Too violent'? That was hilarious. Once he had stripped his victims of valuables, the writer never hesitated to hurl people overboard to drown. He only took prisoners if they were suitable as slaves. Otherwise, he eliminated witnesses. He and his seamen lived by the sword. If stabbing failed, they used strangulation. Helena had found repeated notes of wounding during robberies, limbs lost on both sides, frequent records of mutilation and reckless killing. Sometimes they would go ashore in search of booty; once they sacked a shrine.
I looked for mention of Illyrians," Helena said. This sole mention of Illyrians being faithless and violent is all. But assuming the writer is Cilician, he does make partnerships from time to time, often swearing oaths of alliance with those he has quite recently quarrelled with or accused of breaking faith."
Could the Illyrian" we know of just be a nickname?"
I suppose so, Marcus. But it must have some link to where the negotiator comes from."
Now," said Helena, gathering up a small pile of tablets she had placed separately, the interesting part. I shall tell you what I believe Diocles was doing."
These other tablets are his own notes?"
Yes. The handwriting and layout match the notes we found in his room. In these," she went on, speaking calmly and without drama, the scribe is making a summary of the old logs. You could call it an outline of a proposed new work."
Do you mean that Damagoras told me the truth, Diocles really was going to help him put together his memoirs?"
No doubt of it." Helena pursed her lips. But it makes Damagoras a liar. First, he assured you, Marcus, that he just had a couple of brief discussions with Diocles, after which the scribe decided not to proceed. But for Diocles to make all these notes, the two of them must have gone into great detail together."
I was puzzled that he had given Rusticus, the vigiles recruiting officer, an address in the country, not the rental house at the Marine Gate…"
Yes." Helena was with me. Diocles probably went to live for a while at the villa. He worked up these notes while staying there. So Damagoras lied about how close their relationship was. But the main area where he lied, and he's lying through his teeth, Marcus, is this. If these ship's logs are what Diocles had to use as the raw material for the memoirs, then there is no doubt, no doubt at all, about what Damagoras used to do for a living. The captain who composed these old records was a pirate." I nodded. And I'll tell you something else, my love, I don't believe the virtuous claim that he has long ago retired. He was a pirate – and I reckon he still is." Next morning I began to read the note-tablets myself. I took them down to the courtyard and sat on a bench in dappled sunlight, with Nux fast asleep up against me and the children nearby. From time to time I had to break off, because Julia Junilla was playing at shops and wanted me to buy some pebble that was supposed to be a cake. This happened so often that I asked for a trade discount, only to be given the same surly reaction I would get at the counter of a real shop. Helena had just come down to mediate in our commercial wrangling. As she agreed with Julia that I was being mean, someone came in through the entrance looking for me. It was Virtus, the slave from the vigiles patrol house. I was surprised to see him, and even more startled that Petronius Longus had sent him with a message.
Fusculus and Petro have been called out to an incident. Apparently you will be interested, Falco. Some madman drove a chariot off the road in the middle of last night. Seems the accident" wasn't an accident, though, the horses both had their throats cut. They found a body. I can't stop; apparently the chariot is a known vehicle and I've got to go and see that man Posidonius." Tablets scattered as I stood up abruptly. Sounds as if the worst has happened. They must have killed the girl I had been too abrupt; Helena gasped. Sorry, love. Give me directions, Virtus." Helena was now calling for Albia to bring her a cloak and look after the children. I normally kept her as far from death as possible. But in Rome she had talked to the foolish girl, persuading her to confide her hopes and dreams. I knew that Helena would be determined now to pay her last respects to Rhodope.
XXXIX
We had to go out to the old salt workings. Salt was the staple that brought about the founding of Rome. A large marsh lies out on the Via Salaria, the Salt Road just before Ostia as you travel in from Rome. Virtus said the wrecked vehicle was there. The chariot had been spotted by passing drivers that morning, off road and upended. Helena and I set off down the Decumanus on foot, intending to hire donkeys if we saw a stable. Luck was with us; an open cart rattled past, bearing a group of vigiles fresh from their patrol house. They were going out to the scene of the crime, and they let us hop on board with them. It would be a short journey. We could have walked, but it would have taken time and effort.
What do you know about it, lads?"
Debris was noticed at dawn. Salt workers were alerted and went over to see if there was anything to salvage. When they saw the situation with the dead horses, they got scared and sent a runner into town. Rubella dispatched Petronius; he passed back a message that we are to meet him on site, bringing transport and gear. Chariot fits a description of one we were looking for."
What's Petronius want the gear for?"
Lugging back the chariot."
Get away! It's not his style," I joked glumly. This is a rich boy's passion-wagon. Lucius Petronius is a stately ox-cart man." The vigiles grinned nervously. They were restrained, because I had Helena sitting silent beside me. I was feeling anxious myself about bringing her. The body we were going to see was probably mutilated; if my suspicions were right, we had a witness being silenced, silenced by men who controlled their victims through fear. Next time they took a female captive, they would make free with ghastly details about what had happened to today's corpse. I had seen violated bodies. I did not want Helena to experience that. Clinging to the sides of the cart on that short bumpy trip, I never managed to think up a solution to spare her. When the cart stopped, I jumped out feeling queasy. This was a lonely place for anybody to be brought to die. There was high ground up ahead towards Rome, but these wetlands formed a great marshy hollow, probably lower than sea level. Parts had been filled in by dumping the rubble from buildings destroyed by Nero's Great Fire in Rome, but the dumps only made the place seem even more unwelcoming. Most salt was now produced north of the river, but there were still a few workings here, as there had been since the dawn of Roman history. The main road ran on a raised causeway. The Tiber must be some distance away to our left. A brisk breeze was whipping across the low ground when we arrived, though when it occasionally faltered, the sun was burning. Wind and heat are the tools of salt manufacture. In the marshes on our right stood the hunched wattle huts of the saltpan workers, among the shine of low rectangular drying pools. By one of the huts dilapidated carts were waiting to ply their ancient trade up the Salt Road to Rome. Hillocks of sparkling salt grains were mounded beside a turning area where they loaded up. Nobody was about. Everyone had gone to stare. The wreck was on the other side of the main road. Better wait here," one of the vigiles suggested to Helena, but she stuck tight next to me. We walked down a slip road on to the marsh. Under our feet, the rutted path had a white gleam; we trod with care in case it was slippery. The worst risk was turning an ankle in a boggy hole. Old crystallisation pools were everywhere, though on this side of the road they looked unused. There was no reason for anyone to stop on this road, unless they had business at the saltpans. A lover might possibly bring his girl out here for a giggle somewhere private, but he would have to have heard there was a very good moon that night to romance her by. It was a stupid place to try driving a chariot off road deliberately. Everything was far too spongy under foot. Birds flew above us as we walked over to the scene of action. We could just make out two wheel scars where the vehicle had careered in a long curve across the saline flood plain, sinking deep into the wet ground and crushing the coarse vegetation. It was amazing that the chariot had made it so far without bogging down completely. Maybe it had had a lot of help. The sad corpses of the two once-handsome black horses were lying together beside the vehicle. A knot of people were gathered around. One chariot wheel was off, the other leaning at an angle. From the road, you would think it had simply careered from the highway and crashed. Close to, I thought someone had used a mallet on the coachwork. Petronius Longus was talking to some locals. He saw us approaching; he gestured for me to keep Helena back.