Lindsey Davis - Nemesis

'Well, it's hardly corrupt, but I'd define it as inept and complacent.'

'Always yourself]' smiled Laeta. 'I do admire that, Falco… Sometimes these complaints die down,' he said to Petronius, as if addressing the reasonable man in our pairing. 'So much better if a situation is dealt with peacefully, and at the local level. Nevertheless, should there be a flare-up that the local authorities cannot handle, it will be tackled – tackled aggressively.'

'This involves more than bad neighbours,' Petronius assessed. He was glum. 'Now a man has died. Tortured, killed, and his body deposited in a blasphemous way. He appears to have been coming to Rome to appeal to the Emperor personally. That, to me, places a moral duty on Rome to look into what happened – - and to pursue the victim's complaints.'

'Quite.' Laeta, too, became more subdued. He clasped his hands on the surface of his shining marble table. Mention of moral duties always casts a blight on bureaucrats. He admitted, in a frank way that from him was an apology, 'It now appears the man's petitions were justified.'

We had reached the crux of the meeting. Claudius Laeta half rose from his throne-like chair, so he could wriggle out of his toga. In palace code, this told us whatever was said next must be in confidence. Petronius Longus eagerly shrugged off his own formal robe. He and I moved closer to Laeta. We three were alone in the enormous room, but all of us dropped our voices.

'What are we dealing with?' The expert now, Petronius was terse, calm and impressive.

'The misfit family are called the Claudii. Mean anything?' I had heard the name only recently so I pricked up my ears, though Petronius shook his head, asking, 'Are they in Rome?'

'They may set their sights on moving to the city,' Laeta answered. 'So far we are spared.'

'Did your writer name names?'

'Often. He mainly railed against a brutish wastrel called Claudius Nobilis.'

'Anybody talked to him?'

'I believe he is frequently the subject of enquiries. However.. .' Petronius glanced my way as we waited. 'It is a little delicate.'

'Why?' I asked bluntly.

'These people are freedmen,' Laeta said. 'Not just anybody's freedmen – they originally came from the imperial family.'

Petronius chewed it over for a moment then clarified: 'The current Emperor's family name is Flavius. So not Vespasian's familia?'

'Yes and no.' Laeta's backside must be purpose-made for fence-sitting.

I saw the problem all right. 'All the imperial possessions passed over when Vespasian took the throne. Not just official buildings and mansions, but all the Julio-Claudians' vast portfolio of palaces, villas and farms – - together with, presumably, their battalions of slaves. Claudian freedmen might transfer their respect to the Flavians – if they thought there was anything in it for them. As there generally is, with imperial connections.'

'The Flavians in turn must have been happy to accumulate powers of patronage – or not, in this case!' joked Petro.

Claudius Laeta had a chilly demeanour as we scoffed. 'Most freedmen of the old imperial house transferred their allegiance to the new.'

'And that's why you are here!' I told him, with a wicked smile.

He cut me off. 'We acknowledge an inherited problem. Someone tried to dump it in the past – unsuccessfully. Slaves should be freed as a reward for good service – -' Just what my father's band all kept reminding me. 'It is clear this clan were disposed of because they were perennial pests.' Laeta sniffed. Slaves and ex-slaves are riddled with snobbery. 'None ever held a useful position or trained in a specialism. When they were freed, none took decent work or tried to set up businesses. Their imperial past makes them arrogant; it is thought – both by themselves and others – to give them protection from the law.'

'Wrong of course?' I asked.

'They exploit the belief, and people are afraid of them.'

Petronius and I shared another glance. 'So it will look bad,' he suggested, 'if moves are made against them on your orders, Laeta – but you find no evidence and can make no charges stick?'

'Indeed.'

'So what's the plan? I assume you asked me here because there is one?'

Laeta powered into a summary: 'Local initiatives have failed. Time and time again, in fact. I want to send expert examiners from Rome. Look at it with fresh eyes. We need a sophisticated approach, backed up by energetic action.'

The usual plan, apparently. The one that usually fails.

'You want them evicted?' A shift behind his eyes told me – and Laeta, if Laeta was observant – Petronius Longus thought this was asking for trouble.

'Only,' Laeta insisted, 'if the accusations are true. If these people are causing a very serious nuisance.'

'Murder would be defined as "very serious"?'

'Yes, murder would justify intervention from Rome. More than one murder certainly.'

'What action has been taken so far?'

'Your dead man was reported missing, by relatives I understand. Regional forces did visit the Claudii, since they were implicated.. .'

'And the regionals buggered it!' Petronius was frank, but Laeta looked unfazed. Well, he started life as a slave. He had heard crudity in many languages. As an official in Rome, he shared Petro's sneer at the regions too.

'Perhaps they were under-experienced… They found nothing. It means any new investigation has to be conducted with extra sensitivity. It would be a bad day if imperial freedmen – which the Claudii are, and that must never be forgotten – came to accuse the Emperor of harassment.'

I asked, 'Have they lawyered up?'

'Not yet.' Laeta clearly assumed they would. Social menaces are well versed in finding legal teams to defend them, and an imperial connection was attractive; it guaranteed the brief would attract notice.

'Can they afford it?'

'There are always lawyers, Petronius, who find it a challenge to take on the government.'

'Pro bono? That really would be a glory of democracy,' I scoffed.

'It would be a pile-bursting pain in the arse!' Laeta's turn to be crude.

'So you want the vigiles involved?' Petronius Longus was torn between his yearning to pursue an intriguing case and his distaste for taking orders.

Laeta flexed his fingers. He summed up the position in a careful intellectual way: 'The Praetorians would look heavy-handed. The army is never used against Roman citizens in Italy. Yes, it seems right to use the vigiles. And since you have prior knowledge, Petronius Longus, you should lead the mission.'

'Going out of Rome?'

'Going to Latium.'

'My tribune will need a docket.'

'Your tribune will be comforted with all the honeyed instructions he requires.'

'This is Marcus Rubella,' Petronius warned, on the verge of smiling.

'Ah, the wondrous Rubella!' Laeta had met him. 'Then I shall use my most impressive seal when I write to him.'

'Better bump up his budget,' I advised. 'To help him calm down.'

Laeta tinkled with laughter. 'Oh Falco, there are limits!'

Foreseeing a long summer away from his family, Petronius became grumpy. He could not refuse when the Palace commanded. If this had been his own idea, he would have been gagging for it; orders from a scroll-beetle were much less welcome. He tapped the dead man's tablet with a heavy index finger. 'So does the petition-writer have a name, Laeta?' Claudius Laeta made a show of ruffling through other documents to check.

I leaned towards him and offered helpfully, 'He is called Julius Modestus – am I right?' When Laeta confirmed it, I was not surprised.

Petronius shot me a dark look. He thought I had known all along. In fact, I had only just decided for sure the coincidences added up.

To Laeta I breezed, 'Lucius Petronius and I are already on this. We have been working together; I am just back from reconnaissance.' Now it was Laeta's turn to look annoyed with me; he thought I was angling for payment. He was right too. 'If you are sending in headquarters assessors it makes sense to include me. I'll do it for my usual rates.'