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Chapters (65)
  1. COVER
  2. NEMESIS
  3. ROME AND LATIUM: SUMMER, AD 77
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‘Well, we do like to have runaways listed properly; apart from being useful if we catch them involved in a felony, it helps deter the next one from trying it if he knows he’ll be on a list for the bounty-hunters . . . Where do you think this Syrus is headed? Would he go back home to Antium?’

The butcher was full of bluster and certainty. ‘Oh he’s chased off where they all go—straight up to the Via Appia, hop on the back of a winecart, and disappear in Rome. They think the streets are paved with gold. Maybe they are. I think I’ll go myself one day!’

Petronius Longus remained undaunted. ‘Better give me his description and I’ll have a docket sent on your behalf in case he’s rounded up. You may get him back, sir. The Rome vigiles are adept at spotting country runaways . . .’ He implied that agricultural incomers stood out in our sophisticated city. It wasn’t true. A loser in flight from a farm looked little different from one on the loose from a town house—well, once the townee had rolled up his smart uniform and shoved it under a bush. ‘Let me take down a few details. Height?’

‘Middling.’

‘Weight?’

‘Middling.’

‘Distinguishing marks?’

‘None visible.’ The butcher leered. ‘I hadn’t got around to inspecting his rude bits!’

‘Trained for any fancy duties?’

‘General runabout.’

‘I suppose,’ Petronius deduced, ‘he was wearing a rough-sewn, homespun tunic and worn country shoes? Well, thank you for your keen observation, sir. That gives us some very useful points to go on.’

Petro was a po-faced, placid humorist. The butcher could not decide whether he was being mocked or praised.

18

We could have stayed the night in Lanuvium but we all agreed that somewhere else—anywhere else—might suit us better. I remembered there was a hamlet about halfway down to Antium; it would put us well on our way tomorrow, so we headed off there. It was a very ancient settlement, a place that made us feel we had strayed into Old Latium back when it was New. They claimed to have ninety inhabitants; they must have been counting in their goats. I kept expecting to run into the old hero Aeneas, tramping across this low-lying bog that the gods had sent him to colonise, still wearing the loincloth in which he escaped from Troy.

There was a cluster of poor houses, gathered together for company because it was near a crossroads; about a mile further on, a bridge crossed a river. There, a rutted track led off the narrow road. Rectus said the track wandered south, passing close to Satricum, so we could have nipped down there immediately, but we still planned to try in Antium to learn about the official efforts to find Modestus and Primilla. We only expected disdain from another magistrate. But why abandon a well-tried system just because it doesn’t work?