He preyed on widows in their time of bereavement -
'Oh objection, please!'
'Sustained. Strike out the widows. Even Falco has a conscience.'
Let's not quibble, gentlemen: Didius Falco did seedy work, often for unpleasant people. Some time around then, he had a stroke of enormous luck for a man of his class. The daughter of a senator fell in love with him. It was a tragedy for her family, but for Falco it proved a passport to respectability. Ignoring the pleas of her parents, the headstrong young woman ran off with her hero. Her noble father's fortunes declined sharply from that moment. Her brothers were soon to be inveigled into Falco's web – you have seen the young men in this court, subject to his incorrigible influence. Now, instead of the promising careers that once lay ahead, they are facing ruin with him.
And what is his occupation now? Accusing a respectable matron of murder. The most hateful crime – in which even Falco now admits he 'was mistaken'. There was 'other evidence', which proves that 'somebody else did it'.
I shall pass over the slurs and scandalous barbs he has aimed at me personally. I can withstand his attacks. Those who know me will not be influenced by them. Any hurt I have felt personally as I listened to his insulting tirade will pass.
Your honour, it is for you that I feel most angry. He has used your court as a platform for an ill-considered charge, backed by no evidence and fronted only by his bravado. As you can see, my client, Calpurnia Cara, is simply too distressed to attend the court today. Battered and assaulted from all sides, she is reduced to a wraith. I know she sends her apologies and pleads to be excused. This noble woman has withstood enough. I ask you, I beg you, to acknowledge her wounded feelings with exemplary damages. May I suggest that what Calpurnia Cara has suffered requires nothing short of a million sesterces to remove the harm done?
Dear gods. I must have an ear affliction. He cannot have said that. A million?
Well, he made a mistake, then. The great Paccius had overplayed it. Marponius was an equestrian. When the financial entry for the judge's own social rank is only four hundred thousand, to ask the price of qualification to the Senate, on behalf of a woman, was crazy. Marponius blinked. Then he belched nervously and when he gave the award he reduced the figure asked to half.
Half a million sesterces. It was a hard struggle to stay calm.
The Camilli might bring in something, but I expected little from them. In our partnership, insofar as we had ever discussed money, I was using the brothers as unpaid apprentices. This was down to me. I was stuck with a personal debt I could in no way afford. My banker had told me bluntly: I could not raise half a million even if I sold everything I owned.
I closed my eyes and somehow managed not to scream or weep.
That was just as well. Looking fraught would have been bad at my next appointment. While the court was still closing, I received a message that the praetor wanted to see me right now about my impiety case. There was no escape. He had sent one of his official bodyguards to enforce my attendance. So, escorted by a lictor complete with his bundle of rods (and feeling as if I was about to receive a public beating), I was marched off At least it got me out of the Basilica, before anyone could voice their insincere regrets over my downfall. I was now poorer than the average slave. At least a slave is allowed to salt away some pocket money. I would need every copper to pay Paccius and Calpurnia.
The lictor was a brute but he refrained from using the rods on me. He could see I was a broken man. There would have been no fun in it.
LIV
Just because he had sent for me did not mean the praetor was ready to receive me. He liked to toy with his victims. The lictor dumped me in a long corridor, where benches stood all along the walls for those the great man was keeping waiting. Bored and unhappy petitioners were already lined up, looking as if they had been there all day.
I joined them. The bench was hard, backless and a foot too low.
Almost immediately Helena Justina arrived and found me; she squashed in alongside. She must have spotted me being marched off so she had scurried after us. She took my hand, winding her fingers tightly among mine. Even at that low ebb, I looked sideways and gave her a half-smile. Helena leaned her head on my shoulder, eyes closed. I moved a gold ear-ring; the granulated crescent was pressing into her cheek. Then I slumped against her, also resting.
Whatever our fate, we would have each other.
We would have two infants and various hangers-on as well – no chance of returning to a two-room doss in a tenement. We both knew that. Neither of us bothered to say it.
