The Ides of April fam-1

by Lindsey Davis

  There was still light that early evening. Enough for me to notice if things were not right. Nothing was missing. None of my possessions appeared to be displaced. But I had a sensation. You know how, when mice have recently taken up residence at the back of a cupboard, you feel their presence even before you glimpse them from the corner of an eye, long before the telltale droppings and the smell?

  I had a glass platter that had contained three apples when I last saw it. Now there were two. My sewing box, untouched by me since my birthday, seemed to have moved sideways. Its lid was still down, but when I went over and lifted it, the short piece of ribbon into which I had stuck my sewing needle was now missing.

  While I was out this morning, somebody had been in my apartment.

  XLVII

  I knew who it was, and why he had come. He was looking for me.

  I would be his next victim.

  The doors to my bedroom were closed. Before real fright set in, I crossed with angry strides and threw them open. It could have been a foolish move, but nobody was in the room.

  Panic hit me. I left the apartment by the main door, which I generally never used. Clambering over the flower troughs, I ran breathlessly downstairs. Rodan had reappeared from somewhere and was talking to two of the vigiles. It was no surprise when they said they had been sent to warn me: Andronicus must have sensed he was about to be arrested. He had escaped from the aedile's house.

  When I reported that he had already been here, I was told to wait in the courtyard with the second paramilitary: Rufinianus. I knew him. He wrote the notes that time I had the other intruder, the one I stuck with a kitchen knife. Rufinianus was hopeless, yet his presence was comforting. The other man took Rodan. They hurried upstairs, first to search the office, then to work their way down, floor by floor, checking the landings and every other apartment. Rodan would open up the empty ones with the pass-keys my father had reluctantly left with him; if nobody answered at the rooms that were occupied, I knew he would push in the door by leaning on it. If tenants complained, he charged them for having the damage mended.

  While I waited with Rufinianus, the lamp boy turned up for his evening duties, lugging a big round amphora of Spanish olive oil. I told him to use every light we had, filling them until they were brimming so they would last as long as possible. He looked amazed at the change of policy, but slowly set about it. The common areas eventually blazed more than stairs and open spaces ever do in tenements, to the shock of the inhabitants.

  When the whole building had been searched, we knew Andronicus was nowhere there. I learned that Morellus had started on duty early and was leading the hunt. Rufinianus was despatched to bring him up to date about my unwelcome visitation.

  "Tell him I lost another needle."

  Rodan locked the grille. I was informed that on his return, Rufinianus was to remain in the courtyard. There would be guards all night. For added reassurance, the other man took me to my apartment and walked me through it, re-checking. He gave me the usual sombre vigiles advice to members of the public about keeping shutters closed, locking my doors and admitting nobody I did not know. I reckon he realised that for once somebody was actually listening. He tolerated my quip that what I really had to fear was somebody I did know, then he made a to-do of checking all the hooks and hinges on the window shutters. It made him feel better. Nothing would console me. Once I was left alone, I admit I sat on my couch, trembling.

  I had overheard strict security instructions being given to all the other tenants on the first and second floors. Such special attention is never as reassuring as the authorities intend; it makes everybody more keyed up. Not that you ever believe them if, on the other hand, the vigiles assure you there is nothing to worry about. The words, "Everything is normal; please go back indoors" immediately make a neighbourhood jumpy.

  I had asked if a message could be taken to my father's house, about protecting Postumus. "Oh yes, he killed a boy before, I believe." Clearly the vigiles on the ground had now been briefed in detail.

  When Rufinianus did come back from seeing Morellus, he had two other troops with him. I took down hot drinks like a good householder. They were very respectful. I think their unusual good manners were what I found most alarming.

  There was nothing else I could do. I lay on my bed all night, fully dressed and generally not sleeping.

  XLVIII

  I did drift off eventually. I awoke later than usual. A strip-wash and change of clothing helped make me feel more myself. I managed to drink posca, and ate anything I could find: a nub of loaf, a slice of preserved meat, a handful of wizened grapes.

