Enemies at Home: Falco: The New Generation - Flavia Albia 2

by Lindsey Davis

  ‘They would have known this?’

  ‘Standard practice, my dear.’

  There was nothing else I wanted to discuss. The conversation had taken me no further, other than suggesting no beneficiary was likely to have helped Aviola on his way. It cast a little light on why some slaves might have held grudges, but nothing dramatic.

  Sextus Simplicius escorted me to the door. He seemed anxious. ‘I should warn you about Mucia Lucilia’s guardian … The man can be a menace – he holds some wild theories. Do not believe everything he may say.’

  I like wild people. I thanked Simplicius for the advice – then opted to make the guardian my very next interviewee.

  13

  Hermes was a sixty-five-year-old family freedman. He had a long, narrow head with vase-handle ears. This came with a pinched, unhappy expression, though I bore in mind he had recently lost his patroness, in grim circumstances.

  Women have to be assigned a guardian when they have no husband, father or other obvious head of household. Some women are so much under their guardian’s control they marry them, others manage to bamboozle their so-called protectors. As I established when I took Faustus to meet my uncles, I would never have wanted one; I was not prepared to have anybody sign my contracts, speak for me legally or invest my capital. Mucia Lucilia had known Hermes since childhood. Perhaps, like so many women I would judge as dimwits, she just accepted the situation – or had she married to escape constraints, thinking Aviola would give her more freedom?

  Everything may have been amicable. The picture Hermes gave me was that he and Mucia had enjoyed a friendly relationship and that he organised her affairs with a light hand. Certainly she liked him enough to have kept him as her executor, even when she re-wrote her will recently (which she had done on her marriage, like Aviola); at that time, she could easily have dropped Hermes. If she was nervous about dismissing him, she could always have said her husband made her change.

  ‘Would you call Mucia Lucilia a woman who knew her own mind, Hermes?’

  ‘Very much so.’

  Not the nervous type then. This was the first I had heard of Mucia being strong-willed. ‘Was she domineering?’

  ‘Oh no. There was never unpleasantness. Mucia Lucilia got her way very diplomatically … But she had firm opinions and was quick to act when the mood took her.’

  ‘With Aviola?’

  ‘With anyone. But being contentious was rare; it was just not her way.’

  I insisted on being sure; this was important. ‘Nobody thought of her as tyrannical? She was well liked?’

  ‘Very much so,’ said Hermes again. I would have left it – had he not added, ‘ – by most people.’

  I pricked up my ears. ‘Who disliked her?’ Apparently Hermes failed to hear the question.

  Pretending to change the subject I asked what might seem an innocuous question: ‘This probably has no bearing, but if their plans had worked out better, the two victims would never have been at the apartment when the thieves broke in … Do you happen to know why they could not leave for Campania straight after their wedding?’ The freedman leaned back on his stool and said nothing. His silence screamed at me to persist. ‘Hermes, they wanted to go the day before. What stopped them?’

  ‘Who, you mean,’ Hermes said. He pursed his lips, then gave up the answer. ‘Valerius Aviola had been letting someone use his villa. The guest failed to vacate the house when requested – that was why he sent so many slaves on ahead. I believe they had orders to assist with the guest’s packing − by force if necessary. Mucia Lucilia was not prepared to share the accommodation.’

  ‘Ah!’ So Mucia was firmly putting her foot down – only one day into her marriage. ‘Who was this unwanted guest? And why were they being difficult?’

  ‘On why, I cannot comment,’ returned the freedman primly, indicating the reason was not favourable to the sticking limpet. ‘I can certainly tell you who she is.’

  She? The discovery that Mucia Lucilia refused to share the villa with another woman was intriguing. Had Valerius Aviola kept some long-term mistress secreted away in the country? … I guessed Hermes was about to reveal his wild theory, the one Sextus Simplicius had not wished me to hear, in case I believed it. Normally I have no time for other people’s crazy thoughts. I like to invent any mad theories for myself – and then discount them.

