The Accusers mdf-15

by Lindsey Davis

  'Don't make excuses.'

  Luckily the lads turned up and I forgot the harassing widow.

  I divided up the suicide witnesses, two to each of the lads while I took three.

  'What was the point of having all these witnesses, Falco?' Aelianus asked fretfully.

  'It's like getting your will ratified, if you are an important bean. Looks good. Deters questions. In theory it stops Forum gossip. In this case it also raises expectations of a good scandal.'

  'Nobody will query certification by seven senators,' mocked Helena. 'As if senators would ever conspire to lie!'

  We would be lucky if any of the seven agreed to see us. Having signed the certificate, they would hope to be left alone. Senators try to be unobtainable to the public. To be asked about their noble signatures by a pack of harrying informers would seem outrageous.

  Sure enough, Aelianus failed to interview either of the men allocated to him. Justinus saw one of his.

  'A strike! How come?,

  'I pretended I had a good tip on a horse race.'

  'Smart!' I must try that.

  'I wish I hadn't bothered. He was rude, Falco.'

  'You expected that, you're grown up. Tell.'

  'He grudgingly said they were all called to the house by Calpurnia Cara. She announced calmly that since losing the court case, her husband had decided to seek an honourable exit from public life. She told them he had taken poison that afternoon; he wished them – as his circle of friends – to observe the scene and formally certify suicide. This, she said, would simplify matters for his family. They knew what she meant. They did not see Metellus die, but inspected the corpse. He was lying on his bed, dead. He wore a grimace, had a nasty pallor, and smelt of diarrhoea. A small sardonyx pillbox lay open on a side table. The seven men all signed the declaration, which the widow has.'

  'Flaw,' I chipped in. 'Metellus did not himself tell them his intentions. Then they did not see him actually swallow any pills.'

  'Quite. How can they say he did it willingly?' Justinus agreed.

  'Still, well done; at least we know what song these warblers want us to listen to.'

  'How did you get on, Falco?' Aelianus then asked, hoping my record with the witnesses was as bad as his. I had spoken to all three of my targets. Experience tells. Aelianus replied that it also causes pomposity.

  'All my subjects told the same story,' I reported. 'One did concede it was bad form that they had not been addressed by Metellus beforehand. That's the ideal procedure in a council of friends. But they trust his wife, apparently – or they are scared of her – and I was assured that availing himself of the suicide ploy was entirely in character. Metellus hated to lose. He would enjoy thwarting his accusers.

  'He won't enjoy much from the Underworld,' Aelianus muttered.

  'Right, I think we'll end up telling Silius it stinks. Before we do, we'll go one stage further.'

  'You'll try to see the strangely calm widow!' Justinus thought he was ahead of me.

  I grinned. 'Helena hates me seeing widows.'

  'I know -' Helena herself had it right: 'He is sending me. And if I am successful in gaining entry, Falco will arrive halfway through, as if innocently collecting me to walk me home.' I had not thought of that. 'Don't do it,' she said immediately. 'Keep out of my way, Falco. Calpurnia and I may become great friends.'

  'Of course. You'll go back there to swap bangles and gossip every afternoon.'

  'No, darling. I just want to ask her advice on procedure, in case I ever decide things are so bad, you should poison yourself.'

  'I'll take that as a threat! – Well if I do it, I don't want seven sleazebags invited to sit on the bed and watch.'

  I waited around a corner, perching on a bollard. I might be banned from joining Helena in her visit to Calpurnia Cara, but I had brought her to the Metellus spread and I would walk her safely home. Rome is a city of dangers.

  When she reappeared, looking thoughtful, I decided not to press her but to make the long hike home first. We had to traverse most of the length of the Forum, pass around the base of the Capitol and Palatine Hills, then skirt the end of the Circus Maximus. At least since moving to Pa's house, we no longer had the steep haul up the Aventine, but Helena looked tired when we finally staggered home. It was dinnertime, we had our children to attend to, and before we found a chance to talk the rest of the household was in bed. We went up to the roof terrace to watch the bright stars overhead and the dim lights down along the riverbank. A single oil lamp glimmered on a table among the trained rose trees. Insects plunged at it madly, so we sat a little apart in shadow.

