It was not the first time Petro and I had been in a brothel, always for professional purposes, of course. We had once risked our lives and our reputations in the biggest love nest Rome could offer, vainly searching for the gangster father-in-law of Petro's bugbear Florius. By comparison, the Damson Flower was tiny and its services basic, though like all port establishments it had its own salty colour. Small cells on two floors offered little more than hard, narrow beds. The deluxe ones each had a clothes hook outside in the corridor. The imperial suite boasted a cupboard containing a piss pot. Despite looking deserted from the quay, when we burst through the main door with belligerent vigiles greetings, the interior coughed up a slew of disreputable occupants. Sheepish sailors emerged from all quarters, many carrying kitbags and looking as if they were using the place simply as a cheap hotel. The girls came in many flavours, from sloe-eyed Easterners, through dusky dames from inner Africa with amazing busts and backsides, to a skinny Gaul with no bust at all who kicked Fusculus in the groin unexpectedly. They all had garlic breath and foul language. Several tried the old trick of shedding their clothes to disconcert us, where they were wearing clothes to start with. The madam called herself a Spanish dancer, but could never have been further than the Rome Gate at Ostia in her life. In doing this job for decades, she had probably acquired more technical knowledge of binnacles and foremasts than most ships" carpenters. The bouncer, at whom Ajax had barked so furiously the other day, was wearing a tunic that had played host to most of the moth population in Portus. It had more holes than cloth in between them; when he moved I expected clouds of little winged creatures to stream out as if we had disturbed a bats" cave.
Have you even been in a bats" cave, Falco?" demanded Petro scathingly. I was a spare-time poet; he had always disapproved of my fanciful tendencies.
Imagination is a rare talent."
How about you apply it to helping us process these desperadoes?" The madam had refused to speak to us, it being a tenet of her trade that since she was a legal outcast because she was a prostitute, law officers from Rome had no jurisdiction over her. That was how she put it, anyway. Fusculus argued against this circular philosophy with the vigiles" trenchant wit and good manners. he socked her on the jaw. It may seem harsh, but at the time he had been trying to drag her out of doors and she was standing on his foot; she weighed a lot and must have known her so-called Spanish dancing shoes had formidable high heels. Because of her non-cooperation, Petronius was squeezing the bouncer's balls. We wanted him to tell us whether any of the customers hailed from Cilicia. Or Illyria," I added. Petro reinforced the question manually.
Is that near Agrigentum?" The bouncer had been well trained in playing dumb, even when at risk of becoming a eunuch. We gave up on him. As a symbol of us giving up, Petronius clouted his ear. Petronius then explained to the watching customers that he was eager to try out his squeezing and clouting techniques on other parts of the anatomy, so anyone who wanted to give him any trouble could be a volunteer. This was too sophisticated, and anyway most of them were foreign. Or so they claimed. It was true that they all had great difficulty even understanding a request for their names and livelihoods. Petronius Longus put the men in a line, guarded by his troops, and said he would now go through the process of checking whether the customers were free Roman citizens or runaway slaves; he explained that although he hated xenophobia, he would be obliged to pay particularly close attention to those who were foreign. Anyone who did seem to be a runaway would be put in a heavy neck-collar and imprisoned until a country-wide search for his master had been carried out; due to pressure of work there was no guarantee at the moment how long these searches might take… But not to fear. all anyone had to do to be in the clear was to produce his valid certificate of Roman citizenship. Nobody carries their certificate around with them. Many citizens in Rome do have a birth certificate [or did when they were born and registered, freed slaves are given a tablet, and all ex-army personnel acquire their diploma of release [which we tend to keep carefully, in case we have to disprove accusations of desertion. In the provinces, where most of these men originated, citizenship is a loose concept. The gaggle of seafarers, loaders, negotiators and short order chefs all looked abashed, grew scared, and then played our game. A list of names, home towns and trades was created rapidly. Nobody owned up to being Cilician or Illyrian. Or Pamphylian, Lycian, Rhodian or Delian. There was a Cretan, but he was on his own, only four feet high, had bandy legs and threw up from terror when we questioned him. We decided he could not possibly be part of the scam on the two Gazette scribes, so we made him promise not to do it again [which he did even though he was innocent, swearing some peculiar Cretan oath. We let him go. As he scampered off down the quay, he cursed us. Fusculus looked nervous.
He has done something," Petro decided darkly, with the voice of experience. But it was too late now. For a man whose legs were so bandy you could drive three goats between them, the Cretan could move like an Olympic sprinter who had the promise of a hot date if he came home from the stadium with a wreath. That was another reason for suspicion; most of the rest had sauntered off, deliberately looking unconcerned.
Lemnus," said Fusculus, double-checking the list. Lemnus from Paphos. Works as a building site concrete mixer, freelance. Out of a job currently."
So what's he doing on the docks?" I asked.
Looking for work, he says."
On a cheap whore's mattress?" We all laughed. The madam of the Damson Flower then shrieked at us that her women were all highly trained and did not come cheap. Life had made this hag an excellent businesswoman. When the vigiles packed up to leave, she promised them a trade discount if they visited on a quiet night. Petronius Longus was taking his men back to Ostia. Rubella would not welcome my presence at the debriefing for that morning's episode on the river. I told Petro that if he saw Helena he should reassure her that our mission had aborted on us. But while I was over here at Portus, I thought I would stick around and sniff about. The vigiles left. I went back to the Dolphin. Everything seemed to be over, but now I was alone without back-up. For me, that was where the day's adventures began.