  Hermes flushed red with real anger: ‘She was digging her heels in, refusing to go. She was malicious, it was unacceptable, my mistress was adamant and nobody blames her. Flavia Albia, the household slaves had nothing to do with what happened. I can tell you exactly who wanted Aviola and my dear young mistress dead. They thwarted her and she wouldn’t take it. She wanted Aviola’s villa and to get it, she arranged to have them murdered.’

  This must be an amazing villa. ‘But, Hermes, who is she?’

  ‘The most jealous, manipulative, evil, scheming woman you will ever meet – his wife!’

  14

  Diana Aventina!

  That blew everything apart. All previous theories had to be reassessed.

  Disappointingly, it turned out that Aviola had not been a bigamist. He had been previously married but divorced.

  Hermes erupted into an outburst where he claimed the ex-wife was a schemer who had sworn Aviola would not get away with his remarriage. From the moment it was announced, she tried to poison him against his new bride. She was famously vindictive and would stop at nothing, even murder.

  I downplayed all this. Alleged evil scheming needed to be thought about later, in private. Damaging someone’s reputation unfairly carries a high premium in Rome, even if you are right to defame them. The worse a person is, the more likely they are to demand compensation and the higher their claim. I knew my legal uncles would advise restraint.

  Cautiously, I prised out the facts. Galla Simplicia had married Valerius Aviola in their youth, a marriage that lasted long enough to produce three children. They divorced way back, yet remained in contact because of those children. Young at the time of the split, they were brought up by their mother; she received money for their maintenance and had grown rather too used to this income. She had property of her own but particularly liked Aviola’s handsome and comfortable Campanian villa, where until now she had been allowed to visit, using the excuse that she was taking the children to their family’s holiday home.

  ‘How old are they now?’

  ‘All in their twenties.’

  ‘So maintenance payments to their mother ought to have stopped anyway!’ I bet the new wife had pointed that out to Aviola.

  Hermes said there had never been any question that, as Galla Simplicia now claimed, Aviola had gifted the villa to her. It was well known in their circle that it was his own favourite house. He went down there every summer, and it was natural he would want to take a new wife soon after their wedding. Hermes told me (as Sextus Simplicius had not) that this villa specifically formed part of the bequest from Aviola to Mucia Lucilia in his new will. If he died, he intended that the second wife should have it.

  I wondered what his previous will had said. Clearly Galla Simplicia would have angled for it. But possibly the villa had been assigned to the children – and probably they would acquire it now.

  I could see exactly why Mucia Lucilia had refused to share the place with Galla Simplicia. I would have done the same. Mucia needed to take charge.

  I guessed how sourly Mucia must have viewed the heavily entrenched ex-wife, together with Aviola’s now grown-up children. Anyone could guess how much those children must be under their mother’s influence.

  But there was a reverse slant. Aviola’s new marriage, after so many years of easy coexistence, would have destabilised the ex-wife’s position. Since they divorced so long before, this change may have surprised her, caught her out. An extreme reaction might have occurred, just as Hermes claimed – yet was it likely?

  ‘She and Aviola had a screaming row. She tried to bully him, using her children.’ Hermes flushed scarlet wit
h indignation again, even to his outstanding ears.

  ‘What are the children like?’ Spoiled brats, or I was losing my touch.

  ‘Ghastly,’ he snapped back. As I thought. ‘Expecting to sponge off their father for life.’

  ‘Boys? Girls?’

  ‘Useless boy, two insipid girls. Galla was terrified their father would lose interest, especially if Mucia Lucilia were to bear children who might supplant hers.’

  A reasonable fear. Many an older father prefers the fresh little infants of his still-warm second marriage to the ruder, more demanding children of a troubled first union. Galla’s three were old enough to have gone through their charmless adolescence, which can leave permanent bad feeling; in any case, Aviola may never have known his children well. Babies lie in their cradles blowing bubbles like helpless darlings who won’t cost any money, or cause family quarrels, or ever stop loving their besotted papa … Meanwhile the determined second wives are right on the scene, constantly reinforcing the new brood’s claims.

  ‘Galla Simplicia is a shrewd woman?’

  ‘Brutally,’ snarled Hermes.

  ‘Even so, to want two people dead seems extraordinary, let alone make it happen in such a terrible way. Are you certain Galla would do that?’

