Free Saturnalia by Lindsey Davis Page A

pavement dust. As the lukewarm pots fermented, from time to time half a gherkin or a lump of turnip would pop up through the slime, then softly sink to its death.
    Awnings provided shelter in winter, when most topers sat miserably inside at a couple of wonky tables. Three wormy shelves on a wall held earthenware beakers. A clutch of amphorae leaned askew beneath them, around the bottom points of which Stringy, the caupona cat, curled his emaciated body. Stringy's diet, being the food at Flora's, was slowly poisoning him. The waiter (who always ate at the other caupona, the one across the street) either presided with lugubrious formality or lurked in a back room, where I knew he often read Euripides. When that happened it was bad news. He went off into another world and nobody could get served.
    Tonight Apollonius was out among the clients, with a cloth over one arm. I had known him since he was an infant teacher; as a wine-bar waiter he still applied his skills to quell rowdies and to explain simple arithmetic to confused people who could not work out whether he had diddled their change. As I arrived that night, he was telling a drunken vegetable stall holder, 'I think we've all heard enough from you. Sit back on the bench and behave!' I felt I was seven years old again. The drunk did as he was told. I hid a smile.
    Apollonius greeted me with a silent nod, then provided a dish of seeping chickpeas, which I ignored, and a cup of red wine, which I tried. 'I'd like your opinion of that, Marcus Didius.'
    I noticed that instead of the normal thin crowd, tonight Flora's was warm and full of customers--all crushed in, hoping for free samples. The rest of them eyed me jealously.
    'Junia experimenting with a new house wine?' I took a longer swig.
    'Oddly enough, I can't taste anything wrong with it.'
    'Oh it's not for here,' Apollonius hastened to calm my unease.
    'That's reassuring. This caupona has a proud reputation for serving only the most disgusting rotgut on the Hill. People like to know where they stand, Apollonius. Change for change's sake is never welcome!'
    Apollonius beamed. He had a quiet, intelligent sense of humour. This is always refreshing (and unexpected) in an intellectual. 'Trust me. We have no intention of destroying the traditions of the establishment. Rotgut remains the house speciality.'
    'So what slippery travelling salesman offloaded this palatable gem on my dear sister?'
    'We are testing it on a few favoured customers. Junia plans to provide this wine for the vigiles, at the Fourth Cohort's annual Saturnalia drinks party next week. She has been awarded the much coveted contract as their official caterer.'
    I whistled. 'What kind of bribe did that take?'
    'I believe their tribune was impressed by her prospectus and sample menus,' returned Apollonius stiffly. He had a certain loyalty to Junia, as his employer, and managed to remain civil even after I guffawed. 'So what do you think, Falco?'
    'I think it's all right.'
    He took the hint and gave me more. 'It's called Primitivum.' The vigiles would like that.
    I quaffed a couple of drinks, then prepared to go home.
    I didn't bother to enquire after Justinus, and I was not supposed to mention Veleda so I dutifully avoided that subject too. Some of you may wonder why I went to the caupona. I found no clues, searched out no helpful witnesses, turned up no bodies and announced no public appeals for informants to come forward. I accomplished nothing for the case and a pedant would argue there is no reason to describe the scene. But these are my memoirs, and I shall include damn well anything that interests me.
    I was paid by results. So long as I was getting the results, my methods were my own affair. You do your job, tribune, and leave me to mine.
    If it makes you feel better, let's say, a good informer who is under pressure sometimes finds it useful to take a few moments of private reflection after a busy day.
    'Petronius Longus is back,' said Apollonius, as I paid