Nemesis

They burst into the exercise yard like dam water after a leak. There was no stopping them. Petronius did not try. Somehow Anacrites had learned we had the slavey; he had sent the Guards to snatch Syrus. They made it plain, it would be foolish to request a warrant.

'Take the ungrateful bastard; I don't want him. Our budget's too tight for feeding runaways.' Well, Syrus was a slave. Nobody was going to make an issue of it. 'I heard the Fifth had found him,' Petronius told the Guards' leader helpfully. 'My plan was to check the facts and send him up to the Palace with a note. You're doing me a favour. He's all yours.'

'Oh he is!' snarled the Guards' leader. 'Word of warning – - don't meddle!'

'Are you speaking for Anacrites?'

'None of your business who I'm speaking for – back off, soldier!'

I could not believe the spy had been so crude – - and it went against the careful pretence of comradeship he had been laying on thick at his dinner party. But that was him, since his head wound. He was highly unpredictable. Capricious mood changes damaged his judgement. The one thing a spy needs is self-preservation – - and that demands self-knowledge.

Syrus was hauled from the interrogation cell by the Emperor's elite thugs while we stood around like puddings. Terror overtook him so his legs gave way; the Guards virtually carried him. His eyes rolled white and he shat himself. It had nothing to do with Sergius, who despite our teasing of Albia had barely touched him. Petronius was not preparing a witness statement; he had wanted answers, answers he could trust. Instead, as the Praetorians dragged the slave away, the poor creature knew his fate. He would be dead in a ditch within the hour. Anacrites, we were starting to suspect, either knew the answers already or he did not care.

Petronius cursed. He knew nobody would ever see that slave again. At least we still had the cameo. Petro retrieved it from a murky bucket of water where he had quickly dropped it when the Guards crashed in.

As for them giving us orders to back off, it was blatant intimidation. Nothing new for the Praetorians; not so new for the spy – but foolish. So stupid, in fact, that Petronius and I wondered if Anacrites had lost his grip.

XXXIX

'You two great men have lost yourselves!' Albia was a frank wench; it was liable to get her into trouble. 'Why don't you ask the big question: if the cameo really belonged to Primilla, and if it was taken by a killer – - how did Anacrites get it?'

I pointed out coldly that I had spent all morning among the dregs of artistic society trying to find out. 'Anyone else, Petronius and I would go along to his house, pin him to a wall with a meat skewer and demand an explanation. But the spy can't be handled like that. He claims it belongs to some woman he had had at the house.'

Petronius snorted. 'She must be desperate.'

'So many are, sadly,' Albia commented. 'That is how you men get away with things.'

'Helena is teaching her a lot!' said Petro.

'Sarcasm especially. It's always possible the spy does have a girlfriend.'

Albia biffed this aside. 'The jewel was found by the hog-chef, tucked away in luggage that we think belongs to the Melitan brothers. If they are Melitan. Or even brothers. Who said so? Nobody. This is just a fantasy Falco dreamed up last Saturnalia, when he had had too much wine with his hot water. I remember the pair of them watching our house, and the only thing we could tell was that they were idiots.'

'You ought to be at school, young lady,' Petronius instructed her. 'Not hanging around a vigiles house, causing upset.'

'I'm making sensible suggestions. And, by the way, I am home-tutored by Helena.'

'Oh take her home, Falco.'

'I can't. You and I have to talk about this cameo – '

'Send her then. Albia, be off with you!' Petro lowered his voice to me. 'I could assign a man to escort her -'

'I don't need a bodyguard!' snapped Albia. 'I'll go by myself

She went.

Petronius Longus stared at me. 'You let her walk in the streets alone?'

'Nothing else is practical. You allow Petronilla out unchaperoned, don't you?'

'Petronilla is a child. Much safer. Your girl is marriageable age.' He meant beddable.

We left it.

'She's right,' I grumbled. 'We need to explore how the cameo came to the Melitans.'

'Surely you mean the idiotic agents of unknown origin?'

'Bastard! I'm sure they look like brothers. Listen – - if there is an innocent explanation for them having it, that saves us trying to link this to the Pontine killings. Maybe Anacrites really does screw women. Asking him for more details will be a waste of effort – but we could find his unknown-origin agents and ask them questions. He won't like it, but by the time he finds out, it's done. Can't you put troops out to look for them?'

Petronius groaned. 'I'd love to. I haven't got the manpower, Falco. If Anacrites keeps them close to him at home or in his office, those are no-go areas. I can't send troops into the Palace and I am not getting a formal reprimand for watching that swine's private house – especially not on a case I was told to drop,' Petro concluded reasonably.

'Last night, he suggested they were his bodyguards.'

'Then the whole idea is definitely off

'You didn't tell me it was on.'

'I'm thinking about it.'

In the end, Petro taxing his brain proved unnecessary. One of my nephews turned up at the station house, bringing a message. Katutis had written it out. His writing was so neat, I always had difficulty deciphering the letters.

'What exactly is the point of your secretary, Falco?'

'Oh he goes his own way. That keeps him happy.'

Petro got his clerk to decipher. Albia had spotted one of the hangdog Melitans. Anacrites was watching my house again.

'The bastard! He's made this too easy for us – -'

Petronius grabbed my arm. 'Now hang on, Marcus; we need to plan this properly -'

I nodded. Next minute he and I were scuffling in a doorway, laughing like ten-year-olds, as we each tried to be first through as we dashed out to run down the Aventine by the nearest steps to the Embankment. We knew that in taking on the Melitan we would be taking on Anacrites. Nothing of what happened next had been adequately considered. But with hindsight, it is fair to say Petronius and I would still have done it.

XL

We separated and approached from two directions. It was still light. The day's heat had diminished slightly, but blue sky still soared over the marbled bank, the Tiber, and the low hills opposite. The frenetic hum of city life had lost a little of its persistence as businesses slowed down and individuals thought about going to the baths. Those bath houses that had already opened would have just allowed admittance to their outer porticoes. Stokers were busy raising a smoke, ready for the formal entry to the changing rooms when the bell rang. There was plenty of banging and shouting, which carried further across the water as the last boat relays brought goods up to the Emporium from Ostia, making the weary stevedores curse as they longed to down tools and bunk off to wine shops.

Surveillance could not be easy. My house had no side or back approaches. The front looked straight out across the Tiber over the Transtiberina slums, towards the old Naumachia where Augustus had staged mock-sea-battles. Nobody here kept topiary in terracotta pots, suitable to hide behind, because if we did night-time drunks just rolled them over the road and pushed them in the river. Occasionally carts were parked, but as the Embankment was a main thoroughfare and a commercial artery, the street aediles had them moved to avoid congestion. All an observer could do was hang around in the road chewing a bread roll, hoping I would not appear in person and spot him. Last time the two so-called Melitans were watching us, the whole family used to wave at them as we came and went. Even the dog once ran up to wag her tail and say hello.