  ‘Absolutely!’ he assured me.

  Without enthusiasm, I mused aloud that I would now have to trek to Campania, in order to interview this woman. Hermes barked with harsh laughter. According to him, Galla Simplicia would have heard that Aviola was dead, and was bound to be hot-footing it to Rome to make a claim on the estate.

  ‘Sit tight and you will soon meet her, whirling in to cause trouble!’

  I could hardly wait.

  15

  I returned to Sextus Simplicius’ house, with angry words in mind, but he was ‘not at home’. I bet he had gone out on purpose, in case I came racing back to roar at him for withholding information. Alternatively, he was in, but not to me – hiding behind a door until I went away. I hoped he got cramp.

  It was the steward who spoke to me. It would be wrong for me to inform him he might be displaced by Polycarpus, but he seemed shrewd. I suspected he knew his job was threatened. I felt sorry for him, and I wondered if an unhappy man might open up.

  I sighed, genuinely weary. ‘Oh dear. I am running around in circles over this Aviola business. I just learned about his ex-wife, Galla Simplicia, and I desperately need to ask your master for more details. There is a rumour she is troublesome, and on her way to Rome.’ The steward, Gratus, smiled slightly. ‘I need some background, Gratus, before I have to run up against her … Still, I won’t ask you questions that you shouldn’t answer.’ Of course I planned to do just that.

  Gratus, who was slim and rather elegant, opened his hands in an ironic gesture. ‘Flavia Albia, I cannot possibly give an opinion of the lady … and I warn you, my master won’t spill secrets.’

  ‘Oh? Are they on friendly terms? I suppose while she was married to Valerius Aviola she was part of the same circle, and may still be …’ I made it sound as if I was musing to myself.

  ‘She will stay with us,’ Gratus murmured, as if he too were talking aloud to himself. ‘I have the bed made up already …’ Then he enjoyed telling me: ‘Galla Simplicia and my master are first cousins.’

  I offered my hand formally and shook his. It was acknowledgement for this help, while indicating I could not possibly offend him with anything so uncouth as a bribe.

  Gratus definitely knew Polycarpus was about to steal his job. He was still a slave; there would be nothing he could do about it. I wished I knew someone in need of a good household steward to whom I could recommend him.

  I had had a busy day. Returning to the Aviola apartment, I felt in no mood to prepare detailed notes for Manlius Faustus, but Dromo was hanging about expectantly, wanting to take my report.

  First I found my oil flask and went out to some nearby baths, taking Dromo too. There was just time for me to have a quick wash and scrape in the women’s hour, then when the bell rang to announce men’s time I waited in a colonnade, scrawling brief notes for the aedile, while the messenger washed. I had promised him a cake, and was true to my word.

  Dromo still smelt – of more than chopped nuts and custard.

  ‘How many tunics do you have, Dromo?’

  ‘One.’

  I added a postscript to my notes: kindly supply your stinky boy with a spare garment! Please treat as urgent and make sure it has been laundered. Do this for me, most admirable Tiberius, so I can apply myself with a clear mind to the monster ex-wife. Should be good value. You know you want details.

  I had no idea whether Faustus enjoyed gossip. If not, I could teach him. All you need is curiosity and a sense of humour. He had those.

  Dromo sauntered off with my report, slavering over his pastry and getting custard on the note tablet.

  I took a layered date-slice back with me to the apartment. Why should a slave have all the treats?

  On the way I bought a hot pie too. This is not good nourishment, but the informers’ creed says the demands of our work compel us to live off unsuitable street food and large amounts of drink. Our life is hard. Some really like to suffer, so they attend experimental harp concerts or dangerous political readings, but after a day’s serious investigating, you risk falling asleep and wasting the ticket price.

  I bought a flagon of cheap wine. You have to keep up the image.

  Later, I was glad I stayed in or I would have missed a visitor. Galla Simplicia had rushed to Rome, where the minute she had dumped her travelling hat in her cousin’s spare room, she came straight here to view the scene of the crime.

  If the murder of Aviola and Mucia was her crime, as Hermes believed, this stupidly drew attention to herself. Still, any woman who does arrange to have her ex-husband violently taken out by professional robbers must have a touch of the brash.

