LX

There was nothing to gain by delaying any longer.

“Sweetheart! This job I do is stupid. You get knocked about; your house falls down; the most gorgeous woman you ever went to bed with is telling you she needs you; and yet off you go to round up villains—when you’ve just found out that the man the villains murdered is someone you would only have kept alive so you could murder him yourself!”

Shivering, I flung my black cloak round me. That reminded me; in my hat there were still my two cakes from Minnius, wrapped in his vine leaves so more or less free from dust. “Take these; we’ll eat them together at your father’s house tonight,” I said, trying not to acknowledge Helena’s painful need to stay close. “Promise.”

She sighed. “Father wants to see you anyway, now you’re up and about.”

“It should cheer him up if I have to give you back to him.”

“We can talk about that,” Helena said; implying that there was nothing to discuss.

I banged my hat to shift some of the mortar dust, and rammed it on.

“You look like a messenger of vengeance. Anyone who sees you outlined in an archway will want to turn and run…”

“Good,” I said.

The dirt on my skin and in my hair was obsessing me; I sluiced off quickly at a bathouse while I laid my plans.

It was midafternoon. Enough of this mosaic now existed for me to feel confident that once I started to manipulate the tesserae, I could fill in the gaps by guesswork and good luck. I had to see Priscillus, the Hortensius women, and Severina Zotica. Cerinthus could be a false lead. But if I could discover where this Cerinthus hung out, I had to see him too.

I chose Appius Priscillus first, and at his house on the Janiculan. Fired by my new incentive, I chose well.

Tension cramped my guts at the thought of meeting the Phrygian bodyguards, but the Priscillus organisation had been stood down—off watch during the siesta. I knew from the disgusting brown sedan in the hall that Priscillus himself was there.

The first mistake his porter made was letting me in. The second was going off to tell his master a visitor had called, without noticing that the visitor was padding behind.

“Thanks.” I smiled at the porter, steering him out of the way as I went in. “No need to introduce us—Appius Priscillus and I are old friends.”

I had a grudge against Priscillus, which was embellished with bitter envy once I entered the room.

It was a spacious study, with large pannelled doors folded back to give an amazing view across the Tiber towards Rome. In the hands of any competent designer, the effect would have been spectacular. Priscillus probably bought the house for its position, but then he completely wasted it. It was full of natural light—and nothing else but heavily sealed strongboxes. Priscillus begrudged the most basic sticks of furniture. He had confined himself to such dingy paint and fixtures that he managed to ruin everything; there should be a law against spoiling the potential of such a perfect spot.

I felt my nose wrinkling. Its glorious position made the house much more palatable than his business address on the Esquiline; but there was a sordid smell of neglect.

“The game’s up, Priscillus. Time for you to leave Rome.”

Priscillus, the same rat-faced runt in what looked like exactly the same frowsty tunic, found his voice with a venomous wheeze. “Don’t waste my time, Falco.”

“Or you mine! I’m calling you to account for the murder of Novus.”

“You’ve nothing on me, Falco!”

“Oh no? What about your party gift—the excellent Falernian?”

“There was nothing wrong with the Falernian,” Priscillus assured me a little too smugly.

“I’ll go along with that.” I grinned. “I tried a drop. A connoisseur might have said it overheated while it was standing in the dining room—but it was as smooth as I have ever drunk. On the whole best taken neat, however! The spices that came with it were a rather queer selection…” He shot me a glance. “Myself,” I said, “I never take myrrh and cassia in a wine of real character. Too bitter. Though it’s true that in an inferior vintage, myrrh will disguise a multitude of sins…”

Enough said. I walked further into the room.

Priscillus started to run round under his fingernails with the pointed end of a stylus. “What do you want, Falco?”

“Revenge, actually.”

“You’ll be disappointed.”

“I don’t think so.” My confidence was baffling him. He was too amazed even to send for reinforcements. I liked that. He was afraid I might have something on him so all I had to do was let him know I had. “Priscillus, I know how Hortensius Novus was murdered. If it ever comes to court I’ll be subpoenaed as a witness—”

“It won’t.” He carried on digging out grime. Some of that silt probably found its way under his talons when he still had his milk teeth.

“Wrong. What I know is far too incriminating for Crepito and Felix to buy off the investigating praetor, however deeply he’s in hock to Crepito.”

“How come you know so much?” Priscillus sneered.

“I found out while I was being hired to fend off the little gold-digger—”

“The girl did it,” he tried; a half-hearted attempt. “She sat in this room, when she brought the invitation, and actually admitted that if she ever felt like disposing of an unwanted husband, she would poison him!”

