In her apartment now, she kept a singing bird in a cage as her companion. She fed it with the delicate movements of a practised performer, finger and thumb tips together, wrist angled gracefully. She called the bird Fido, for Faithful.

  ‘It can’t avoid being faithful when it’s behind bars!’ I commented.

  ‘Always a good system.’ Perella cackled. She handed me a cup of something sweet, not wine. I tasted herbs and hoped they were not poisonous. ‘You have a man? Keep him shackled, girl.’

  The weather gods had done that for me, but I smiled, then plunged into business. ‘Perella, I’d call you a clever woman – yet you worked for Anacrites?’ I made it a question, exploring her old motives.

  ‘That bastard. I worked against him too. I gave your father clues, that time when the spy was under investigation. Soon after, Anacrites was mysteriously no longer with us. Was it true, Flavia Albia, he took a short drop into Hades via a manhole?’

  ‘I never knew.’ I was lying. Possibly Perella saw it but she did not press me. ‘So who became your employer afterwards, Perella?’

  She moved, easing her aches. She flexed her hands, almost unconsciously. She stretched out one hand at a time, transferring her juice tot between them. ‘I always answered to myself.’

  ‘But freedmen on the Palatine commissioned you. They paid your expenses.’ My parents had met her in Spain as well as Britain; I guessed she had travelled to other places. None of it would have been cheap.

  She sniffed. ‘I was the best. They could trust me to do whatever was needed – with no follow-on. If they wanted information, I found it. Could be, no one ever knew their secrets had been passed on. And when I fixed up a disposal, there was no scandal.’

  ‘Given your lurid methods, that was remarkable!’

  ‘Nothing ever pinned on me. Never pinned on my so-called employers either, therefore. The lofty freedmen liked that.’

  I was starting to warm to her. ‘So what did you think of them, your lofty employers?’

  ‘The same as you would!’ I was Falco’s daughter. Perella decided she knew my opinions. She chortled, but was bitterly disparaging. ‘Incompetent, idiotic, backbiting male bunch of noodles.’

  ‘Yes, I recognise the description! The mighty freedmen of the Emperor’s cabinet … Falco and Helena thought you wanted Anacrites’ job.’

  Perella tossed back her tot of liquor. ‘I certainly did. I should have had it. I was better than him, better than any of them.’

  ‘That’s Rome, Perella.’

  ‘It’s madness.’

  ‘It makes sense to them. You are a woman. They will never give a woman an imperial post, never have a woman in liaison with the Praetorians.’ In theory the head of security gave the Praetorian Guards orders, though that stroppy unit perhaps saw it another way.

  ‘More fool them.’ She still sounded bitter. Perella’s old eyes, watery but still shrewd, gazed at me. I was probably a blur, but she knew how to pretend. ‘Since they never tried it, they will never know how wrong they were.’

  ‘After working for Vespasian, who could stand working for Domitian?’

  ‘I could! It’s the job that counts. And if Domitian wants to be safe, he can rely on me.’

  Not brave enough to tell her she was now too old, I tried to ingratiate myself, saying that I understood. ‘For a skilled operator like you to be despatched on stupid missions by an inefficient clown like Anacrites must have hurt.’ I was quoting my father. Falco viewed Perella as utterly efficient and so dangerous he would never turn his back on her. As an agent, he admired her. He thought her skills were wasted on Anacrites.

  I knew there were times when Anacrites had tried to eliminate Father, his long-standing rival. Whether he used Perella in those schemes was unclear; I suspect not. Pa would be dead. As assassins go, Perella was as good as she claimed.

  I wanted to explore her use of ‘backbiting’. ‘What did you mean by it?’

  ‘At each other’s throats.’ She knew about throats. She had slit enough of them. ‘Always yearning to be top man. Intrigue and betrayal all through the marble corridors.’

  ‘Falco speaks of Laeta and Anacrites as bitter rivals. Is the new generation feuding in the same way?’

  ‘I don’t know the new ones.’ That was the problem with young high-fliers, like Philippus and the suspect Abascantus: old stagers like Perella simply had not met them, had no experience of them or their methods. There was nothing for me to prise out. Nevertheless, Perella said frankly, ‘I don’t need to meet the bastards. They are all the same. Jostling and back-stabbing. Don’t trust any of them. Every man of them is out for himself, Albia. Every one will treat you badly to get what he wants.’