  I guessed who she was, though she looked a perfectly ordinary woman. That’s evil schemers for you. If all those who plotted had talons and Medusa snake hair, identifying them would be too easy.

  I had heard voices; I emerged from my room unnoticed. I stood quiet in the colonnade and watched.

  Myla must have let her in. They were now on the opposite side of the courtyard with their backs to me. Myla was waiting while the visitor squared up and went into the bedroom where the couple had been killed. I read in Myla’s slumped stance that she was unhappy about the situation, but of course she made no objection. Myla was too lethargic. For her part, Galla Simplicia had an air of determined authority, even viewed from behind.

  Some women neglect their back view, but this one was pert, cinched and ringletted. Her coiffure must have taken half a day. I wondered if she had it done specially to come to Rome legacy-hunting.

  It struck me that if Myla had been in this household for a long time, then Galla Simplicia had once been her mistress, giving her orders – and possibly even forming a sympathetic bond.

  I stepped forward to stand between the columns, so as soon as Galla re-emerged she saw me. Myla immediately took herself off; it was the first time I had seen her walking, which she did with a languorous sway. Galla shot a tetchy glance after her (so I could see no residual friendship), then came towards me across the courtyard as if she belonged here and meant to send me packing.

  I got in first. ‘Excuse me! Can I help you?’ I called out, implying who let you in without permission, and what do you think you are doing? ‘My name is Flavia Albia; I am working for the aedile Manlius Faustus. This is a crime scene, if you don’t know. We are not permitting ghoulish viewings. I will have to ask you to leave.’

  Galla Simplicia braved it out well. She pulled her stole over her head, modestly burying her face in the material as if genuinely horrified by the hideous events. I could see her assessing me as she peeked out. ‘I meant no offence. I wanted to see where my husband died.’ For someone supposedly vindictive, her voice was surprisingly weak. A high, decently-spoken but thin voice: I took against
it.

  Now we stood closer, I saw she had a smooth face with fine, light-coloured hair. She peered slightly, as if she was short-sighted. Hermes’ angry denunciations had implied a hard-faced hag, a woman who would look worn by a hard life – or simply a hard nature. But Simplicia looked almost young for her age.

  ‘Valerius Aviola’s wife was Mucia Lucilia, who died with him,’ I pointed out severely. ‘You will be Galla Simplicia. Why don’t you sit here –’ I indicated the chairs I had put out when I interviewed Polycarpus. Myla had never removed them, of course. ‘You can recover from any emotional upset, while I fetch my writing equipment. Since you are here, let’s run through some questions I need to ask you.’

  ‘Should I have somebody with me?’ I thought her alarm was put on.

  ‘This is not a court.’ I steered her to the less comfortable seat. She ended up with an old folding x-stool; I wondered if she remembered it from her marriage. ‘I want to establish a few facts. Woman to woman,’ I cooed falsely. If she really had been involved in foul play, the last thing she wanted was an intimate exchange.

  It took no time to gather up a note tablet and stylus in my room, but when I went back Galla Simplicia was already on her feet again, thinking to escape. She had dithered too long. I raised my eyebrows, as if failure to cooperate would count against her. She dropped back into her seat.

  I took the more comfortable wicker chair. ‘Shall I ask Myla to bring refreshments?’

  ‘I don’t think so!’ I spotted an underlying dryness in Simplicia’s tone.

  ‘You’re right; she verges on useless. It beats me why people keep such girls, but I suppose when they have been in a house for a long time they are tolerated by default.’

  My companion said nothing, though the ends of her mouth tightened.

  On further inspection, Galla Simplicia must be forty, or closing fast. She was a type, proved by her wearing strappy sandals that just fell short of those beloved by the easy girls under the arches of the Circus Maximus. She indulged in time-consuming manicures, facials and hair-procedures. As well as too many finger-rings, she wore a complex gold necklace with a pendant of big Indian pearls, the kind that women with little-girl voices can extract from weak-willed men. She liked the good things in life; she knew where and how to obtain them. She continued to squeeze money from Aviola after he divorced her, but his marrying Mucia would finally have put a stop to it.