The Jupiter Myth (Marcus Didius Falco Series #14)

The Jupiter Myth (Marcus Didius Falco Series #14)

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by Lindsey Davis

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There's no place like home. Unfortunately Marcus Didius Falco is a thousand miles north, stuck in the Roman outpost of Londinium. And just when he's about to pack up his family, assorted relatives, and friend Petronius to return to Rome, a dead body turns up, head down, in a well behind a local drinking establishment. The victim is Verovolcus, a nobleman known to…  See more details below


There's no place like home. Unfortunately Marcus Didius Falco is a thousand miles north, stuck in the Roman outpost of Londinium. And just when he's about to pack up his family, assorted relatives, and friend Petronius to return to Rome, a dead body turns up, head down, in a well behind a local drinking establishment. The victim is Verovolcus, a nobleman known to Falco and, more important, a close friend of the king. Suddenly Falco has a murder case to solve before he can get out of town.

Deciding to go undercover to investigate, Falco asks his patrician wife, Helena, to dress up like a neighborhood tart. Incognito, this Roman Nick and Nora undertake that timeless British tradition...the pub crawl. Soon Falco has the makings of a major hangover, a tip that Verovolcus had dealings with dangerous gangsters, and a starving orphan. Actually Helena has the orphan, as her soft heart compels her to take in yet another stray. Falco can't complain. She once took him in.

Sic eunt fata hominum; thus go the fates of men. Following the killer, Falco and his pal Petro delve deeper into the city's demimonde and wind up at an arena featuring female gladiators. Here a surprise waits for Falco, one that's sure to get him in trouble with Helena, while a deadlier one will be found in a deserted part of town. But even among outcasts and rogues, Falco discovers comradeship and honor...and, with his own life hanging in the balance, someone willing to die for a friend.

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Editorial Reviews
The Barnes & Noble Review
A direct sequel to her Body in the Bathhouse, this 14th installment in Lindsey Davis's ancient Rome–based mystery series finds Roman private eye Marcus Didius Falco in Britannia, where he has just wrapped up a murder investigation at the command of his emperor. Though he finds Britannia dreary, he had gladly accepted the assignment, using it as a good excuse to spirit his sister out of Rome and away from a vengeful ex-suitor.

Now, bogged down (almost literally) in the muddy streets of Londinium, where his uncle by marriage holds a government post, Falco is faced with yet another murder when the disgraced henchman of an important local ally is shoved headfirst into a well. Of course, everyone assumes Falco will be delighted to solve the case before leaving Britannia. But as he starts investigating, he quickly discovers that Roman gangsters -- exactly the sort that he'd tackled before and had hoped never to confront again -- are moving to dismal-but-profitable Londinium and making their presence known.

Davis's witty, wonderful, award-winning series provides a richly detailed glimpse of the ancient world. It also showcases truly first-rate mystery stories! Sue Stone

Product Details

Hachette Book Group
Publication date:
Marcus Didius Falco Series, #14
Edition description:
Sales rank:
Product dimensions:
5.50(w) x 8.50(h) x 0.75(d)

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The Jupiter Myth

By Lindsey Davis

Mysterious Press

Copyright © 2002 Lindsey Davis
All right reserved.

ISBN: 0-892-96777-3

Chapter One

Londinium, Britannia August, A.D. 75

It depends what we mean by civilization," the procurator mused. Staring at the corpse, I was in no mood to discuss philosophy. We were in Britain, where the rule of law was administered by the army. Justice operated in a rough-and-ready fashion so far away from Rome, but special circumstances meant this killing would be difficult to brush aside.

We had been called out by a centurion from the small local troop detachment. The military presence in Londinium was mainly to protect the governor, Julius Frontinus, and his deputy, the procurator Hilaris, but since the provinces are not manned by the vigiles, soldiers carry basic community policing. So the centurion attended the death scene, where he became a worried man. On investigation, an apparently routine local slaying acquired "developments."

