‘Papillio – the man Nubia found dying on the stairs – said to find the other six. He must have been one of the seven witnesses of a new will.’
‘What new will?’ said Jonathan.
‘Whose new will?’ asked Aristo.
‘Dives’s! It has to be a later will of Dives!’
‘But there was no later will,’ said Aristo. ‘If there had been, it would have come to light. One of the witnesses would have mentioned it.’
‘Oh!’ cried Flavia, clapping her hand over her mouth. ‘Oh!’
‘What?’ cried Jonathan, Marcus and Aristo together.
‘That’s why he was killed!’
‘What?’
‘Papillio wasn’t murdered because he witnessed Hephzibah’s manumission. He was killed because he witnessed a new will. And the murderer didn’t want anyone to know about it!’
They all stared at her for a long moment. Then her father shook his head. ‘That’s highly unlikely,’ he said. ‘If you wanted to hide the existence of a new will, you’d have to kill all seven witnesses. Plus the testator.’
‘What is testator?’ asked Nubia.
‘The man who writes the will,’ said Aristo.
‘But the testator did die!’ said Flavia. ‘Dives died. And then Papillio and – oh!’
‘What?’ they all cried.
‘The other man who was killed. Mercator. He was one of Dives’s freedmen. Pater, do testators often ask their freedmen to witness their wills?’
‘All the time,’ said Marcus. ‘As long as they’re Roman citizens they qualify. Three of the witnesses at the ceremony this morning were freedmen of Cordius.’
‘Then that’s it!’ breathed Flavia. ‘We’ve found the motive. Someone is murdering the witnesses of a new will.’ She looked at them with wide grey eyes. ‘If my theory is right, then five Roman citizens are in mortal danger!’
‘If your theory is correct,’ said Jonathan to Flavia, ‘then where are the five remaining witnesses? Why haven’t any of them come forward?’
Lupus drew his thumb across his throat and crossed his eyes.
They all stared at him.
‘You think the murderer has already killed them?’ breathed Flavia.
Lupus nodded.
‘All five of them?’
Lupus grunted yes.
‘Where are the bodies?’ said Aristo. ‘Apart from the two murders yesterday there haven’t been any other deaths in Ostia. We would have heard . . . wouldn’t we?’
‘Shall I run to the forum,’ said Jonathan, ‘and ask the town crier if he’s heard anything?’
‘I have a better idea,’ Flavia turned towards the kitchen: ‘ALMA!’
‘Flavia, don’t bellow,’ said her father. ‘Go to the person you want to speak to.’ He led the way out of the atrium into the inner garden.
‘Yes, dear?’ Alma was standing in the kitchen doorway, a half-plucked chicken in her hand.
‘Have there been any other murders recently in Ostia?’
‘Just the two,’ said Alma, ‘according to the women at the fountain.’
‘Alma’s fountain-friends always know the latest news,’ said Flavia to the others. ‘Even before Praeco.’
‘Maybe they don’t know about the murders yet,’ said Jonathan, ‘because the killer hid the bodies.’
‘Or maybe witnesses are hiding alive,’ said Nubia, ‘being very afraid.’
‘Why would they hide?’ said Aristo. ‘Do you think they know someone is trying to kill them?’
‘Again, unlikely,’ said Flavia’s father. ‘If five men knew their lives were in danger, chances are at least one of them would go to the authorities.’
‘Maybe they don’t know,’ said Flavia. ‘Maybe they don’t live here in Ostia. Maybe Dives went down to the harbour and just chose strangers passing through. Or maybe,’ she said, ‘they were all travelling merchants, like Mercator!’
‘The sailing season finished weeks ago,’ said Marcus. ‘Most merchants will be back in Italia by now. Unless they are based abroad.’
‘Still,’ said Aristo. ‘It’s worth investigating. Don’t you think, Marcus?’
Flavia’s father nodded. ‘Yes. Yes, I do. I know the harbourmaster, and I know which baths he frequents. I’ll ask him if he can get me a list of merchants who might have had dealings with Dives.’
‘And I’ll go to the basilica,’ said Aristo, ‘and see if there have been any deaths recorded recently.’
‘If you see Bato,’ said Jonathan, ‘punch him in the nose.’