“Novus was never her husband,” I responded logically. “Useful though. Severina’s presence must have seemed an ideal cover for the rest of you who wanted Novus dead. Don’t think she didn’t realise. I reckon her involvement was to come here and give you the idea. She set you up! You were supposed to do it after they were married—but unluckily for her you couldn’t wait.”

“What’s your evidence?” Priscillus mooned morosely.

“I went up to the house on business that evening. I witnessed your spice being stirred into the winecup; I saw the poison drunk. Well!” I exclaimed, as if I were still startled by the memory, “I don’t know what you were expecting, but poor old Novus certainly doubled up with surprise. Next minute he was stretched out on the latrine floor!”

This quaint mixture of detail and informed bluff started to have the desired effect. “How much?” asked Priscillus wearily.

“Oh I’m not looking for a bribe!”

“How much?” he repeated. Evidently he had dealt with coy extortionists before.

I shook my head. “You can’t buy me. Things have gone too far. For one thing, I was pretty upset when you had me knocked about the other day—so anything I said to the Hortensius mob while under the stress of injury is your own fault.”

“Cut the pretty talk, Falco,” Priscillus growled, but I could see him wondering what I had said.

I straightened up. “Here’s my theory: Crepito and Felix had discussed with you the possibility of getting rid of Novus if he kicked up rough. He did, so you left him the extra present. When he died, those two went along with it at first.” Priscillus agreed with none of this; though he failed to deny it either. “It came as rather a shock when I pointed out to them that by poisoning the Falernian—which you rushed off without sharing—you must have been hoping to polish off not just Novus, but the entire Hortensius clan.”

He was good. He was so good it was dangerous. “Why,” Appius Priscillus asked me serenely, “would Felix and Crepito imagine I wanted to do that?”

I smiled. “Did you warn them not to take any spice?” He said nothing. That was a mistake; it dropped him into my hands. “Felix and Crepito are not the brightest boys on the Via Flaminia, but even they finally realised: you wanted a clear field. They only escaped by accident. Novus could never wait; it was just like him to start into the wine on his own. Before he knew Novus was dead, Felix had carried the flask to another room—their Egyptian salon—” I added, for extra conviction. “He left the spice bowl behind. At first Felix and Crepito thought you had accomplished the Novus killing by some brilliant and undetectable method—”

“But you told them otherwise,” Priscillus threatened coldly.

“That’s right,” I said. “And now Pollia and Atilia also know you tried to poison their husbands. They have sent Felix and Crepito running to the law.”

Priscillus scowled. His narrow, secretive mentality would fight me all the way. “You’re stupid coming here today—I’m going to wipe you out, Falco.”

“No point. This is out of my hands. You’ll be convicted by the Hortensii. Their servants saw you hand over the flask. They saw you run back with the spice bowl after quarrelling with Novus. Felix and Crepito may even corroborate that there was a prior conspiracy.”

“They’re stupid enough to do that. What are you up to?” Priscillus demanded with contempt in the wheeze.

I let my hands drop. “I hate the lot of you. I hated Novus; I was a tenant of his. The apartment he leased me was overpriced and undermanned, and today it fell down. Nearly killed my girlfriend; nearly killed me—”

Priscillus had such a spiteful spirit he could understand this kind of anger. “You’re fingering them for it?”

“What else?” I snarled. “If I could implicate those bastards in the poisoning too I would! And now while they are spilling the dirt to their own pocket magistrate, denouncing you and preening themselves, I’ve run up here. I wanted to see your face when I told you I’ve already watched the law officers making enquiries at your house on the Esquiline, and their next stop must be here—” I could tell from his rat’s face that Priscillus was already working out that this place was outside the city boundary, so the vigiles might not arrive immediately.

“Time to move if you want to pack a sponge and a few moneybags,” I insisted. “Rome’s too small to hide in now, Priscillus. Your only hope of survival is to nip off and see the high spots of the Empire for a few years—”

“Get out!” he said. He was too preoccupied with his urgent need for escape even to shout for the Phrygian bodyguards to make their mark on me.

I scowled, as if I didn’t like the order. Then I tipped my hat back on its string, flung my cloak around me bitterly, and left.

The grimy brown sedan chair scurried off a few minutes later.

Lying among the garden bushes, I watched some ponderously heavy trunks departing with him, supported on their shoulders by the sweating Phrygians. I could hear Priscillus bawling at them to hurry, as he was carried down the Janiculan towards the Via Aurelia and the Sublician Bridge.

There were more than thirty mileposts between here and the port at Ostia. I hoped he would make those Phrygians run all the way.