Feeling melancholy, I cut back towards the Forum and started walking home. I hit the Decumanus Maximus at a crossroads, where it took a slight bend as it turned from its original axis towards the Marine Gate. This was a major junction with a shrine and market stalls, old established fishmongers and butchers. Ahead were public buildings, first the Basilica and then the Forum itself. Those bore the marble stamp of Augustus, telling locals and new arrivals how exceedingly rich the spoils of Egypt had made him, and how determined he was to be seen as ruler of the world. The area where the streets met was full of life. It made a sad contrast to the dead spaces behind me, though when the empty lots were redeveloped, that part of town would be a fine place to live. central and probably select. Some builder was due to make a killing if he could get his hands on the land, and it did look as if a steady acquisition programme was in progress. Around one corner from the Decumanus, in a scaffolded block that seemed to be already earmarked for redevelopment, I found a small group of vigiles. It was unexpected; Petro had never mentioned an outstationed unit, though we were a long way from the creaky patrol house, so it did seem a good idea. It was miles to run to the main patrol house to report a bath house on fire or to ask for reinforcements when someone had left his wife sitting on a captured burglar. They had a deserted shop set up as an office. The frontage of what must once have been an artisan's workshop was now a gaping hole, minus its pull-across doors. There were four men on duty, not the liveliest bunch I had ever met. At a beaten-up table they lolled around while awaiting citizens with complaints. I could see bits of chewed old loaves on the floor, which was rubble. There was a smell of wine, though none in evidence. I made a mental note to warn Petronius this bivouac needed sharpening up.
Name's Falco."
What's your problem?" I had not expected to be offered camomile tea and an almond fancy. Even so, the approach seemed belligerent.
Can you supply some information?"
We are not encyclopaedia salesmen." The pallid oaf who was addressing me showed too much of his surly slave origins.
Whatever happened to shmoozing the public? I pay my taxes, you washed-out bucket of whey!" Well I was supposed to pay, and in a previous job for the Emperor I had made many wealthy tax evaders say they were sorry and cough up. That was much more useful to the state than if I had paid my own. A new face homed in. Now then, sir!" This one must have attended a neighbourhood-relationships lecture. What were you wanting?"
Apart from a bit of courtesy? I'd like to know about a fire in the next street where a woman died last year."
We can give you courtesy, high class saluting, and a very hard kick up the arse," said the second man, the charming, witty one, while his idiot cronies ogled. We don't know anything about that fire. Details of past incidents are not made available to the public."
Not unless you pay the record-search fee," inserted a third specimen. I saw his partner thump him, telling him to shut up.
Search fees?" I folded my arms and looked thoughtful. Whose bright idea was that one? I know Vespasian needs to raise money for his civic building programme, but this is new. Is it special to the Sixth? Does it only apply when you cheerful lot are on duty, or is the procedure cohort-wide? Is this Ostia only? Or Rome-led?" Mistake, Falco. The mood grew sinister. Two vigiles who had so far only chewed apples now closed in on me. The loon who had asked for fees squared up. The main spokesman was already only a foot from me. None of them were tall. All were sturdy and wide. By definition they came from rough backgrounds and were employed for hard labour, fearless of danger. They were ill-shaved, dirty-tunicked heavy duty boys, who reeked of smoke and building dust, and none were frightened of me. They were off their home patch, twenty miles from Rome, and confident that their actions here were unlikely to be criticised. I could see why the people of Ostia must have ambivalent feelings about them. The spokesman placed a muscle-bound arm in front of two others.
Now then, lads. This seems to be the sort of grand fellow who will tell us he is best friends with the Urban Prefect." He made it plain that did not worry him. I kept cool and looked him straight in the eye. Prefects are too no remote to count, even if I knew any. I could have mentioned Brunnus – but most likely they hated him; citing their officer could be a very bad idea. I wondered what their names were, but thought better of asking.
