pops out and grabs them before they can blink. So whose ear lobe did she twist off last night?"
"It was a slave who said a stranger had paid him a copper to bring the tablet."
"I suppose he swore it was a man he never saw in his life before?"
"Yes, that old line."
"Did you get the slave's name?"
"Fidelis."
"Oh a trusty fellow'! Sounds too good to be true."
"A pseudonym, I thought," mused Anacrites. He liked to be suspicious of everything.
"Description?"
"Slim build, under-average height, very dark colouring, stubbly jaw, off-white tunic."
"No dead eye, or his name tattooed in woad? Rome is full of identical slaves. Could be anyone of a million."
"Could be," replied Anacrites. "But it isn't. I was Chief Spy remember: I followed him home."
Surprised at his initiative, I made out I was unimpressed. "No more than you should have done. So where did the mysterious trail take you, sleuth?"
My partner gave me a knowing look. "Straight back here," he said.
XV
WITH ONE ACCORD we rose to our feet and went out to search the establishment. We found plenty of slaves, mostly smelling of stables, but none Anacrites could identify.
"Do we demand that Calliopus should produce him, Falco?"
"You're not a Palace torturer now. Leave it. He'll say he doesn't recognize your description as any slave he owns. And he'll imply you're a romancer."
Anacrites looked offended. Typical of a spy. We informers may be reviled by everyone but at least we have the guts to acknowledge how our reputation stinks. Some of us even occasionally admit that the profession has asked for it.
"How long did you wait outside after he got here?" I asked.
"Wait?" Anacrites looked puzzled.
"Forget it." He was a typical spy all right--absolutely amateur.
The messenger belonged elsewhere. Still, if he had turned up here once to contact somebody, he might come again.
"So what now, Falco? We need to interview this Rumex."
"Sorry to be logical, but we need to find him first."
"Aren't you anxious we'll lose the lead?"
"Somebody assumes we know who he is. So he'll probably come crawling out from under his stone if we just carry on as normal. Anyway, you were the one who said we were not to be sidetracked. If somebody's trying to give us something else to think about we don't have to comply like lambs. Let's go back to the office and concentrate on our tax report."
As we turned away to do just that, we ran into the bestiarius called Iddibal.
"Who is your fabulous lady admirer?" I chaffed him.
The young bastard looked me straight in the eye and claimed that the woman was his auntie. I looked straight back at him like an informer who had supposed that antique story went out with the Punic Wars.
"Know anyone called Rumex?" Anacrites then asked him casually.
"Why, who's he? Your bathhouse back-scratcher?" Iddibal sneered and went on his way.
I noticed a change in Iddibal. He seemed harder, and as if he were harbouring some new streak of bitterness. As he walked off in the direction of the throwing range Calliopus emerged from a side-room and said something to him in a very sharp voice. Maybe that explained it. Maybe Calliopus had pulled Iddibal up for the affair with his so-called aunt.
We waited for Calliopus to join us, then asked him the Rumex question. "Not one of my boys," he answered, as if he assumed it was a gladiator. He should have known we knew it was not one of his troop, or the man's name would have been on the list of personnel he had given us assuming the version he was offering to the Censors was accurate. He drew himself up for what looked like a prepared speech. "About Leonidas--you've no need to involve yourselves. I've looked into what happened. Some of the lads were playing up that night and the lion was let out for a bit of a lark. He turned troublesome, and they had to put him down. Naturally nobody wanted to own up. They knew I would be furious. That's all. It's an internal matter. Iddibal was the ringleader, and I'll be getting rid
"It was a slave who said a stranger had paid him a copper to bring the tablet."
"I suppose he swore it was a man he never saw in his life before?"
"Yes, that old line."
"Did you get the slave's name?"
"Fidelis."
"Oh a trusty fellow'! Sounds too good to be true."
"A pseudonym, I thought," mused Anacrites. He liked to be suspicious of everything.
"Description?"
"Slim build, under-average height, very dark colouring, stubbly jaw, off-white tunic."
"No dead eye, or his name tattooed in woad? Rome is full of identical slaves. Could be anyone of a million."
"Could be," replied Anacrites. "But it isn't. I was Chief Spy remember: I followed him home."
Surprised at his initiative, I made out I was unimpressed. "No more than you should have done. So where did the mysterious trail take you, sleuth?"
My partner gave me a knowing look. "Straight back here," he said.
XV
WITH ONE ACCORD we rose to our feet and went out to search the establishment. We found plenty of slaves, mostly smelling of stables, but none Anacrites could identify.
"Do we demand that Calliopus should produce him, Falco?"
"You're not a Palace torturer now. Leave it. He'll say he doesn't recognize your description as any slave he owns. And he'll imply you're a romancer."
Anacrites looked offended. Typical of a spy. We informers may be reviled by everyone but at least we have the guts to acknowledge how our reputation stinks. Some of us even occasionally admit that the profession has asked for it.
"How long did you wait outside after he got here?" I asked.
"Wait?" Anacrites looked puzzled.
"Forget it." He was a typical spy all right--absolutely amateur.
The messenger belonged elsewhere. Still, if he had turned up here once to contact somebody, he might come again.
"So what now, Falco? We need to interview this Rumex."
"Sorry to be logical, but we need to find him first."
"Aren't you anxious we'll lose the lead?"
"Somebody assumes we know who he is. So he'll probably come crawling out from under his stone if we just carry on as normal. Anyway, you were the one who said we were not to be sidetracked. If somebody's trying to give us something else to think about we don't have to comply like lambs. Let's go back to the office and concentrate on our tax report."
As we turned away to do just that, we ran into the bestiarius called Iddibal.
"Who is your fabulous lady admirer?" I chaffed him.
The young bastard looked me straight in the eye and claimed that the woman was his auntie. I looked straight back at him like an informer who had supposed that antique story went out with the Punic Wars.
"Know anyone called Rumex?" Anacrites then asked him casually.
"Why, who's he? Your bathhouse back-scratcher?" Iddibal sneered and went on his way.
I noticed a change in Iddibal. He seemed harder, and as if he were harbouring some new streak of bitterness. As he walked off in the direction of the throwing range Calliopus emerged from a side-room and said something to him in a very sharp voice. Maybe that explained it. Maybe Calliopus had pulled Iddibal up for the affair with his so-called aunt.
We waited for Calliopus to join us, then asked him the Rumex question. "Not one of my boys," he answered, as if he assumed it was a gladiator. He should have known we knew it was not one of his troop, or the man's name would have been on the list of personnel he had given us assuming the version he was offering to the Censors was accurate. He drew himself up for what looked like a prepared speech. "About Leonidas--you've no need to involve yourselves. I've looked into what happened. Some of the lads were playing up that night and the lion was let out for a bit of a lark. He turned troublesome, and they had to put him down. Naturally nobody wanted to own up. They knew I would be furious. That's all. It's an internal matter. Iddibal was the ringleader, and I'll be getting rid
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