Part 13 (1/2)

He said nothing.

We were walking at a leisurely pace. The day was grey and heavily overcast, with a hint of snow in the air. It was bitingly cold; I wrapped myself deep in my woollen cloak, throwing the ends over my shoulders and snuggling my reddened ears into its folds, while Aelia.n.u.s fastened his garment more pedantically, pinning it dead centre with a fibula beneath his chin. The way the front edges hung, he must have a frozen gap chilling his stomach up the middle of his tunic. He made no attempt to grip the material together. He was athletic and liked to pretend he was physically hard.

We pa.s.sed neglected fountains, stalls where the vegetable-sellers stamped miserably, a small temple with its doors firmly closed to prevent vagrants snuffling into the sanctum to take refuge from the weather.

When I next spoke to Aelia.n.u.s, my breath formed a damp area in my cloak where it obstructed my mouth. 'Your parents would be amazed - and pleased - if you started studying.' I stretched my neck to show him a grin. 'I'd get some credit for reforming you!'

'What do you mean - reforming?'

'Oh yes, you're an upright character!' He gave me a look. 'Stories were circulating in Baetica,' I warned him. Helena and I had followed Aelia.n.u.s out there after his stint working with the provincial governor. His life in Spain had been one of hunting and entertaining with the local wild young men; his dafter indiscretions seemed to include an unhealthy flirtation with the wors.h.i.+p of Cybele. None of this had ever been mentioned at home by Aulus. He was secretive and had become quite a loner, once he was back in Rome. 'Of course I haven't gossiped, but your father is alert to your rampant past. Decimus may seem in a world of his own, but he's sharp. If he thinks that your working with me now is a cause for relief, then he was quite worried about the alternatives.'

'He still wants to see me in the Senate,' Aelia.n.u.s confided. 'I know.'

'You discuss me?' He sounded annoyed.

'No. Trust me, Aulus. I won't rush to the baths and thrill your papa with some story that we've turned you into a barrister.'

He gave me one of his moody grunts. Our conversation paused as we sidestepped a man with flailing arms who was trying to detain us and sell us horoscopes; I foresaw that this was just so an accomplice could sneak out from behind a barrel of scallops and steal our belts. 'Very nice,' I said, shoving the astrologer aside bodily. Insincerity is a Roman street art. We walked on. Curses followed us. We did not react.

'Well, I find the legal details interesting,' Aelia.n.u.s confessed. From him it was quite an opening up. He added, 'Helena says she's glad we're in this legal market now. She likes the fact it's all talk, so you are not involved in danger.'

'You have been discussing me?' I riposted.

Being himself again, he just grunted once more.

At the Golden Milestone we went our separate ways. I watched young Aelia.n.u.s treading his firm path down the Forum away from me, a st.u.r.dy figure with solid shoulders and stout calves tramping beneath his neatly draped cloak. The intimate conversation had made me feel more than usually responsible for him. Watch it, Falco. Nannying aristocrats is a slave's task.

He could handle himself. Peddlers shrugged easily as he ignored their trays. He gave a wide berth to a dog with froth on its muzzle and stepped aside as a drunk spoiling for an argument staggered blearily into his path.

Hunched in my cloak, I bore around the shadow of the Capitol and made my way home. I was thinking about the best way forward. Our talk with Scorpus had been refres.h.i.+ng. Calpurnia Cara had always been on my list for investigation; his suggestion that she might have offended her husband was a good lead. It was also time we pursued the Saffia/Lutea angle, and hammered it hard. Then there was the idea that something looked amiss in the family; I trusted Fungibles on that. The peculiarities of the will must have an explanation - not that families always behave understandably. Mine were a cantankerous, deliberately stubborn lot. Maybe the Metelli were the same.

I came around a windswept corner by the cattle market, head down as I forged a path up the Marble Embankment to my house. Chilled now, I was tired and in need of sustenance. The cold was making my eyes water. As darkness began to gather, I saw the welcome sight of my own front door, flanked by two laurel bushes, with an oversized dolphin knocker that my father had installed. Cheered, I failed to notice villains suddenly homing in on me. I was at their mercy. Hands seized me from behind. Legs kicked my weary feet from under me. I was taken aback, thrown down on the road before I knew what was happening. How many there were I had no idea. I let out a disorientated cry, curled up protectively, craned around to look at them.

All I saw as I peered along the gutter was a large boot, coming straight at my right eye.

