I chortled. "I know how that works: 'Young man, it's time you spawned an heir. Couple up with this woman you have never met, but we owe her father money; she's a nice sheltered virgin, only twelve years old-' Wonderful beings, the important classes!"
"Laia Gratiana was at least eighteen."
"Then I take back that detail. But the rest holds good!" Tiberius did not deny it. "So Faustus and the imperious Laia were heaved into a union by the puppeteer uncle. What next?"
"The marriage progressed for some years in a polite fashion."
"I note how you phrase that! Children?"
"No."
"Did they share a bedroom? Or have a room each, like the stately rich?"
"Separate," said Tiberius, giving me a look; I ignored the reprimand. "But everything that was supposed to happen happened."
"Not very spontaneously! When intercourse was wanted, one of them had to make an appointment. I bet I know which one expected to do it. Demanding his rights would be the man's prerogative… So, which of them looked elsewhere for passion? Who broke the marriage?"
Having posed that critical question, I just sat and let Tiberius struggle with his conscience. He spoke, eventually, as if I had dragged it out of him using the vigiles' torturer. "What happened was entirely the fault of Manlius Faustus."
He was terse, yet he gave me all I needed. It was an unedifying story. Faustus not only had his uncle looking out for him, but in those days he had attracted the interest of a distinguished man, a decade and a half his senior, who had had a connection with Faustus' late father and who offered him friendship and patronage. As Tiberius told it, the older man was childless and influential, the younger attractive, talented, a social asset. It was the kind of situation where formal adoption might have been considered. There was even talk of sponsoring Faustus to enter the Senate.
The patron had a much younger, very beautiful wife.
"Voluptuous?"
"Free-spirited."
"That was what I meant-spilling over the front of provocative frocks."
"Not shy," conceded Tiberius, in his dour way.
Sometimes, when his patron was away on business, Faustus was entertained at their house by the beautiful wife alone. On the surface, his relationship in his patron's home was that of a favoured relative, a young cousin or nephew, say, who might come and go without question-though of course such freedom is dangerous. Although his own wife was always made welcome, she did not generally accompany him. Throughout their marriage, she spent much time with her own friends. Too much time, probably. "You can guess the rest," said Tiberius, his voice dry. "One evening when they were alone together, the atmosphere became intense. The beautiful young woman felt unsatisfied by her ageing husband. He loved and admired her-"
"But rarely made demands in bed?"
"Who knows?… A younger man had obvious attractions, and maybe the tempted couple even convinced themselves the older man had left them together on purpose."
"Who made the move, do you know?"
"She offered. Faustus took."
"So they enjoyed a wild conjunction, during which these two bored, spoiled people were thrilled by the risks involved… And what happened next?" I asked quietly.
"Naturally, the liaison was discovered-very soon; barely a week passed from first to last. A slave reported on Faustus to Laia Gratiana. She left him and went back to her father's house within an hour. Uncle Tullius had to rush in and salvage the situation, at some cost. This was when we had Vespasian as emperor, when affairs were regarded more indulgently than Domitian treats them now; if it happened now, the straying wife and her lover would be prosecuted, lose everything and be exiled. Even at that time, the situation was horrible. A wronged husband is compelled to divorce his wife, as you know."
"And once slaves start piping up about adultery, situations get ugly."
"As you say. Faustus had wasted his own potential, hurt people terribly, and destroyed two marriages. Worse, he had betrayed a most deserving man, who had given him great friendship."
"He did it for love?"
"No."
The runner was harsh. He swallowed water, looking as if he had bellyache.
"I bet she had done it before," I mused.
Tiberius seemed intrigued. "Possibly. . She died. She died in childbirth."
"Was Faustus the father?"
"No. Absolutely not. He never saw her again. It happened a couple of years later."
