He would stay in Fidenae temporarily. Now the funeral was over, he wanted to see his aged aunt more settled and to reassure his young nephews.
He devised a plan to take the boys to look at donkeys. I would incur no blame for any beast he might buy, which suited me. At the same time, the outing gave him a chance to talk to them without their father’s oversight. “Discussing their feelings?” I had asked, trying to smother a dangerous thought. “Yes, nothing too awkward,” replied Tiberius. He had all the sincerity of me, when promising to shun escapades he disapproved of.
His own feelings were running deep. Although he was sending me back to Rome, he could hardly bear to part from me. As I went home in the mule cart, once more mainly in silence, I reflected on how such a reticent man might seem unemotional. But I knew his pain. I grieved for him.
It seemed natural to compare the loss of Fania Faustina with that other bereavement people were enduring: Victoria Tertia. In our case, I had felt benign towards Fania, though I had never had time to get to know her. I only remembered my impatience with her for being so unhappy with Antistius yet doing nothing about it. Aunt Valeria had told me Fania had confided she was happy that Tiberius had found me. In return, I had always been glad he had a sister because it seemed to make him more humane. That was all the connection she and I ever had. Yet even for me the loss of Fania brought great sadness, and not simply because I feared huge complications would follow.
“You’re quiet!” scoffed Uncle Tullius, suddenly waking. Had he deduced what had been perturbing me? It sounded like a challenge.
At first, I skirted around the obvious issue. “A winter funeral is worst to chill the spirits. All that standing out of doors among people you don’t know, pretending you share something, not knowing whether to make it a social occasion or just hope to get through it…”
“You read the signs, then?” replied Tullius, seeing through my attempted bluff.
“Oh, I read them,” I conceded. He was talking about Tiberius fretting over his sister’s family.
“You’ll cope, I’ll say that for you … Did you look at the will?” he snapped abruptly.
“I didn’t think it was my place.”
“Aren’t legacies your business?”
“Well, I try not to tangle with in-laws.”
“Wise! She left a whack to Tiberius. She gave no reason, but he is her only brother. Well, he’s bright enough to work it out … Did he say anything?”
“Tiberius? When he is ready.”
“Too late by then!” grumbled Tullius.
“He won’t leave me out of any decisions. He has to make up his own mind first … He will consult me,” I assured his uncle. “You too, perhaps. Aunt Valeria has tried pressing him to move out to Fidenae—”
“That witch! I’ll put a stop to it.”
“No need. He knows I would divorce him! He assured me that our home and the business are in Rome. Valeria knows we can’t leave. But it’s obvious he won’t abandon the three little orphaned ducklings. I shall help him do whatever is right.” I looked Uncle Tullius straight in the eye. “He’s an uncle with nephews who need help. You should understand his dilemma!”
Now it was out. For the first time ever we spoke honestly about Tullius bringing Tiberius to Rome. “Ha! I was never going to leave him with the flaky aunt. In our case, he made it easy enough. Unlike Unum, Duo and Tres, he never whined. I had room in the house for him. It seemed a useful thing to do, and a lifeline for him. His parents had been dreamy, both of them; he needed someone realistic.”
“As I heard it, you let him be.”
“I let him be himself!”
Uncle Tullius firmly closed his eyes to indicate the end of the discussion.
He had no need to spell it out. Unum, Duo and Tres were Aellius, Daellius and Laellius, the always unhappy Antistii. I was deeply aware that Tiberius felt he needed to be their advocate.
* * *
I, too, closed my eyes. I dived back into the thoughts I had been having before Uncle Tullius woke.
We had our sorrows, but in the Cluventius household how much more terrible must be the effects of that hideous murder. At least Fania Faustina had died from a natural tragedy. Her doctor had told us that, once her pregnancy had gone wrong, nothing known to medicine could have saved her life. Women died from having babies. Pregnant women died all the time. For young women, a regular outcome of marriage was death.
