Authors: Lindsey Davis
Tags: #Fiction, #Crime, #Mystery & Detective, #Historical, #General, #Action & Adventure
The Ides of April
Table of Contents
Rome, the Aventine Hill: March–April AD 89
The Course of Honour
Rebels and Traitors
Master and God
THE FALCO SERIES
Silver Pigs
Shadows in Bronze
Venus in Copper
The Iron Hand of Mars
Poseidon’s Gold
Last Act in Palmyra
Time to Depart
A Dying Light in Corduba
Three Hands in the Fountain
Two for the Lions
One Virgin too Many
Ode to a Banker
A Body in the Bath House
The Jupiter Myth
The Accusers
Scandal Takes a Holiday
See Delphi and Die
Saturnalia
Alexandria
Nemesis
Falco: The Official Companion
Lindsey Davis
First published in Great Britain in 2013 by
Hodder & Stoughton
An Hachette UK company
Copyright © Lindsey Davis 2013
The right of Lindsey Davis to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library
ISBN 978 1 444 75583 1
Hodder & Stoughton Ltd
338 Euston Road
London NW1 3BH
Neighbours and Family
| Flavia Albia | ready for anything, expecting |
| nothing good | |
| Marcus Didius Falco & Helena Justina | her mother and father, typical parents |
| Julia and Favonia | her younger sisters, normal girls |
| Postumus | their little brother, a very strange |
| boy | |
| Ferret | looking for trouble |
| Junillus | a cousin, deaf but far from dumb |
| The late Lentullus | a good man who died young |
| Rodan | a bad gladiator who won’t die |
| Prisca | a bathhouse proprietor |
| Serena | her small strong masseuse |
| Chloe and Zoe | big strong gladiating girls |
| The Mythembal family | local cover for Albia |
| Robigo | an urban fox |
| Titus Morellus | a vigiles investigator, useless but |
| useful | |
| Cassius Scaurus | his superior, an inferior tribune |
| Felix | Falco’s driver, a decoy |
| Kicker | his mule, a good mover |
| Piddle, Diddle and Willikins | three hens involved in law evasion |
The Dead and their Mourners
| Lucius Bassus | deceased aged three, a tragedy |
| Salvidia | deceased, the client who never |
| pays | |
| Metellus Nepos | a misguided client, who does pay |
| Celendina | an elderly victim who said too |
| much | |
| Kylo | her son, who remembers nothing |
| Lupus | deceased, aged 15, another |
| tragedy | |
| Lupus’ father and brothers | who saw nothing fishy |
| Julius Viator | aged 23, fit, boring and deceased |
| Cassiana Clara | his forlorn widow, hiding |
| something | |
| Laia Gratiana | in the Ceres cult, a woman with a |
| past | |
| Venusia | her maid, saying nothing |
| Marcia Balbilla | a rival cult initiate, a woman of |
| surprises | |
| Ino | her maid, deceased, a touching |
| memory | |
| A funeral director | doing well out of all this |
Other Interested Parties
| The Goddess Ceres | bringer of plenty (of trouble) |
| Andronicus | an archivist, a curiously attractive |
| prospect | |
| Tiberius | an undercover agent, with |
| questions to answer | |
| Manlius Faustus | a plebeian aedile, an unknown |
| quantity |
March–April
AD
89
1
L
ucius Bassus was three years old when his mother took her eyes off him and he ran out of the house to play. They lived on the Clivus Publicius, a steep road on the Aventine Hill, where he was knocked down by a builder’s cart. The cart, which escaped its driver’s control as it sped down the slope, was owned by Metellus and Nepos, an outfit that worked from a yard on the hill. Nobody talked about Nepos; at first I thought he might be an invention for some tax fiddle.
This business was no more shady than most in Imperial Rome. It carried out refurbishments for bar owners who wanted to move up from blatantly sleazy to a pretence of hygiene. The custom was that the Metellus crew would tender for a full deep-clean and fancy renovation, promising to complete in eight weeks max. In practice, every project took two years and they skimped on the fittings. They would re-grout the marble counters, put in a new doorstep, provide a mis-spelt signboard and charge the earth for it. By then their clients, unable to operate in the permanent dustcloud, had lost their custom and were going under. It amazed me that other bar owners saw what happened yet still used the firm, but they did. Over the years Metellus and Nepos had done very nicely out of Roman rotgut-sellers innocently trusting them. But killing a child, in the close-knit Aventine community where we had
some
standards, just might be commercially stupid.
Lucius died at once from his injuries. He never stood a chance. He expired on the kerb. Inevitably, at that very moment his distraught mother came out of the house. It helped fuel local outrage.
The ramshackle cart had been overloaded. The draught oxen were both past their best. Their driver was blind drunk, no question. He denied that on principle, the principle being that Salvidia, the vinegary widow who had inherited the shopfitting business from the husband she had driven to his grave, would not pay his wages if he told the truth. There were witnesses, a large group of whom gathered in the Clivus and took an interest, but they all disappeared when a busybody produced a note tablet and started collecting names.
Once the funeral with its pathetic tiny coffin had been held, well-meaning neighbours started to suggest that the family were entitled to payment for their terrible loss. Everyone agreed they should immediately hire an informer to look into the legal aspects. If being hit on the head by a falling flower tub could be worth cash to the victim, what price a child’s life under civil law? Someone (it was rumoured to be the note tablet busybody I mentioned) even wrote up on a wall a plea for concerned citizens who had been present at the accident to come forward. It must have appeared before the first of April, because I saw it that day, the Kalends. The poster sounded official. While not actually offering payment, it implied possible advantage. As a professional, I read it with interest. I found it subtly done.
By then, I had become involved. Any investigator who was favoured by Fortune would be taken on by the heartbroken mother to negotiate compensation. This was a public-spirited task, where a reputable person could maintain a clear conscience: you look into the facts, you put those facts to the guilty party succinctly, you say, ‘I am a top informer, this is meat and drink to me; a toddler is dead and a jury will be weeping into their togas, but nobody wants this to go to court, do we?’ The guilty cough up, and you cream off your percentage.
Not me. Fortune never favoured me and the problem with being a woman was that sometimes I could only obtain business that all the male informers had sniffed and refused. This was one of those months.
I
was hired by Salvidia. The owner of Metellus and Nepos wanted me to help her beat off the mother’s claim. Typical.
From what I have already said about this construction group, you will guess my employment was on a ‘no win, no fee’ basis. Indeed, I was starting to feel its basis might amount to ‘win, but even then the bastards never pay up’ – like so much of my work, unfortunately. After a week, I was ready to abandon the miserable project, but I had already put in quite a few hours and, besides, I never like to be defeated. The poster asking for witnesses suggested someone else felt the same way.
The wall graffiti included an address where people could make statements, so as my enquiries were stuck, I went along to see if any had done so. My line would be that as I was assisting a party in the dispute, I had the right to ask. As a female I had no rights at all in matters of law, but why let that stop me? Either way, I was hoping to plea-bargain. Anything to have this finished fast, so I could drop the case.
The address was the Temple of Ceres. It was close to my home and office, though on a far grander street than the blind alley I lived in. Anywhere would be finer than that. Fountain Court holds no attractions for the founders of fine religious buildings.
Arranging assignations at temples is common in Rome. For strangers it is neutral ground. For instance, married men find the steps of temples convenient for picking up prostitutes. The grander the temple, the lousier its hangers-on. Inured to the seamy side of our city, the public pass by without noticing. Suggesting a meet at a temple was, I presumed, simply for convenience. Thinking little of it, I went along on spec.
