Lindsey Davis - Time to Depart

'I thought the Emporium was guarded at night.'

Petro growled in the back of his throat. 'All hit over the head and laid out in a line like dead sardines, tied up and gagged.'

'Neat. Too neat?' I queried thoughtfully. 'An inside job, maybe?'

'Possibly.' Petro had thought of it. 'I'll work some of the guards over. When I get the chance.'

'If!' I grinned, reminding him that his position was about to be tested. 'This could be your big chance to meet the Emperor.'

'I've met him.' Petro was terse. 'Met him with you, Falco! On the famous occasion when he offered you a fortune to keep quiet about a scandal but you opted for the high moral ground and threw away the cash.'

'Sorry.' I had not forgotten refusing the fortune, merely that Petro had been there watching me play the fool. I had made the mistake of uncovering a plot that impinged too closely on the imperial family; struck by an urgent need to protect his son Domitian, Vespasian had rashly promised me advancement, a ploy he now regretted, probably. It had been pointless in any case, given that I had turned the offer down in a high-handed manner. 'Nobody buys my silence.'

'Hah!' Petronius knew the only loser had been myself.

Suddenly a chamberlain slid out through a curtain and gave Petro the nod.

I stood up too. 'I'm with him.' The official had recognised me. If he thought I was trouble he was too well groomed to let it show.

'Didius Falco,' he greeted me smoothly. The two Praetorian Guards flanking the doorway gave no sign of hearing what was said, but I knew they would now let me pass inside without tying my arms in a Hercules knot. I had no wish to approach anyone of regal status looking flustered after a fight. I knew, even though we were not in the right part of the Palace, that we were about to meet regality: hence the Praetorians.

Petronius had shot towards the curtain the minute he was signalled. Before he could object I stepped past him and entered the audience chamber. He grabbed the curtain and bounced in after me.

Petronius would have been expecting an office, one full of people perhaps, but all with the kind of status he felt free to ignore. I heard him utter something, then cut it off short. It was a lofty room full of scribes. But there was one other, very particular occupant. Petro choked. Even though I had warned him, he had not seriously expected that he would meet the Emperor.

Vespasian was reclining on a reading couch, glancing over a note tablet. His craggy face was unmistakable; he had certainly not bothered to demand a flattering portrait when he approved the new coin issue.

There was no pomp. The couch was against a side wall, as if it had been placed there for casual visitors. The whole impression was that the lord of the Empire had just dropped in and made himself at home in someone else's cubbyhole.

Centrally, there was the long table, covered with scrolls and piles of tablets. Secretaries were stationed there with their styli. They were scratching away vety fast, but the speed was unforced. A young slave, smart though not particularly handsome, stood quietly near the Emperor, a napkin over one arrn. In fact Vespasian was pouring his own drink – half a cup; just to wet his whistle. He left it on a bronze pedestal so that he was free to stare at us.

He was a big, easy-going, competent character. An organiser, he had the direct glance of a blacksmith, with the country-born arrogance that reminded me of my grandfather. He knew what he believed. He said what he thought. People acted on what he said. They did it nowadays because they had to, but people had been jumping when Vespasian barked since long before he was Emperor.

He had held all the civil magistracies and the highest Militaty ranks. Every post in his career through the cursor known had been screwed out on merit and in the face of Establishment prejudice. Now he held the final post available. The Establishment was still prejudiced against him, but he need not care.

He wore the purple; it was his entitlement. With it he had neither wreath nor jewels. For him the best adornment of rank was acute native intelligence. That was aimed at us. An uncomfortable experience.

'Falco! What are you doing here, and who's your big bodyguard?'

I walked forwards. 'I act as his guardian actually, sir.' Petronius, annoyed at my joke, followed me; I shoved him to the front. 'This is my friend Lucius Petronius Longus, whom you want to see: the enquiry captain of the Aventine sector in the Fourth Cohort of the vigiles. He's one of the best – but he's also the happy fellow who shut the Emporium today.'

Vespasian Augustus stared at Petronius. Petronius looked self-conscious, then thought better of it and stared boldly at the floor. It was marble; a tasteful acreage in black and white. The tesselations had been laid by a sharp tiler.

'That took nerve!' commented the Emperor. Petronius looked up again, and grinned slightly. He would be all right. I folded my arms and beamed at him like a proud trainer showing off his best gladiator.

'I apologise for any inconvenience, sir.' Petronius always sounded good. He had a mellow voice and a calm delivery. He gave a trustworthy impression. That explained his success with civic selection boards, and with women.

'Apologies may not be enough,' replied Vespasian. Unlike selection boards and women, he could spot a rogue. 'How do you know Falco?'

'Colleagues from the Second Augusta, sir.' Our legion was one Vespasian himself had once led. Both Petro and I allowed ourselves a certain cockiness.

'Really.' The Second had disgraced itself since Vespasian's day. Regretfully, we all let the subject drop. 'You two work in different areas now.'

'We both strive for law and order, sir.' A bit too pious, I thought. Petro could get away with it perhaps, since Vespasian had not known him long. 'Which is what I was doing today after the robbery at the Emporium.' Petronius Iiked to gallop straight to the point. The concept of first being weighed up through friendly chatter was so alien to his blunt nature that he was rushing the interview.

'You wanted to assess the damage before people trampled everywhere.' Vespasian could assimilate information swiftly; he rapped out the explanation as if it were obvious. I saw Petro flush slightly. He now realised he had plunged in too fast. Given our relative positions in this conversation, forcing the pace was rude. Being rude to an Emperor was the first step to having a lion sniff your bum. 'Why', asked the Emperor coolly, 'could you not have made the merchants responsible for alerting you to their losses in due course? It is in their own interests to provide the information. They will want you to retrieve the stolen goods. So why cause a riot?'

Petronius looked alarmed. He had done things his own way. It was a way that would work, so he had not bothered with alternatives. Alternatives tend to be messy. Just thinking about them wastes time.

'Closing the market sounds crude,' he admitted. 'I was thinking ahead, sir. It was clear we were dealing with a highly organised gang. They had already made fools of everyone involved with security at the Emporium.' He paused. Vespasian quietly indicated that he could go on. Petro got into his stride: 'My immediate reaction was that the raid was so well done they wouldn't stop there. We'll see them again – either at the Emporium, or elsewhere. At this moment they have the advantage on me. I need all the facts – and I need them rapidly. Today I had to discover everything I could about the methods used – how they had identified the goods in advance, for instance. This was no ordinary robbery. The haul was exceptional, and I prophesy big trouble in Rome.'

Without actually answering the original question, Petronius Longus had managed to put the situation in context. He came out of it well, too. I knew it was bluff, but he looked like a man who was planning well.