Read Online Time to Depart by Lindsey Davis - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lindsey Davis
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yesterday. Someone else lost ivory.' I wondered what, if anything, was special about goods landed yesterday. 'Martinus is collecting full details, but we can see the losses are serious.'
'I thought the Emporium was guarded at night.'
Petro growled in the back of his throat. 'All hit over the head and laid out in a line like dead sardines, tied up and gagged.'
'Neat. Too neat?' I queried thoughtfully. 'An inside job, maybe?'
'Possibly.' Petro had thought of it. 'I'll work some of the guards over. When I get the chance.'
'If!' I grinned, reminding him that his position was about to be tested. 'This could be your big chance to meet the Emperor.'
'I've met him.' Petro was terse. 'Met him with you, Falco! On the famous occasion when he offered you a fortune to keep quiet about a scandal but you opted for the high moral ground and threw away the cash.'
'Sorry.' I had not forgotten refusing the fortune, merely that Petro had been there watching me play the fool. I had made the mistake of uncovering a plot that impinged too closely on the imperial family; struck by an urgent need to protect his son Domitian, Vespasian had rashly promised me advancement, a ploy he now regretted, probably. It had been pointless in any case, given that I had turned the offer down in a high-handed manner. 'Nobody buys my silence.'
'Hah!' Petronius knew the only loser had been myself.
Suddenly a chamberlain slid out through a curtain and gave Petro the nod.
I stood up too. 'I'm with him.' The official had recognised me. If he thought I was trouble he was too well groomed to let it show.
'Didius Falco,' he greeted me smoothly. The two Praetorian Guards flanking the doorway gave no sign of hearing what was said, but I knew they would now let me pass inside without tying my arms in a Hercules knot. I had no wish to approach anyone of regal status looking flustered after a fight. I knew, even though we were not in the right part of the Palace, that we were about to meet regality: hence the Praetorians.
Petronius had shot towards the curtain the minute he was signalled. Before he could object I stepped past him and entered the audience chamber. He grabbed the curtain and bounced in after me.
Petronius would have been expecting an office, one full of people perhaps, but all with the kind of status he felt free to ignore. I heard him utter something, then cut it off short. It was a lofty room full of scribes. But there was one other, very particular occupant. Petro choked. Even though I had warned him, he had not seriously expected that he would meet the Emperor.
Vespasian was reclining on a reading couch, glancing over a note tablet. His craggy face was unmistakable; he had certainly not bothered to demand a flattering portrait when he approved the new coin issue.
There was no pomp. The couch was against a side wall, as if it had been placed there for casual visitors. The whole impression was that the lord of the Empire had just dropped in and made himself at home in someone else's cubbyhole.
Centrally, there was the long table, covered with scrolls and piles of tablets. Secretaries were stationed there with their styli. They were scratching away vety fast, but the speed was unforced. A young slave, smart though not particularly handsome, stood quietly near the Emperor, a napkin over one arrn. In fact Vespasian was pouring his own drink - half a cup; just to wet his whistle. He left it on a bronze pedestal so that he was free to stare at us.
He was a big, easy-going, competent character. An organiser, he had the direct glance of a blacksmith, with the country-born arrogance that reminded me of my grandfather. He knew what he believed. He said what he thought. People acted on what he said. They did it nowadays because they had to, but people had been jumping when Vespasian barked since long before he was Emperor.
He had held all the civil magistracies and the highest Militaty ranks. Every post in his career through the cursor known had been
'I thought the Emporium was guarded at night.'
Petro growled in the back of his throat. 'All hit over the head and laid out in a line like dead sardines, tied up and gagged.'
'Neat. Too neat?' I queried thoughtfully. 'An inside job, maybe?'
'Possibly.' Petro had thought of it. 'I'll work some of the guards over. When I get the chance.'
'If!' I grinned, reminding him that his position was about to be tested. 'This could be your big chance to meet the Emperor.'
'I've met him.' Petro was terse. 'Met him with you, Falco! On the famous occasion when he offered you a fortune to keep quiet about a scandal but you opted for the high moral ground and threw away the cash.'
'Sorry.' I had not forgotten refusing the fortune, merely that Petro had been there watching me play the fool. I had made the mistake of uncovering a plot that impinged too closely on the imperial family; struck by an urgent need to protect his son Domitian, Vespasian had rashly promised me advancement, a ploy he now regretted, probably. It had been pointless in any case, given that I had turned the offer down in a high-handed manner. 'Nobody buys my silence.'
'Hah!' Petronius knew the only loser had been myself.
Suddenly a chamberlain slid out through a curtain and gave Petro the nod.
I stood up too. 'I'm with him.' The official had recognised me. If he thought I was trouble he was too well groomed to let it show.
'Didius Falco,' he greeted me smoothly. The two Praetorian Guards flanking the doorway gave no sign of hearing what was said, but I knew they would now let me pass inside without tying my arms in a Hercules knot. I had no wish to approach anyone of regal status looking flustered after a fight. I knew, even though we were not in the right part of the Palace, that we were about to meet regality: hence the Praetorians.
Petronius had shot towards the curtain the minute he was signalled. Before he could object I stepped past him and entered the audience chamber. He grabbed the curtain and bounced in after me.
Petronius would have been expecting an office, one full of people perhaps, but all with the kind of status he felt free to ignore. I heard him utter something, then cut it off short. It was a lofty room full of scribes. But there was one other, very particular occupant. Petro choked. Even though I had warned him, he had not seriously expected that he would meet the Emperor.
Vespasian was reclining on a reading couch, glancing over a note tablet. His craggy face was unmistakable; he had certainly not bothered to demand a flattering portrait when he approved the new coin issue.
There was no pomp. The couch was against a side wall, as if it had been placed there for casual visitors. The whole impression was that the lord of the Empire had just dropped in and made himself at home in someone else's cubbyhole.
Centrally, there was the long table, covered with scrolls and piles of tablets. Secretaries were stationed there with their styli. They were scratching away vety fast, but the speed was unforced. A young slave, smart though not particularly handsome, stood quietly near the Emperor, a napkin over one arrn. In fact Vespasian was pouring his own drink - half a cup; just to wet his whistle. He left it on a bronze pedestal so that he was free to stare at us.
He was a big, easy-going, competent character. An organiser, he had the direct glance of a blacksmith, with the country-born arrogance that reminded me of my grandfather. He knew what he believed. He said what he thought. People acted on what he said. They did it nowadays because they had to, but people had been jumping when Vespasian barked since long before he was Emperor.
He had held all the civil magistracies and the highest Militaty ranks. Every post in his career through the cursor known had been
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