Lindsey Davis - Enemies at Home

‘Of course,’ announced Claudia, who had her peculiar moments, ‘there will be more questions asked, and even perhaps useful action taken, if my darling Quintus dies from this.’

That doesn’t mean she was hopeful he would. Claudia Rufina merely wanted to emphasise how stupid it was for anyone to attack a senator.

Slaves were waiting to lead Faustus and me to our separate quarters. He would have extremely smooth sheets and neatly aligned pillows. I would be on a pull-out bed, spending the night cuddling Aelia, the only daughter of the house, four years old, her father’s pet (and didn’t the sweet little piece of mischief know it).

As I glanced back, Claudia had taken over as nurse. I saw her stationed at her husband’s side, patient, brave, disposing herself to the will of the gods, not allowing herself to cry because that would be no help to anyone.

Uncle Quintus lay with his eyes closed. He showed few signs of being in our world. But I noticed that he moved his right hand and covered one of Claudia’s. She shed tears then, though silently and without moving a muscle, so as not to disturb him.

Claudia was clearly wrong to worry. I would not go wandering corridors that night, looking for the aedile.

I was a free woman. I was twenty-nine years old, so people had no obligation to tell my mother what I got up to. But in the homes of close relatives, you are never truly independent. If I was seen chasing a man around my uncles’ two houses at midnight, not only would both my parents hear about it (and my sisters, and my young brother), but the story would be retold to innumerable other relatives every Saturnalia for the next four decades …

I was twenty-nine, which is old enough to know when to follow their rules for a quiet life.

Well, all right, I did go. But not immediately.

My niece took an age going to sleep. After that night’s upset, the house took what seemed like hours to fall still and silent. Even then, to be frank, I spent more time than you may think in deciding that looking for the aedile was what I wanted to do, plus even more while I plucked up courage.

I only went because I was worried that if he came looking for me, he would waken little Aelia.

He too had decided we should liaise. His timing matched mine too. We met one another half way. It is true we had exchanged a glance when Claudia packed us off to our rooms, but there was no pre-arrangement. And we certainly made no bedroom assignation. Barefoot and each carrying a tiny lamp, Manlius Faustus and I came face to face in a colonnade beside a small garden, just this side of the link between the Camillus brothers’ two houses. Neither of us remarked on the other being there. No explanation was needed. He steered me to a bench beneath some fancy wickerwork, where we sat with our heads close, whispering.

Forget intrigue. For heaven’s sake. If he was weary before, the man was completely past it now. I was drained by tension myself. We were not seeking thrills like adolescents on holiday. We just both needed to talk about what had happened.

‘What do you think?’

‘This was to warn us off, Tiberius.’

‘Arising from our enquiries of the vigiles — and you tackling that man, Gallo.’

‘If Gallo took offence at the bar, it could have been me who ended up being hammered.’

‘And it could have been me, if the Rabirii know that Justinus and I visited the tribune together-’

‘They are bound to have that information. Vigiles barracks leak information like worn-out gourds.’

‘The question is, Albia — did the gang act because they were guilty of the theft and they don’t want us finding out?’

‘Or do they just want to frighten us?’

‘To avoid attention? − If so, they have attracted even more.’

‘Yes, but they thought they were in control. They won’t have planned on having a man arrested.’

‘Right. Now if we can prove he has a connection to them, they are in trouble. Their best choice was no action at all …’ The aedile sounded urgent. ‘I am worried about tomorrow, Albia. Aelianus has arranged to visit the Fourth Cohort’s tribune.’ Because my uncle had been attacked almost on his own doorstep, the crime came under the jurisdiction of our local vigiles. ‘He couldn’t get to see the man tonight, but he’s anxious to liaise directly, first thing. He has asked me to be there.’

‘You saw Aulus when he came home?’

‘Briefly.’

That was him; never a great one for chat. ‘Tiberius, why so worried? You can handle a tribune. In the Fourth it’s Cassius Scaurus. You know him; he’s just a bully and an imbecile. But he won’t bully you.’

For once Faustus coughed with amusement. ‘It’s when he tries to stop looking like an imbecile that I find him scary — such a terrible actor … No, I’m really cursing over the search for the missing Aviola silver. If I am over here, supporting Aelianus, I cannot be there to supervise.’

‘Stick with him. I can be at the Esquiline in time. Let me exercise a watching brief.’ Always a useful phrase. State officials use ‘watching brief’ to imply they will be observing an activity, yet will not interfere. That leaves them free to interfere like energetic billygoats.

Faustus fell for it. That is how I knew he was exhausted. Otherwise he would have seen through my innocent-sounding offer.

There was a noise, a small thump somewhere, behind or near to an open second-floor window in a room above the garden. It could just be a pigeon shifting in a gutter, or an eavesdropper.

In a house like this there would be slaves everywhere. Some might be close by in the very shadows here, tucked up behind the battered fountain or curled on a mat under the jasmine on the trellis. Possibly they were sleeping, perhaps they were listening to us. There was no moon and the sky must be full of haze because only a few faint stars could be glimpsed in the open square between the pantiled roofs around the courtyard.

Quintus and Claudia would rely on the slaves’ loyalty to them and their immediate family. As visitors, that might not extend to Faustus and me. Slaves were human. And we lived in a poisoned city, where a paranoid emperor had caused often-lethal mistrust.

Caution ruled.

Faustus and I stood up to leave. I felt a light touch of the aedile’s hand in the small of my back, guiding me to the colonnade. He had blown out his lamp, risking a stumble over some abandoned mop and bucket but enabling him to glide invisibly back to his guest room, assuming he could remember the way. He whispered goodnight and I did the same. At the end of the corridor I glanced back, but it was too dark to see him. I had no idea whether those grey eyes were surveying me. All he would have seen if he looked was a shadow and a faint pinpoint of light from my tiny oil lamp.

The discussion was worth having. It had eased my mind. Back in my room, I fell asleep in moments.

I was up very early, though had already missed Faustus and Aelianus. They went to see Cassius Scaurus at very first light. The vigiles do most of their work at night, while they are fire-watching, so the best time to catch any of them is at the end of the watch. Scaurus rarely went out with the foot patrols but he would have to be in his office when the men returned to base with prisoners and reports. He gathered in the human trash not only from his headquarters team, but the lads at the out-station up on the Aventine, which was my local.

As I poked around trying in vain to find someone to give me breakfast, I envisaged the scene at the station house this morning. Among the usual bunch of feckless householders who had left braziers burning unsafely and needed a pompous lecture on responsibility, Scaurus would be thrilled to find a hardened criminal who had been caught in the act. This signalled fun. He might not welcome a Daily Gazette report on the mugging of a senator in the Twelfth District, but he would love holding a villain from the Second Cohort’s patch. Scaurus could annoy the Second by retaining him for as long as he wanted, then when he grew bored with this simple entertainment he could shunt the fellow back to his opposite number, leaving his counterpart stuck with any tricky decisions and all the tiresome form-filling.