  I refused to touch the two apples; they would be sitting on that dish until they went mouldy.

  Although I felt as if I was in mourning, I put on earrings I was fond of (my Etruscan filigree rosettes) and a coloured scarf. I had chosen sensible shoes and a sturdy tunic in heavy-weave linen, then speared up my hair very securely with more bone pins than usual. I was dressing for action today.

  A member of the day-shift who was a stranger to me had relieved Rufinianus. He allowed me to leave the building, though with stupid reluctance considering I said I was going to consult Morellus at the station house. The man came with me; I deliberately lost him at the end of Fountain Court. I went to the station house by myself. I refused to be guarded by nincompoops. If that was the best the public budget could afford, I would rather not be guarded at all.

  It was so early that on the streets I could see anybody coming towards me or hear anyone behind. Behind was what I had to fear with Andronicus. I walked in the middle of the road, wherever the road was wide enough to provide that extra security, not passing too close to any dark door- or stairways. Occasional stray dogs yawned at me. Sad public slaves swept pavements and I saw a long-faced burglar on his way home, disappointed and empty-handed. A couple of bars that stayed open all night during festivals were bestrewn with out-of-town visitors who were now devastated by their hangovers. One who looked as if he might not revive was being stretchered away on a builder's pallet.

  Morellus was in his enquiry room, collecting in reports. Andronicus had not been spotted.

  What I did learn was that Venusia had been brought in from Aricia last night. Late as it was, a covered litter had arrived subsequently, from which descended a rude woman who had a letter Morellus could not refuse, authorising her to see the prisoner.

  "Laia Gratiana? What a pain!" I sympathised.

  "Well, I tried to stop the lads from scratching their itchy bum-cracks in front of her, but Hades, this is a working barracks, Albia! What did she expect?"

  "What happened?"

  "I was not party to the discussion. It was short and nasty, judging by the prisoner's state afterwards. I had to get the medico to dose her with a poppy cordial-which she, of course, eagerly took to. Madame herself emerged from the cell looking like a goddess of war, saying she had obtained everything we needed."

  "Being Laia, she made it sound as though any idiot could have done the questioning and saved her the trouble?"

  "Right! She obviously wasn't going to tell me, Albia, because I am just the man charged with tracking down the perpetrator, so that would be too bloody helpful, wouldn't it? She swanned away, ordering me to inform the aedile she will supply the details at his office, today mid-morning. Lucky him! Nobody was to go to her house to bother her."

  "I could try," I volunteered, though not looking forward to it.

  "Don't waste effort," Morellus counselled me. "What's another hour or two?"

  "Long enough for Andronicus to kill again."

  "Well that should be all right then. It's you our friend is after next, and you're here, aren't you, darling?"

  I could not even raise the energy to order him not to be patronising.

  "All safe and snug with me in my private office," mused Morellus. "We could have a bunk-up, if you have time to kill?" The flabby great lump was just raising my spirits by offering.

  In lieu of bunking up, he took me ou
t to an oily foodhall where the vigiles had meals when they went off duty, sat me on a bench in the corner behind a fortress-wall of large men, and gave me a second breakfast, this one of elephantine size. He called it the full Roman. It had all the refinement and quantity of a meal barbarians would devour before riding out on a three-day rampage.

  I had to sit in the Armilustrium to let the stodgy feast go down. I did not see Robigo. I had glimpsed no foxes since the night of the burning-torch ritual. I knew my Robigo had probably been killed in the Circus.

  At mid-morning I went to the aediles' office. A worried slave told me Laia Gratiana had already arrived, but she had ensconced herself with Tiberius and they were not to be disturbed. Had she been more bearable I would have barged in anyway, but in her case, I decided to forego the cheeky option. I would wait until the miserable cow departed, and get the facts direct from the runner. It was bad enough putting up with him.

  I had nowhere else I wanted to be, so I waited in their courtyard. It felt wrong, being at the aediles' headquarters without Andronicus. I was glad to be alone while I dealt with that pang. Still, it would kill the demon. This was just a public office. Like them all, the furniture was dingy and the bastards made you hang about.