  'So,' I prompted. 'You were welcomed in?'

  'Well, I was allowed in,' Helena corrected me. 'I pretended that my mother had sent commiserations. Calpurnia Cara knew she had never met me, but she may have been unsure who Mama was. In case they were old acquaintances who had talked for four hours at the last secret gathering for the Good Goddess, she felt obliged to be polite.'

  I shuddered. Traditional religion has that effect. I was relieved that Helena had never expressed any interest in the notorious female goings-on in honour of the so-called Good Goddess. My own religious observance stopped short at the guano-spattered environs of the Temple of Juno, where I had duties as the Procurator of Juno's Sacred Geese – a merry jest of the Emperor's. 'So what is Calpurnia like?'

  'Between fifty and sixty, as you would expect from her husband's and son's positions in the Senate. I wouldn't call her handsome, but -' Helena paused. 'She had bearing and presence.'

  That sounded as if Calpurnia was a vicious old bat. Since my own life's companion certainly had presence, I was careful of my phrasing: 'She would have been no cipher in the marriage?'

  'Oh no. She's a little defensive -'

  'Bad tempered?'

  'Let's say, very confident. Well groomed, but not wearing much jewellery. She seems cultured; there were reading-scrolls in the room. Mind you, there was a wool basket too, yet I reckon that was just for show! I can't see the lady actually spinning like a traditional good wife.'

  'You suspect a slave had been sent out in a hurry to buy some wool so they could stage-manage appearances?'

  'Could be. She had a mousy maid in attendance, to look modest.'

  'How formal? Was she veiled?'

  'Don't be silly, Marcus; she was at home. Her manner was reserved, but it should be, with nosy strangers coming to her house for days, trying to catch her out.'

  'She was receiving well-wishers, though?'

  'A queue of callers; I gathered I was lucky to find her alone. I felt that accepting condolences – from both genuine friends and even the wickedly curious – was an ordeal which Calpurnia Cara quite enjoys.'

  'A duty?'

  'A challenge.'

  'She wants to test her own endurance?' I wondered.

  'Oh I think she knows how capable she is,' Helena replied warmly.

  The air temperature was dropping. Helena reached for her stole, which I helped to tuck around her. As usual it was a good excuse to explore her body affectionately.

  'Do you want to hear this, Marcus?'

  'Of course.' I was perfectly capable of groping a woman while extracting her evidence. My profession calls for a man to be physically adroit and mentally versatile, often at the same time. I could take notes while scratching my bum too.

  'She told me what you already knew. Nothing added and nothing different. It seems very well rehearsed.' Despite the dusk, I knew that Helena had read my thoughts and smiled. 'That does not necessarily make it untrue.'

  'Perhaps,' I agreed.

  'One other thing -' There was a new note of mischief in Helena's tone. 'I didn't see the son, of course. I couldn't tell if he was in the house. They call him Birdy, by the way; I don't know why. I took the opportunity to ask one of the staff for an address for junior's divorced wife – ostensibly so I could pay condolences there too.' I said nothing. 'Unless you want to take over that visit?' she enquired, in apparent innocence.
/>   'You know me so well.'

  'I expect you will claim,' Helena scoffed, 'the divorcee may give us another side of the story. This may be a crucial breakthrough and you need to expose her directly to your experienced interrogatory skills?'

  'My love, how comfortable it is to have a wife who understands my business.'

  'Her name is Saffia Donata – and you need to know in advance that she is causing trouble!'

  I said that sounded like exactly the kind of sweet little breakthrough I was looking for.

  'She has three children and some money.' An excellent briefing. Helena Justina made a wonderful work partner – thorough, discreet, witty, and even fair to me. 'I did not ask if she is pretty.'

  I said I could discover that for myself

  VI

  Next morning I began to see why Silius Italicus was so secretive about where he lived: self-protection. We were still at breakfast when a message was brought up that Ursulina Prisca had arrived downstairs. I sent Justinus to get rid of her. I could be magnanimous. Let her have a few minutes of pleasure being rebuffed by a handsome, polite young fellow.

