Lindsey Davis - The Ides of April

The vigiles were unarmed in the conventional sense. However, since they were hefty ex-slaves, kitted out with axes, grapplers, ropes and other heavy implements, they were never to be trifled with. Morellus gave me theoretical protection, but I kept my eyes downcast. I think of myself as spirited, but I never enjoy situations like that. Once we came in through the mighty gates there was nowhere to run. I won't say nobody would hear you scream, but screaming was so normal here, nobody would investigate.

Down at the fancy end of the three massive courtyards was a shrine, and to one side of it a hidey-hole in which the cohort tribune ensconced himself when he wasn't out to lunch. Morellus had appointed himself my guardian in this masculine environment. He asked squeamishly if I wanted him to come in with me.

"No, thanks. Don't interfere with your darling tribune's technique, Morellus. So much easier for him to frighten me silly if I am trapped alone among strange men!"

Morellus, who had always been a baby about torture, looked relieved to miss the pain and terror, though he claimed he would wait outside only because the tribune had a rather small office. He promised to walk me home afterwards, and I replied cruelly, he was assuming I could still walk. He winced. I took a deep breath. He knocked. I marched in.

Inside the sparsely furnished office in fact there was sufficient space for four other men as well as Scaurus. I managed not to let the number of interrogators worry me. As soon as I stepped into the room, I felt disconcerted. I was staring at a low serving table they had probably borrowed from a tavern, upon which were placed several small bowls overflowing with olives and fancy pastries.

I managed not to show a smile. Once I grasped what these were for, I saw that Cassius Scaurus and his brutes were about to be thoroughly underhand. Their intimidation tactics took the form of finger-snacks.

They placed me on a folding stool, the ceremonial X-shaped kind used by important officials, with a cushion (it was rather lumpy but I was astonished to get it), then asked solicitously if I was comfortable there. The tribune must have given me his own stool. What an honour. I wondered if I could manage to wee on it with terror.

Before beginning, we had a short, awkward chat about the weather that day. So far, the attempt to intimidate me worked, because I hate that kind of small-talk.

The five men assembled in a circle, with Scaurus directly opposite me, so he could lead the soft bargaining. They were all standing up. I did not find that menacing, because there were simply no other seats in the office and, anyway, they all looked sheepish.

Cassius Scaurus had a big nose, straggles of grey hair and the self-satisfaction of a man who is playing out his time at public expense in a dead-end job. He had beaten the system. He must have been a centurion in the legions, but that didn't mean he was sharp, merely sly at manoeuvring. Thrown out by the army proper on "age" grounds, he had wangled himself to Rome, but the man would never make it past the vigiles into the more coveted Urban Cohorts or Praetorians. That was regrettable, because in the vigiles he could probably do more damage to the general public.

"So, you are Flavia Albia, Falco's daughter. I have heard a lot about you." I decided not to show any encouragement. Obviously he was wondering if he dared ask, "Any chance you'll get your titties out?" They are all the same, right down to the ghastly vocabulary. He only stopped himself because all the rest would have wanted a grope too. He was too mean to let his men have a go. "So you work in the community, as an informer? That's an unusual occupation for a woman. What are your interesting investigations at the moment, Flavia?"

No one I like ever calls me Flavia. I let him do it, without comment. He thought he was being intimate, not seeing how my hackles rose.

"Oh you know, sir…" I would never tell him what cases I really had. "One can always get by. Approach any bathhouse and offer to catch the peeper who keeps squinting through a hole he's made into the women's changing room. There is bound to be one. I help out."

"Fascinating!" His vigiles ought to apprehend the peepers, and he knew it. As an excuse why they didn't, he would claim shortage of manpower, but the real problem was total lack of interest in stopping the problem. Half his men would themselves squint through the hole at the women undressing, given the chance. I bet he would too. "Can we get you anything, Flavia? Something to drink, perhaps?"

"No, thanks. You don't want to waste time sending out a boy for peppermint teas all round-it's such a hassle working out how many with honey, how many without. And there's always one awkward customer who wants borage instead…"

Determined to be a gracious host, Scaurus gestured eagerly to the almond cakes. I made no move. My taste is savoury. Scaurus, who must have the usual male sweet tooth, was desperately trying not to slaver.

He could no longer resist the bounty spread so close, and awkwardly pulled a comport nearer. He snatched his hand back like a boy who heard his mother coming. He resisted some more, but then reached again and began munching. The other men watched longingly while their superior tucked in. I gave them a pitying smile as I wondered which had been sent out with coins from the kitty to buy the goodies. Somebody had passed off some extremely stale-looking custards on the errand boy. You know how after three days on the platter, they shrivel and the skin goes leathery.

"Very unusual-" Scaurus was gobbling too fast. He nearly choked on his cake and had to pause to sort himself out. He had crumbs all round his mouth. The others looked anxious. They were trained to revive people from smoke inhalation but, unless they were fathers of small children, might have little expertise in choking. When the tribune stopped coughing, he carried on wheezily, "-having someone like you come in to visit us."

"I imagine so," I answered gravely. "Successful and admired in the community. A nicely brought up equestrian's daughter and senators' niece." I would never normally have used such pressure, but felt inspired by my conversation with Andronicus about how my family's status had impressed the aedile. I gazed at Scaurus mildly: "Instead of the usual back-of-the-arena whores, poor girls, all ready to open their hairy legs so your troops will let them leave with only a black eye and a big fine."

All five men looked embarrassed. I heard one or two intakes of breath. It was nerves, rather than regret.

I gave Cassius Scaurus a longer, even more direct stare. "This is fun, but shall we be straight? I know why you have brought me in. A decision has been taken, involving people who consider themselves important, that you-unfortunate man-should be given the task of deterring me from something I was doing. First, you are supposed to deny that anything odd is going on in Rome. Then you will plead with me, will I please stop taking an interest in this hypothetical crime that nobody will admit is happening?"

The tribune had stopped eating. "Flavia, you are a very astute woman!"

He had changed his tone, not much, just slightly. I did feel a shiver slide down my spine inside my tunic. Scaurus knew how to seed a compliment with just enough threat. We both knew he had reached his rank through the normal application of bribery mixed with brutality. Vigiles officers were often poor quality, but he was by no means the lowest grade; he packed enough power to frighten me.

"I was very well taught," I said simply.

That was enough reminder of where my expertise came from. But I stood no real chance of blackmailing this man with my family connections. Under Domitian, both Father and my uncles were keeping their heads down. My parents regularly spent long periods out of Rome. Scaurus probably knew all that.