  ‘I hear you.’ I decided to be frank. ‘Have you heard of Abascantus?’

  ‘The name is familiar.’

  ‘Young, said to be talented, inordinately wealthy, supremely confident.’

  ‘Sounds a true bastard!’ There was a moment of silence, then Perella told me, ‘Pushy wife. Older woman, brought him money. Making a position for herself by setting him up as petitions king …’ So she did know him. It was no surprise. Despite her disclaimers, I reckoned she monitored the current complement, as she continued to brood over the supposed injustice done to her. Suddenly she leaned forwards. ‘So what do you want, Albia? What have you come for?’

  ‘Just a visit, in honour of old times.’

  ‘Don’t insult me!’

  What did I want? To pick her brains about anyone who could be the traitor. I thought the fact she had retired might make this easier; she might be more neutral, more trustworthy, than back when she was nursing ambitions of her own. Now she had no paymasters, I hoped she might open up, glad she could still make a contribution.

  I told her the truth. ‘Someone has gone bad. Possibly Abascantus. There is a security council—’

  ‘Oh, that’s new. The Emperor had his advisers, old pals of his own, but we never had a formal committee looking at intelligence. Still, life was easy. Nobody wanted to put daggers into the Emperor, not when it was Vespasian. In any case, he was a tough old bird. He simply didn’t care.’

  ‘I need background. I can’t interview them.’

  ‘Well, you could ask!’ Perella scoffed. ‘Are you betraying Rome? Oh, yes, that’s me …You sure it’s some turncoat up on the Hill?’

  ‘Knowledge and opportunity. No one else would carry the clout to mix it with Parthia.’

  ‘Parthia!’

  ‘Did you ever go there, Perella?’

  ‘Too far. Too many questions asked if I did, too few ways of escaping. And if this is a Parthian tangle, I assume you don’t want to take a camel-train yourself to look from that end?’

  ‘I do not!’ I agreed. ‘No, the best I can do is ask the Parthia-watchers here. One of the freedmen specialises – I think he is straight. There is a rogue agent, back from Ctesiphon, but he ducked underground.’

  ‘Who’s that?’ Perella demanded sharply.

  I told her Ritellius, though if she knew him she made no comment. ‘Another man was implicated in a death at the Castra Peregrina – but he turned up drowned in the Tiber.’

  ‘Surprise! I never liked death by water. Sometimes the cold shock revives them and they swim away … Who was drowned?’

  ‘Man called Paternus. I never met him.’

  ‘Me neither. Why was he bumped off?’

  ‘Get him quietly out of the way. He had killed someone at the Castra. Poison. His paymaster must then have wiped him out to ensure his silence.’

  ‘Who was killed?’

  ‘A prisoner.’

  ‘What’s new? … Oh, I see – you cannot tell me.’ She was sharp. She knew how they worked. ‘Now, I wonder which naughty little captive that might have been? You knew?’

  ‘I knew.’

  ‘Will it ever get out?’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘Juicy! So this Paternus was employed by your traitor?’

  ‘Apparently.’

  I decided to ask what she thought about the Castra Peregrina. It had existed in Perella’s time, though under Vespasian it had never impinged on her work. However, mentioning the commander, Nearly-Nine-Gongs, drew a raucous reaction. ‘The Princeps Peregrinorum? Oh, Momus knows him!’

  Momus was another of the old spying fraternity. My father sometimes spoke of him and winced. ‘I know the name, Perella. Need I talk to Momus?’

  ‘Only if you are extremely brave!’ Perella roared. ‘I’d tell you his mind has gone − but that sad lump decayed years ago. He always was a brainless blotch; the palace only used him because he was a vicious brute who could handle anything foul. If it smelt or leaked, or it involved rot, grot and slime, Momus was their man.’

  I shuddered. ‘So what did he do?’

  Even Perella pulled a face. ‘If you didn’t just want someone dead, you wanted them to die after endless pain and suffering, then Momus had a concession for supplying slaves to the mines. Prisoners disappeared without the cost and trouble of a trial. They were safely gone, and would be enduring misery for years. The rest of us just counted ourselves lucky that mildewed old Momus was there to fix that, so we didn’t have to do it.’

