LXII

Time had gone by. It was dusk when I reached the Hortensius mansion, but its owners were so fond of displaying their lucre that they had already set up rows of resin torches and dozens of flickering lamps. As usual I ended up in a reception room which was completely new to me, alone.

The freedmen had bravely set aside their grief for Novus and were entertaining friends. There was a faint lick of perfumed garlands, and from time to time when a door opened I caught a distant swell of laughing voices with the shiver of a tambourine. The message which I sent in was framed to intrigue, with a warning beneath. A slave came back from Sabina Pollia asking me to wait. To while away the time while the company gorged she had me provided with a few titbits of my own: a feast, nicely presented on three silver trays, accompanied by a flagon of their well-aged Setinum wine. I discovered it was good quality because I was in no mood for tasting titbits so imbibing at least their Setinum seemed only polite.

On the wine tray were a matched pair of jugs with hot water and cold, a small charcoal burner, bowls of herbs, a pointed strainer, and fine twisted winecups of green Syrian glass: I amused myself for half an hour with these, then sat back on a couch decorated with silver lions and gazed thoughtfully about the vividly furnished room. It was too splendid to be comfortable but I had reached the stage where reclining amid tastelessness, despising it, suited my bitter mood.

Before long Sabina Pollia did appear. She was swaying slightly, and offering to serve me more wine with her own fair hands. I told her mine was a large one, leaving out the herbs and the water. She laughed, poured two, sat beside me, and then we both dashed off daring quaffs of Setinum, neat.

After days on an invalid diet, it tasted richer than I could handle. But I polished it off, swung to my feet and poured myself some more. I came back to sit beside Pollia. She laid one elbow on the back of the couch just behind my head, leaning on her hand as I gazed into her exquisite face. She smelt of some drowsy perfume squeezed from the glands of animals. She was slightly flushed and she watched me through experienced half-closed eyes.

“Have you something to tell me, Falco?”

I smiled lazily, admiring her at close quarters while her hand idly tickled my ear. The excellence of the wine burned comfortably into my windpipe. “There are many things I could tell you, Sabina Pollia—most of them not relevant to the reason why I’ve come.” I drew my finger along the perfect line of her cheek. She gave no sign of awareness; I asked quietly, “Do you and Atilia realise there are witnesses to what you tried to do with the poisoned cake?”

She grew very still. “Perhaps Atilia should be here?” She spoke with neither embarrassment nor any other kind of feeling that I could recognise.

“As you wish.” She made no move to send for her crony, so I went on, “Hortensia Atilia at least had the excuse that she thought she was providing for her young child. What about you?” Pollia merely shrugged. “No children yourself?”

“No.” I wondered if that was a conscious choice to preserve her figure. Then she asked, “Falco, have you come to threaten us?”

“In theory I am on my way to see the Praetor and report what I know. I realise,” I broke in as she tried to interrupt, “the Pincian Praetor is heavily in debt to your family. But I shall remind him that under Vespasian’s new administration, if he wants to win a consulship it will be in his interest to demonstrate how impartial he can be. I’m sorry; impartiality tends to be tough on a Praetor’s private friends.”

“Why should he listen to you?”

“I have influence at the Palace, as you know.”

Pollia moved. “Atilia will want to hear this. Atilia is involved in this, Falco; Atilia bought the cake—” She tailed off. I guessed she had been drinking steadily all night.

I had kept them separate long enough to disturb their composure; I nodded. She clapped her hands for a slave and not long afterwards Hortensia Atilia hurried in. Pollia spoke to her in a low tone on the far side of the room, while I played with the stuff on the wine tray.

“So what have you come to tell us?” Atilia asked, advancing towards me and taking the brisk role.

“Actually, I thought you would like to know that Appius Priscillus has just left town.” Atilia frowned immediately; Pollia, who was the more drunk, followed her lead. “It was my suggestion. I informed him,” I said, sounding helpful, “that Crepito and Felix had found out how Novus was poisoned by the flask of wine Priscillus left here, and that they had realised he also meant to kill them. Priscillus saw that this news might rouse them to some heat! He thinks they are denouncing him.” I sat down on the couch with the lions, threw my head back, and smiled at them. “May I ask you, ladies, what you did with the flask?”

