carried an undertone we all pretended otherwise.
I told them about Bratta. I had heard he was to be sent to the arena, for murdering Spindex. They were surprised, since they were unaware there had been a trial. I was able to tell them that sometimes the vigiles were so efficient with hardened criminals that killers were processed and condemned in the murders court before anybody noticed; the discretion was to prevent the populace becoming fearful that society was dangerous. Paccius asked why Bratta had not gone to the lions yet, and I explained that the vigiles were confident they could screw more confessions out of him. He had been told that if he coughed up enough information, he would be spared the wild beasts. Of course that was untrue. Murder is always punished, I said.
Which reminded me: I wondered whether Silius and Paccius had any plans to set their sights on Licinius Lutea? Silius told a funny story about Lutea recently buying (on credit) a highly expensive gourmet cook called Genius, whom those with inside knowledge believed to be a complete fraud. They cautiously admitted Lutea was a long-term prospect for them. His first wife had told them he was a real chancer; they were waiting to see what he chanced next. One way or another, he remained in their pending scroll box.
I told them that I did admire how they set up cases in advance, even if they had to wait years for a resolution. The informers smiled, hiding any indication that they knew what I was hinting.
`Do you ever see anything of Procreus?' I asked Silius.
Silius looked vague for a moment, then he pretended to remember who Procreus was and said, no; he had not had occasion to use him for a long time.
`That's sensible,' I murmured. `There was a very disappointing outcome when he aimed that impiety charge for you, wasn't there?'
Paccius drank from his wine beaker, dainty as a bird. Silius flicked a cake crumb off his tunic.
I smiled gently. `I had a narrow escape. I am grateful it was recognised that it was a fabricated charge. Of course damage has been done to me. Rumour ran rife. People were shocked…'
`What do you want, Falco?' asked Paccius wearily.
It was my turn to take my cup and enjoy a moment savouring the warm brew. `My reputation suffered. Others, innocents all, have been stigmatised. My wife, who is a senator's daughter. My associates, her brothers, who hold the same noble rank. My little daughters, taunted as the children of an impious man. The slur does not die easily. My wife wants me to make an issue – sue for slander.'
`How much?' enquired Silius. He was blunt, though not unpleasant about it. I was dealing with decent businessmen. Paccius, pretending to be bored, knew it was Silius' sidekick who laid the charge, which he may have thought absolved him.
`Well, listen: I suggest we keep it neat. Save us troubling our bankers and paying their damn charges. How about the figure you were awarded in the Calpurnia Cara case? You pay me the same and it all negates nicely.'
`This is for you, dear colleague,' Silius observed, turning to Paccius. Neither of them quibbled about me assuming they had always worked in tandem, I noticed.
`Half a million? Falco, you're not worth the same as a senator's wife.' Paccius was calm, despite the amount involved.
`But you two are,' I answered. I was calm too. I had nothing to lose except my temper, and there was no point in that.
`Have I missed something?' asked Silius, paying more attention. My demand was outrageous, so why was I making it?
`I was fortunate in that impiety issue,' I explained frankly. `I had imperial support; I don't know if you realised. Titus got involved. That was why the praetor barred the case.' I saw the two men glance at each other. `My honour at the Temple of Juno was an imperial gift; casting doubt on my suitability was a thrust at Vespasian, you know… I thought it best to warn you,' I said, in a genial tone.
I sat back and sipped my spiced wine, allowing them time to adjust their thoughts.
`If I insist on a public hearing to clear my name,' I pointed out, `with Titus Caesar backing me, your reputations will be shredded. You may be hoping for further advancement in the cursus honorum – surely two ex- consuls must be hoping for governorships? I know you won't want Titus screwing up your postings with a veto… Half a million is a small sacrifice to secure your next honours, don't you think?'