  I had declined refreshments, which was a mistake because I soon felt violently thirsty after the vigiles breakfast. There had been slabs of cured gammon and even the doorstep slices of bread were salty; it was food for men who sweated themselves to wraiths in firestorms. Biffing away the mosquitoes that habituated the fountain, I took a drink of water there after which, since the flow was glugging feebly, I found a stick and began poking the outlet to make it run better. It is a tradition in my family that wherever we go we improve people's water features for them, whether they invite us to or not. You do have to make sure you don't block the thing entirely by mistake, or at least not when they are looking.

  Laia and Tiberius must have taken refreshments, because while I was bent over working my water magic, a slave collected their empties. When he carried out the tray, he left the door open behind him. I could then overhear a low murmur of voices. Knowing this was confidential material, I tried not to listen, though not very hard.

  Morellus was keeping Venusia in a small, bare, smelly cell, where she could hear horrible noises nearby of men being beaten, drunks screaming, and other unpleasant sounds she could not even identify. She became frantic. The mere appearance of Laia Gratiana, playing the concerned mistress who might use influence to have Venusia released, had been enough to break her. In tears, Venusia had admitted what she claimed was the whole story: Andronicus had made her acquaintance, seduced her, and subsequently made a fool of her. He had even conned the foolish woman out of her life savings. Laia gave Tiberius details which were horribly familiar to me, concerning the archivist's tactics. By the sound of it, he had even taken Venusia for lunch at the same place he once took me.

  When she found her lover cooling off, Venusia had become demanding; she threatened to tell Laia he was making trouble for the aedile. His response was the attack that killed Ino. Terrified, Venusia told her fears to Laia, though without admitting the full relationship at that point; she was sent to Aricia. I heard Tiberius comment that it might have been better to ask first, in case official advice was different because of the investigation. At that point someone, probably Tiberius himself, must have noticed the open door and quietly closed it.

  I got on with making an elegant job of fountain maintenance. I had no need to hear what followed. I could amuse myself imagining Laia's response to anyone who dared suggest she should have taken advice.

  Eventually the door reopened. Laia bounced out first, exclaiming, "It's no use arguing. I will do it!" as if she meant to have the runner's balls toasted in a bread roll.

  The elderly maid I recognised must have been chaperoning; she scuttled ahead, presumably to organise Laia's chair, which I had spotted out in the street when I arrived earlier. Tiberius, tight-lipped, escorted Laia as far as the atrium, whence she would leave the building. He took her down the colonnade, which had a certain amount of entwined foliage between the columns; as I remained beside the fountain in one corner, neither of them spotted me. I was therefore a secret witness to their parting: Tiberius leaned in and gave Laia Gratiana a deliberate kiss on the cheek. After a moment of hesitation, she even returned the favour, albeit with an angry peck. Then she swirled her skirts as she turned away; she left without another word on either side.

  This was unexpected. I could easily believe that Tiberius would act as a trusted go-between, given that Laia could not abide Manlius Faustus. But the cheek-kiss is a formality for intimates; it is strictly reserved for close colleagues, friends and family. Such farewells should not occur in Rome between a woman of her status, an elite member of the cult of Ceres, and a man who acted as little more than someone else's errand boy.

  Well, well!

  XLIX

  Tiberius stood with his thumbs in his belt, as if ensuring Laia was off the premises. When he turned and noticed me, I almost thought his expression lightened. I was innocently scratching moss off the shell-shaped fountain bowl. Dropping the stick, I brushed my hands clean. "Oh there you are!" I said off-handedly. If he feared I had seen his odd moment with Laia Gratiana, he did not blush.

  I followed him into the room he occupied, which at least I had never been in with Andronicus. It must have been decorated for the aediles. Stirring wall frescos showed heroes shedding the blood of monsters, watched by vacuous maidens, in various rocky locations: the sort of lurid adventure people suppose takes place abroad. I had been abroad, and knew otherwise. None of the characters had all their clothes on. There were borders of pretty foliage and distant hints of the seaside. I could live with it. Not from choice, however.