The centurion told us he had come to the bar expecting just a normal drunken stabbing or battering. To find a drowned man headfirst down a well was slightly unusual, exciting maybe. The "well" was a deep hole in a corner of the bar's tiny backyard. Hilaris and I bent double and peered in. The hole was lined with the waterproof wooden staves of what must be a massive German wine container; water came nearly to the top. Hilaris had told me these imported barrels were taller than a man, and after being emptied of wine they were often reused in this way

* * *

When we arrived, of course the body had already been removed. The centurion had pulled up the victim by his boots, planning to heave the cadaver into a corner until the local dung cart carried it off. He himself had intended to sit down with a free drink while he eyed up the attractions of the serving girl.

Her attractions were not up to much. Not by Aventine standards. It depends what we mean by attractive, as Hilaris might muse, if he were the type to comment on waitresses. Myself, I was that type, and immediately as we entered the dim establishment I had noticed she was four feet high with a laughable leer and smelled like old boot liners. She was too stout, too ugly, and too slow on the uptake for me. But I'm from Rome. I have high standards. This was Britain, I reminded myself.

There was certainly no chance of anyone getting free drinks now that Hilaris and I were here. We were official. I mean really official. One of us held a damned high rank. It wasn't me. I was just a new middle-class upstart. Anyone of taste and style would be able to sniff out my slum background instantly.

"I'll avoid the bar," I joked quietly. "If their water is full of dead men, their wine is bound to be tainted!"

"No, I'll not try a tasting," agreed Hilaris in a tactful undertone. "We don't know what they may stuff in their amphorae ..."

The centurion stared at us, showing his contempt for our attempts at humor.

This event was even more inconvenient for me than it was for the soldier.

All he had to worry about was whether to mention the awkward "developments" on his report. I had to decide whether to tell Flavius Hilaris- my wife's Uncle Gaius-that I knew who the dead man was. Before that, I had to evaluate the chances that Hilaris himself had known the casked corpse.

Hilaris was the important one here. He was procurator of finance in Britain. To put it in perspective, I was a procurator myself, but my role- which involved theoretical oversight of the Sacred Geese of Juno-was one of a hundred thousand meaningless honors handed out by the Emperor when he owed someone a favor and was too mean to pay in cash.

Vespasian reckoned my services had cost enough, so he settled up remaining debts with a joke. That was me: Marcus Didius Falco, the imperial clown. Whereas the estimable Gaius Flavius Hilaris, who had known Vespasian many years ago in the army, was now second only to the provincial governor. Since he did know Vespasian personally, then (as the governor would be aware), dear Gaius was the emperor's eyes and ears, assessing how the new governor ran the province

* * *

He did not need to assess me. He had done that five years ago when we first met. I think I came out well. I wanted to look good. That was even before I fell for his wife's elegant, clever, superior niece. Alone in the Empire, Hilaris had always thought Helena might end up with me. Anyway, he and his own wife had received me back now as a nephew by marriage as if it were natural and even a pleasure.

Hilaris looked a quiet, clerkish, slightly innocent fellow, but I wouldn't take him on at draughts-well, not unless I could play with my brother Festus' weighted dice. He was dealing with the situation in his usual way: curious, thorough, and unexpectedly assertive. "Here's one Briton who has not acquired much benefit from Roman civilization," he had said on being shown the corpse. That was when he added dryly, "I suppose it depends what you mean by civilization, though."

"He took in water with his wine, you mean?" I grinned. "Better not jest." Hilaris was no prude and it was not a reproof.

He was a lean, neat man, still active and alert-yet grayer and more haggard than I had remembered him. He had always given a slight impression of ill health. His wife, Aelia Camilla, seemed little changed since my last visit, but Flavius Hilaris looked much older and I felt glad I had brought my own wife and youngsters to see him while I could.

Trying not to show that I was watching him, I decided he did know the dead man at his feet. As a career diplomat, he would also be aware of why this death would cause us problems. But, so far, he was not mentioning his knowledge to me.

That was interesting.


Excerpted from The Jupiter Myth by Lindsey Davis Copyright ©2002 by Lindsey Davis. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Meet the Author

Lindsey Davis is the author of thirteen other Falco novels and one historical love story – A Course of Honour. She received the 1999 Sherlock Award for Best Comic Detective for her creation, Marcus Didius Falco.

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