Lindsey Davis - Scandal Takes a Holiday

'You can take that several ways.'

'Oh quite!'

'Tell me, is flute-playing' some ripe shorthand in scandal column terms?' I queried.

'Very much so,' said Helena, with the gravity I loved so well. 'You would think all Rome would sound like a wind instrument orchestra, given the prevailing loose morals. Flavia's fingering is legendary, her breath control is lovely, and it's thought she even sometimes has a go at the double-ended tibia.'

To avoid encouraging my loved one's filthy mind, I concentrated on squeezing the bundle of clothes between a temple portico and a mason's cart that had been left parked rather tight against the streetside building line. Hot and weary, we stopped by at the house where Petronius and Maia were living, where we allowed Maia to fan us and furbish us with mint tea. We were forced to be introduced to the owner, who was visiting to oversee the installation of a fountain. It was a statue of a naked Young Dionysius; in the throes of his early wine-drinking lessons, the handsome god [who I thought looked rather like me when young,] made the waterspout by peeing. Since the house-owner was a building contractor, I assume this tasteful artwork had been pinched from some unfortunate client.

Perhaps it had been chipped slightly on the bunch of grapes as it was delivered, and became a return, with no visible refund on the final account. Petro's benefactor was called Privatus and had a shiny bald head, over which he had drawn long strands of thin greying hair. They crossed on top, creating a loose darn of fake locks which would blow apart in the slightest gust of wind. Not tall, the builder was bony and knock-kneed. I had met men who were more flash, but he reeked of social ambition and consciousness of his own success. You guessed. I did not take to him. Petronius was out. In an uppity mood, Maia took great delight in explaining to Privatus that I was an informer, in Ostia to find a missing scribe. I prefer to keep quiet about a mission, until I have the measure of a new acquaintance. Maia knew that.

'So, what would you say are your chances of finding this Diocles?' asked Privatus. It was a fair question. I tried not to bridle.

'At the moment it looks unlikely I can go much further.' I sounded more pleasant than I felt.

'Marcus Didius is being modest,' Helena declared loyally. He has a long history of solving difficult cases.' Privatus looked nervous. It takes people that way. So what do you reckon happened, Falco?'

'At this juncture, it's impossible to say.'

'How does an informer, excuse me asking so much, by the way, how do you go about finding a lost person, Falco?' People are always curious about my work. I sighed, then went through the rigmarole.

'Before I left Rome, I checked at the Temple of Aesculapius in case he had been hospitalised, or dumped there for burial. Here, I asked Petronius Longus to see if my man has been arrested by the vigiles for some reason, negative, and now the patrols are looking out for him. They should spot him if he's wandering in a daze. If he just changed lodgings because he couldn't stand his landlady, my task will be much harder.'

'Sounds like hard work!' exclaimed the builder, clearly unconvinced. I smiled bravely.

'Have you ever heard of anyone in Ostia called Damagoras?' Privatus posed, pretending to think.

'Afraid not, Falco.' I should have asked Privatus about his work. Still, he had probably heard that informers are famous for their bad manners. His life presumably was one long happy round of rebuilding the docks when holes he left the last time started letting in water. Helena and I quickly drank up our mint tea, then I took her home. She remembered the note-tablets. With skill, I managed to leave behind Diocles' dirty laundry, which I had left standing on the wellswept marble floor, in the atrium of Privatus' tasteful home.

Next day I went back to the scribe's lodging, this time in the morning. With luck, the landlady would be out then, and I could ask her new tenant to show me the scribe's room.

I left Helena continuing her task of reading old copies of the Gazette. She was doing this in the presence of our daughters. Julia Junilla, aged three last month, could start a riot that required quelling by the urban cohorts when she felt obstinate; at the moment she was playing cute. She did it with style and my heart melted. Sosia Favonia, a sombre thug of only fourteen months, was standing up naked in her crib, having learned how she could pull herself upright even as it rocked.

Next trick, falling out and cutting her head open. Still, Albia had laid a rag rug beside the crib to limit the damage. In order to read, Helena resorted to the old wheeze; she produced a new toy, [all the doll, ball, hoop, whistle and wooden animal makers in Rome knew and adored us,] then she moved away quietly as the children grew absorbed. She was safe with her scrolls until the next screaming quarrel started. I kissed the girls. They ignored me; they were used to me leaving home. Sometimes they seemed to think I was just the greengrocer's delivery boy. No; he would have been more exciting. With Nux darting through my ankles in an attempt to trip me up, I returned to the Marine Gate. It was a long way to walk, only to find the new tenant was out.

Depressed, I went to knock on the landlady's door, and at this point the Fates took pity. She was out too, so I finally met her all-duties slave, Titus. A snub-nosed, scar-faced rascal in a loose-fit one-shouldered tunic, this Titus had been kept away from me on previous calls. He was sharp as a nail; like all his tribe he knew exactly his value to a man in need. The pittance the Gazette scribes were paying me would not go far around many like Titus, but according to him he was unique. So that was all right. It was Titus who had actually cleared the room after Diocles went missing.

'Excellent news. Now earn those tinkling coppers you just squeezed out of me, Titus. I know what Diocles is supposed to have left behind, a few used tunics and some empty note-tablets. Now you tell me what else was there, and don't hold back.'

'Are you saying I nicked something?' Titus demanded indignantly. Always eager to join in a rumpus, Nux walked over and sniffed him. The slave eyed her uneasily.

'You are entitled to perks, young fellow.'

'Well, that's how I see it.' He settled down. Nux lost interest. 'He had a couple of other tunics, clean ones. As he wasn't coming back, I had them off him.'

'Sold in the second-hand market?'

'Too right.'

'Diocles came to Ostia for the summer,' I mused. He wouldn't have walked in with just one knapsack and a packet of squid dumplings, but even if he did.'

'What you saying, Falco?'

'Where did his knapsack walk off to?'

'He had two. I got a good price for them.'

'Were they empty?'

'Oh yes.' It sounded true. I looked at him steadily. 'I shook them out, Falco.'

'Where did his cash go, then?' Titus shrugged.

'No idea, honest.' There was no point pressing it. I noticed the slave had not asked me, what cash?

'How much luggage did he have when he first arrived? Would you say Diocles could have moved gear to some other lodging?'

'What he brought with him was left when he bunked off. A stool, and stuff…'

'Forget the stool!' I had retrieved it. The folding stool was wobbly and I had pinched my finger when trying it out. 'Was there a weapon?' I growled.

'No, sir!' Now that was wrong. In Rome it is illegal to go armed [not that that stops people] but when travelling we all tool up. I knew from Holconius and Mutatus that Diocles always carried a dagger, and sometimes he took a sword too. The other scribes had told me these were standard precautions, in case he ran into an offended husband or a furious wife's huge whip-wielding driver.