  I was offered a ladies' armchair, still warm from the thin backside of Laia. I hopped off that and found a cushioned X-stool. Tiberius took a hard man's stone seat. Not quite marble; Pa had several better ones in a corner of the antiques warehouse.

  I sat meekly while my companion relayed all I had overheard Laia saying. He tipped back his head and looked down his nose at me, as if he guessed I had eavesdropped.

  Tiberius sighed. "We have a problem."

  "Really?"

  "Andronicus escaped-

  "Yes, while you were sauntering round the Aventine to give yourself courage, he was calmly eating an apple at my place and helping himself to my last sewing needle."

  "I'm afraid he just walked out of our house with a basket of old documents, saying he was taking them to the rubbish-heap. The porter had not been warned, because we did not want to alarm Andronicus with any whiff of trouble coming. But he must have sensed it; he never came back. At least we have found and arrested the apothecary who supplied his poison, and warned others. Apparently Andronicus was quite open about who he was. He claimed he needed the drug to paint on arrows to shoot rats in the archive store."

  "Every poisoner says that," I grumbled. "You would think apothecaries would be trained to report mad-eyed people who have a rat problem."

  "You know him," replied Tiberius wearily. "A few smooth jokes about the vermin being unfeasibly tenacious, that big-eyed confident look of his, and he would convince anyone."

  Me, for instance.

  "Sorry," apologised Tiberius, although I had not spoken. He became brisker. "Look, I haven't time to be delicate about your love life. Plans must be made. You are not the only person to be harried by Andronicus since he walked free. Laia Gratiana is in danger. She felt somebody was following her around yesterday, and when she arrived home from the station house last night, she definitely saw a man lurking outside her apartment. She is sure it was the same person she glimpsed when Ino was attacked. She described Andronicus' build and distinctive colouring."

  I felt hard-hearted about Laia. At least her harasser had not invaded her apartment, and she did not live alone. People would always be around her, and in addition to her large household, Tiberius said she and her brother w
ere to be provided with a day-and-night protection squad from those fine squaddies in the Urban Cohorts.

  Well, jolly good for the cult of Ceres! Andronicus was probably unaware that Laia's brother even existed. I did point out that all I was assigned were a couple of near-useless vigiles. Tiberius annoyed me by saying that was because I was thought more capable.

  Then I learned that the "problem" was more complex and risky than safeguarding a couple of target homes until the killer was caught. Tonight there was a serious risk that Andronicus could strike again. Despite having been stalked-presumably because Andronicus was enraged she had put Venusia out of his reach-Laia was insisting on joining in an after-dark ritual that was a high spot of the Cerialia: the cult women would be roaming the Aventine, dressed in white and carrying torches, as they re-enacted the goddess Ceres' search for her missing daughter. I groaned with disbelief, as I imagined the scene: women who had no street-sense at the best of times, running about in all directions as they called for Proserpina at all the crossroads. There were many of those on the Aventine, most of them in seedy areas, overlooked and underlit.

  "Tiberius, we cannot allow this! Surely for just one year, Laia Gratiana can sit it out and weave at her loom at home?"

  "She absolutely refuses." Well, who likes weaving?

  "Get her brother to lock her in the house."

  "No, he thinks she is wonderfully brave and spirited." The runner looked at the floor. "Of course, this has to do with Faustus."

  "She sets herself up as a target, in revenge for his unfaithfulness? If anything happens to her, all the blame lands on him?"

  "She won't think of it like that, not consciously. But you are right: as organisers, the aediles are responsible for the cult women's security. Normally all it entails is keeping drunks away from them." Tiberius dropped his face into his hands for a moment. When he looked up, he was unusually satirical. "And keeping them away from the drunks sometimes… Albia, this will be a nightmare. You must have seen it. You have a bunch of women who are not safe handling fiery torches, and who in my opinion have secretly tucked into wine fortified with very dubious substances. They run amuck like bacchantes, shouting their heads off and threatening to burn down the whole bloody region."