"Some other robust lover! So, Tiberius, what then? Faustus returned to Uncle Tullius in disgrace, having to endure a barrage of blame, I'm sure-especially since the scandal had cost money. He kept his head down. Did what he was told. Knew that any promise or ambition he once possessed had been aborted by his own stupidity.. If he's an aedile he has to be thirty-six now, according to the rules. Has he ever remarried?"
Tiberius shook his head. "The man lives with guilt."
I thought ten years of guilt was no use to anyone. I also realised that even if those events had hit the scandal column of the Daily Gazette, that most disreputable noticeboard in the Forum for the doings of celebrities, I would not have noticed at the time. But it sounded as if everything had been covered up successfully.
Tiberius and I had become downcast. All we had done was discuss this sordid little tale of a young man's idiocy, a decade ago, but the effect on us was gloomy enough to bring Junillus over, anxious that some worse tragedy had affected us. I reassured him, then got up to go and take Laia Gratiana's statement. I left Tiberius at the Stargazer; last I saw, Junillus had brought him the draughtboard.
He was not playing. I knew Junillus would have given him a game, or he could have played solitaire. Perhaps the draughtboard was his standard cover when he was on observation.
The runner had told me the address. Laia Gratiana had remarried after her furious split from Faustus, but her next husband died, then her father. She had since moved from what had no doubt been an enormous family home to a lesser, but still large, apartment owned by a brother. It too was on the Street of the Plane Trees, where her friend Marcia lived. Yet more splendid views. Yet more heavy marble tables with gilded capricorn legs. The statuettes were better than at Marcia Balbilla's house, the frescos not so good. The same fashionable designer had sold both women their wobbly bronze hanging lamps. So that was two homes where oil got spilled on the mosaic below every time the slaves tried filling the reservoirs.
The fact that you know something about someone's history that could make you feel sorry for them does not inevitably alter your attitude: I still thought Laia Gratiana was a snobbish bitch. For her part, she was interested enough in who I was, and why I was working for the aediles, to remember she had encountered me before. She did not say so; I just saw it in her eyes. I wondered if she knew how rude she had been to me the first time.
I did not ask her anything about her marriage or her ex-husband. I am not stupid.
All the same, this time I took a harder look at her. She appeared to be around my age (though her manner added years); she was my height (less toned); a blonde (natural); with brown eyes (painted, but very subtly). I regret to say, she was decent looking. Knowing that her ex-husband had been lured astray by a brooch-buster (my husband's term for big-bosomed), was it significant that Laia Gratiana was very fiat-chested? Also key was that Tiberius had told me the woman with whom Faustus had his affair was "a free spirit." That usually means vivacious, witty, and more likely to hang admiringly on a man's every word than to slap him down. Gratiana was a slapper-down. She could no more curb this habit than avoid believing herself special because of her role in the cult of Ceres.
When I was taken in to see her, an old female slave quietly left the room. Laia Gratiana did not reckon she needed a chaperone or support. She was a powerful character. Everyone around her knew it.
Was she like that when she was first married at eighteen? Or did the shock of her husband's betrayal toughen her up?
I took out my note tablet and explained my task. "My firs
t question is this: Marcia Balbilla said the incident with her maid, Ino, happened in the Vicus Altus. That is some way from here; can you explain why you were there, please?"
With a trace of impatience, Gratiana said, "It is on the way back from the Temple of Ceres. Marcia and I regularly walk home if the weather is fine, after we have been attending to cult business. Normally we walk down the Street of the Armilustrium, but that is tediously straight and long. That day, we chose to take a detour through the quieter back streets. So," she finished triumphantly, "if someone deliberately wanted to attack Ino, he would not have known we would change our usual route. He cannot have been lying in wait-he must have followed us."
She was sharp. And she did so enjoy pointing this out before I could say it myself.
I sat quiet, making a note of the detail. "Tell me about what happened."
"Marcia Balbilla must have described it to you." Gratiana was a little petulant, annoyed by being visited second.
I stayed calm. "She said you saw something."
"I think I did."
"Even if it happened quickly, any fleeting perception may be helpful."
