Shadows in Bronze by Lindsey Davis Read Free Book Online

Transtiberina barmaid!'

    'You have your methods, I'll have mine.'

    'Which are?'

    'Knowing that riverbank watering holes and Transtiberina wineshops can be the first places to catch the news!'

    'Both of your methods are valid,' Vespasian broke in. 'That's why I'm employing you both!'

    During our quarrel, the Emperor's brown eyes had grown very still. Anacrites looked embarrassed, but I was angry. Here we stood, discussing treason like trade figures from Cilicia or the price of Celtic beer, but Vespasian knew what I thought. He knew why. Six hours after I fumbled with that sagging corpse, I still had the stench of the dead man's body fat curdling my lungs. My hands seemed to reek still from handling his finger rings. His cadaverous face swam into my memory whenever I let myself relax. Today I had done the Empire no small favour, yet apparently I was only fit for disposals - work that was too sticky for manicured hands.

    'If you're spending your time in wineshops, watch your liver!' warned Vespasian with his sardonic grin.

    'No point,' I snapped. 'I mean, sir, there's no point me risking my health and innocence in cut-throat bars, collecting information no one will ever act upon!'

    'What innocence? Patience, Falco. I'm reconciling the senate as my priority - and you're no diplomat!' I glared, but held my peace. Vespasian relaxed slightly. 'Can we lay hands on this fellow Barnabas?'

    'I've arranged for him to see me at the Pertinax house, but I'm beginning to suspect he may not come. He's holed up near a tavern called the Setting Sun south of the Via Aurelia-'

    A chamberlain broke into the room like a man who has had a good breakfast trotting out to the penny latrines.

    ‘Caesar! The Temple of Hercules Gaditanus is on fire!'

    Anacrites began to move; Vespasian stopped him. ‘No. You get yourself down to the Transtiberina and apprehend this freedman. Put it to him plainly that the conspiracy has been broken up. Find out whether he knew anything, then let him go if you can - but make sure he grasps that stirring up any more sludge in the duckpond will not be well received.' I was suppressing a satirical vision of Vespasian as a great frog on a lily pad when he turned to me. ‘Falco can go fire watching.'

    Arson's a dirty business; it does not require diplomacy.

VIII

    I reached the Temple alone. Activity and solitude came like a breath of fresh air.

    Whatever the crisis, I had to go alone-and on foot. I wore out my boots, but I was keeping my professional integrity intact.

    Every time I paid my shoemender, integrity bothered me less.

    The Little Temple of Hercules stood in the Aventine Sector, which was where I lived, so I was able to turn up like any local gawker who had spotted the flames on his way home from a bawdy-house and greeted this spectacle as his second treat of the night. It was a pitiful shrine. It had been poked in between a Syrian bakery and a knife-grinder's lockup booth. There were two worn steps where pigeons stopped to gossip, four front pillars, a warped wooden pediment, and a cranky red roof which bore abundant evidence that it was where the pigeons reassembled when they flew up off the steps.

    Temples always seem to be burning down. Their building regulations must omit safety buckets and fire-fighting platforms, as if dedication to the gods brings its own insurance. But evidently the gods get bored guarding altars with unattended perpetual flames.

    The fire was well away. There was a lively crowd. I pushed through to the front.

    The Aventine vigilantes were leaning in neighbouring porticos while the blaze lit their faces with lurid red. They were a scarred-looking crew, though most had affectionate mothers and one or two could even tell you who their fathers were. Among them my old friend Petronius Longus, a broad, calm, square-browed officer with a baton through his belt, stood thoughtfully cradling his chin. He looked like a man you could drag into a corner for a chatter about women,