Saturnalia

Tonight Apollonius was out among the clients, with a cloth over one arm. I had known him since he was an infant teacher; as a wine-bar waiter he still applied his skills to quell rowdies and to explain simple arithmetic to confused people who could not work out whether he had diddled their change. As I arrived that night, he was telling a drunken vegetable stall holder, 'I think we've all heard enough from you. Sit back on the bench and behave!' I felt I was seven years old again. The drunk did as he was told. I hid a smile.

Apollonius greeted me with a silent nod, then provided a dish of seeping chickpeas, which I ignored, and a cup of red wine, which I tried. 'I'd like your opinion of that, Marcus Didius.'

I noticed that instead of the normal thin crowd, tonight Flora's was warm and full of customers-all crushed in, hoping for free samples. The rest of them eyed me jealously.

'Junia experimenting with a new house wine?' I took a longer swig.

'Oddly enough, I can't taste anything wrong with it.'

'Oh it's not for here,' Apollonius hastened to calm my unease.

'That's reassuring. This caupona has a proud reputation for serving only the most disgusting rotgut on the Hill. People like to know where they stand, Apollonius. Change for change's sake is never welcome!'

Apollonius beamed. He had a quiet, intelligent sense of humour. This is always refreshing (and unexpected) in an intellectual. 'Trust me. We have no intention of destroying the traditions of the establishment. Rotgut remains the house speciality.'

'So what slippery travelling salesman offloaded this palatable gem on my dear sister?'

'We are testing it on a few favoured customers. Junia plans to provide this wine for the vigiles, at the Fourth Cohort's annual Saturnalia drinks party next week. She has been awarded the much coveted contract as their official caterer.'

I whistled. 'What kind of bribe did that take?'

'I believe their tribune was impressed by her prospectus and sample menus,' returned Apollonius stiffly. He had a certain loyalty to Junia, as his employer, and managed to remain civil even after I guffawed. 'So what do you think, Falco?'

'I think it's all right.'

He took the hint and gave me more. 'It's called Primitivum.' The vigiles would like that.

I quaffed a couple of drinks, then prepared to go home.

I didn't bother to enquire after Justinus, and I was not supposed to mention Veleda so I dutifully avoided that subject too. Some of you may wonder why I went to the caupona. I found no clues, searched out no helpful witnesses, turned up no bodies and announced no public appeals for informants to come forward. I accomplished nothing for the case and a pedant would argue there is no reason to describe the scene. But these are my memoirs, and I shall include damn well anything that interests me.

I was paid by results. So long as I was getting the results, my methods were my own affair. You do your job, tribune, and leave me to mine.

If it makes you feel better, let's say, a good informer who is under pressure sometimes finds it useful to take a few moments of private reflection after a busy day.

'Petronius Longus is back,' said Apollonius, as I paid up. Well, there you are. That was a result.

XI

'What are you buying for Mother?'

Maia, the most ruthlessly organised of my sisters, was working on a list. A stylus was pushed into her dark curly hair, and her big brown eyes were glaring at a waxed tablet where various relatives' names had been assigned tasteful (but economical) gifts.

'Maia, the best thing about being married is that at last I can leave my mother's Saturnalia present to somebody else. Helena knows her duties. It saves Ma having to grit her teeth over one more manicure set that she doesn't need since five people bought one at the last minute from the same stall for her birthday.'

'Tell Helena she can do bath oils. There won't be duplicates. I had a brilliant idea-I'm clubbing together with the others to pay for an eye doctor. Galla and I are paying for the left eye operation, Junia and Allia are getting the right.'

I raised an eyebrow gently. 'Discount for the pair?'

'Special one-time-only offer-two for the price of one on his low-interest instalment plan.'

'Does Ma know?'

'Of course not. She'd run off to the country. Don't you let on, Marcus. '

'Not me!' Personally, I thought another set of ear-scoop and tweezers was safer. I knew what would be involved in the cataract operation; I had investigated cures when the white scales appeared and Mother first started bumping into the furniture. I'd like to be there when my four sisters explained to Ma how she had to endure some quack pushing cataracts aside with a couching needle. The girls would probably expect me to be the heavy who held our mother down while it happened. 'In case you're wondering,' I said to Maia, 'I could use some extra weight training sessions from Glaucus at the gym.'

'You're getting a new note-tablet,' sneered Maia.

I was still trying to think up ways to suggest I already owned enough notebooks to write a Greek novel, when Petro came in. He appeared to have woken from a nap, and was now gearing himself up for an evening shift on duty. This involved winding on leather wrist bands, rubbing his eyes a lot, and belching.

Petro had been out-stationed at Ostia for most of the summer, but with typical skill had wangled a move back to Rome just in time for the big festival. He and Maia, who had been living together for just over a year, were renting half a house three streets from the vigiles' Aventine patrol house. They needed plenty of room, with Maia's four growing children, Petro's daughter who was staying with them for the holiday, the cats he always allowed around the house, and young Marius' exuberant dog; Arctos had to be kept in a room away from the cats, who tyrannised him and raided his bowl. Nux, who was his mother, had gone in to see Arctos when we arrived.

Despite the way he tolerated his mangy cats, Petronius Longus had been my best mend since we were eighteen. We were both born on the Aventine, though we really met up when we knocked into each other in the recruiting queue and were jointly assigned to the Second Augustan legion. We survived our nightmare posting to Britain only by comforting each other with tall stories and drink. As we both threw up in the boat on the way over there, we already realised we had made a mistake; the subsequent horrors of the Boudiccan Rebellion only confirmed that. We got out of the army, no one needs to know how. Now he ran criminal investigations for the Fourth Cohort of vigiles, while I ran a private enquiry business. We were both damned good at what we did and we were on the same side in fighting life's filthy surprises. Now he had finally settled with Maia, after yearning after her for years, and for both their sakes, I hoped it lasted.

'Io, Marcus!' Petro thumped me on the shoulder. He enjoyed festivals. He knew I hated them. I gave him the gloomy scowl he expected.

He was taller than me, though not enough for it to matter, and broader. As a vigiles officer, he had to be. When the arsonists and other villains weren't attacking him with fists and knives, the ex-slaves he commanded were giving him almost as much trouble. He handled it. Petronius Longus could handle most things except the death of a child or an accident to a pet cat. In our time, I had seen him through both. He had stuck by me in bad situations too.

'What are you working on, Marcus?'

'I am not allowed to tell you,' I complained solemnly. 'Well, spit it out at once then, lad. I won't pass it on.'

'That a promise?'

'Same as the one you must have given somebody…'

'I gave my oath to Tiberius Claudius Laeta.'