Lindsey Davis - Time to Depart

'How long had you had it?' demanded Fusculus suspiciously. 'What was this treasure made of?'

'Wool! The most serviceable wool. I'd had it twenty years – '

'Put: worth a dupondius! Then the usual formula: I therefore request that you give instructions for an enquiry into the matter.'

As the clerk began to write, Fusculus nodded me indoors. He was a round, happy fellow, about thirty-five years and a hundred and eighty pounds. Balding on top, the rest of his hair ran around his skull in horizontal ridges. It had remained dark, and he had almost black eyes. Though rotund, he looked extremely fit.

'If you're after Petro, he'll be in later. He went out with the night patrol,' Fusculus announced. 'He's convinced there will be another gigantic raid. Martinus is on duty. He's gone back to the Emporium to check on some things.'

'I can wait.' Fusculus grinned slightly. Most people didn't bother with Martinus. 'So what's on, Fusculus?'

'Seems pretty quiet. The day patrol is out looking into a possible theft from the Temple of Ceres. We've got scratchers doing statues at the Library of Asinius – '

'Scratchers?'

'Lifting off the gilding. Then a tanner's allegedly poisoning the air by the Aqua Marcia. Normally it's poisoning the water… Anyway, we can get him for noxious smells and shift his workshop to the Transtiberina, but somebody's got to go there and actually sniff the air while he's working. Street fight by the Trigemlnal Gate -be over by the time the lads can get down the Clivus Publicus. Three apparently responsible citizens have laid separate reports of seeing a Wolf by the Temple of Luna.'

'Probably a large cat,' I suggested.

'On the usual form it will turn out to be a small, timid tabby!' chortled Fusculus. 'Escaped bears and panthers we pass straight on to the Urban Cohorts – well, at least those bastards are armed. And we let them catch senators' sons' pet crocodiles that have escaped from the rainwater tank. But a "wolf" we usually have a look at. Just in case it's suckling heroic twins, you know.'

'Oh, you'd want to be in on the action then!'

'Right! More boringly, we have an abandoned dead horse in the Cattle Market forum which will have to be cleared with fire-breaking tackle. Meanwhile we've got a bunch of runaway slaves in the lockup waiting for owners to collect them. There are also two careless householders for me to interview. They were picked up by the fire-watchers last night for allowing fires or smoke in their premises. The first-timer will be let off with a warning; another has been dragged in before, so he has to prove it was an accident or he'll be thrashed.'

'Who does that?'

'Sergius!' said Fusculus gleefully. I had met Sergius. He enjoyed his work. 'Then we've a third would-be arsonist in the cell who is definitely on his way.'

'On his way?'

'To the Prefect. He's a stupid sod of a jeweller who constantly leaves unattended lamps swinging in the breeze in his colonnade.

'So what'll he get?'

'A hefty fine. I'm taking him over to headquarters to be processed. Maybe you'd better come with me. Rubella wants a welcoming word.' Rubella was the Fourth's tribune.

I grinned. 'Am I going to enjoy this?'

'What do you think?' twinkled Fusculus. As he collected his cudgel, the arsonist and some official notes about the prisoner's misdemeanours, he continued filling me in. Obviously he was a thoughtful type, and one who enjoyed lecturing. 'Apart from all that, it's work as normal – which means not doing it because of more urgent priorities. We have an ongoing investigation of a secret religion that will have to be delayed again because of the new task, as will our long-term granary fire-protection programme, our anti-toga theft campaign at the baths, and keeping up the lists of undesirables.'

'What undesirables are these?' I asked, curious about what kind of degenerate earned a formal state record.

Fusculus looked rather shy. 'Oh well, you know we have to assist the aediles with their registers. Bars and brothels.'

'Somehow, Fusculus, I don't think bars and brothels were what you meant!'

'Mathematicians and astrologers,' he confessed. He looked faintly surprised. 'Anyone who leans towards the occult or magic has a question mark over them in the public-order stakes. Philosophers especially.'

'Oh, flagrantly seditious!'

'So I'm told. I'm not saying we believe the principle, Falco, but we like to be ready in case the Emperor demands a purge. Under Nero it was Christians. That's eased off lately, so we can go back to actors.'

'Disgusting degenerates!' I did not reveal that I had just spent three months working with a theatrical troupe. 'Who else?'

'Greek shopkeepers.'

'Now that's a new one. What's wrong with them?'

'They keep their booths open night and day. It's reckoned unfair on the locals. That can lead to trouble, so we keep lists to tell us quickly who to lock up when a row flares and dung starts being hurled about.'

Somehow I didn't suppose he kept matching details of the local businessmen who complained.

'I'm sure it's a relief to all honest citizens to know you stay vigilant!' Sarcasm was breaking through as I sensed there was more. 'And is there anybody else who threatens public order so badly you keep them under surveillance and maintain their names on secret lists?'

'Informers,' Fusculus admitted, looking resigned.

Rubella was still eating sunflower seeds.

He looked about fifty. Must have been, to have put in a full stint in the legions. He had been a chief centurion; that takes sticking power as well as a clean nose. Once he would have been about my level socially. Twenty years had pushed him on: promotion the whole way in the legions, discharge with honour, and buying himself into the middle rank. Now he commanded a thousand men; poor quality, it's true – the vigiles were ex-slaves for the most part – but if he continued to dodge disasters he could aspire to the Urban Cohorts, and maybe even the Praetorian Guard. Rubella was made – though he had spent his whole useful life getting there.

He was big physically; quiet; not tired by life. His grey hair was still close-cropped in the military manner, giving him a tough appearance. His strength was enough to move an ox aside merely by leaning on it. The knowledge soothed him. Rubella took the world at his own pace. He was utterly composed.

Fusculus introduced me. Rubella forced himself to pause between the seeds. 'Thanks for coming over. I like to induct new attachments personally. Welcome to the squad, Falco.'

The tribune's welcome was deceptive. Like Petro, he didn't want me near the squad. He seemed friendly, but it was a barely concealed front. I was an outsider. Uninvited. Liable to uncover private grief.

Some officials would have made me talk about my work for the Emperor. Rubella must have been told of my past career. He might have picked it over, full of prejudice and seeking to belittle me. Instead he ignored that side completely: a worse insult.

'You're an old colleague of Petronius'.'

'We go back ten years.'

'Same legion?'

'Second Augusta. Britain.'

'A good man,' said Rubella. 'Absolutely straight…' His mind seemed somewhere else. 'I've been having a talk with Petro about this task with the gangsters. He suggested I assign you to looking up some past history.'

I noticed the subtle way Rubella had put himself in charge of allocating duties. Clearly it wouldn't just be Petro and me haggling over the booty. Rubella wanted in. Any moment I expected the Prefect of the Vigiles to put an oar in the stream too. Then there was probably the Fourth Cohort's interrogation officer – Petro's immediate superior – to contend with. And no doubt each of the seven cohort centurions thought himself top man on the Aventine. If I wanted work, I would have to grapple for it.