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Chapters (65)
  1. COVER
  2. NEMESIS
  3. ROME AND LATIUM: SUMMER, AD 77
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
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‘We may have to ask him, then. So much easier all round, if we can stop him knowing you were so easily spotted and caught . . . No, I’m wrong. He must realise by now. How soon do you think he missed you? Can’t have taken long. Where is he, I wonder? What’s he going to do about you? You would think Praetorian Guards would rip in here to grab you back for him. Has he given up on you? Perhaps he’s away—could he have gone to the Pontine Marshes, working the Modestus case? Looking for the Claudii—have you heard about them?’

‘Can’t tell you.’

Petronius Longus suddenly spun the cameo in the air. ‘Did you have this?’

‘Never seen it before.’

‘You or your brother?’

‘Better ask him.’

‘Now I’m depressed, Falco—imagine having to talk to two of them!’

‘Suits me. One each. You could take yours to the station house, give him a real thrashing, use your implements. I could keep one here to play with.’

‘Yours would talk first. You wear people out with your wonderful kindness. Villains cave in, weeping. They want the brutality they are used to. They understand that. You being their lovely benefactor just confuses people, Falco.’

‘No, I think people respect humanity. After all, we could pull out his fingernails and crush his balls. Instead, what does he get? Moderate language and a pleasant manner. Look at this one—he admires restraint, don’t you?—Oh don’t hit him again; he’s going to tell us everything without that . . . I still think he and the other one are twins. Twins can communicate through thought, you know. I bet his brother’s sweating. What’s your name again?’

‘Can’t tell you.’

‘What’s your brother’s name?’

‘Can’t tell you.’

‘Where did this cameo come from?’

Long silence.

42

Once, I thought he had been weeping while we left him alone. On my return, his eyes were dull, as if in the long interval of solitude, he had been remembering old pain. But his resistance stiffened. Someone had spent years conditioning this man. We could not touch him. He would endure all, without weakening and collapsing. He would ride it out, even curbing signs of hostility, until we gave up.

We were tiring of the game. He had stopped refusing to tell us things. He stopped talking to us at all.

‘I’m going to throw a bucket of cold water at him.’

‘No don’t do that. This is my house, Petro. I don’t want water everywhere. You go and have a bite. There’s some really good goat’s cheese, just came from the market this morning, strong and salty. And I’ve put out a flask of Alban wine; believe me, you really need to try it. Leave me with our friend here.’

Petronius left the room.