Two For The Lions

“You're a demon for gossip, Papa!” marveled Helena. Her father looked endearingly pleased with himself: “I can even tell you she's called Scilla.”

I gri

This time Camillus Verus reddened a little. “Whatever form is usual, no doubt! I'm afraid I lead too quiet a life to know.”

He was a lovely man.

After her father had gone Helena Justina unrolled his map again.

“Look!” she said, pointing part way between Carthage and Cyrene, to a spot on the Tripolitanian coastline. “Here's Oea and here's Lepcis Magna.” She gazed at me disingenuously. “Aren't they the two towns where Saturninus and Calliopus have their roots?”

“How lucky for me,” I commented, “That neither of them lives there any longer, so I can pursue my enquiries in comfort, here in Rome!”

24

TWO PROBLEMS HAD to be dealt with the next morning: finding a clean tunic without too many moth-holes for my di

I wanted to wear my old favourite green tunic, until I held it up by the shoulders and had an honest look. It was neither so thick in the nap as I thought, nor so smart. There was a long run from the corner of the neckline, where the threads always give out if you lead an active life. And it was sized for a younger, leaner man. No alternative: the new thing that Helena had been trying to introduce to my wardrobe would have to be tried on. It was russet. I hate that colour. The tunic was warm, well designed, a good fit, the right length, and ornamented with two long stripes of braid. Dear gods, I hated it.

‘Very nice,” I lied.

“That's you sorted then,” she said.

I managed to drop it on the floor where Nux could use it all day as a dog basket. That should give it some character.

Nux took one sniff, then turned away in disgust. She wouldn't stay in the house with it. She came out with me.

Anacrites took longer to pacify. We were in Calliopus' upstairs office at the barracks. “Falco, where did you get to-?”

“Be quiet, and I'll tell you.”

“Is that your dog?”

“Yes.” Nux, who could tell who ranked with squirrels and cats, growled as if she was about to fly at Anacrites with her teeth bared. “Just being friendly,” I assured him unfeelingly.

I did him the honour of telling him everything of my adventure yesterday. Famia's theory. The escaped leopard. Thalia's theory. Saturninus. And Rumex.

I held back on Urtica, and his nymph Scilla. Anacrites was a Palace spy. Unless I kept him on a tight rein, he was liable to rush off screaming treachery to a bank of scribes with poison in their inkwells. No point in libelling an ex-praetor in triplicate until I was certain he deserved it. And no point in confusing my partner with too much of the truth.

“None of this gets you anywhere,” Anacrites decided. “So a gladiator can't remember where he was one night what's new? Some of the lanistae dislike each other-well, we could have guessed that. There's no harm in honest rivalry; competition encourages quality.”

“Next you'll be saying that Leonidas is just a tragic victim of circumstance who was in the wrong cage at the wrong time, and that in business you have to allow for sustainable loss.”

‘Very true,” he remarked.

“Anacrites, a man who has had his head bashed in once, should learn not to make people angry-” I gave up.

“Did you get any further with the figures on Calliopus? Where is the bastard, anyway? He usually sites himself three inches behind us to overhear what we may say.”

Calliopus had so far failed to put in an appearance that day. Anacrites, who had arrived there before me and asked about it, said piously, “There is a rumour he is stuck at home, having a bust-up with his wife.”

“So we were right to suspect a mistress!”

“Saccarina,” replied Anacrites. “I wormed it out of that keeper called Buxus. Her boudoir appears to be by an i

He produced a schedule from a satchel he carried about with him. It was the list of discrepancies between what Calliopus had declared to the Censors, and extra properties we had identified. “He's in shit,” Anacrites gloated, ever the fair-minded investigator. “The only thing we ought to find out before we shop him, is whether the so-called brother in Tripolitania really exists. If not, and if the family outlet for beasts at Oea really belongs to Calliopus himself; I reckon there will be a five digit sum in this for us.”

I ran my eyes down the figures. It looked good even without the Oean element-but if that could be included, this was a first-class bust. We could be very proud of ourselves.

“I have an idea how we can run a check,” I said thoughtfully. “A contact of mine is in Carthage at present. I'm due to write to him. It would be worth the investment for us to guarantee his fare, so he could look into the Oean landholding for us.”

“Who is it? Is he trustworthy?” Anacrites seemed to know the kind of contacts I generally used.

“He's a gem,” I reassured my partner. “And more importantly, his word will carry weight with Vespasian.”

“Let's do it then.”

One thing to be said for Anacrites was that since his head wound had made him erratic he could take a decision to spend large sums of our so far unearned money without turning a hair. Of course tomorrow the same erratic behaviour would make him change his mind-but by then I would have sent off a banker's order to Justinus and it would be too late.

“Alternatively,” Anacrites suggested (always alert to a chance of thwarting some private plan of mine), “I could go out to Oea myself.”

“Good idea"“ I liked to disappoint him when he was playing me up. “Of course it's December so it won't be easy getting there. You'll have to take short hop sailings Ostia-Puteoli, Puteoli-Buxentum-Ithegium, Rhegium-Sicily just to start. You should get a lift out from Syracusa to the island of Melita quite readily, but it could become tricky after that-”

“All right, Falco.”

“No, no; it's good of you to volunteer.”

We left it in the air, though I was pla

We talked about what to do next. The documents on Calliopus could now be set aside until we finalised the issues of the mistress's house and the overseas property.

We needed to move on to another victim, either Saturninus or one of the other lanistae. I was sorry that this meant we ought to leave Calliopus' training barracks with the Leonidas question unanswered. But we had no choice.

The Census was supposed to be over within twelve months of its inception. In theory we could drag out the disputes for years if we chose to, but Vespasian was in a hurry for the state revenue-and we were hungry for our fees.

I mentioned that I would be dining with Saturninus. I said I would try to gauge whether he looked a likely prospect for auditing. Anacrites seemed quite happy for me to fraternise. If it was useful he could share in the credit; if it went wrong he could denounce me to Vespasian for corrupt practices. Nice to have a partner I could trust. “It's acceptable,” I joked, “So long as I don't enjoy myself.”

“Watch out for poison in the food,” he warned in a friendly voice, as if he were thinking of supplying some best quality aconite to my host. It was the poison in our partnership that was bothering me.

I was feeling low. I seemed to have caught a chill during my exploits at the Agrippan Baths yesterday.

Restless, I mooched out on to the balcony that ran around this part of the barracks. Nux gave a last growl at Anacrites and came to sit on my feet. While I stood there attempting to clear my raw throat, I noticed Buxus come out from the building opposite where the animals were kept, carrying one of the ostriches. I had seen him do it before. It was the easiest way to transport them: tucking them under one arm, gripping their wings with his elbow, while dodging their long necks and prying beaks.