Twenty-Four
A little hush greeted this impassioned outpouring. Gracchus turned to me. ‘So what do you think, pavement-maker? Have you earned your fee? You have managed to get Helena Domna to confess to paying bribes and being in possession of illegal goods – in front of four Roman citizens, too, which is sufficient evidence for a court of law – so there’s no escaping blame. So why is she denying the remainder of her crimes? Any magistrate would honour her for her protection of her son, and sentence her to exile at the very most. I would be prepared to pay the cost of a good advocate myself – Pompeia’s dowry would allow for that.’
‘I’m not interested in an advocate!’ Helena Domna sat down heavily. ‘I tell you, I am not guilty of the deaths. In fact, I would pay almost any sum myself, to see the person brought to justice who poisoned my poor son. But we seem no nearer to knowing who that was – though I have been humiliated for my lesser sins.’
‘On the contrary, madam!’ Junio jumped up. ‘I know that expression on my father’s face – I think he knows who did it, or he thinks he does.’
He broke off as the steward came in with the tray. ‘I’m sorry, citizens. I know you were asking for the doorkeeper, but he cannot be found. I’ve got every slave that can be spared searching the house for him.’ He set down a plate of nuts and dates, and put a drinking cup in front of each of us. ‘I will bring him, with the wine, as soon as possible.’
I waited until the steward had disappeared before I spoke again. ‘I believe the doorkeeper will tell us the same thing, when he comes. Helena Domna behaved unwisely, but she did not conspire to kill. I think we must look elsewhere for our murderer.’
‘So Antoninus’s murder was not connected with the statue, after all?’ Redux contrived to look relieved at this.
‘Indirectly, I think it may have been. It was what brought Antoninus Seulonius here the other night, and that’s what caused his death. But Helena Domna and her doorkeeper were not the only ones who feared what Antoninus could reveal. Zythos, for example, was a victim too.’
‘Zythos, dear man, is unfortunately dead.’ Redux’s plump face was pink and crumpling. ‘I think we can keep his reputation out of this.’
‘Of course he arranged that Minerva should be stolen, shipped and sold.’ Gracchus was attempting to be judicous now. ‘But he could hardly be responsible for what has happened since. Certainly not for either of the deaths.’
‘And yet, you know, I rather think he was involved,’ I said, as gently as I could. ‘Not only these deaths, but Honoria’s as well.’ I turned to Livia. ‘And doubtless, madam, you would agree with me – if you can be prevailed upon to admit the truth.’
Livia had risen to her feet. She was as pale as marble, though her eyes were bright. ‘Citizen Libertus, you have made your point. Helena Domna has admitted to every charge you raised. I cannot imagine what you hope to gain by blaming a dead man for my husband’s death – far less the death of a man I hardly knew. Let Gracchus pay you, as he promised, and we will say no more – lest Zythos’s spirit be offended and return to haunt us all.’
‘As he already haunts you, madam?’ I enquired. ‘The “fair-haired beauty” to whom he wrote his poem? Oh, don’t look startled – Redux told me that he had seen the verses though he did not suspect they were composed for you. No doubt he could also identify the lock of hair that you are wearing in that locket ring. I should have noticed at the time that you referred to it as “the dead man’s hair”, not “my husband’s”, as one might expect.’
I looked at Redux and he swallowed hard then said, ‘I only knew that Zythos had lost his heart – and that it was not to me.’
‘It was you, lady – I am quite sure of it,’ I said. ‘It was you that he was hoping to encounter on that night, when he was discovered in Honoria’s room – the bedroom that she usually gave you, when you came to stay.’
Helena Domna looked triumphant now. ‘So it was you, you hussy! Let me see that ring.’ But Livia simply went on gazing in a kind of trance, as if she were trying to read the mural on the wall.
‘It must have been convenient for a lovers’ tryst,’ I said. ‘The house was next door to an inn, and Honoria’s bedroom looked out on a tree. Zythos was young and vigorous – it was not hard to climb – once he had let himself into the grounds. And you left the shutters open, by arrangement too, so that he could come and find you in the room.’
