Lindsey Davis - Shadows in Bronze

'Nice present, but the lady won't look at me!'

He grinned. 'Falco, you're an odd sort for a Palace messenger! If Flavius Vespasianus has written to me personally, why send you as well?'

'Hiring in professionals! What did you wish to ask me? And why not in front of the lady?'

'It touches on her husband-'

'Ex-husband,' I stated.

'Pertinax Marcellus; divorced from her, as you say. What do you know about Pertinax?'

'Over-ambitious and under-intelligent.'

'Not your type? I saw his death announced recently,' he murmured, giving me a speculative look.

'True.'

'Is it?'

'Well, you saw it announced!'

He stared at me as if I had said something that might not be genuine. 'Pertinax was involved in a project I know something about, Falco.' Crispus' own role as a plotter had never been proved and I could hardly foresee him admitting it. 'Certain people had collected substantial funding – I wonder who has it now?

'State secret, sir.'

'Does that mean you don't know, or you won't tell?'

'One or the other. You say first,' I offered bluntly, 'why you need to know?'

He laughed. 'Oh come!'

'Excuse me, sir, I've better things to do than sit on a stool in the sun watching grapes ripen. Let's be frank! The cash was being hoarded in a pepper warehouse by a man who has apparently disappeared – Helena Justina's uncle.'

'Wrong!' Crispus shot back. Lies dead, Falco.'

'Really?' My voice rasped as once again I smelt the decaying flesh of that body I had flushed down the Great Sewer.

'Don't play games. I know he is. The man wore a ring; a monstrous great emerald, rather low taste.' Even for his banquet Crispus himself had not troubled with jewellery, apart from one flat onyx signet ring, good quality but discreet. 'He never took it off: But I've seen the thing, Falco, I was shown it here, earlier tonight.'

I did not doubt it. He was talking about one of the rings which Julius Frontinus the Praetorian captain had wrenched from the swollen fingers of the warehouse corpse. The cameo which I had lost.

So while we were in Rome Barnabas had found it. And Barnabas must have been in Oplontis tonight.

Thinking quickly, I worked out that Crispus was hoping he could still get his hands on the sticky ton of bullion which the conspirators had assembled, and that he intended using it to further plans of his own. Half Latium and a fancy yacht might not be enough to secure the goodwill of all the provinces, the Senate, the Praetorian Guard, and the lively Forum mob…

In the hope of convincing him to abandon his plans, I declared what I had guessed: 'Curtius Gordianus wrote to warn you that the Pertinax freedman Barnabas has turned himself into a freelance killer? He was here tonight, wasn't he?'

'Yes, he was.'

'What was he after?' I queried, keeping my voice unsensational. 'Trying to bring you in as a backer for this chandlery lark of his?'

'I think you've lost me, Falco,' Crispus remarked, in his pleasant, winsome way.

He gazed at me. I let the subject drop, like a fool who had accidentally stumbled on to a due, without understanding its significance.

I didn't understand it, that was true. But I was never the kind of amateur who would make his own uncertainty a reason to give up.

I had begun to suspect that wherever the grain importing fitted into this conundrum, Aufidius Crispus would be well to the fore of it. I wondered if he, and perhaps Pertinax before he died, had devised some private embellishment to the original conspiracy – an extra wrinkle, all their own. Was Crispus still hoping to pursue it? Had Barnabas come here tonight wanting to resurrect whatever fiddle Crispus had been intending with his master? And did frank, helpful, honest broker Crispus then decide that Barnabas would be better occupied telling me his life story in some dripping prison cell?

'You know Barnabas is wanted for the Longinus murder now? Are you turning him in, sir?'

I knew that under the affable exterior, Aufidius Crispus was a dangerous man, and like most of them, as quick to remove an embarrassment from among his own associates as he was to obliterate an opponent. Quicker, in fact. 'Try the Villa Marcella,' he suggested, without a second thought.

'I thought so! I was short of an excuse to search the place, but if that's a firm tip, I can pick the freedman up-'

'My tips are always firm,' smiled Aufidius in his elegant, easy-going way. Then his swarthy face hardened. 'Though I suggest, Falco, that you prepare yourself for a surprise!'

He had finished with me. He was holding Vespasian's unopened letter and I was anxious to leave him free to read that ancient piece of papyrus before the ink faded and beetles ate into it. I had the latch off the door when I stopped.

'About your friend Maenius Celer. I hit him because he was assaulting a lady.'

'That's Maenius!' he shrugged. 'He means no harm.' 'Tell that to the lady!' I rasped; Crispus seemed surprised. 'Camillus' daughter? She looked-'

'Immaculate; she always does.'

'Is this a formal complaint?'

'No,' I growled patiently. 'This is the explanation of why I hit your noble friend!'

'So, what's your point, Falco?'

I could never explain.

He was a clever, efficient operator. In a contest with the Flavians I might easily have given him my support. But I knew that stern, old-fashioned Vespasian (who agreed with me that the only point in taking women to bed was with their glad consent) would hold a grim view of jolly Maenius Celer and his so-called harmless escapades. I had found that men who shared my views on women made the best benchmates in politics. Which meant that Aufidius Crispus had just lost himself my vote.

There was nothing to gain by extending the conversation; I went straight out.

Helena had vanished. I wanted to find her, but I had told Aufidius Crispus I would wait in the colonnade.

For no obvious reason, I started walking along the veranda, away from the main body of the house. Only when I was beyond the sounds of other people, where a few desultory lamps lit the shadows, did I stop.

I stood still, hearing sea water rippling against a small pier thrust out into the Bay. From what Crispus had said about me being an odd messenger, I knew that however approachable he had appeared at our interview, he despised me. So long as Vespasian employed me, Crispus would despise Vespasian too.

The weight of my inability to influence him was suddenly too much. I lost all faith in myself. I needed a friend to console me, but now that Helena had taken herself off I was completely alone.

Sharp footsteps rang in the distance. Crispus emerged swiftly from his room. He was in front of the main building; I was in one wing, further back from the sea. I could see him but he was too far away to catch as he strode off.

I could have called out. There was no point. He made no attempt to look for me. He had reached his decision: Vespasian's letter would receive no reply. I had believed the man could be deflected from his purpose; but if so, it was evident that the messenger who achieved this tricky task would not be me.

I never give up that easily. I set off after him.

The scene indoors had grown disorganized during my absence. I found no one with sufficient command of their senses to ask which direction Crispus had taken. Thinking he might be collecting Aemilia Fausta, I headed back to the triclinium where I had seen her last. She was there, still looking lonely; he was not.

This time she spotted me. 'Didius Falco!'

'Madam -' I stepped across the prone figures of several young gentlemen who had been having a better time tonight than their aristocratic constitutions could endure. 'Seen Crispus?'

'Not recently,' admitted Fausta, with a close look which implied suspicions relating to dancing girls. Feeling thwarted myself, I sat down to be sociable. 'You look depressed, Falco!'