Murder was different. Murder made it impossible for loved ones to reconcile themselves to nature’s inevitability. Victoria Tertia’s funeral had been held the same day as Fania’s, but it brought neither peace to her soul nor respite for her family. It was no surprise to me that when I reached my home I was told that Cluventius had sent to ask if I would call on him.
XXVIII
Since Tullius had insisted on another dawn start, we had reached Rome in the late morning. Once again, he ignored the vehicle ban. It was his mule cart, so in his eyes he took precedence; he had himself taken home first, then allowed the driver to turn back down the Vicus Armilustrium to deposit me at my house. When Gratus told me about Cluventius, I sent a message to explain my circumstances, promising to come later. I managed to rest a little. After that, there was still time for me to make my visit.
It was not quite evening, which Cluventius had said would be convenient if I came home today. Bath-houses were now firing up, shops were starting to open. The Aventine was quiet because it was winter. It had almost the cool of northern Europe, though to me Rome rarely seemed as bitter as my birthplace. I was glad to be back here.
I took Suza, but I left her with the door porter. He thought his luck was in. Her heavy bust and confident manner fooled him. She saw herself as intelligent and well-groomed—a sophisticated woman. She thought him a spotty weevil. Both were exaggerations, but Suza held these views inflexibly. I knew I could trust her.
I found myself joining a family conference. It must be coming to an end, because I passed a slave taking out empty tots and snack bowls. In the manner of my father, I grabbed a sautéed date from a comport, then sauntered in as if I hadn’t noticed myself doing it.
Cluventius had with him Vatia and Paecentius, his amici, his inner cabinet. Also present were their wives, plus his two elder children. In an apartment salon, this was a crush. Whatever debate had taken place before I joined them, everyone had fallen quiet as if exhausted.
As I had expected, Cluventius felt deeply unhappy with the authorities’ desultory enquiries. Ursus and Julius Karus had attended Victoria’s funeral yesterday in their official capacity, but Cluventius thought, what use was that? During the long lacuna for pyre-watching, they had reported slow progress, which they classified as normal at this stage. Ursus looked wary, like a professional liar who was not very good at it. Karus said less but implied more—came across as a better bullshitter, muttered Paecentius. Even Karus was far from suave. Cluventius had found both completely unconvincing. They had nothing to give him but refused to acknowledge their lack of progress.
After a troubled night, the family had sent for me; I could tell they had been hoping to get my husband. Vatia and Paecentius had asked around. They believed Faustus (and I, in his shadow) had relevant expertise. Scaurus, the vigiles tribune in the Fourth Cohort’s Twelfth District barracks on this side of the Aventine, had told them even I would do a good job—I’d been at it since before his time, no complaints from the public … well, none so far. I said for a detailed reference they should ask Titus Morellus, his deputy. Morellus knew me better; he worked out of the excubitorium in my own district, the Thirteenth.
They would not bother, I could see. Research done, minds were made up. Seeing themselves as decisive men, they would decide against a second opinion. The point is to act. You don’t need any muddying, with complicated new ideas.
I outlined my experience anyway. I said Faustus and I had met during the hunt for a notorious killer who had stabbed people with poisoned needles. The case had caused widespread public alarm; u
sefully, it was one that Cluventius and his colleagues had heard of. Faustus and I had identified the man and trapped him; Faustus, since viewed as an expert, had subsequently served as an adviser on copycat cases. I tended to work on more domestic commissions. I carried out vetting tasks, or traced people, documents or legacies. I had recently collaborated in investigating a suspicious death. I met Julius Karus on that case.
They asked what I thought of Karus. I hedged, a professional courtesy. In the case I mentioned, he had arrested the wrong man; it was me who properly solved it. But I kept his error to myself—for now.
Vatia acted as spokesman in commissioning me. I outlined my terms. A deal was struck. I was now a professional adviser to the Cluventius family.
I ran through with them what had been reported yesterday. Julius Karus was examining old cases in the way I thought he should. Nothing to argue with, nor to criticise.