  ‘You disapprove?’ I asked, smiling.

  ‘I was more subtle.’

  Really? I could have quibbled: was it ‘subtle’ to take victims by surprise, without a legal hearing, then garrotte them and leave them where their loved ones would come across the corpse?

  ‘Finesse. Ask your father.’

  ‘Falco would not want anyone to suffer prolonged agony.’

  Perella laughed harshly. ‘You think?’

  I tried not to feel disconcerted. ‘So,’ I persisted, ‘where shall I find this Momus?’

  She looked me up and down. Kindness, barely faked, crept over her features. ‘Better not. Falco would have something to say if I let you; Helena would kill me. I’ll go. Momus still lurks on the Palatine. I can ask if he has heard whispers.’

  I told her how to contact me and thanked her for listening. Perella replied that she was glad to hear news, even if it was news that nothing had changed among those insanitary, scheming turds of freedmen, the men who had taken the lovely job that should have been hers.

  39

  Twilight.

  All over the Empire the long pools in elegant gardens were attracting midges, bats, swallows and swifts. In the narrow streets of cities, adulterers and burglars sneaked along beneath unlit overhangs or dawdled in doorways awaiting their moment. Tired children mithered – including the two who belonged to Graecina; I left her to deal with them. I had already calmed Dromo, who had muddled up his box of alphabet letters, and Galene, who had become upset when my mother had visited Tiberius and reminded her cook she was only there on loan. Helena needed her back. At home, my siblings were fretting because they were tired of Father’s sardine barbecues, while he was restless at having to come home every evening, constantly remembering to bring fresh sardines, even if he had found something really interesting to keep him out … Katutis went home with Mother. He left a message that my house was too noisy.

  Twilight. Not so noisy now. With supper done, it ought to be a time for lovers, even if he was reading and she was pondering her recent long days with their complicated conversations, and no obvious way forward. But along with the midges, twilight brought out the spies.

  The arrival of Trebianus was, to some extent, welcome. Tiberius and I had been sitting together, although we were sitting in silence. Everyone else had found other things to do somewhere else in the house. Tiberius had ventured to say he thought I was working too hard. Staying out too long. Coming home exhausted.

  I had other views on that, so a deep silence had occurred. He was now reading Pliny’s Natural History, which I had given to him. The volume he had was only the Table of Contents, a dry list. Ostentatious reading was merely to make a point. Reading my gift showed he was decent, tolerant, and unfairly hard done by at the hands of his wife.

  If he chose to be unhappy, I would not stop him.

  It was all because of the lightning, I knew that, really. He wanted me present, to cling to when he felt confused, yet he had himself agreed to me doing my work. Behaving illogically was part of his illness.

  Eventually he could not help softening enough to read something out loud. Since I was still being snooty I let him rattle on: ‘You may be interested in this.’ I might, though I did not encourage him. ‘When I get Book Six, apparently it will contain “sites, races, seas, towns, harbours, mountains, rivers, dimensions, present and past populations of Pontus, Paphlagonia, Cappadocia, region of Themiscyra and its races, Heniochi, Colic region and races, Achaean races, other races in the same area, Cimmerian Bosphorus, Maeotis and adjacent races” − I am coming to the good bit …’ I managed not to let my face express about time! ‘Listen, “Lesser Armenia, Greater Armenia, River Cyrus, River Araxes, Albania, Iberia and adjoining Gates of Caucasia, Black Sea Islands, races towards the Scythian Ocean, Caspian and Hyrcanian Sea, Adiabene, Media, Caspian Gates, races round Hyrcanian Sea, Scythian races, regions towards the Eastern Sea, China, India (Ganges, Indus), Taprobane, Arians and adjoining races, voyages to India, Carmania, Persian Gulf, Parthian kingdoms.’

  ‘That is interesting,’ I said.

  To receive Book Six, he would have to stay married to me for six years; if this was what he liked to read aloud after dinner, we might never get there. Astute as he was, he kept pretending not to notice what I was thinking.

  ‘“Mesopotamia, Tigris, Arabia, Gulf of Red Sea, Troglodyte country, Ethiopia, Islands of Ethiopian Sea. The Fortunate Islands. Totals: 1195 towns; 576 races, 115 famous rivers, 38 famous mountains, 108 islands, 95 extinct towns and races; 2214 facts and investigations and observations.” That will be useful to you, Albiola. Eventually.’