  Once that role would have been mine. Now I was middle-class, middle-aged, and full of middle-rank anxieties. When you have no money there is no point worrying. Once you obtain some, all that ends.

  While dear Quintus interviewed the persistent baggage, using a side room which we kept tidy for that purpose, I kissed Helena, pulled a face at the baby, tickled Julia, locked the dog in a bedroom, and slipped out of the house. (Leaving home in a hurry was much slicker when I was single.) If Ursulina decided our boy was adorable, she might dig in her talons. My youngest brother-in-law was very polite and hated saying no to women in distress. I knew that all women were hard as nuts, but he would easily be manoeuvred into taking the commission. Fine. He could do it. Now our team had a nagging granny specialist.

  I was off to try my skills on a much more difficult female. Forget the divorcee. My motto was hit them gently to see what happens – then hit them again, hard. I was going to revisit Calpurnia Cara.

  There is a trick informers use. If you have assailed a house once in the afternoon and want another attempt, go next time in the morning. If the household is wealthy, they may work their porters in shifts. Mind you, many rich families work their door porters to death, thinking that the provision of a cubicle with a stool means the porter has an easy life. It's a boring career, and that can work to your advantage. On the whole though, door porters become obstructive, maybe because sitting on a stool all day cuts off the circulation painfully in their legs. It affects their brains too. They get above themselves. I hate the swine.

  The Metelli, as I might by then have expected, kept their porter in situ all day. I observed this from the same unfriendly snackbar where I had rested my trotters on the counter yesterday. This meant I might have to wait around for hours before that other informing trick: knocking on the door at lunchtime when the porter takes his meal break. Luckily, I did not need to wait so long. While the door was open for a delivery, I heard the porter ask another slave to stand in while he went off for a pee.

  Thank you, gods!

  (Which reminded me again that I was Procurator of the Sacred Geese of Juno, and I ought to say hello to my fat feathered charges, now I was back in Rome.)

  'Morning. My name is Didius Falco; I was here yesterday on business with your mistress. Could I possibly see her again for a few minutes, please?'

  'I'm supposed to ask the steward,' the stand-in said. 'I think.' He was a kitchen worker normally; he had an apron on, stained with oil and sauce.

  'That's right,' I agreed, smiling helpfully. 'The other Janus – what's his name?'

  'Perseus.'

  'Perseus asked the steward yesterday.'

  'Oh he asked him, did he? Well, that's all right then. She's in the garden; this way, sir -'

  The stand-in had left the door open. Assuming my helpful guise, I pointed out that while he escorted me to find Calpurnia Cara, wrongdoers might sneak in. That worried him. So he stayed there but gave me instructions how to cross the atrium, pass through a colonnade, and find the garden area by myself. I handed him a quarter denarius. It was the least I could do. I knew, though he apparently did not, he had just earned himself a severe beating for letting loose an informer in the house.

  It was worth a quiet wander around. I like gardens. This peaceful enclosed space between wings of the silent house had a damson tree and ancient twining plants fastened up pilasters. Inside the house there was that faint impression of not having enough slaves around to keep the place smart, but the garden was well tended. Puddles and damp earth showed that plants had been watered, though whoever brought the buckets had moved on. I could see at once that Calpurnia was not there.

  This was tricky. Or rather, for an informer it was excellent.

  I spent a long time walking about. No town houses have enormous grounds, but I explored colonnades, peered into empty ground floor rooms, poked into stores. Though light on attendants, it seemed a well-run, organised establishment. That fitted. Corrupt nobles have to be efficient, or they get found out. True, Metellus had been exposed – but he had fallen victim to an informer, and informers notoriously target victims unfairly. Left to himself, he might have fleeced the state and its contractors for many more years and died 'with honour'.

  At the back of the house soared the old Servian Walls, the ancient fortification we called the Embankment. Approaching, quite suddenly I came upon a woman alone. She was dressed in dark clothes, though I thought that reflected her glum nature rather than mourning. I had reached the farthermost part of the garden, a small patch of dry earth with vegetable trenches and a fan-trained fig tree. She was standing, apparently in a reverie, on a gravel path that was flanked by tired herbs, outside an outhouse that had been partly carved into the side of the Embankment.

