Having allocated Helena Justina's ex-husband a place on the chain of humanity that was less than a stag beetle in a cowpat, I could hardly believe the man had held Imperial ideas. But after Nero some odd candidates had emerged: Vespasian for one. If the freedman believed the death of Pertinax had robbed himself of the chance to be the Empire's Chief Minister, his vindictiveness became understandable.
Curtius Gordianus stood in silence, then he said, 'Take care, Falco. Atius Pertinax had a destructive personality. He may be dead, but I don't believe we have seen the end of the man's malign influence!'
'What does that mean, sir?' If the Chief Priest wanted to be mysterious, I could not be bothered to take him seriously.
Suddenly he smiled. It wrinkled his face unpleasantly, and his teeth were the type to keep for strictly private use-badly chipped and stained. 'Perhaps I chew bay leaves in the afternoon!'
Well that explained the teeth.
I had to leave the subject there, because the searchers had returned-needless to say, without our man. But they had found one thing that might be useful. Kicked to the back of the sanctum in the Temple was a pocketbook that seemed more likely to belong to the assailant than the deputy priest: it contained a few notes which appeared to be sums checking tavern bills (hay: one as; wine: two asses; food: one as…) These calculations seemed to belong to some careful type who was suspicious of innkeepers-well, that gave me a wide choice! What caught my eye in particular was a list on the front page which seemed to be dates (mainly in April, but a few in May), with names alongside them (Galatea, Lusitania, Venus of Paphos, Concordia…) Not horses, who would be all 'Fury' and 'Thunder'. Works of art, perhaps-a dealer's auction list? If those were statues or paintings which had all changed hands in the space of six weeks, it must have been a famous collection which had been broken up; Geminus would know. Another alternative, and the one I eventually favoured, was that it sounded like a sailing list, and the stately symbolic names represented ships.
There was nothing else for me to do at Cape Colonna. I was anxious to leave. Before I left, Gordianus said sombrely, 'This freedman is too dangerous to tackle alone. Falco, you need help. As soon as Milo has installed me safely at Paestum, I shall send him to join forces with you-'
I thanked him politely, promising myself to avoid this stroke of fortune if I could.
When I arrived back in Croton I bumped into Laesus, though I had not expected to see him again and he looked pretty surprised at seeing me. But I discovered that while I had been paddling on the beach at Cape Colonna this excellent spark Laesus had sailed to Tarentum. My honest new friend told me he had made enquiries about Barnabas at the old Pertinax farm (now part of the Imperial estate).
'Who did you ask?'
'Who was bound to know? His mother, ghastly witch. Zeus, Falco!' Laesus complained. 'The wicked old baggage chased me out of her home with a pan of smoking fat!'
I tutted gently. 'Laesus, you have to charm them before they reach the hearth. Throw a purse in over the threshold but remember, your average granny can tell at twenty yards if a purse is only stuffed with mountain rocks!'
Laesus dashed on heedlessly: 'She didn't want money, only my blood. The revolting crone started life as a slave but she's free now and people look after her-I suppose Barnabas took care of it.'
'Her loving boy! What was she like?'
'She smelt frowsty as a tiger's armpit and had no sense of time. But if the barmy old basket knows anything at all, you can hang onto the freedman's cash yourself. As far as I could gather, his mother thinks he's dead.'
I laughed.
'Laesus, I'll bet mine thinks the same; but it only means I haven't written home for a week!'
Events at Cape Colonna had shown Barnabas was very much alive.
I ought to have gone to see this angry old Calabrian bat myself, to sort out the real story. But life's too short; you can't do everything.