Eventually a clerk with a buttoned-up mouth and a disapproving squint called us into an anteroom. He got my name wrong, on purpose probably. The praetor had recoiled from an interview with me. His clerk was to do the dirty work. The bureau beetle buried his nose in a scroll, lest he inadvertently made human contact. Somebody had told him that just looking at an informer can give you impetigo and a year's bad luck.
'You are Marcus Didius Falco? The Procurator of the Sacred Geese?' He could hardly believe it; somebody in the secretariats must have nodded off. At least the judgmental swine could understand why my appointment had gone wrong. 'The magistrate is greatly perturbed by this accusation of impiety. Irreverence to the gods and dereliction of temple duties are shocking misdemeanours. The magistrate regards them as abhorrent and would impose the highest penalty if such charges were ever proven -'
'The charges are trumped up and slanderous,' I commented. My tone was benign but Helena kicked me. I elbowed her back; she was just as likely as me to interrupt this parakeet.
Repartee was not in his script so the clerk continued for some time, rehearsing the magistrate's pompous views. They had been helpfully recorded on the scroll – ensuring that somebody's back was well covered. Wondering exactly who needed to clear themselves for posterity, I let the insults roll. Eventually the stylus-pusher remembered that he had a lunchtime meeting with his betting syndicate. He shut up. I asked what was to happen. He forced himself to give me the news. The mighty magistrate's opinion was: charges dismissed; no case to answer.
I managed to hold out until we reached the street outside. I grasped Helena by the shoulders and pulled her around until she faced me.
'Oh Marcus, you are furious!'
'Yes!' I was relieved – but I hated having things manipulated for me. 'Who fixed it, fruit?'
A glimmer of mischief smouldered in those huge brown eyes. 'I have no idea.'
'Who did your father trot off to see last night?'
'Well, he went to see the Emperor -' I began to speak. 'But Vespasian was busy -' I fell silent again. 'So I believe father saw Titus Caesar.'
'And what did bloody Titus have to say?'
'Marcus darling, I expect he just listened. Papa was quite angry that you had been left to your fate. My father said, he could not stand by while his two darling little granddaughters were damned – incorrectly – with a charge of having an impious father, so although you felt obliged to stay silent about your recent imperial missions, Papa himself would go to court and give evidence on your behalf.'
'So Titus -'
'Titus likes to do a good deed every day.'
'Titus is an idiot. You know I hate all patronage. I never asked to be rescued. I don't want to sweeten the conscience of an imperial playboy.'
'You'll live with it,' Helena responded cruelly. 'I understand Titus Caesar suggested that the praetor – with one eye on his future consulship – could probably be brought to see (with his other eye presumably; how lucky he has never had a spear-throwing accident…) that Procreus has no evidence.'
'I'm stuck then.' I gazed at her. Ridiculous humour sparkled back at me. 'I don't care a duck's fart if my daughters are labelled with impiety – but to provide for them, I have an urgent need to be respectable.'
'You make a perfect head of household,' Helena told me lovingly. She could smarm like a minor goddess on the loose from Olympus for the night. Any shepherds out roaming the Sev
en Hills had better jump in a ditch to hide.
'I give in. Helena Justina, the law is wonderful.'
'Yes, Marcus. I never cease to be glad that we live in a society with a fine judicial system.'
I was about to say, as she expected from me, 'and systematically corrupt'. I never did. We stopped joking, because while we stood there bantering, her brother Justinus came running to find us. As he bent double, catching his breath, I could tell from his expression he had brought upsetting news.
'You had better come, Marcus. Calpurnia Cara's house.'
LV
As we walked, Quintus explained hastily. He had gone back to pressurise the steward, Celadus. Celadus was still snoozing at the bar this morning, though he had had to sober up because the barkeeper had complained that his drunkenness was bad for trade. While Quintus talked to him again, they saw a messenger from Paccius, sent to find out why Calpurnia had not appeared in court today. As usual, nobody at the house answered the door.
If even her lawyer did not know where she was, that was worrying. Justinus and Celadus broke into the house. They found Calpurnia dead.