Livia let out a tiny sound, but went on staring blankly at the wall.
‘Only, on that fatal night,’ I went on mercilessly, ‘it all went wrong. Honoria had announced that she was with child again, and this time she did not offer you her room. So when Zythos entered for a night of love, it wasn’t you he found. What happened, Livia? She cried out, I suppose? Why else would your husband have burst into her room? She screamed her innocence, but he killed them both. The deaths must have been on your conscience ever since.’
Pulchra stepped forward from behind the couch and put a hand upon her mistress’s arm. ‘What nonsense, mistress. Take no notice of the man. Of course you would never have done anything like that.’
‘But Pulchra, you were in a private cubicle in the servants’ quarters of the house,’ I said. ‘You told me so yourself. How can you be certain what she did or didn’t do?’
Pulchra turned crimson and stepped back again. ‘I know my mistress, that’s all I can say. Anyway, it’s only guesswork. Where’s your evidence?’
‘Antoninus had it, but I have it here.’ I reached into my pouch and took out the writing tablet in its pretty case. ‘This is your writing tablet, madam, I believe. There was a message scrawled upon it, in such haste that the stylus went right through and scratched the wooden frame. The marks had been covered with a layer of fresh wax, but when that was melted it showed up again.’
I held it out to Livia but she looked away. ‘I have told you, I don’t believe that is my writing block at all. Pulchra will tell you, the one I had was lost.’
‘On the way to visit relatives, you said. What relatives were these? You had no family of your own, I think. It was your stepdaughter and her husband you were going to see. “A.S.” Can you see it, madam? You wrote that, I think. A.S. Not Antoninus Seulonius as I thought at first, but Aqua Sulis – where you hoped to be. And that makes sense of the other scratches, too. “Tomorrow. Usual . . . ajar.” It was a message to Zythos, wasn’t it? You could not give it to a messenger openly, as you might otherwise have done, because Honorius was riding in the coach with you. So you had to send it in secret and pretend the block was lost.’
Redux was looking with fascination at the block. ‘And I saw Zythos with it – but he wouldn’t let me look at what was scratched on it. He laughed at me and hid it in the folds of his toga. It was the last time I ever set eyes on him in fact.’ He had been sounding mournful, but he sat up suddenly. ‘But how did Antoninus lay his hands on it?’
Livia let out a little moan again. ‘That doorkeeper again. It must have been. When Zythos sent me a reply on it.’
Junio nodded, quite excited now. ‘And then Antoninus saw the scratches and worked out what they meant – and he has been blackmailing Livia ever since.’ He stopped. ‘But why should she suddenly kill him in that case? And why kill her husband? That makes no sense at all.’ He sat back to permit the steward to come in, pick up the drinking cups and fill them from the wine crater that he’d brought in with him.
‘It’s because she’s carrying that wretched Greek man’s child!’ It was Helena Domna, with a sudden energy. ‘He was always round here – courting Pompeia they said – and therefore invited as a dinner guest. Yet looking back it was clearly Livia that he’d come to see. I don’t know why I didn’t spot it at the time. But if that is his child that she is carrying, then it is just as well that Honorius is dead. He would have killed her for dishonouring the family otherwise.’
‘Precisely so, Helena Domna,’ I said carefully. ‘Or if he didn’t kill her, he’d have divorced her and sent her away. And that woul
d have left her penniless, of course. Her dowry would be forfeit if he proved unfaithfulness. She couldn’t even hope to inherit when he died – Honorius had already shown that he had no sentiment, and would disinherit anyone who strayed – and their descendants, too. Neither Livia nor the child could have hoped for anything.’
‘What makes you assume that this is not my husband’s child?’ Livia was shaking with emotion as she spoke. ‘That is mere conjecture on your part, and it is libellous. It was said in front of several Roman citizens as well. When the funeral is over, and the will is read, I shall sue you for injuria, pavement-maker – see if I do not. And I did not kill my husband, if that’s what you imply.’