  'Damned wasps' nest,' she muttered, seeing me. She was pretending her eye had just been caught by something. It sounded mundane, but her face had hardened. 'What are you doing here? Who do you think you are?'

  'Would you believe a wasp exterminator?'

  'Stop your nonsense.'

  'I apologise.' She was right about the nest. Insects were flying to and fro, entering the roughly constructed building above a corner of the doorway. 'Marcus Didius Falco -'

  'Ah yes!' she jumped in, with an acid tone. 'From Silius. You sent your wife on an exploratory mission yesterday.'

  She turned away from the shack, which was chained up. I noticed she was carrying a large bunch of metalwork – the traditional matron, in possession of the household keys. 'Calpurnia Cara, I take it?' I asked, a neutral response to cover up being caught out. The woman, who had a permanent expression of distaste, nodded slightly. Trying to distract her, I asked, 'What do you keep in the garden store?'

  'Unwanted household goods. Your wife was unwanted too, I may say.'

  It was a neat link, but I decided not to play word games: 'Helena Justina was merely curious about the work I have taken on -'

  I am not a fool, Falco.' Calpurnia Cara was annoyed, though at the same time she somehow accepted that annoyance was bound to happen. She began to walk back to the house; meekly I went with her. She looked to be in her late fifties, a heavy woman, her step slow and a little awkward. Had she been my grandmother, I would have offered an arm, but this grand matron was far too austere. She took pleasure in telling me how she had outwitted us: 'My adviser dined here yesterday. We have to be careful; my family has attracted unpleasant notoriety. I showed him a list of visitors. Africanus spotted her.'

  Paccius Africanus had taken an interest in me, then. He must already have known my connection with Helena Justina, before he saw yesterday's list. Our association was unusual, yet Helena and I were hardly well-known names in public life. So: Paccius Africanus had been digging.

  'Who let you in?' Calpurnia demanded. It boded ill for my crony on the door.

  'Perseus had been called away -'

  'Called away?
' I had the impression Perseus might have caused exasperation in Calpurnia before. Well, that would make him a typical door porter.

  'Call of nature.' In fact I was starting to think that nothing as easygoing as nature would occur in this establishment.

  'I'll see about that. What did she want him to do? Pee into the atrium pool? It has been known; put-upon porters are aware that their nagging owners use the run-off from the pool as spare drinking water.

  We had reached the colonnade that fronted the atrium. I was led smartly round the sphinx and the pool. I was on my way out.

  'I have nothing to tell you,' Calpurnia informed me. 'So stop bothering me. I know you have been to our formal witnesses and they have affirmed all that happened.' She was keeping very well informed. The normal porter was back, looking unconcerned at his lapse, as porters tend to do. 'Perseus! Put this man out.'

  'Had your husband discussed his intentions with you?' I squeezed in.

  'Metellus did nothing without my knowledge,' Calpurnia barked.

  'Did that include his business life?' I enquired coolly.

  She pulled back quickly. 'Oh none of that had anything to do with me!' As if a stronger denial were called for, she went on, 'Load of spiteful, invented stupidity. Viciousness. Collaborators. Silius ought to be exiled. Destroying good men -'

  Goodness played no part in the business ethics of the Metelli, as I knew the facts.

  I was leaving as ordered, when Calpurnia Cara called after me. 'Your wife was trying to extract the whereabouts of my ex-daughter in-law.' I turned back. 'I am sure my staff were very helpful,' Calpurnia stated in a dry tone. 'Don't bother with Saffia Donata. She has nothing to do with any of this and she is a mischief-maker.'

  'Nonetheless, I am sorry to hear of your son's so recent separation from the mother of his children.' Since the Metelli were so keen on form, or the appearance of form, the dig seemed apt.

  'Child!' barked Calpurnia. 'Her other brat came from another source.' I raised an eyebrow at her wording. Had immorality occurred? 'Previous marriage,' she explained impatiently, as if I were an idiot. Clearly nothing untoward in the bedroom arena could be allowed to touch this family. 'We took her on for that reason. At least we knew she was fertile.'