By the time we returned there, a small crowd had gathered. However, nobody was trying to go in. Sightseers had gathered in the street by the two empty shops and remained there. We walked down the passage to the yellow Egyptian obelisks.
The front door stood ajar. Inside, Celadus was sitting on the back of the sphinx in the atrium, his head in his hands. He was cursing himself for loitering at the bar when he could have prevented what happened. Still loyal to his patrons, he was mightily upset. Justinus stayed in the atrium with him. Helena and I walked swiftly to the bedroom. The house was cold and echoed emptily. Nobody had been here for several days.
We found Calpurnia Cara lying on her bed. She was fully clothed and positioned on top of the bedcovers. Her dress was formal, her grey hair neatly pinned – though her manner of dying had caused convulsions that disturbed her careful layout. Only her shoes had been removed before she took up her place; they stood together on a floor rug. She wore a single gold necklace, which we now knew was probably the only piece of jewellery she still owned.
It was perfectly clear that what had occurred here was suicide. On a table beside her lay an open sardonyx box, mocking the scene she had staged previously for her dead husband. It looked to be the same box purchased all that time ago from Rhoemetalces for Metellus. Flimsy fragments of gold leaf were scattered beside the box, which was empty. There would have been four corn cockle pills left, after the apothecary swallowed one in court. Calpurnia must have broken open all four remaining pills and removed the outer shell of gold. Then she swallowed the corn cockle seeds, which she washed down with water from a glass that had afterwards fallen beside her hand on the coverlet.
A sealed letter addressed to her children was on the side table. I took it, then we left hastily. The side-effects of the poison were unpleasant and the corpse had deteriorated since she died.
Calpurnia must have killed herself the day she was last seen in court. That was when the charge against her had seemed likely to hold up, before we knew she was innocent. She never knew we had withdrawn the charge.
It would have been easy to blame myself. And believe me, I did.
We took the steward with us, making the house secure again behind us. To be certain all was in order, I asked Justinus to wait outside until the family sent someone. Helena went home, knowing I would join her shortly.
With Celadus silent beside me, I walked to the younger daughter's home. That was closest, and I knew Carina better than Juliana. I would have to speak to the husband first; I preferred to broach Verginius Laco rather than the ill-tempered Canidianus Rufus, who always seemed so irritated by his in-laws' misfortunes. I found Laco in. I told him the news, offered our sympathies, passed him the letter from Calpurnia (which I noticed was addressed only to her two daughters, not to Negrinus). I mentioned to Verginius Laco that I hoped this would mean the family secret could now be revealed.
Since Laco had always seemed a decent sort, and since within limits I trusted him, I brought him up to date on the murder of Metellus senior by Saffia. Licinius Lutea had been Saffia's associate in the blackmail and could have known about the poisoning, though he would deny all of it. Whatever Lutea knew about the Metellus family could still trouble them. The secret might come out anyway. I told Laco I thought both Silius Italicus and Paccius Africanus had known all along that Metellus had been murdered, and who really did it. Bratta was in custody over a related issue and might be persuaded to confess all sorts of things to the vigiles; Petronius would let Bratta think he would receive favourable treatment in the Spindex killing if he offered other information.
These points were important to Negrinus. The murder charge against him was still down to be heard in the Senate. As far as I knew, the two informers had made no move to withdraw their petition. So what would they do now? Silius still, after all this time, needed to show that Rubirius Metellus had not committed suicide. Would they now demonstrate that it was Saffia who killed him? 'Laco, I have come to view these men as shameless in their self-interest. I had supposed Paccius was keeping Bratta at his house to stop me finding the man. But perhaps it was for more despicable reasons. Paccius may have been making sure he could turn Bratta in, if he needed to support a scheme to denounce Saffia.'
Laco pursed his lips, looking thoughtful. 'The vigiles are holding this man. But will he clear Negrinus?'
'I have brought you Celadus, who can do that. Corroboration from Bratta would be useful, but it's probably not essential.'
