`Easily done.' Petronius filled him in politely. Replete, he leant back on a stool and gave Laeta his lecture for new recruits: `This is how law and order works in Rome. Top of the heap you have the Praetorian Guard; Cohorts One to Nine, commanded by the Praetorian Prefect, barracked at the Praetorian Camp. Fully armed. Duties: one, guarding the Emperor: two, ceremonial swank. They are a hand-picked elite, and full of themselves. Next in line and tacked on to them are Cohorts Ten to Twelve, known as the Urbans. Commanded by the Urban Prefect -a senator -who is basically the city manager. Routinely armed with sword and knife. Their unofficial job description is to repress the mob. Duties officially: to keep the peace, keep their ears open, and keep the Urban Prefect informed of absolutely everything.'
`Spying?' Laeta queried dryly. `I thought Anacrites did that?'
`He spies on them while they're spying on us,' I suggested.
`And at the bottom,' Petro continued, `doing all the real work, you have the vigiles, commanded by the Prefect of the Vigiles. Unarmed, but run on military lines. Seven cohorts, each led by a tribune who is an ex-chief centurion; each with seven centuries who do the foot patrols. Rome has fourteen administrative regions. Each cohort looks after two. Duties: everything those flash bastards at the Praetorian Camp won't lower themselves to touch.'
`So in the Aventine Watch you cover the Twelfth and Thirteenth regions?'
`Yes. We're the Fourth Cohort.'
`And your tribune is?'
`Marcus Rubella.' Petro rarely spoke of the tribune, whom he cordially dismissed as a legionary has been who should have stuck to square-bashing.
`An equestrian?'
`Bought it with his discharge grant. Almost enough rank now to be a master criminal,' Petro replied dryly, thinking of Balbinus Pius.
`And the main role of the vigiles is fire-watching?'
`One role.' Petro hated to be thought of-as a mere fireman. `Yes, but since that involves patrolling the streets at. night, when most crimes are committed, our remit expanded. We apprehend street thieves and housebreakers, round up runaway slaves, keep custodians of tenements and warehouses up to the mark. We spend a lot of effort controlling the baths. Clothes stealing is a big problem.'
`So you remain a proletarian squad?' Laeta was falling into the administrator's trap of obsession with titles and rank.
`We are freedmen and honest citizens,' snarled Petro, clearly not amused.
`Oh quite. And what's your own position?'
`Casework,' said Petro. `I head the enquiry team for the Thirteenth district. The foot patrols pound the pavements, sniffing for smoke and apprehending wrongdoers if they meet them face to face. They're competent for basic tasks like thrashing householders who let stoves fall over. But each cohort has an officer like myself with a small team of agents doing house-to-house searches and general follow-up. Two, in fact, one per district. Between us we trace the stolen goblets and investigate who hit the barmaid over the head with a plank.'
`Reporting to the tribune?'
`Partly. We do a lot for the Prefect's office as well. Any case where more than a public whipping is called for has to go forward to him. The Prefect has a full staff, including a registrar for various lists of undesirables, and an interrogation officer-'
`He carries out the torturing?'
`We find brute force can be counterproductive,' Petro replied: the official disclaimer.
I laughed bitterly. `Tell that to a hard case who has just had his privates squeezed in the little back room!' Petronius chose not to hear me.
`So…' Laeta moved on. `Tell me your anxieties about the Emporium raid. Your theory is that we have an organised and daring gang moving in on the city centre?' I'd like to know how much of Rome is threatened.'
`Who can say?' Petronius knew better than to give neat summaries. Criminals don't follow neat rules. `I'd reckon all the central watches ought to be put on alert.'
Laeta made a note. `So what is your assessment of the threat?'
`They are aiming at commodities,' Petro answered confidently. `It will be wharves and stores – not, I think, the general food markets. This affects the Thirteenth region mainly, but also the Eleventh and Twelfth, which include some specialist warehouses. I doubt if the granaries are vulnerable.'
`Why not?'
`With the state corn dole for the poor and the rich living off grain from their own estates, where's the scope for a black market? The bastards might take a swipe at the paper warehouse on the Quirinal. The Saepta Julia will also be a target. The jewellers should be warned.' Laeta was absorbing all this assiduously.
He had a warm almond omelette under a cover, so we divided that up into three for him and shared it round. Soon the food tray was empty.
Laeta then excused himself. We were allowed to put our feet up in his luxurious bolt hole until required.
`This is a right mess, Falco!' Petro tested the flagon but we had already drained it. `I don't want a bunch of amateurs all over my patch.'
`Don't burst your pod. It was you who made yourself out to be a master of criminal intelligence.'
`Hercules Victor! How was I to know a passing thought would be turned into an issue, with secretaries running around like rabbits and a full intersectional conference on major crime being thrown together the same day?'
I grinned at him kindly. `Well, you've learned something useful here: keep your thoughts to yourself!'
Rooting amongst the scroll boxes, I discovered a slim alabastron of red wine that Laeta had already unbunged and half drunk on some previous occasion. We unbunged it again and helped ourselves. I replaced the container just where I had found it, so Laeta would not think we had been prying amongst his personal stuff.
We took it in turns to nod off.
Instinct told us when to rouse ourselves. This we had learned primarily while watching for moustachioed Britons to jump out from broom bushes. In fact, the Britons had never jumped us. But the instinct had proved useful for warning us of bad-tempered centurions who didn't think it was funny if the footsloggers on guard duty happened to lean against a parapet to discuss whether the Greens were having their best season. ever in the chariot races at home. At any event, when Claudius Laeta bustled back to fetch us, we were neither leaning nor dozing, but had washed our hands and faces in a bowl that a flunkey had brought for Laeta's use, then combed our hair like a couple of swanks going to a party, and sat ourselves up like men who could be relied upon.
'Ah there you are…' Laeta gazed around his room nervously, as if he expected to find vandalism. `The old man's gone across to his own quarters. We'll have to make the trip to the Golden House.'
I smiled. `Lucius Petronius and I would welcome a stroll in the fresh air.'
Laeta looked worried a second time, as if he was wondering what we had been up to that could necessitate a breather.
Nero had set out his Golden House across the whole of central Rome. Via a garden that filled the entire valley of the Forum, he had linked the old Palace of the Caesars to a new complex completed for him by masters of architectural innovation and decor. Our conference was held in the new part. I had seen it before. It still made me gasp.
To reach it, we had come down from the Palatine, through the cool, guarded cryptoporticus, and walked across the eastern end of the Forum, past the Vestals' House and the Sweating Fountain, then around the mess that had recently been the Great Lake dominating the country gardens that Nero had created in the bowl of the Palatine and Esquiline hills. The lake was now a gigantic hole where Vespasian had inaugurated his promised amphitheatre. On the Oppian crest beyond it still stood Nero's fantastic palace. It was too opulent for the new Flavian dynasty, who had restrained good taste, yet too costly and too exquisite to pull down. To build another palace when Rome itself lay in ruins would look a worse extravagance than Nero's. So Vespasian and his sons were living here. At least they could blame their mad predecessor.