‘But you had the means to do so, didn’t you?’ I said. ‘You knew Honoria’s mother had left a poison phial behind. And on the morning of the wedding it would not have been hard to slip the contents into the watered wine that you yourself had sipped – to take away the taste of Maesta’s morning sickness cure – and persuade Honorius to take a drink of it. And if it tasted a bit peculiar – which it might have done – it was no great step for you to urge him to test the wedding wine. After which, of course, attention was wholly drawn to that wine. Fortunate that the diluted dosage took a little time to work.’
‘It’s all lies and conjecture. I deny it all.’ Livia looked round wildly, but there was no escape. She was effectively imprisoned in her place. The central table was in front of her, and the two couches that we others sat on barred the route on either side. She sank back despondently on to her couch again, and added in a bitter and reproachful tone, ‘Citizen Libertus, I am surprised at you. I did my best to help you when you were in trouble yesterday, but you repay me by alleging that I killed Honorius. And what about Antoninus? Are you going to claim that I murdered him as well?’ She seized the drinking cup and drank it at a gulp.
‘You certainly had a motive for wishing he was dead. And you felt yourself in sudden danger the other day, of course, when Antoninus came to see your husband late at night. By your own admission you listened at the door – but you told me that it was very difficult to hear. I think you heard the name of Zythos mentioned several times. You didn’t know about the stolen statue of Minerva, then, and you thought that Antoninus had betrayed your love affair. Pulchra, didn’t she come and tell you something of the kind?’
Pulchra had turned pink about the ears. ‘Well, I can’t deny it, citizen. She was so upset, poor lamb, she hardly closed her eyes and slept a wink all night. If I’d had Maesta’s sleeping potion then, I would have given it to her.’
‘Instead of to Antoninus, as you actually did?’
The whole room had turned silent and was looking at me now.
Pulchra glanced about her. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Of course you do. It was a clever plan. You didn’t have the poison, you’d already used that up. You gave it to Honorius that morning, didn’t you? I don’t know whether Livia knew what you had done, but you got that poison from Pompeia’s room – not hard to do when you are packing up her things – and put it into that jug of watered wine, after your mistress had sipped it and pronounced it odd, of course. It did occur to me to think of this before, but you assured me then that you’d tasted it yourself. But of course you hadn’t – I had just your word for that.’
There was a sudden scuffle from behind the chair as Pulchra tried to make a run for it. Redux and Gracchus jumped up as one man, seized her bodily and pinned her to the wall.
‘So you admit it?’ Helena Domna cried. ‘Wretched woman. I’ll have you flayed for this.’
‘Pulchra?’ Livia’s voice was almost a childish tearful cry. ‘Why did you do it? I told you it was mad.’ She turned to me. ‘It’s my fault, citizen. I was the one who told her about the poison phial. I heard about it from Honoria – and of course I told the maid, as I told her nearly everything. Have mercy, citizen. She used it, not from malice, but to save me from disgrace, and poverty and divorce, or – worse – from sharing Honoria’s awful fate. I always said that Pulchra would protect me with her life.’
‘And so I would have done,’ the servant said, then broke off with a gasp as Redux took her arm and twisted it behind her.
‘So you can tell us about what you did to Antoninus too.’ For an effete and overweight young man he sounded threatening.
Pulchra said nothing. He yanked the arm again.
‘You went there, Pulchra,’ I said sympathetically. ‘Livia virtually told me that you did. She said that she’d arranged to have the garum taken back – and who would she have sent on any message except you? And you had the clever notion of the sleeping draught. I thought of it last evening when I saw my slave asleep – in just the same attitude that Antoninus was. What did you do? Slip it into his drink of wine?’
Gracchus did something with his knee and Pulchra yelped again.
‘Oh, don’t hurt Pulchra!’ Livia exclaimed. ‘It was my doing as much as it was hers. I agreed that she should use the phial. It wasn’t meant to kill him – just put him to sleep, so he couldn’t talk to anyone and let my secret out. I thought he was intending to do that, naturally, when I heard that he’d asked you to call round later on, especially when Helena Domna told me what the note was written on.’ She gave a bitter laugh. ‘Ironic. I thought Antoninus was making a hidden threat to me – and for different reasons, she thought just the same.’
