Aulus came up to me. Briefly he clasped hands. It was an unlikely formality, especially as I was being chilly with him over Albia. I met his eyes properly, for the first time since the news of his sudden marriage; amazingly, he winked. Something small and cold passed into my hand from his.
I curled my fingers on it. In the darkness of the lurching litter going home I opened my grip but could not tell what I had been given.
At our own house, oil lamps in our familiar hallway greeted our late return. I looked again. Upon my open hand lay the special cameo we had retrieved from among the soiled linen. The Camillus brothers must have done a swift lift-and-pass, neat as Forum pickpockets.
'Oh I like that!' exclaimed Helena.
It was oval, and looked like a pendant from a necklace; it had a granulated gold loop on top, though the chain was absent. The workmanship was fine, the design aristocratic, the cutting of two-tone agate quite remarkable. While a really expensive whore might afford such a thing, it was serious quality. That must have alerted Quintus when he handled it. He was not renowned as a connoisseur – - or had not been before he married; Claudia came with her own overflowing necklace boxes, so why should he learn? Yet Quintus moved in society; he had seen plenty of custom gems, hanging from the crepey necks and scrawny lobes of wealthy high-class women.
I understood exactly why Quintus and Aulus had palmed it. This bauble required investigation.
XXXV
Anacrites was a sad case. Nobody else would turn up before breakfast to ask if last night's guests had enjoyed his dinner. That was his excuse anyway.
'I have mislaid that jewellery.' He had already trekked to the Capena Gate to enquire after the cameo. The two Camilli denied all knowledge, so he came to me. Anacrites still pretended this loss could make life awkward with the item's owner, though he did not want to give more details about which floozy that was supposed to be.
'What's her name, your bird of expensive plumage?'
'You don't need to know…'
He was in a dilemma, drawing attention to the piece, when he clearly wished we knew nothing about it.
I was determined to investigate that cameo's history. I lied, therefore, and said I did not have it. 'I'd forgotten all about it. Maybe those light-fingered caterers of yours saw somebody drop it and picked it up a second time…' No; he had been to ask them, he said. Jupiter! He must have been busy. 'Who were they anyway?' I asked. 'You'd have to lock up the family silver if you hired them, but that chef was wonderful.'
Briefly, Anacrites glowed under my praise. 'The organiser is called Heracleides, sign of the Dogstar by the Caelimontan Gate. Laeta put me on to them.'
'Laeta?' I smiled gently. 'Taking a risk, weren't you?'
'I checked their credentials. They provide imperial banquets, Marcus.' Anacrites sounded stiff. 'Gladiators' last meals before a fight. Buffets for seedy theatre impresarios who are trying to seduce young actresses. All very much in the public eye. The proprietor has too much good name to risk losing it – Besides, the thefts were carried out by minions, mere opportunism. And I was protected. I had my own security -'
'I saw your house guests!'
'Who did you see?' Anacrites demanded.
'Your dilatory agents, playing board games in a back-corridor hole
…' Some flicker disturbed his carefully cultivated, steady gaze. If I understood that half-hidden reaction, the Melitans were in for a nasty half hour when he next saw them. He could be vindictive. If they didn't know that already, they were about to find out. 'I meant, was a suggestion from Laeta safe for you, dear boy?' I gazed at him and shook my head slowly. 'Given his well-known wish to winkle you out of office?'
The spy's eyes widened.
'No, he wouldn't!' I cried. 'I'm being ridiculous. Laeta is a man of honour, he is above conspiracy. Forget I spoke.' Although Anacrites had imposed iron control on his face muscles, I could see he now realised Laeta might have wrong-footed him.
He changed tack quickly. Gazing around the salon where I had been forced to entertain him, he noted the profusion of new bronze statuettes, polished expanding brazier tripods, fancy lamps suspended from branched candelabra. 'Such lovely things, Falco! You're very prosperous, since your father died. I wonder – - does it affect your future?'
'Will I give up informing?' I laughed gaily. 'No chance. You'll never be rid of me.'
Anacrites smirked. All last night's affability had dissolved with his hangover and he went on to the attack: 'I'd say your new wealth exceeds due proportion. When a man receives more from Fortune than he should, winged Nemesis will come along and right the balance.'
'Nemesis is a sweetie. She and I are old friends… Why don't you come out straight and say you think I don't deserve it?'
'Not for me to judge. You don't bother me, Falco. Compared with you, I'm fireproof
He had to have the last word. I could have allowed it because it meant so much to him – - but we were in my house, so I patted back the ball. 'Your confidence sounds dangerously close to hubris! You just said it, Anacrites: presumption offends the gods.'
He left. I went off to breakfast with a lighter step.
Helena and I amused ourselves over the bread rolls discussing reasons why Anacrites could be so worked up about the jewel. After all, he had money nowadays. If some night-moth complained she had lost part of her necklace during their frolics, he could afford to buy her a new one to shut her up.
Some wrangles are meaningless and soon forgotten. Anacrites and I often exchanged insults; we meant them to bite and we meant every word, though it never stuck for long. But the clash we had that morning insidiously stayed with me. I continued to believe that cameo was significant – and I wanted to know why Anacrites had panicked.
XXXVI
The Heracleides company was run by one man who lived over a stable block. It was a large stable. Up in his elegant apartment he certainly did not tread on hay. His personalised loft had been floored with highly polished boards; a team of slaves must skate around with dusters on their feet each morning. Instead of mangers, there were sumptuous cushioned couches with dramatic flared legs like whole elephant tusks. He went in for ivory – - always the snobbish side of flash. And the flared leg is much beloved by stagy folk (I was thinking like Pa.)
Heracleides ran his outfit from a line of stabled wagons that contained his staffs cooking and serving equipment. Where these staff lurked by day was not immediately obvious. Heracleides, I already knew, believed in distance supervision. He flattered clients with promises of individual attention, yet stayed away from their big night. According to him, his highly trained personnel had been with him for decades; they were safe to leave alone and his presence was unnecessary. At a venue, he would not so much as place a violet in a vase. I guessed his only interest was in counting the profits.
Younger than I expected, he was a pampered specimen – too much time at the baths, probably baths which offered stodgy saffron cakes and erotic massage. His tunic had a fringed hem; a narrow gold fillet bound his suntanned brow. You know the type: all high-stepping insincerity. Not safe to buy a rock oyster from, let alone a three-course dinner with entertainment and flowers.
Trying to impress me, he paraded his business ethic: love of fine detail, competitive rates and a long list of very famous customers. I wasn't fooled. I understood him straight away. He was a chancer.
I took a flared-leg chair, which needless to say had its back at the -wrong angle for the average spine. One of the fancy legs was loose too.
I mentioned to Heracleides that sadly the staff he spoke of so highly had been involved in an incident last night. At once the operatives who had supposedly been with him for years became temporaries who must have come to him with false references, bad people whom he said he would never use again. I asked to see them. Hardly to my surprise, that was impossible. I stated calmly I would come back with the vigiles that evening and if the person I was looking for was not then present, Heracleides would be in trouble.