"Well. The maid cried out. Dear Marcia and I at once turned back to see what the matter was and to assist." That was not the impression I had gained from dear Marcia; she implied the cult ladies had been annoyed at the girls' public squealing. "My own maid was just catching Ino as she staggered off balance. If somebody pushed her, it must have been extremely hard. Before I went to comfort them, I had the impression I glimpsed a man, with his face hidden as he was turning away from me. I had a momentary sense that he had been involved, that he had just made a movement aimed at Ino."
"What kind of movement?" I gestured with the flat of my hand as if pushing a door open.
"No." Next, I mimed a dagger thrust, fist raised and plunging downwards. "Not that either. More like this-" Laia Gratiana made a different move, underarm, at waist height: a quick jerk.
"Interesting. Do you think he had a weapon?"
"It is illegal to be armed!"
"That rule might not stop a killer," I said dryly.
"If he did, the weapon was extremely small." Laia Gratiana bunched her thumb and two fingers. "Like a musician's plectrum."
Were we looking for a crazed harpist?
"But when Ino passed away, no wounds were noticed on her, I believe."
"She had a bruised arm," Laia Gratiana corrected me. "Where somebody had shoved her. Hard enough on her arm to spin her right around. A vicious blow, in fact."
"She was turned around towards him? So did she say she recognised the assailant? Or might it have been somebody she knew, but would not want to admit to knowing, in case Marcia Balbilla was angry about that?"
"I see what you mean. No. Marcia Balbilla's staff are clean-living and respectable. Ino thought she had been awkwardly jostled, by someone who may not even have known they had knocked against her. We all thought it was an accident-until later, when she died so unexpectedly. Then some of us-" she meant herself, but was feigning modesty, "-put two and two together."
"And you yourself felt no recognition of the person you had glimpsed?"
"I would not know anybody one encounters in a street!"
"No, of course not." This woman was so pure, she would not even say hello to her own brother in a public place. That's assuming he had not spotted her first and fled to avoid talking to her. "So can you describe the man you saw?"
"Ordinary." No serial killer would like that! They tend to believe they are exceptional.
"Height? Build? Colouring?" She had no idea. It was a member of the public, one of the mob, anonymous.
"A slave?"
"No, not a slave."
"Long hair?"
"No, not like a boy. Older."
"Beard?"
"No. No, I don't think so."
"A workman? A soldier?"
"How would I know?"
"Someone in imperial livery?"
"No."
"Is there anything else you can tell me?"
"That is all I saw." I was putting away my note tablet when Gratiana suddenly added in a troubled voice, "She dropped her stole." I looked at her enquiringly. "Ino. I wonder if it had been tugged off her during the collision? While Marcia Balbilla and my maid were comforting the girl, I picked it up."
Although Laia Gratiana was clearly troubled by this detail, it hardly seemed significant. I was ready to leave. Now, she could no longer help herself. "So-do you work closely with the aedile Faustus?"
"We have never met." I gave her a bright smile. Bright enough to worry her, if she was jealous. "I take my instructions from his staff. I presume you must know him socially?"
"His uncle is on friendly terms with my brother," replied Gratiana dismissively. Women like that are practiced at denying unpleasant history. She had blotted out her failed marriage.
She knew I knew. She hated me for it. I am never unreasonable. I did not altogether blame her.
XXIV
I walked over and had a look at the Vicus Altus. Just a street.
Nothing unusual or significant. I walked back.
When I finally returned to the Stargazer, Tiberius was still there, with the draughtboard unused in front of him. The counters were still in their leather bag, as if he had never taken them out. He looked as if he had been depressing himself, perhaps continuing to think about the aediles failed marriage.
In the moment before he glanced up and spotted me, I had a chance to assess him. Some customers in bars are clearly vulnerable, especially if they are preoccupied; not him. I noticed, for instance, that Trinius the pickpocket made no attempt to sidle up, and I thought it unlikely any drunks would be troublesome.