‘Well then, Pulchra,’ Gracchus snarled at her. ‘You heard what Livia said. She was as much responsible as you. Will you make a full confession, or shall we start on her?’
Livia looked defeated, but Pulchra raised her head. ‘It was my doing, citizens. Mine and only mine. It’s true that my mistress knew about the sleeping draught, but making someone fall asleep is not against the law. I managed to slip it into his water jug – I offered to fill it at the fountain for him while he dined – and after a little while it seemed to take effect. He wandered to the study, sat down and seemed to doze. But I wasn’t certain how long the dose would last, so when he had been nodding for a little while, I took his dining knife and stuck it in his ribs. He didn’t shout or struggle, just gave a little groan and even then I wasn’t absolutely certain he was dead. He didn’t seem to bleed much, but I didn’t dare to stay. I tipped away the water, emptied out the jug and stole back down the stairs into the street again.’ She looked at me, and there was almost the faintest glimmer of a smile. ‘It must have been after the doorkeeper had been. I noticed the decoration on the clock as well.’
But I was struggling with a notion of my own. ‘His knife,’ I muttered. ‘Of course it was his own. I should have noticed that there wasn’t one on the table with the food. Who eats bread and cheese without a knife?’
‘And Honorius?’ Gracchus used his knee to good effect again. ‘Did your mistress collude with you in that?’
‘I told her to ask him to taste the wedding wine. That’s all – I swear by all the gods. She had her sickness medicine before she came downstairs, and said – as usual – that it tasted foul and she wanted something to take the taste away. So I went and got it and took it up to her. She had a little and then she went downstairs. I had the poison ready, and I put it in the jug. Then I took it to Honorius. Of course, I carried it, like I always did – he was busy greeting the wedding guests by then – and Honorius drank it like a lamb. He actually told me that it tasted fine, and I had to persuade him to go and try the new amphorae as he’d promised to. I didn’t tell the mistress what I’d done till after he was dead.’
Helena Domna gave a disbelieving sniff. ‘You ask me to believe this? That my son took a cup of drink from you, and drank it without question because you asked him to?’
I raised an eyebrow at her. ‘Just as you have just partaken of watered wine and dates. The steward brought them, and you accepted it.’
She reddened and put her drinking cup down hastily. ‘Steward! Leave the room! And fetch that doorkeeper – we’ve already waited far too long for him.’ I realized that she’d h
ardly noticed that the steward had been there – and must have been listening to much of what had passed. Such is the peculiar position of a slave.
A moment later, though, the man had reappeared. ‘Madam?’ His face was ashen. ‘They have found the doorkeeper. He was in the servants’ quarters. He had hanged himself.’
Helena Domna gave a bitter laugh. ‘Then he’s escaped my vengeance. How dared he act like this. Betraying our household, when he was our slave?’
‘Exactly, madam,’ I said. ‘That is what you see. A slave, a mere possession, not a man at all. No matter that he may have been on duty half the day, you sent him out on extra errands when he is relieved, with no thought of how he was to eat or when he was to rest. He was simply a tool for you to use. And your son was just the same – promising freedom which he never gave. Did it not occur to you, the fellow might have dreams? He was saving for his slave price, were you aware of that? And no doubt Antoninus paid him handsomely, at first. Even the pageboy noticed how much cash he had.’
‘At first!’ Junio had seen the force of my remark. ‘But it would only be at first. Once Antoninus had persuaded him to betray the household’s trust – of course he would threaten to tell Honorius, who would have meted out dreadful punishment or death. So Antoninus had another victim – it was a slightly different kind of blackmail, that’s all – and the doorkeeper would have been forced to carry on.’
I glanced at Livia but she was staring blankly at the wall. ‘So many deaths,’ she murmured, ‘and it is all—’
She was interrupted by a commotion at the door, and the arrival of the little page. ‘Citizen Libertus. There’s a troop of soldiers here. They’re coming to arrest you – they say that you are late. And, Citizen Redux, they’re asking for you too.’
Death at Pompeia's Wedding Page 21