Lupus guffawed and Nubia giggled, but Flavia’s mind was racing with the implications of her revelation.
‘Flavia,’ said her father, ‘I know that look in your eye. I don’t want you four charging around Ostia. Leave this to us men.’
‘We don’t have to charge around Ostia,’ said Flavia. ‘We only have to go next door. Hephzibah was Dives’s slave for nearly a year; she might know the names of some of his freedmen and clients. Please, pater, may we go to Jonathan’s?’
‘Very well,’ said her father, and kissed the top of her head.
‘While you’re next door you’d better tell Flaccus your theory,’ added Aristo, ‘before he falls on his sword.’
Flavia, Jonathan and Nubia found Flaccus in the dining room with his dark head in his hands. A plate of flat bread and white goats’ cheese lay before him, untouched.
‘Cheer up, Gaius,’ said Flavia. ‘We have some news. And here’s Delilah with hot drinks for us all. Mint tea, by the smell of it.’
He did not lift his head from his hands. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘The case is lost. It’s a total disaster. I’ve overturned my cart. What was I thinking, taking this on?’
‘Don’t say that!’ Flavia took two beakers from Delilah’s tray and set one on the table before him. ‘We haven’t lost yet.’ She sat on a cushion beside him.
‘Don’t be a pessimist,’ said Jonathan, sitting on Flaccus’s other side.
‘Gaius.’ Flavia put her hand lightly on his muscular forearm. ‘We know what Papillio’s last words mean.’
Flaccus looked up at her.
‘He said to find the other six,’ offered Nubia.
Flavia nodded. ‘We think he meant to find the other six witnesses to the signing of a will.’
‘What will?’
‘A more recent will of Dives,’ said Flavia. ‘We think Mercator was one of the other six witnesses Papillio told us to find, and that’s why he was killed.’
‘By Hercules,’ said Flaccus, sitting up straight. ‘You could be right. Only one witness is needed for a manumission, but seven are required to witness the signing of a will.’
‘Pater and Aristo have gone into town to see if they can find any of the other witnesses, or a copy of a new will. And don’t tell anyone, but Lupus is nosing around, too.’
‘A new will,’ repeated Flaccus, and stared at her. ‘By Hercules! A new will!’
‘Yes,’ said Flavia. ‘And if Dives left a new will, you know what that means, don’t you?’
Flaccus nodded. ‘It means we finally know who the murderer is.’
Lupus ran through the streets of Ostia.
The gongs had just clanged midday and the winter sun gently warmed the paving-stones of the town. As soon as it sank behind the town walls the air would grow cold, but for now it was perfect. Perfect hunting weather. A day so clear he could see every needle on the umbrella pines and every crack in every brick and every leaf on the pavement.
He had not eaten yet and his empty stomach sharpened his senses. Like a wolf hunting for its prey. Lupus felt the joy and excitement of the hunt fill his chest, and he grinned.
He reached the Decumanus Maximus, the main road of Ostia, and turned left, in the direction of the port. He dodged people on their way to the baths, heard the rattle of shutters being pulled across shop fronts, smelled the scent of roasting sausages and freshly baked bread and spiced wine.
He passed the theatre on his right and the f
ountains and the square of the four small temples, and presently he came into the forum. There was the Basilica on his left, still with a crowd of men out front, though most were dispersing to make their way to the baths.
His sharp eyes caught sight of Poplicola at the centre of a crowd of men. Lupus ran to a portico and, keeping the columns between him and the men, he scurried from one to the next, approaching as close as he dared.
Presently he was near enough to hear Poplicola’s nasal whine. ‘I told you. Three sesterces. No more. Do the same tomorrow and you’ll receive another three.’ Lupus’s eyes widened. Poplicola was handing out brass coins to the men standing around him. That man with the bald patch had been in the basilica. And that big African. And he also remembered seeing the man with the warts on his nose. Wart-nose had been yelling along with the best of them.
Poplicola was paying off the men he had hired to applaud.
‘Who is the murderer?’ cried Jonathan and Nubia.
Flavia opened her mouth but Flaccus cried, ‘No!’
They all stared at him. ‘I don’t want to tempt the Fates by naming him,’ he said. ‘If we’re right, we need more proof. Also, I want to talk to Hephzibah some more. I have a feeling there’s still something she’s not telling me.’