In the few days I had known the runner, he can never have visited a barber; that unpleasant stubble of his had become full-face untended growth. Andronicus was bearded too-Hades, they must have more beards at their house than an academy of Greek philosophers. Andronicus' light gingery hair was carefully trimmed. From a short distance away, it was undetectable. In no way did it hide his features. The runner was darker. I could see nothing of Tiberius but those wary grey eyes.
"Sorry it took a while. I am surprised you are still here."
"I knew you would come."
I explained about going over to the other side of the hill to inspect the crime scene. "You know the Vicus Altus?" Tiberius bluffed, but I could see he was unable to place it. I enjoyed laying out my expertise: "It's a short, narrow street, above and parallel with the Embankment, back of the big Temple of Juno the Queen." Still no reaction. "It runs off the bend in Lesser Laurel Street." Tiberius sat up. "That's right," I told him quietly. "If we are looking for the same killer for the four odd deaths we have identified, this is his beat. Right by where Salvidia and Celendina lived. We don't know exactly where either of them was attacked, but the location is significant. They too may have been jostled by him in the Vicus Altus."
"But what about the oyster-shucker?"
"Still nearby. The stall is down on the flat, it's true-but it's in the Trigeminal Porticus-that's right below the Temple of Ceres. Every event we have identified happened in the Aventine's northwest area. It narrows the search."
While Tiberius was looking thoughtful, I told him I had warned Laia Gratiana that she and the other cult ladies should not walk about unless they had bodyguards present; she claimed they were using chairs or litters now. Inevitably, she said it as if I was exceeding my authority in giving her advice, especially as she had thought up the safety measure first.
The runner was drawn to murmur, "Sounds like her!" He made the comment to himself; there was no sharing with me.
I said what Laia Gratiana had told me about the incident with Ino. Tiberius let me talk in full, never interrupting. I finished. He remained silent.
"How did I do?" I queried, mildly satirical because I thought I had handled things excellently.
He sucked his teeth. "Did you question Laia Gratiana's own maid?"
&n
bsp; Privately, I cursed. When I suggested this, Gratiana had snapped that it was unnecessary. "Oh, you would have insisted!" Tiberius nodded, so I*felt unprofessional. He was right; we had so few witnesses that I should have interviewed the girl as well, whatever her mistress wanted, just in case she saw something additional.
Some informers would have dashed this aside, but I admitted immediately that I was at fault. I said I could go back and do it.
He seemed to lose interest. I could tell by the way he was holding his hand that the wound I gave him with the skewer was hurting. I told him he should go home and rest up.
He stood up. For a tough man, he was visibly demoralised this evening. "Yes, this is sore. Don't trouble to apologise, Albia."
"I am not sorry."
Tiberius overruled me with one of his knowing looks. "You are!" he said.
He abruptly left the caupona without a goodbye. I thanked the gods I was not obliged to have a lot to do with him.
XXV
In view of the scepticism the aedile's man showed, I was determined to prove myself. The following morning, I did return to Laia Gratiana's apartment and asked to see her maid, whose name I learned was Venusia. She was out with her mistress. The older slave, the one who had left the room when Gratiana saw me, came and talked. She seemed sensible. (This impression can be so deceptive!) She wanted to say that she had tackled Venusia about what happened, and the maid insisted she had not noticed any assailant.
"Is she a good girl?"
The elderly woman looked torn. Still, she was a good sixty herself and would probably distrust anybody under thirty. "She has always been very loyal to the mistress."
"Oh?"
"She speaks up, if she sees anything wrong. ." It sounded as though this referred to some old incident or a trait that might be deplored perhaps, but if so, the woman was not telling. I could imagine a scenario where the older woman was tight-lipped and conservative, while the younger one babbled more thoughtlessly.
I mentioned how Marcia Balbilla's maid, Ino, had a follower.
"I'm not surprised-you know what young girls like Ino are like."
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