“Once he completes his review of previous murders, we should see the results, if possible. That’s something I can facilitate through my own official contacts…” Moonshine. Karus would probably say no. I’d deal with it then. “Have they found any clues to your wife’s death, Cluventius?”
“They discovered her clothes.” He could hardly bear to say this.
“They sent them back,” Vatia said, helping him. “Romilia—my wife—has them. She will…” He tailed off. Quietly dispose of them, I thought.
She was staring down, not meeting eyes. Romilia struck me as a sensible woman. She would have the beautiful fabrics laundered, keep everything folded carefully, then if the family never wanted them back, she would discreetly find a good home for the finery far away, where the Cluventii would never have to see anyone else dressed in an outfit that nobody wanted to remember.
Presumably Karus and Ursus had ruled out these clothes as evidence. Myself, I would have kept them. Producing such things makes good legal theatre. One day, I hoped there would be a prosecution, where the lead barrister might ask for them … On the other hand, a practical lawyer might simply borrow something shimmery from his own expensive wife. Courtroom drama can be improvised.
Ooh, didn’t you know that, you innocent people?
“And where were the garments found?”
“Hidden in bushes, just off a pathway, near the party.”
“Was there anything else, a weapon, for instance?”
“No.”
“And you have Victoria’s jewellery?” I had seen her still wearing it.
“Yes.” This time it was Paecentius, a wispy, raspy, abrupt man who must have been the oldest of the friends. He was not quite impatient with my questions, but wanted me to finish to avoid distress. “All returned.”
“All? Did somebody check? Was everything she wore that night still there?”
“One missing piece. A necklace.” Ah, that necklace. The killer’s trophy. Its absence made it an important potential clue, yet I had to screw the detail out of them. They truly had no idea.
“I gave that to her,” stressed Cluventius, more upset by what the piece represented in their lives than by the loss or its implications. “This year. For our wedding anniversary.”
“Were you asked to describe it for the investigators?”
“I know what I paid for it, but could not really remember its appearance…”
“Oh, Father! You are such a typical man!” His elder daughter must have been left out when Cluventius talked to the vigiles. As she gently chided him now, I asked her to give me details. I did not say this was because one day it might be found in the killer’s possession.
She was perhaps seventeen, the age I had been when I had started to work as an informer. Slim, modestly dressed for mourning yet today unable to leave off her gold hoop earrings. Less mature than I ever was at that age, she was nonetheless transforming under the effects of her stepmother’s terrible death. Left behind to become the strong woman in the family, she would come out of this hard, cynical, solitary.
Cluvia was unsurprised that her father could remember the price of the gift, yet not what his money had bought. He had given her something similar, a less valuable item but acquired from the same jeweller at the same time. She, not Cluventius, told me the name of the jeweller. She then gave me a clear description of the missing item: “All in gold, it was a loose choker formed from small pairs of leaves, then a central pendant, hung on its fairly wide ring.”
“A coin medallion?”
“No, just a smooth crescent, a lunula.” Clearly Victoria Tertia had liked stylish but simple things. “Will the killer try to sell it?” asked Cluvia, darkly. I felt she realised he would more likely hoard it, his reminder of what he had done to her stepmother. I didn’t want her to know he might use it to relive the crime.
“He may do. The vigiles should be asking shops to look out. My father runs an auction house. He is sometimes asked to watch for stolen items.”
A cynic might wonder if Cluvia was hoping to inherit. I thought she was too sensitive; even if this necklace eventually came home, she would never be able to wear it.
We broke off our conversation because Julius Karus was announced. I realised the family council had assembled by pre-arrangement, so they could all hear his latest report. So far, he was coming daily.
* * *
Karus arrived alone. To me, it was a sign of him taking full command. Ursus had been sidelined.
In such a crowded room, my presence might have gone unremarked, but the moment Karus entered, I watched his eyes scan us while he made a mental inventory; he spotted me with raised brows.
