Deadly Election Read Online Free PDF

campaign. To me, Vibius seemed much less mature. I felt lukewarm about him and, had I been entitled to vote, I would have picked another candidate.
    Vibius wandered off to take the mortgage scrolls to his father’s study. Faustus, well at home there, ministered to me. He indicated a daybed (bronze frame and head pad, lavish cushions) and arranged refreshments. Resting with a long cold drink of water helped me recover quickly. Reassured, Faustus apologised for being churlish with me earlier.
    In theory there was social distance between us: I was a private investigator and he was a magistrate, whose remit included monitoring dangerous people like me. Some aediles were a problem in my line of work. If he wanted to be awkward, Manlius Faustus could have hampered my activities. But once someone willingly holds a sick bowl for you and sponges up your mess, perhaps he is unlikely to fine you or limit your activities.
    ‘I overdid things today,’ I admitted meekly.
    ‘Promise to take care.’
    I found it hard to choose the right words. ‘I wanted to tell you how grateful I am—’
    Faustus brushed aside my stilted thanks. ‘Own up, you scamp. What
were
you doing at the granary?’
    Reluctant to keep secrets from him, I explained about the body in the box and confessed my plan to investigate. Faustus pulled a face. ‘Trust you!’
    His friend reappeared and listened, intrigued, as Faustus tried to dissuade me. ‘Just call in the vigiles, Albia.’
    I claimed that my father would expect me to carry out enquiries. Faustus saw through that. ‘Nonsense. You nearly died. This is too soon!’
    ‘I promise I shall only make gentle enquiries. I haven’t explored enough yet. All I have had time to do is question a certain Callistus Primus, who owns the box but denies knowledge of the stiff inside.’
    To my surprise, Faustus and Vibius exchanged a glance. Faustus only said to me, ‘We know Primus.’
    I asked, ‘So?’ They both shrugged.
    ‘Through Julia, my wife,’ added Vibius cagily.
    I left it. Faustus, for one, would have seen that I noticed the atmosphere.
    ‘You must be busy,’ Vibius suggested, trying to send me home.
    Faustus overruled him. ‘I asked Flavia Albia here on purpose.’ He told me, ‘You could help us.’
    I knew his commissions. ‘I need to solve the box-man problem.’
    ‘That’s heading nowhere … Listen, before you refuse.’
    I owed him that. ‘What, then?’
    ‘You remember that tract I was reading – the advice to Cicero, supposedly written by his younger brother?’
    I had a vision of lying ill in bed at my apartment, while Faustus sprawled in a wicker chair close by, choosing to entertain an invalid by reading aloud a published letter full of frank advice for political success. He made an unusual nurse. Very unusual. I blushed to remember.
    Cicero’s brother had been sufficiently cynical to keep me from drowsing as I howled at his proposals for getting a ‘new man’ elected as consul in traditional Rome.
    ‘Oh, I remember, Faustus: keep your friends happy with promises in case you win, even though you may never be able to fulfil the promises, and probably don’t intend to. Ruthlessly call in old favours. Talk sweetly, even to people you despise. Make yourself visible in the Forum on a daily basis. And – my favourite – brutally blacken the names of any other candidates. Is that devious tract your campaign manual, Tiberius Manlius? And you such a person of principle!’
    His friend Vibius guffawed quietly.
    ‘It worked for Cicero,’ Faustus reminded us. ‘I have lined up all Sextus’s family and friends, we visit the Forum at the same time each day so people now recognise us, we have lists of all the guilds and trade organisations to canvass, we are smooching special-interest groups, we give dinners and banquets, we attend public entertainments—’
    ‘Tut! I hope you are not neglecting your own valuable work as aedile!’ I was mimicking the tone in which he often