Pollia giggled. “We poured the wine as a libation on the pyre—” At the funeral of Novus, this must be; not when we buried the cook. “And then,” she explained with a mild explosion of silliness, “we added the flask to the fire too!”

“Destroying the evidence? Never mind; it wasn’t relevant.”

“Not relevant?” Atilia queried. For the mother of a future senator, she was unfashionably sharp.

“The Falernian was harmless. Priscillus had poisoned the spices which he left to be mixed with it. It was Viridovix who took the spices, poor fellow. So you see, Priscillus only killed your cook.”

“Then what happened to Novus?” Atilia demanded.

“Hortensius Novus was poisoned by something he ate.” They were at full attention. “I expect you noticed,” I told them, “that when the cake platter came to the table, your special item had been removed?” Atilia went rigid; Pollia would have done, but she was too drunk. They must have geared themselves up to do the poisoning, then relaxed when they thought someone had thwarted their efforts. Now I was telling them they were murderers, when they were no longer prepared to deal with it. “Unfortunately, the cake had been removed by Severina Zotica, who thought Novus would enjoy it as a treat after dinner on his own … I presume you realise,” I said gravely, “that if this comes to court, the penalty for murder is to be fed to the arena lions?”

*   *   *

Guilt blinded my listeners to any holes in this tale. They came to sit either side of me. “What are you saying?” Pollia murmured. “If it comes to court?”

“Well; I’ve had to deposit details in a place where I keep my records—in case anything ever happens to me, you know … But at present, apart from Zotica, I’m the only one who knows.”

“Are you and she intending to do anything about it?” Atilia asked.

I scratched my chin. “I’ve been thinking about that on my way up here.” They were cheering up. “The redhead won’t bother you. Zotica will have to cut her losses; I hold evidence about her past husbands’ deaths which she can’t risk having exposed.”

“And what about you?” Atilia cooed sweetly.

“This could bring me a good bonus.”

“Who from?” snapped Atilia, changing tone.

“Any prosecuting barrister who wants a juicy case; several of them buy my information to provide lustre for their careers. Your story is guaranteed to pack the courts and make lawyers’ names overnight. I could earn a lot of money if I turned you in.”

Pollia said bluntly, “Then you can earn a lot of money if you don’t.”

She deserved the Novus empire: a really snappy businesswoman, full of practical ideas! I gazed at each of them in turn. With the evil reputation some informers have, I knew I could convince them of anything. The blacker the better. “I’m open to offers. There is a scheme which I run with my girlfriend for simplifying movements of large sums of cash.” Deplorable suggestions were what they understood. “You’ve met her actually; I sent her up here to get a second opinion when you were hiring me—Helena Justina.”

“The senator’s daughter?”

I laughed. “Is that what she told you? She’s with me! That school she pretended to be founding—well, that’s how we operate. If you want to, you can donate an endowment for Helena’s school.”

“How much?” rapped Atilia. I plucked a huge figure from the air. “Falco, that’s enough for a Greek university!”

“Got to make it right,” I assured her. “We shall need to build a real school or the cover’s no good. Luckily I know where there’s a piece of land you can give us—one of your own apartments fell down this lunchtime in the Piscina Publica—my apartment!” I growled, as Pollia started to protest.

There was a small silence. I turned genuinely serious. “People were killed. Too many people. Questions will be asked in the Senate. Better warn Felix and Crepito that that lackadaisical agent of theirs has already been strung up on a street crucifix, and they are facing intense public interest in their affairs. Face facts, ladies; you need to clean up the business methods Novus used—and you need to do it fast. I suggest a rapid programme of civic works: start paying for public fountains. Erect a few statues. Get yourselves a better name, because at present your standing couldn’t be worse. For instance,” I suggested, “we might name the new school after the Hortensius family. That’s a decent and respectable project, to impress the community.”

No one laughed, though one of us was trying to.

*   *   *

Pollia swayed to her feet. She was feeling ill. I raised my winecup as she fled the room. Silence fell, as I drained the cup and made ready to leave.

Atilia had turned her head; she came so close her breath tickled my cheek. I began to sweat. Then there was nothing to do but wait while Hortensia Atilia lifted her beautiful face into position for my kiss.

“Sorry,” I said gruffly. “The night is too young, I have too much to do—and besides, I’m a good boy.”