Mildly embarrassed, Vatia explained that they had called me in as a consultant. None of them had ever been in a situation like this. Karus merely nodded. He was too clever to object. I sat quiet, not wanting to antagonise him.
There was little to add to yesterday’s account. Despite great public sympathy, there had been a very poor response to appeals for information. Examination of old cases continued. So far it had yielded nothing, but no such consolidation had ever been done before, so it had to be useful. Karus was sure his work would eventually lead to the killer.
“I want him found. I want him stopped. I want him punished!” Cluventius insisted.
“We all do, sir,” replied Karus, mildly enough.
Cluventius then eagerly told him they could now describe the missing necklace. Karus looked suitably pleased; he made notes. I spotted that, like me, he made no mention of trophies. He claimed notifying goldsmiths and pawnbrokers would be standard routine. Ursus, he said, could get on to that. The fact that Victoria’s other jewellery had been found on her body confirmed that the attack was not about robbery.
“That is no consolation to the victim’s family,” I chided. No need to stress that rape and death had been planned. He pursed his lips; I was warning him to stop, starting my work for them.
I was right. They were upset. The young girl got up from her seat, pressing knuckles to her mouth, and swiftly left the room.
I followed. She was leaning against a wall immediately outside in the corridor, sobbing. I held her while she wept, the way that only two days ago I had nursed my own husband through grief. Cluvia was thin, slight, vulnerable and, to me, unbearably young.
When she was calmer, she told me she had been due to marry. The man’s family had now unexpectedly backed out. They could not even wait for a better time but had informed her father at his wife’s funeral yesterday. They pretended they were only delaying while the family recovered, but Cluvia understood they would never resume negotiations. She half understood why, though even she thought the speed of their reaction had been insensitive.
I told her it was no surprise to me. This was a common response to tragedy. The Cluventii would be tainted. True friends, like Vatia and Paecentius, would not flinch, but other people would shy away, bolting from a situation they found embarrassing and awkward. “You will all be flabbergasted by who drops you socially—but also by who never wavers. I suppose you liked your intended fiancé. But don’t t
hink about him, Cluvia. You are better off without these people—and best that you found out now.”
She nodded. She was sensible for her age—many girls are, despite public perceptions. She would have to shoulder too much responsibility. Ahead of her, this young girl had fears and disappointments, plus a great deal of weeping.
One of her terrors came from knowing what had been done to Victoria Tertia. I told Cluvia gently that, although she had been hearing much about similar attacks in and around the Grove of the Caesars, in general such crimes were rare.
“It could have been me!”
“It could have been anyone, Cluvia. It’s a cliché to say that your stepmother had the bad luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time—but that is the truth. This was a random, opportunistic attack, made possible simply because the poor woman wanted a quiet moment. A few beats of time when she left the party, and either she would never have been spotted or else there might have been some disturbance that put him off.”
It made me angry.
“Don’t dwell on this,” I advised Cluvia. “Don’t let it spoil the rest of your life. Love her and remember her. Love your father, be kind to your siblings, especially the little ones. But then, promise me, you will still live.”
The young girl gave me a straight stare. She mopped her eyes and pulled back her slim shoulders. “I shall try. She was a good woman, Flavia Albia. That is what she would have wanted for me.”
I might have been even more moved on her behalf, but then Julius Karus came out into the corridor, staring at us curiously. Others followed. The meeting was now breaking up. It was time to leave.
XXIX
Soon I was seething: when he found I had no transport, Karus decided it was wrong for me to walk home alone so he would come with me. I had Suza. Suza didn’t count.
Being escorted by Domitian’s hitman had all the thrill of seeing an escaped lion eat your pet rabbit. He stomped along, a big military man, whose constant glancing around showed him to be more nervous in a city environment than I was. You need to stroll quickly and quietly, aiming to slide past trouble before it notices you coming. Then you must listen out in case anyone runs up behind.
The Grove of the Caesars Page 12