Three Hands In The Fountain

`So what's this about the money then?' Cordus was looking embarrassed. No, doubt if we did produce any payment, he would overcome his reserve. `To tell you the truth, it wasn't for the reward that I come here, you know.' Petronius and I: listened with an air of decent concern. `I heard you was asking questions so I thought you ought to have it, but I wouldn't want the bosses to hear

Petronius surveyed the slave with his friendly look. `I suppose,' he suggested, `if you find anything of this nature, the rule is you have to keep it quiet to avoid upsetting public confidence?'

`That's it!' agreed Cordus excitedly.

`How many, castoff bits of corpse have you found before?' I asked. Now a second person was starting to take an interest he cheered up. Maybe we liked his offering after all. It might increase what we paid him.

`Well, not me myself, legate. But you'd be surprised. All sorts of things turn up in the water, and I've heard of plenty.'

`Any handless bodies?'

`Arms and. legs, legate.' It was hearsay, I reckoned. I could tell Petro agreed.

`Ever seen any of them?'

`No, but a mate of mine has.' Everyone in Rome has a mate whose life is much more interesting than his own. Funny; you never get to meet the mate.

`The hand is your own first big discovery?' I made it sound like something to be proud of.

`Yes, sir.'

I glanced openly at Petronius. He folded his arms. So did I. We pretended to be holding a silent conference. Really we were both as gloomy as sin.

`Cordus,' I ventured, `do you know if the waters of the Aqua Appia and the Aqua Marcia originate in the same place?'

`Not me, legate. Don't ask me nothing about the aqueducts. I'm just a mutt who works in the wet, chipping off clink. I don't know nothing technical.'

I grinned at him. `That's a pity! I was hoping you could spare us having to talk to some long-winded hydraulic surveyor.'

He looked crestfallen.

He was probably a villain but he had convinced us he meant well. We knew how hard life was for public slaves' so Petro and I both dug in our pockets and, arm-purses. Between us we managed to find him three quarters of a denarius, all in smalls. Cordus seemed delighted. Half an hour in our den above Fountain Court had warned him that the best he could expect from a pair of duds like us might be a kick on the backside and an empty-handed trudge downstairs. A few coppers was better than that, and he could see he had cleaned us out.

After he had gone, Petronius pulled on his outdoor boots and vanished: running off to remove his reward poster. I carefully lifted the stool with the hand on it on to the balcony, but a pigeon flew down for a nibble almost straight away. I brought it back in and used Petro's smart mess tin upside-down over the hand as a lid..

He would curse me, but by then I would be across the road peacefully closeted with Helena. The good thing about having a work partner was that I could; leave him to fret all night over any new evidence. As senior executive I could forget it then stroll in tomorrow, refreshed and full of unworkable ideas, to ask in an annoying tone what solutions my minion had come up with.

Some of us are born to be managers.

TWELVE

The Curator of Aqueducts was an imperial freedman. He was, probably a slick and cultured Greek. He probably carried out his work with dedicated efficiency. I say 'probably' because Petro and I never actually saw him. This exalted official was too busy being slick and cultured to find time for an interview with us.

Petronius and I wasted a morning at his office in the Forum. We watched a long procession of foremen from the gangs, of public slaves march in to receive their orders for the day, then march out again without a word for us. We tackled various members of an ever-changing secretariat, who all handled us with diplomacy, and some were even polite. It became clear that members of the public were not likely to be granted an audience with the lord of the waters – not even when they wanted to suggest how he might keep the flow free of mouldering bits of dead people. The fact we had said we were informers did not help. Probably.

We were allowed to write a petition stating our concern, though a frank scribe who had glanced at it told us the Curator would not want to know. That at least was not just probable but definite.

The only way around this would be pulling rank on the Curator. I disapproved of such low tactics; well, I rarely knew anyone important enough to pull rank for me. So that was out.