XLVII

Even Helena had stopped murmuring to Albia. Helena had wonderful ears. Those shapely shells were perfect for pearl earrings, tempting to nibble-and they could single out whispered words of scandal from right across a humming banquet hall. She held up a finger to keep the girl silent.

Petronius Longus placed his hands flat on his thighs, breathing slowly. "You are about to do something noble, Popillius?"

"I am not as stupid as you seem to think," returned the lawyer peacefully.

A half-grin fixed itself on Petro's face. "You tailed the slave!" "Of course," confirmed Popillius with a light inflection. "When the legal profession are offered anonymous clients, it is regular practice." Petronius winced. "And to whose house did the slave return?"

"That of Norbanus Murena."

Petronius and I leaned back and slowly whistled. Popillius looked reflective. His voice was low, almost sorrowful, as he contemplated the devious world. "The perfect neighbor, I am told. A decent man, with an elderly mother upon whom he dotes. She is not with him in Britain, if the lady really exists. Which I regard as unproven, incidentally."

Petronius and I both shook our heads in amazement.

"So why are you telling us?" I queried.

"That should be obvious," the lawyer replied piously.

"You hate and despise gangsters?"

"As much as anyone."

"But you take their money?"

"If there is a justification legally."

"Then why give Norbanus away?"

Now Popillius did look slightly embarrassed, but the mood was fleeting. "I was hired. I took the case." I still did not see the point.

"You told me Pyro was poisoned by these gangsters," explained Popillius. Then he showed us that a lawyer's conscience is a tender thing: "I have been paid for my services and I will defend his interests. What has happened to Pyro is an outrage. I cannot allow anyone to kill my client and get away with it."

XLVIII

So Florius was in partnership with Norbanus Murena.

There was a sensible course of action (go home; inform governor; change into dry tunics and put feet up while governor took risks). Then there was the course Petronius and I chose.

I blame Helena Justina. She reminded me that Norbanus also lived in the northern part of town, nearby. Popillius told us the address. He lent his carrying chair to take Helena and Albia back to the residence. When he offered to escort them himself, I refused.

"So I may be an honest lawyer-but you don't trust me!" he twinkled.

"Not with my wife," I replied.

The lawyer's directions took us to a neat house on the bank of the main stream. There stood several shrines to the Three Mother Goddesses, bulging British deities sitting among fruit and baskets of wool and looking as if they would clout anyone disrespectful rather hard around the ears. A couple of other buildings in the vicinity were using the water supply for light industry, among them a pottery and a decorative metal works. These must be where those neighbors lived who thought Norbanus such a nice man.

Petronius and I approached quietly. We walked discreetly all around the boundary. It was quiet. Nobody was about that we could see. But if this was the headquarters of a major gang of criminals, armed personnel could be all over the grounds, waiting to ambush us.

"You knock on the door," I said. "He knows me."

"He's met me too."

We were behaving like naughty schoolboys who planned to disturb the porter then run away. We did not make a move, however. We were taking stock. For one thing, while Norbanus had no reason yet to suppose we were onto him, this house lay close to the arena, and not far from the waterwheel hut. There was a possibility that Florius had hidden up here. If we had only associated him with Norbanus before this, we could have searched this house in time.

Now, however, the question was not did Florius come here after the fight-we both thought it almost certain-but was he still on the premises?

"I think he would bolt to his associate, get his breath, then move on fast," Petronius said. I agreed. But we still needed to approach the joint with care. If Florius and Norbanus were both there, this operation really needed more than two of us. Even Norbanus must be far more dangerous than he had always seemed.

We had already made plans to cover the worst contingency. Helena Justina was to ask the governor to send troops. But would they ever come? I had requested support earlier, when I first left to join Chloris at the amphitheater: the riot was all over before a few desultory soldiers turned up. Petro and I could be sitting here all day waiting for reinforcements.

We chose to investigate by ourselves. We would certainly do that without thinking if we were back home on the Aventine.

We did wait for some time. It gave us a feel for the place. We stood against the wall of the next-door house and dutifully watched the Norbanus residence. Nobody went in or out. Most houses are like that except at certain times of day. This was not one of the busy times. There was no activity.

In the end, I was sent in. Petronius lay in wait outside, watching to see if anybody legged it out the back way. He told me reassuringly that if anyone jumped me he would see who did it. I made a rather short reply.

The door was answered, fairly swiftly, by a perfectly innocuous household slave.

"Greetings. I am Didius Falco. Is my sister here?"

Why did I still feel like a schoolboy? Perhaps because I had asked that question numerous times in the distant past, when my mother sent me out on vain errands to round up my horrid siblings. At least now the rest of my story had changed: "My sister is Maia Favonia. She and your master are on friendly terms." I really did feel quite anxious that Maia might be with the crook.

"She is not here."

"You know her?"

"Never seen her."

"Is Norbanus at home?"

"He's out."

"When are you expecting him back?"

"Later."

"Well look-I don't know if you would like to do this, but he very kindly promised to show me around his house. I am thinking of renting a similar place and I wanted to see what they are like. To save me a wasted journey, is there any chance…"

Of course there was. The slave, a Briton who came with the rented property, I guessed, was perfectly willing to show me everything. But then his master would not object, would he? Everyone said Norbanus Murena was such a pleasant man.

"Can I ask my friend to come in too?" Petronius Longus was just as welcome as me. I winked at him triumphantly. He kicked my ankle.

We searched the whole place. We even looked in the outbuildings. Well, you need to know what stabling and workshop facilities are available when you take on a lease. We were feeling pretty proud of ourselves. The slave had no idea we were fishy specimens.

The house was small by Mediterranean standards, set around a tiny courtyard that could never see much sun. Wattle-and-daub in some parts; elsewhere brick-built, with a decent pantiled roof. The best rooms actually had sheets of translucent talc on the windows and were frescoed in a basic way. Painted panels were divided by finely traced candelabra and urns; long-beaked birds of only slightly uncertain parentage bowed to each other in pairs on mottled ocher friezework. The furnishings were spare but adequate, less masculine and more fussy in style than I expected. Everywhere was clean and well-kept.

As a gangster's palace this lacked ostentation. That was wise. Londinium had not grown much since its days as a traders' camp among the marshes. To install grandiose marble and exquisite artwork, when even the governor so far had only a few building-trenches in place for his headquarters, would be indiscreet.