‘Where is she, anyway?’ asked Flavia, looking around.
‘She’s upstairs, distraught,’ said Flaccus. He looked at Jonathan. ‘Your father gave her a sedative. Then he went to try to find Miriam.’
‘She’s acting as midwife to that slave-girl at Nonius’s estate.’
‘Yes, we know,’ he said. ‘But poor Hephzibah was crying out for her.’
‘If father gave Hephzibah a sedative, then we won’t be able to speak to her for hours,’ said Jonathan.
‘Pollux!’ cursed Flavia. ‘We can’t just sit here all afternoon! We’ve got to find out if there was a newer will.’
‘Aristo told us not to leave the house,’ said Nubia.
‘I know,’ said Flavia. ‘Let’s think it through.’ She paced back and forth, then stopped and turned to Flaccus. ‘Where do people keep their wills? Store them, I mean?’
‘Many people keep their wills at home. But it’s safest to keep them in a temple.’
Flavia nodded. ‘If you were to make a will—’
‘I have made a will,’ said Flaccus softly.
‘You have?’ Flavia’s stomach did a strange flip.
‘I have made a will, also,’ said Nubia.
‘Me, too,’ said Jonathan.
Lupus nodded and pointed at himself.
Flavia stared at then. ‘You’ve all made wills?’
They all nodded.
Flavia sat heavily on the nearest bolster. Presently she turned back to Flaccus. ‘But you’re not ill, are you? Why did you make a will?’
‘My father died last year. It’s a Roman’s munus – his duty – to make a will.’
‘It’s your duty to leave people money?’
‘It’s not about money or property, Flavia. It’s about continuing the line. Maintaining the family genius. Honouring your ancestors.’
‘So have you . . . Who have you . . .?’
Flaccus smiled. ‘I’ve made my cousin my heir. If I die, he will carry on the sacred duties to my ancestors. And inherit my Roman townhouse and my villa in Comum and most of my property and money.’
Flavia swallowed. ‘And you keep it in a temple?’ she asked.
‘That’s right.’ Flaccus spread some goats’ cheese on a piece of flatbread. ‘At the Temple of Vesta.’ He took a bite. ‘In the care of the Vestal Virgins.’
‘That round temple in the main forum in Rome?’ said Jonathan.
‘Yes. Many men of my class keep their wills there.’
‘So Dives might have put his latest will in the Temple of Vesta in Rome?’
‘It doesn’t have to be the Temple of Vesta.’ Flaccus reached to take a handful of dried mulberries from a glass bowl. ‘It could be any temple.’
‘That’s no help. There must be a hundred temples in Rome. And that’s not counting shrines or altars.’
‘Shrines and altars are no good,’ said Flaccus. ‘You need a priest or priestess to look after your copy. So it would have to be one of the main temples, that is, one with priests or priestesses in attendance.’
Jonathan frowned. ‘If someone dies, how do they know where the will is?’
‘All seven men who witnessed the will should know,’ said Flaccus.
‘But in this case, two of them are dead and the other five are missing,’ said Flavia. ‘And we have no idea which temple it’s in. Unless he stored it at his estate . . .’
‘I could ride out to Nonius’s estate and ask his bailiff,’ said Flaccus, and then shook his head. ‘But surely he would have told me when I saw him yesterday . . .’ He took a thoughtful sip from his beaker. ‘By Hercules!’ he said. ‘This mint tea is good.’
‘Flaccus!’ cried Flavia. ‘That’s it! Papillio’s last words. When he said hercle! he didn’t mean the oath “by Hercules”, but rather “in Hercules”! He was telling us where to find the will. In the Temple of Hercules. Dives must have left his will in the Temple of Hercules! And we know exactly where it is, don’t we?’
‘In the Forum Boarium,’ said Jonathan.
Nubia’s golden eyes lit up. ‘Pretty round temple by Circus Maximus?’
‘Yes!’ cried Flavia. ‘One of us has to go to Rome now! We don’t have a moment to lose.’
‘But we promised your father we’d stay here,’ said Jonathan.
Tigris barked and wagged his tail. A moment later Delilah appeared in the doorway.
