Lindsey Davis - Saturnalia

SATURNALIA

A Novel Of Marcus Didius Falco

by

Lindsey Davis

PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS

* denotes real person

The ignoble Didii - see Didius family tree

The noble Camilli - see Camillus family tree

Nux - a nut, but never thrown

Galene - a nursemaid, who wants to be a cook

Jacinthus - a cook, who wants to be anything else

Apollonius - a wine waiter, who expects nothing

*Vespasian Augustus - Emperor for the duration

*Titus Caesar - Emperor-for-the-Day, who wants to do good

Ti Claudius Laeta - a scroll secretary

Ti Claudius Anacntes - Chief Spy

Momus - a slob

All Vying for the magic bean

The Melitan brothers - field operatives, found wanting in all departments

*Q Julius Cordinus, G. Rutilius Gallicus - a bunch of names to watch

M. Quadrumatus Labeo - whose house is less safe than he thinks

Drusilla Gratiana - his wife, taking her own medicine

S. Gratianus Scaeva - her brother, a martyr to catarrh

Phryne - a loyal old retainer (not to be trusted)

A boy flautist - silent or silenced?

Hired medical experts:

Aedemon - offering Egyptian empiricism (purges)

Cleander - offering Greek pneumatism (rest)

Mastarna - offering Etruscan dogmatism (the knife)

Pylaemenes - offering Chaldean dream therapy (twaddle)

Zosime - offering charitable outreach for AEsculapius (free)

*A Very Important Prisoner - on the run

*Ganna - an acolyte, on the loose

The IV Cohort of vigiles:

L. Petromus Longus - watching his drink intake

M. Rubella - a tribune with a fine pair of pins

T. Fusculus - a man of many words

Scythax - a doctor, offering no hope (and wonky stitches)

Sergius - the big softie

Legionaries, recalled from leave:

Clemens - an acting centurion

Cattus - his servant, not taking much part in the action

Scaurus, Gaudus, Sentius, Paullus,

Gaius, Lusius, Minnius, Granius, and there is always one called Titus, plus Lentullus - the dopey one

Dora & Delia (but not Daphne) - professional ladies with a bucket of bones

Zoilus - a ghoul, available for hire

A full supporting cast of Praetorian Guards, vigiles, narks, quacks, vegetables, runaway slaves, priests, priestesses, stewards, door porters, members the German community in Rome, including:

Ermanus - the sexy one, who likes partying

plus an Elderly Vestal Virgin

II

Saturnalia was a good time for a family quarrel; it could easily be lost among the seasonal rumpus. But not this quarrel, unfortunately.

Helena Justina played down the incident for as long as Pa stayed around. Neither of us told him any more gossip. Eventually he gave up. The minute he left, she pulled on a warm cloak, called up a carrying chair, and rushed off to confront her brother at their late uncle's empty, elegant house by the Capena Gate. I did not bother to go with her. I doubted she would find Justinus there. He had enough sense not to place himself in a losing position, like a doomed counter on a backgammon board, right where furious female relatives could jump on him.

My darling wife and mother of my children was a tall, serious, sometimes obstinate young woman. She described herself as 'a quiet girl', at which I openly guffawed. Still, I had heard her describe me to strangers as talented and of fine character, so Helena had good judgement. More sensitive than her outward calm revealed, she was so upset about her brother she failed to notice that a messenger from the imperial Palace had come for me. If she had realised, she would have been even more jumpy.

It was the usual washed-out slave. He was underdeveloped and rickety; he looked as if he had stopped growing when he hit his teens, though he was older than that--had to be, to become a trusty who was sent out alone on the streets with messages. He wore a crumpled loose-weave tunic, bit his dirty nails, hung his lousy head, and in the customary manner, claimed to know nothing about his errand.

I played along. 'So what does Laeta want?'

'Not allowed to say.'

'Then you admit it is Claudius Laeta who sent you to get me?' Out-manoeuvred, he cursed himself 'fair do's, Falco... He's got a job for you.'

'Will I like it?--Don't bother answering.' I never liked anything from the Palace. 'I'll fetch my cloak.'

We buffeted our way through the Forum. It was packed with miserable householders, taking home green boughs for decoration, depressed by the inflationary Saturnalia prices and by knowing they were stuck with a week when they were supposed to forget grudges and quarrels. Four times I rebuffed hard-faced women selling wax candles from trays. Drunks were already littering the temple steps, celebrating in advance. We had nearly two weeks to get through yet. I had worked on imperial missions before, usually abroad. These jobs were always terrible and complicated by ruthless scheming among the Emperor's ambitious bureaucrats. Half the time their dangerous in-fighting threatened to ruin my efforts and get me killed.

Though designated a scroll secretary, Claudius Laeta ranked high; he had some undefined oversight of both home security and foreign intelligence. His only good point, in my opinion, was that he endlessly struggled to outwit, out-manoeuvre, out-stay and do down his implacable rival, Anacrites the Chief Spy. The Spy worked alongside the Praetorian Guard. He was supposed to keep his nose out of foreign policy, but he meddled freely. He possessed at least one extremely dangerous agent in the field, a dancer called Perella, though generally his sidekicks were dross. Up to now, that had given Laeta the upper hand.

Anacrites and I had occasionally worked together. Don't let me give the impression I despised him. He was a festering fistula of pestilential pus. I treat anything that venomous only with respect. Our relationship was based on the purest emotion: hate.

Compared with Anacrites, Claudius Laeta was civilised. Well, he looked harmless as he rose from a couch to greet me in his highly painted office, but he was a silken-tongued twister I had never trusted. He saw me as a grimy thug, though a thug who possessed intelligence and other handy talents. We dealt with one another, when we had to, politely. He realised that two of his three masters--the Emperor himself and the elder of Vespasian's sons, Titus Caesar--both had a high regard for my qualities. Laeta was far too astute to ignore that. He held on to his position by the old bureaucrat's trick of feigning agreement with any views his superiors held strongly. He only stopped short of the pretence that hiring me had been his recommendation. Vespasian could spot that sort of creep.

I was quite sure that Laeta had managed to find out that the younger princeling, Domitian Caesar, had a deep-running feud with me. I knew something about Domitian that he would dearly love to expunge: he once killed a young girl, and I still possessed the evidence. Outside the imperial family it remained a secret, but the mere fact that such a secret existed was bound to reach their sharp-eyed chief secretaries. Claudius Laeta would have buried a coded note in some scroll in his columbarium, reminding himself to use my dangerous knowledge against me one day.

Well, I had information on him too. He schemed too much to stay in the clear. I wasn't worried.

Despite this plotting and jealousy, the old Palace of Tiberius always seemed surprisingly fresh and businesslike. The Empire had been run from this fading monument for a century, through good emperors and debauched ones; some of the slick slaves went back here for three generations. The messenger had dropped me off almost as soon as we entered through the Cryptoporticus. With barely a wave of a spear from the guards, I wound my way up into the interior, through staterooms I recognised, and on into ones I could not remember. Then I hit the system.