Nemesis - Falco 20 by Lindsey Davis

Author:Lindsey Davis [Davis, Lindsey]
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction - General, General, Fiction
ISBN: 9781846056116
Publisher: Falco
Published: 2010-08-01T23:00:00+00:00

Petro had been going to bed when I arrived, but he stayed up to gossip. We went out to the balcony. He closed the folding door. That was how he did things. Through the slats I could see Maia waggling her fingers at us and sticking out her tongue. Ma would have listened secretly. Helena would have dragged the door straight open again and brought a stool for herself.

He gave me further details. The Seventh Cohort, all halfwits in Petro’s opinion, had been first on the scene. The Via Triumphalis, which runs out of the city on the north-east side, was the Seventh’s beat; they had jurisdiction over the Ninth and Fourteenth districts, including any burial ground just outside the boundary. They consulted the Fourth Cohort. They knew Petronius had the Modestus case, though they had been unaware of the Anacrites complication. The Fourth’s tribune wanted to be a Praetorian Guard and spies were a Praetorian subdivision, so as it had a bearing on his own position Rubella stuck by the rules. He notified Anacrites of the new linked case so fast the hot wax seal burned the spy’s fingers. Anacrites had allowed the Seventh to continue with routine enquiries. Either they lacked the taint of association with Petronius and me, or he just thought they were too stupid to get in his way.

‘As they are,’ said Petro.

‘You’re tired.’

‘I’m right.’

‘Of course. So what do you think? Fusculus says the new official view is that the Triumphalis death indicates random killings on any road near Rome. It’s supposed to tell us the Modestus death was just a traveller’s unlucky accident.’

‘Yes, apparently that is a luminous truth.’

‘Modestus getting topped on his way into Rome has no relation to the Claudii but is pure coincidence?’

‘Wrong road, wrong time.’ Petro paused, as Maia came out with a dish of stuffed vine leaves, checking up that we were not enjoying ourselves too much without her.

‘He needs his rest, Marcus.’

‘We’ve nearly finished.’

‘I know you; you haven’t even started.’

‘Buzz off and let us get on then.’ Petro’s tone was affectionate. My sister put up with it.

I chomped a vine leaf. Home made. Wheatgrain and pine nut filling in a slightly tart dressing. Mint. Good, but I stayed gloomy. ‘Spill, sunshine.’

Petro took a snack between one thumb and finger, but merely waved it as he talked. ‘Marcus, here is my personal list of anomalies. First, why did the Modestus killers cut off his hands? I still think for revenge: those hands had repeatedly written angry letters to complain about the Claudii. Someone must have heard about Cicero - murdered for railing against Mark Antony. Cicero’s hands, which wrote his polemics, were removed and stuck on spikes either side of the head up on the rostrum where he had made his speeches.’

‘One hand.’

‘Pedant.’

‘The allusion seems too literary.’

‘No, it’s not. Everyone knows what happened to Cicero. Even I know!’ boasted Petro. He had been to school, but whereas my adult hobbies were drinking and reading, his were drinking and drinking some more.

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