Verginius Laco, as was his wont, heard me out in silence, thanked me politely, and gave away nothing.
Even so, I was not too surprised when, three days, later, Helena and I, and her two brothers, were invited to visit the Metelli that evening. Clearly it was not a social invitation, or we would have been offered dinner first. Hoping that somebody wanted to open up, we dressed carefully – Helena in a matching dress and stole in tawny shades, with a full set of silver jewellery; me in a clean tunic, one with itchy rope patterned braid cluttering up the edges. At Helena's pointed suggestion, I had had myself shaved. While I was submitting myself to the cut-throat blade, she read through all our case-notes.
We travelled in her litter, snuggling up under a rug, which helped the time pass as the bearers trudged slowly through the winter night. For reasons of her own, Helena had made them take a long detour, going up and over the Aventine above our house. It was a steep climb, apparently just so Helena could pop in with a bunch of winter celery for my mother.
Ma cannot have been expecting this treat, for she was entertaining Aristagoras. He was her eighty-year-old man-friend, a source of much curiosity and highly strung gossip in the family. When we arrived, the amiable fellow grinned a lot then tottered off like an arthritic grasshopper; Ma claimed that he had just called to bring her some cockles.
While I looked around for a new shellfish jar and failed to find it, Helena got down to her real business: 'Junilla Tacita, we are on our way to see some people and I don't have time to track down Ursulina Prisca. I wondered if by any chance you could help me clarify something…'
'I know nothing about anything,' Mother moaned, in a pathetic mood. Evenings tired her. She was ready to nod off in her armchair, and probably glad we had driven out her admirer.
'Oh, you know everything! I was so glad you came with me to see that wet-nurse -'
'Euboule? Don't trust her!'
'No, I didn't care for her at all,' Helena agreed. 'But one thing puzzles me. I have remembered that Ursulina told me not to take baby Favonia there because, she said, "you might never get the little darling back" -'
'Have you done anything for that poor woman, son?' Swiftly distracted, Ma rounded on me.
'Ursulina? Our next job, Ma,' I lied.
'Oh you take your time, my boy! She's only desperate.'
'No, she's not. She's stirring up trouble in her family – something I would never do i
n mine, of course.'
'The woman needs help.'
Ursulina needed another interest in life. I just said mildly, 'We will help her, but she may have to wait. I'm desperate myself. I have to find half a million sesterces for a vicious compensation claim -'
'So you let someone down?' sneered Ma, so unimpressed by my plight she had failed to take in the large figure.
'He was tricked by wicked men,' Helena defended me. She managed to get back to her original query: 'It may help Marcus if he knows what Euboule and Zeuko have been up to. He needs to know tonight.'
Ma stared at her. Luckily she was weary, wanting to be left alone. Her normal readiness to spar was weakened. 'Oh you know what those wet-nurses are like…' Helena waited. 'Rich women dump their babies there, and half the time – so Ursulina says – they forget what the children even look like. They have no idea if what they get back after a year or two is even theirs.'
'I would recognise Sosia Favonia!'
'Of course you would. Then again -'Ma, who disapproved of wetnursing, went off into a rant. 'Of course some of those women do it on purpose. They don't want another pregnancy so if they've got a sickly little thing they take it along and make sure the wet-nurse replaces it if misfortune strikes -'
'That's horrible.'
'Not if it suits everyone. I could have exchanged a few of mine quite happily!' Ma cackled, and made sure she glared at me.
Helena Justina rocked back on her seat and stared at the ceiling, her mouth pursed.
'Still,' said Ma crisply. 'We know exactly what happened in this case of yours.'
'We do?' I asked.
Ma sounded complaisant. 'Oh, Ursulina and I worked it all out for you.' I breathed slowly, keeping my expectation in check. 'We could have solved it for you days ago.'
'Well pardon me, why didn't you say something? So, Mother darling, what's the dirty secret?'
'Son, it's obvious. Someone creeping up the stairs by moonlight.'
'What?'
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