I ROLLED. NOT far enough. Was it better to lose an eye, or to have a fractured skull? I thought I heard my neck crack as I wrenched away. The boot made contact, sc.r.a.ping along the upper bone of my eye socket painfully. Eyes shut against the agony, I screwed on to my back and kicked out hard, both feet together. I found someone, not with much force, but it gave me leeway to start fighting back.

No use. They dragged me over and face down again. My back was being pummelled. Thanks to my cloak, a heavy-duty item bought for long-distance travel, the effects were less than the murderous b.a.s.t.a.r.ds intended. But I could not rise. I was stuck by the kerb, in the litter and dung. Someone stepped on my hand. Then either they were disturbed, or maybe their task was fulfilled. Now they were leaving. The parting shot came hoa.r.s.ely right by my ear; the man must have bent double: 'Leave it to the big boys, Falco!'

Leave what? No need to ask.

I lay for a while where I was, thankful to be still breathing. Slowly I hauled myself across the pavement to my own threshold. Stumbling upright, I banged at the door, shaking too much to find my key. Somebody must have come to investigate. They would have looked out through the spy window, Albia most likely. The damage to my eye must have made me unrecognisable; instead of opening up, I heard the grim sounds of the bolts being shot home.

I fell down and waited to be rescued. My brain was almost empty - apart from a recurrent thought: I had recognised the boot coming at my eye.

But as usual in these situations, I had no idea where I had seen it before - or on whose foot.

Not too long afterwards, I was woken. A torch flamed, too close to my face. I was aware of a small group, with hard, professional voices.

's.h.i.+ft that b.l.o.o.d.y vagrant off Falco's doorstep...'

'Dead?'

'Dying, I think. Give him a few kicks -' I was pulled upright, exclaiming at the pain. 'Oh dear, oh dear! Look who it is -' A voice I knew well as Fusculus, one of Petro's men in the vigiles, mocked me sadly. 'Helena Justina been knocking you about again, Falco?'

'Just a lovers' tiff...'

Fusculus shook his head, while banging stoutly at my door. It took some time for him to convince the occupants that it was safe to respond. 'Helena Justina, somebody does not like your husband!'

I heard Helena swiftly telling Albia to take my daughter Julia out of sight so she would not be scared. Julia was wailing anyway. 'Bring him in, will you -'

'You really must stop thumping him,' muttered Fusculus, continuing his tired joke. 'And do get him to give up the drink - This is a disgrace to a respectable neighbourhood.'

'Don't be a busybody, Fusculus.' A catch came in Helena's voice. 'Oh Juno, where did you find him?'

'Huddled on the step like a bundle of rags. It's all right - much worse than it looks -' The vigiles have a stock soothing repertoire for distressed wives. 'I've got him. Tell yourself he's just faking it, for a cheap thrill. Use your d.a.m.ned feet, Falco. Show me where to go, princess -'

They took me upstairs and I was dropped on my bed. I let it happen. Fusculus went off to tell Petronius, then almost at once Petro was there, with the vigiles' doctor, Scythax. They cleaned me up. As always, I refused a sleeping draught but Helena made an uncompromising nurse.

Trying to keep my fears private lest Helena worry even more, I croaked that Petro should contact the Camilli and Hononus. He had worked out that the attack was case-connected and promised safety checks.

'Warning you off, eh? This is a clear message. You could listen!'

'No chance of that,' Helena answered for me. 'He'll become more determined. You know him.'

'Yes, he's an idiot,' Petro replied frankly. 'Still, somebody thinks it matters to get rid of him. What's he doing this work for? Is there money in it?'

'It's a fight for justice, Lucius Petronius.'

'Oh I can see it's a fight,' Petro scoffed wryly. I felt his finger prod my eyebrow. 'But someone else seems to be getting the better of it, and there's no justice in that, is there?'

I buried my head under the pillow and took refuge in a drugged sleep.

Next day I woke, stiff as a post and groaning. I thought about getting up, but abandoned the plan. Helena forbade it, so I tried crawling out of bed after all. Then I dropped any idea of racing around the Circus Maximus and stayed put.

Helena brought up her wicker chair and a low footstool, to sit beside me. Now that I was being sensible, she allowed herself to straighten the coverlet then stroked my hair lovingly. 'Tell me what happened, Marcus.'

'You can see what happened.'

'Were you followed?'

'They were lying in wait.' I struggled to think straight. 'What about the others?'

'Justinus was at home - Claudia has gone into labour. I ought to go over there.'