‘Your father and Miriam have just arrived,’ she said to Jonathan. ‘Miriam has gone up to be with Hephzibah and the doctor is in the latrine.’
Flavia turned to Jonathan. ‘We need a copy of that will! You’ve got to convince your father to go to Rome, to the temple of Hercules. If he goes soon, he could be back by nightfall.’
Jonathan stood up and grinned. ‘You mean if we go soon. I’m going with him.’
Last will and testament of Flavia Gemina, daughter of Marcus Flavius Geminus, sea captain.
Flavia looked up from her wax tablet and scowled at Aristo, sitting across the table in her father’s tablinum. It was late afternoon and he had returned from the forum with the disappointing news that the only death recorded in the past two days was that of a newborn baby.
‘Do you have to sit right there?’ said Flavia. ‘This is private.’
‘Yes, I have to sit right here,’ he said mildly. ‘If something were to happen to your father, then I would be responsible for you and your possessions until you marry. So I want to make sure you do it properly. Now remember: you have to name your heir in the very first line, or else the will is null and void. And with the other legacies, you have to use the formula “do, lego”: I give and bequeath.’
Flavia sighed and took up her brass stylus again.
I, Flavia, make my dearest friend Nubia my heir. To her I give and bequeath my precious dog Scuto, all my clothing and jewellery, and any money I might have after payment of the legacies mentioned below.
To my dear friend Jonathan ben Mordecai, I give and bequeath all my scrolls and books, plus a gift of ten gold pieces.
To my dear friend Lupus I give and bequeath all my wax tablets and writing materials, plus a gift of ten gold pieces.
To my friend Polla Pulchra in Surrentum I give and bequeath my perfumes and make-up, plus a gift of ten gold pieces.
I would like to free my nursemaid Alma, so that she may become a freedwoman. To her I give and bequeath the amount of the slave-tax, plus a gift of ten gold pieces, if my father approves.
I would like to free our door-slave Caudex, who helped us in the arena in the first year of the Emperor Titus. To him I give and bequeath the amount of the slave-tax, plus a gift of ten gold pieces, if my father approves.
To the following people I give and bequeath a gift of ten gold pieces:
Gaius Valerius Flaccus, patrician and poet
Tascia Clio Pomponiana, daughter of Titus Tascius Pomponianus
Publius Tascius Pomponianus, also known as Vulcan, a blacksmith
Aulus Caecilius Sisyphus, freedman and scribe to Senator Aulus Caecilius Cornix
Scorpus, a charioteer for the faction of the Greens
Cartilia Poplicola, better known as Diana
Flavia looked at the ceiling and tapped her stylus thoughtfully against her bottom teeth. ‘Who else,’ she murmured. ‘Who else deserves a nice legacy?’ Then she gave Aristo an impish grin and wrote:
And last but not least, to Aristo son of Diogenes, faithful tutor and friend, I give and bequeath twenty gold pieces!
‘There!’ She looked at him.
‘Very generous,’ he said with a smile, ‘but what about the cost of your funeral? And the upkeep of your family tomb?’
‘Does that cost money?’
‘Of course it costs money. Do you belong to a funeral club?’
‘A what?’
‘A funeral club. An organisation where you pay a few quadrans every month and when you die they give you a nice funeral.’
‘Aristo. You know very well I don’t belong to a funeral club.’
‘Then you’d better add an amount to be devoted to that.’
‘How much?’
‘Do you want fragrant incense at your funeral, or just a few stale pine cones?’
‘Fragrant incense, of course.’
‘Garlands for the mourners and professional flute-players and a feast afterwards?’
Flavia nodded.
‘A moving inscription on your family tomb?’
Flavia nodded vigorously.
‘Then you’d better set aside ten gold pieces for your funeral and tomb.’
‘Is that everything?’
‘Yes. All you need to do now is put the date.’
Flavia nodded and wrote:
Written on this the seventh day before the Ides of December in the consulship of Titus Caesar Vespasianus Augustus and his brother Caesar Domitianus.
‘I need to seal it,’ said Flavia. ‘I’ll use the signet-ring I got for my birthday.’ She twisted a signet-ring from her left forefinger. It was made of pale blue glass in a gold setting. ‘See? It has a little Minerva on it.’
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 194