  Since he had used the diminutive, I softened myself. ‘Thank you, darling.’

  It was not complete cessation of war. I hoped to finish working for the freedmen long before I gave him the right volume and he reached this useful information. So, just possibly, Tiberius Manlius was being sarcastic about Book Six. Me too, in saying thank you.

  After a moment he added, ‘His authorities are Marcus Agrippa, Marcus Varro, Varro of Atax, Alfius Nepos, Hyginus, Lucius Vetus, Pomponius Mela, Domitius Corbulo, Licinius Mucianus, Claudius Caesar, Arruntius, Sebosus, Fabricius Tuscus, Titus Livy Junior, Seneca, Nigidius and about twice as many foreigners, all of whom I’ve never heard of. Presumably your spies have a copy of Book Six, permanently unrolled on a desk.’

  ‘Sounds better than relying on a maverick merchant to sniff around the bazaars.’ However, the long-winded recital had shown the awkwardness of discovering information.

  ‘At least,’ Tiberius suggested, now more conciliatory, ‘the agent Ritellius did physically go outside the Empire. What can someone like Seneca have genuinely known of the 576 foreign races?’

  ‘The encyclopaedist may have consulted other people,’ I said. ‘He’s just too snobbish to say so. My father carried out an undercover survey of Nabataea for Vespasian, but I bet Falco isn’t credited as a source.’

  ‘At least this suggests things about Parthia,’ Tiberius said. ‘Not only are its territories immense, the Parthians deal with peoples we have never even heard of. Settled or nomad, it is another world. We see them as slippery merely because our rules and social systems are not theirs. Rome cannot tolerate such a large power butting up against its borders, yet in fairness Parthia must feel the same. Even if we conquered them one day, we shall never have the resources to control what we might gain. I doubt whether we can gain anything except on a temporary basis. The losses involved in war have always been untenable.’

  Going back to what he had suggested to Dolazebol that afternoon, I asked Tiberius if he believed that Parthia really would be Domitian’s next military goal. Until he came home, who could know? But perhaps that made his return to Rome a significant moment in Parthian eyes.

  We were still discussing this when we heard knocking. We broke off our conversation. A distraction would be welcome. For once, Dromo rolled off his mattress to let in our visitors, who turned out to be the lanky Trebianus, bringing Rubrius.

  Since Rubrius was supposed to work with Philippus, I frankly asked why. Trebianus said Philippus was fully aware of what I had been doing, and that the two were here together tonight. Philippus could not actively sanction it, or join in, because Abascantus had vetoed further contact. Rubrius had come instead.

  ‘So it is Abascantus who wants me to stop my work?’

  ‘It was Abascantus Dolazebol went to with a complaint.’

  ‘Then Abascantus made Philippus write to me?’

  ‘Philippus is your handler, as far as Abascantus knows.’

  Nobody ‘handled’ me. But if Trebianus would still cough up fees, I would not haggle over definitions.

  Dromo brought lamps. I had heard Graecina telling him he should know he had to do this, then he answered back. Nevertheless, lamps appeared. He even set them a short distance away, to stop dive-bombing insects landing on us.

  Our guests might have expected refreshments. Then they should not have disturbed a husband and wife who were having an argument. Neither Tiberius nor I would summon any; Dromo was determined not to have the idea; Galene and Graecina were pointedly holding back, each hoping the other would land in trouble for not doing it.

  Sensing an atmosphere, Trebianus weighed in quickly. From someone who appeared unworldly, was he really a clever spy, able to pick up clues? I wondered. He said Rubrius had been watching the home of Ilia, wife of Ritellius, in case the missing agent returned there.

  Rubrius took up the story. ‘There was a bar within spitting distance, but too obvious, so I positioned myself in a barber’s chair. It’s my preference for surveillance. Along came Ritellius – I have met him, so I knew. He acted as a trained man ought. Walked casually past, taking a surreptitious look at the house. I saw him discreetly inspect the bar for planted observers. Under my warm towel I was less conspicuous so I’m sure he never saw me.’

  ‘Did he not know Ilia would be at work?’