‘Too late. Strongbox Man had been carried outside the city and cremated. He was taken immediately after Niger left.’
Maia wanted to be sure. ‘We do believe the old man has gone missing?’
‘Seems so. Callistus Valens always goes to the country in July to avoid the heat. This time he stopped authorising his banker to make payments to his boys − apparently unusual.’
‘Oh, yes!’ Maia showed off her knowledge. ‘He’s no miser. Happily splashes it.’
‘That fits. I was told he never emancipated his sons, but was generous. They bet on chariots; their wives are kitted out with glamorous gear.’
‘There’s your answer. Valens has dropped off his twig. Primus is right.’ Suddenly, as was her habit, Maia Favonia lost interest. ‘Now, will you be safe to find your own way over to Fountain Court? I don’t want that daft lump of mine taking you – he’ll go in too many bars on his way back.’
I said I would be safe. I slipped out quietly while Lucius Petronius was snoozing on the sun terrace.
I was much closer to Maia, Petronius and their children than others in our family. Maia and Petro were always nostalgic about where and when they first got together as a couple. They were in Britain with Falco and Helena when my adoptive parents found me; we all travelled home to Italy in one large party so I got to know them. In some ways this was good. I arrived in Rome with firm family connections, which I admit helped me hold my own with more suspicious relations.
On the other hand, when you are given a new start in life, you do not necessarily want other people to know about your old existence.
It was a short hop to Fountain Court. As usual, I was discreet and achieved the walk without incident. On the streets it was dark, but too early yet for unbearably persistent drunks. Burglars were preoccupied. In the Street of the Armilustrium, I walked behind a group of vigiles. They failed to notice. None even looked down our alley; Fountain Court could have burned, for all they cared. At the corner, I stood listening for trouble, then trod carefully on the broken kerbs and slid through the familiar pungent darkness to the gate of my own building.
‘If that’s you,’ shouted Rodan, our listless concierge, ‘all I can say is, about time! Some man came demanding to see you.’
‘Who was he?’
‘No idea.’
‘Manlius Faustus?’ I pleaded, remembering his fingertips tickling my wrist.
‘Some very important person from the Palace, according to him. A right rigid prick, if you ask me.’
‘I didn’t ask. What did the Palace Priapus want? Let me guess: you helpfully have no idea.’
Rodan finally poked his greasy head out from his insalubrious cubicle. A waft of fried onions billowed after him. His large untidy frame blocked the light from the lamps behind him. He never wasted much of Father’s lamp oil on making the stairways safe, but used plenty on his own account. ‘Don’t be like that!’ he whined plaintively. ‘He says he has a message from his father.’
‘Did he tell you this message, or write it down?’
‘It’s too long. He’ll call back.’
‘If I knew who he was, I could go and see him.’
‘No, don’t do that,’ Rodan cheerfully told me. ‘He said you’re not to. He can’t be seen with an informer at his official address.’
‘The bastard!’
Rodan jeered, ‘I told him you would say that.’
I intended to sit out on my bench for a while, thinking. A low growl warned me off. Incitatus. At least he was tied up, thanks to the builders, but I heard him racing to and fro on his length of rope, wanting to get his teeth into someone.
‘Calm down, Consul!’
No chance of that. It was one of those intense Rome nights where the heat hardly drops from daytime. Everyone in the building would toss and turn in their beds in misery. Uncomfortable as everyone else, the mastiff barked and howled all night.
37
Most people who knew me would have expected me to give that dog a home. Wrong! I liked dogs, and generally I felt for the abandoned and unloved, but despite my personal history, or even because of it, I would not rescue strays. I’ve had enough fleas for one lifetime. I had no scope to devote myself to orphans, and I would never live with any creature that frightened me. Consul was more than a handful – he was so big he would always be dangerous. So, I was not stupid.
At first light I roused Rodan. ‘Bloody hell, I need some sleep!’ he moaned.
‘Don’t worry. He’s going home today. I shall need you to help.’
We collected the dog; Rodan was strong enough to hold him – and, to a dog, he smelt very interesting. I had the address, so we went straight to the house of Trebonius Fulvo. We dumped Consul. He was theirs to dispose of as they chose. Maybe they would send him to a farm as Faustus had suggested. If not, I didn’t want to know.
Rodan went home. I stayed and insisted on being granted an interview. Fortunately candidates rose early.
Trebonius breezed into the room where I had been helpfully picking dog-hairs off the couch cushions. I had built up a pile on the bronze arm of the furniture.
He had evidently taken breakfast and forgotten I might be peckish after babysitting his mastiff through a long night. Trebonius was thickset and muscular, with a large, almost shaved head and broad hook-nosed face, where your attention was gripped by that squinting eye with its opaque iris. Had he been leaner he could have passed for an old-time republican senator, but he lacked the experience-lines and gobble-neck. He was a pampered, modern go-getter. The gold rings said it.
‘Trebonius Fulvo, your dog has been barking all night and I am too tired to be polite. I want to know one thing. Why does Callistus Primus think you killed his father?’
Trebonius did not waver. He was very sure of himself, ideal political materiaclass="underline" my judgement, right or wrong. ‘Is that what he meant yesterday? I was unaware his father died. However, I am not responsible.’ He lowered his voice slightly. ‘Are you telling me his old man was that corpse you found?’
‘The first one? We don’t know. Primus seems to think so. The only witness who could have confirmed it one way or the other is the second victim, the man who tumbled out of the same chest yesterday.’
‘Neat coincidence! Is that why he was killed?’
‘Seems possible.’
‘I heard the first had rotted.’
‘As you say.’
‘You saw it?’ People love the macabre.
‘Unfortunately.’
‘So why are you here asking questions, instead of the authorities?’ Trebonius demanded bluntly.
I managed not to bridle. ‘I dare say officials will trot along here in their own time. I won’t wait. Two bodies have been found in the course of an auction run by our family business. That makes it my concern.’
‘You’re hooked up with Manlius Faustus, aren’t you?’ This man was as nosy about the living as the dead.
‘I know him. Back to the point, please. Can you shed light on why Callistus Primus suspects you?’
Trebonius sniffed. ‘Isn’t it clear? My colleague and I – Arulenus and I – are campaign front-runners. This is on merit. Primus and his family bankrupted themselves on a failed effort to elect Volusius Firmus. Primus’s accusation of me is based on raw jealousy. This may be understandable, but it’s not a viable position. We had no need to attack his family, nor would we do it. There is no evidence, of course?’ Trebonius barely allowed time for me to answer. ‘Forget it. The poor man believes he has lost his father; in his grief, he is morbid and reckless.’
I sighed. We did not even know that the first corpse really was Callistus Valens. Even if so, nothing connected his dead body to Trebonius or Arulenus. In fact, nothing connected that body to anyone.
Blackening the Callistus name even more, Trebonius added, ‘Primus and company threatened us with violence.’
‘Care to elaborate?’
‘Anonymous letters told us to withdraw or we would be harmed, killed even.’