Time to Depart Read Online Free
Author: Lindsey Davis
need have no qualms.
So here we were. Petronius Longus had convicted this mobster of heinous crimes and placed him under sentence of death-but he was not allowed to apply a manacle. Today had been set for the execution. So this morning, while the greybeards from the Senate were tuning away over the decay of public order, Balbinus Pius would stroll out of Rome like a lord and set off for some hideaway. Presumably he had already filled it with golden chalices, with rich Falernian to slosh into them, and with fancy women to smile at him as they poured the happy grape. Petro could do nothing - except make damn sure the bastard went.
Petronius Longus was doing that with the thoroughness his friends in Rome would expect - Linus, the one dressed an sailor, had been listening in more closely than the other members of the squad. As his chief started listing for me the measures he was taking, Linus slewed around on his bench and joined us. Linus was to be a key man in enforcing the big rissole's exile.
'Balbinus lives in the Circus Maximus district, unluckily -' Petro began.
'Disaster! The Sixth Cohort run that. Have we hit some boundary nonsense? Does that mean it's out of your watch and you can't cover his house?'
'Discourteous to the local troopers... .' Petro grinned slightly. I gathered he was not deterred by a bit of discourtesy to the slouchers in the Sixth. 'Obviously it's had to be a joint operation. The Sixth are escorting him here.'
I grinned back. 'Assisted by observers from your own cohort?'
'Accompanied,' said Petro pedantically. Looked forward to seeing what form this might take.
'Of course you trust them to do the job decently?'
'Does he -heck!' scoffed Linus, only half under his breath.
Linus was a young-looking thirty, dressed for his coming role in more layers of tunics than most sailors wear, crumpled boots, a floppy hat his mother had knitted, and a seaman's knife. Below the short sleeves of the tunics his bare arms had a chubby appearance, though none of Petro's men were overweight. Level eyes and a chin square as a spade. I had never met him before, but could see he was lively and keen. A typical Petro recruit.
'So the Sixth carry the big rissole here, then he's handed over to you?' I smiled at Linus. 'How far does this slave-driver want you to go with him?'
'All the way,' answered Petro for himself.
I shot Linus a look of sympathy, but he shrugged it off. 'A lad likes to travel,' he commented. 'I'll see him land the other side. At least the esteemed Petronius says I don't have to shin up rigging on the journey back.'
'Big of him! Where's the rissole going?'
'Heraclea, on the Taurica peninsula.'
I whistled. Was that his choice?'
'Someone made a very strong suggestion,' came Petro's dry response. 'Someone who does have the right to feed him to the arena lions if he fails to listen to the hint.' The Emperor.
'Someone has a sense of humour then. Even Ovid only had to go to Moesia.'
The world had shrunk since emperors sent salacious poets to cool their hexameters on the lonely shores of the Euxine Sea while other bad citizens were allowed to sail to Gaul and die rich as wine merchants. The Empire stretched far beyond Gaul nowadays. Chersonesus Taurica, even further away on the Euxine than Ovid's bleak hole, had vivid advantages as a dump for criminals: though technically not a Roman province, we did have a trading presence all along its coast, so Balbinus could be watched - and he would know it. It was also a terrible place to be sent. If he wasn't eaten by brown bears he would die of cold or boredom, and however much money he managed to take with him, there were no luxuries to spend it on.
'It's no summer holiday for you either,' I told Linus. 'You'll never get home this side of Saturnalia.'
He accepted the news cheerily. 'Someone needs to make sure Balbinus doesn't nip off the ship at Tarentum.' True. Or Antium, or Puteoli, or Paestum, Buxentum or Rhegium, or Sicily, or at any one of scores of
So here we were. Petronius Longus had convicted this mobster of heinous crimes and placed him under sentence of death-but he was not allowed to apply a manacle. Today had been set for the execution. So this morning, while the greybeards from the Senate were tuning away over the decay of public order, Balbinus Pius would stroll out of Rome like a lord and set off for some hideaway. Presumably he had already filled it with golden chalices, with rich Falernian to slosh into them, and with fancy women to smile at him as they poured the happy grape. Petro could do nothing - except make damn sure the bastard went.
Petronius Longus was doing that with the thoroughness his friends in Rome would expect - Linus, the one dressed an sailor, had been listening in more closely than the other members of the squad. As his chief started listing for me the measures he was taking, Linus slewed around on his bench and joined us. Linus was to be a key man in enforcing the big rissole's exile.
'Balbinus lives in the Circus Maximus district, unluckily -' Petro began.
'Disaster! The Sixth Cohort run that. Have we hit some boundary nonsense? Does that mean it's out of your watch and you can't cover his house?'
'Discourteous to the local troopers... .' Petro grinned slightly. I gathered he was not deterred by a bit of discourtesy to the slouchers in the Sixth. 'Obviously it's had to be a joint operation. The Sixth are escorting him here.'
I grinned back. 'Assisted by observers from your own cohort?'
'Accompanied,' said Petro pedantically. Looked forward to seeing what form this might take.
'Of course you trust them to do the job decently?'
'Does he -heck!' scoffed Linus, only half under his breath.
Linus was a young-looking thirty, dressed for his coming role in more layers of tunics than most sailors wear, crumpled boots, a floppy hat his mother had knitted, and a seaman's knife. Below the short sleeves of the tunics his bare arms had a chubby appearance, though none of Petro's men were overweight. Level eyes and a chin square as a spade. I had never met him before, but could see he was lively and keen. A typical Petro recruit.
'So the Sixth carry the big rissole here, then he's handed over to you?' I smiled at Linus. 'How far does this slave-driver want you to go with him?'
'All the way,' answered Petro for himself.
I shot Linus a look of sympathy, but he shrugged it off. 'A lad likes to travel,' he commented. 'I'll see him land the other side. At least the esteemed Petronius says I don't have to shin up rigging on the journey back.'
'Big of him! Where's the rissole going?'
'Heraclea, on the Taurica peninsula.'
I whistled. Was that his choice?'
'Someone made a very strong suggestion,' came Petro's dry response. 'Someone who does have the right to feed him to the arena lions if he fails to listen to the hint.' The Emperor.
'Someone has a sense of humour then. Even Ovid only had to go to Moesia.'
The world had shrunk since emperors sent salacious poets to cool their hexameters on the lonely shores of the Euxine Sea while other bad citizens were allowed to sail to Gaul and die rich as wine merchants. The Empire stretched far beyond Gaul nowadays. Chersonesus Taurica, even further away on the Euxine than Ovid's bleak hole, had vivid advantages as a dump for criminals: though technically not a Roman province, we did have a trading presence all along its coast, so Balbinus could be watched - and he would know it. It was also a terrible place to be sent. If he wasn't eaten by brown bears he would die of cold or boredom, and however much money he managed to take with him, there were no luxuries to spend it on.
'It's no summer holiday for you either,' I told Linus. 'You'll never get home this side of Saturnalia.'
He accepted the news cheerily. 'Someone needs to make sure Balbinus doesn't nip off the ship at Tarentum.' True. Or Antium, or Puteoli, or Paestum, Buxentum or Rhegium, or Sicily, or at any one of scores of
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