XI

THANKS A LOT, Falco!'

We were back on the bench in the corridor. The chamberlain who shepherded visitors was looking curious. The white-tunic clad official strode off. Vespasian's mention of lunch told us that the `few minutes' we had been told to wait would be several hours. Petronius was furious. `Well if that was helping, thanks, Falco! Thanks to you mentioning money, the poor old buffer's, had to rush to his bedroom for a quiet lie-down!'

`Forget it,' I assured Petro. `Vespasian's famously tight, but he won't faint at the mere mention. If he hates our suggestion he'll say no.'

`Your suggestion,' Petro inserted. I ignored it.

We were silent for a while, mulling over events past and recent. `What in Hades have you got me into here?' Petro grumbled.

`At some point later, when we want to be having our dinner, we'll find ourselves advising a committee on the fine points of managing crime.'

`I just want to get back to my case.'

`This could be the most promising assignment of your life.'

`Stuff it,' Petro growled.

It was in fact lunch time when things started to happen. First the white tunic came and collected us. He wanted to pick our brains. We allowed it, but made sure we shared his lunch.

He introduced himself as Tiberius Claudius Laeta. Evidently a Palace freedman of great status, he had possession of a room that was twice as big as my whole apartment. There, when Vespasian didn't need a minion to push around, the good Laeta could sit and pick his nose. There, too, persons of lesser status brought him trayloads of sustenance.

`Nice!' we said.

`It's a living,' he replied. There was only one winecup but Petro quickly found a couple of dusty extras hidden behind some scroll boxes. The clerk tried to look impressed with our initiative as, smiling like happy new cronies, we poured his flagon for him. Since the wine was free, it proved good enough even for Petro. Laeta raised his cup to us, looking pleased to have company. Being top clerk, which he obviously was, can be a lonely life. `So! I gather you're Falco, one of Anacrites' men?'

`I'm Falco,' I answered patiently. `I'm my own man.'

`Sorry. I understood you worked for the bureau that we don't talk about.'

`I have worked for the Emperor. I found the rewards unrealistic, and I don't plan any more.'

'Ah!' The good Laeta managed to say this with an air of discretion, while implying that whatever bureau he served was scheming to put the Chief Spy on the rim of a live volcano and give him a big shove. `Maybe you would find it more rewarding working for us.'

`Maybe,' I said, fairly peacefully. If it upset Anacrites, I would consider anything.

Claudius Laeta gave me a considered stare, then turned to Petronius. Petro had been stolidly putting away a platter of cold artichoke hearts. As his attention was demanded by our host, I myself started on Laeta's dish of anchovies. `And you are Petronius Longus, of the Aventine Watch?' Petro nodded, still chewing. `Do set me straight about the vigiles. I confuse them with the Urban Cohorts.'

`Easily done.' Petronius filled him in politely. Replete, he leant back on a stool and gave Laeta his lecture for new recruits: `This is how law and order works in Rome. Top of the heap you have the Praetorian Guard; Cohorts One to Nine, commanded by the Praetorian Prefect, barracked at the Praetorian Camp. Fully armed. Duties: one, guarding the Emperor: two, ceremonial swank. They are a hand-picked elite, and full of themselves. Next in line and tacked on to them are Cohorts Ten to Twelve, known as the Urbans. Commanded by the Urban Prefect -a senator -who is basically the city manager. Routinely armed with sword and knife. Their unofficial job description is to repress the mob. Duties officially: to keep the peace, keep their ears open, and keep the Urban Prefect informed of absolutely everything.'

`Spying?' Laeta queried dryly. `I thought Anacrites did that?'

`He spies on them while they're spying on us,' I suggested.

`And at the bottom,' Petro continued, `doing all the real work, you have the vigiles, commanded by the Prefect of the Vigiles. Unarmed, but run on military lines. Seven cohorts, each led by a tribune who is an ex-chief centurion; each with seven centuries who do the foot patrols. Rome has fourteen administrative regions. Each cohort looks after two. Duties: everything those flash bastards at the Praetorian Camp won't lower themselves to touch.'

`So in the Aventine Watch you cover the Twelfth and Thirteenth regions?'

`Yes. We're the Fourth Cohort.'

`And your tribune is?'

`Marcus Rubella.' Petro rarely spoke of the tribune, whom he cordially dismissed as a legionary has been who should have stuck to square-bashing.

`An equestrian?'

`Bought it with his discharge grant. Almost enough rank now to be a master criminal,' Petro replied dryly, thinking of Balbinus Pius.

`And the main role of the vigiles is fire-watching?'

`One role.' Petro hated to be thought of-as a mere fireman. `Yes, but since that involves patrolling the streets at. night, when most crimes are committed, our remit expanded. We apprehend street thieves and housebreakers, round up runaway slaves, keep custodians of tenements and warehouses up to the mark. We spend a lot of effort controlling the baths. Clothes stealing is a big problem.'

`So you remain a proletarian squad?' Laeta was falling into the administrator's trap of obsession with titles and rank.

`We are freedmen and honest citizens,' snarled Petro, clearly not amused.

`Oh quite. And what's your own position?'

`Casework,' said Petro. `I head the enquiry team for the Thirteenth district. The foot patrols pound the pavements, sniffing for smoke and apprehending wrongdoers if they meet them face to face. They're competent for basic tasks like thrashing householders who let stoves fall over. But each cohort has an officer like myself with a small team of agents doing house-to-house searches and general follow-up. Two, in fact, one per district. Between us we trace the stolen goblets and investigate who hit the barmaid over the head with a plank.'

`Reporting to the tribune?'

`Partly. We do a lot for the Prefect's office as well. Any case where more than a public whipping is called for has to go forward to him. The Prefect has a full staff, including a registrar for various lists of undesirables, and an interrogation officer-'

`He carries out the torturing?'

`We find brute force can be counterproductive,' Petro replied: the official disclaimer.

I laughed bitterly. `Tell that to a hard case who has just had his privates squeezed in the little back room!' Petronius chose not to hear me.

`So…' Laeta moved on. `Tell me your anxieties about the Emporium raid. Your theory is that we have an organised and daring gang moving in on the city centre?' I'd like to know how much of Rome is threatened.'

`Who can say?' Petronius knew better than to give neat summaries. Criminals don't follow neat rules. `I'd reckon all the central watches ought to be put on alert.'

Laeta made a note. `So what is your assessment of the threat?'

`They are aiming at commodities,' Petro answered confidently. `It will be wharves and stores – not, I think, the general food markets. This affects the Thirteenth region mainly, but also the Eleventh and Twelfth, which include some specialist warehouses. I doubt if the granaries are vulnerable.'

`Why not?'

`With the state corn dole for the poor and the rich living off grain from their own estates, where's the scope for a black market? The bastards might take a swipe at the paper warehouse on the Quirinal. The Saepta Julia will also be a target. The jewellers should be warned.' Laeta was absorbing all this assiduously.

He had a warm almond omelette under a cover, so we divided that up into three for him and shared it round. Soon the food tray was empty.