Two senior magistrates, looking embarrassed and furtive, had already made their required homage and were sneaking away. Felix, uglier than ever on his funeral couch, stared grimly into space, paying no attention to any of it. His expression was so baleful, even at this distance, that I was glad to reach the triclinium.
The dining room had been swept and cleansed. The additional tables had been spirited away, the painted screen partition doors were closed again, and only the customary three couches (from which the room gets its name) remained. The whole impression was of space and elegance. Only the burnt offerings still lying on the altar gave any reminder of the night before.
Marcus was lounging on one of the couches, talking to Gaius who was sitting despondently beside him. There was a small bowl of fruit before them – a sure sign that Marcus, too, had now done his share of ritual lamenting. Until he had fulfilled that rite it would not have been proper to eat. Both men looked up when I came in.
‘Libertus,’ Marcus said sharply, extending a ringed hand in my direction. ‘I expected you earlier.’
I bent low over the ring. ‘Your pardon, Excellence. I was visited this morning by a young man from Rome. I met him here last night. He tells me Gaius invited him.’
If I hoped to startle the old man I was disappointed. Gaius shook his head mournfully. ‘That young tradesman with the hairy hands? Yes, I invited him. He arrived here yesterday demanding to speak to Felix – part of the party from Rome, he said. I would have turned him away but he showed me a letter with the Perennis seal. I hardly knew what to do with him, so I asked him to the feast. Thought he could squat on a stool at the lowest table. He came, did he? I did not notice him. Nor hear him announced.’
When I came to think of it, neither had I. Octavius’s late arrival had coincided with the religious sacrifices, so the name had not been announced. And he had sat opposite to me, with his back towards the top table. Had that been deliberate, or a happy accident? ‘The young man left the feast early.’
Gaius got to his feet. ‘Like the driver and that Celtic fellow with the whiskers,’ he said heavily. ‘Sensible men. I wish I’d had the courage to do the same. I might have saved him.’ He shook his head hopelessly. ‘Dead. So suddenly. And under my own roof. I cannot believe it. This has been a shock to me, you know. A terrible shock.’
It had. Manifestly so. Gaius was looking pale and hollow-cheeked, his face stricken, and his old eyes filled with genuine pain. This was no public ritual of mourning, this grief was sincere. I remembered what my customer had said. Perhaps, when Gaius knew him in Rome, Felix had possessed some redeeming qualities. I murmured, ‘I am sorry. I did not realise. He was . . . a good friend?’
‘More than a friend,’ Gaius said. ‘More like . . . a brother. A son almost.’
I tried to imagine what had endeared the swarthy Felix to the heart of this gentle old man, and failed. ‘Citizen—’ I began, but he interrupted me.
‘I hear that there is talk of commissioning a mosaic from you in the public square.’
That sounded hopeful. ‘I believe so.’ I glanced at Marcus but he was peeling fruit impassively with the heavy knife from his belt. ‘A small memorial pavement, perhaps, on the rostrum to mark the spot where the body lay?’
It was the obvious place. In big civic funerals the litter is always rested on a public platform during the last procession, so that the common people can gawp at it while an orator makes an uplifting funeral address. A small circular mosaic there would show respect without impinging on the landscape. Yet as soon as I made the suggestion I regretted it. I had forgotten how close that mosaic would be to the spot where the fractured corpse of Marcus’s herald had been.
But Gaius was thinking of other things. ‘Well,’ he said urgently, ‘when you have finished that mosaic, you can build another one for me. Here, in the triclinium, where he lay. Take up the geometric border at this end and replace it with something appropriate. Something to remind me of him. You will give me a price?’
I was astonished. I had hardly come here expecting to be offered commissions. But I knew a good offer when I heard one. ‘I should be delighted to accept your commission, citizen. But I shall need advice. You speak of designing “something appropriate”. What motif would you think suitable for a memorial to Perennis Felix?’
Gaius looked at me as though the gods had addled my wits. ‘Perennis Felix? The man was a tyrant and a bully and death is too good for him. He was a curse in Rome and he has brought a curse to my house again. He can rot forgotten in the afterworld, or be fed to Cerberus for anything I care. I do not want a memorial to Felix, I want a memorial pavement for my dog.’
And, shaking his head sadly, as though to rid himself of the wailing and drumming which reached us from the atrium, he bowed his head to Marcus and walked slowly from the room.
Chapter Ten
After the aged magistrate had gone, there was a silence. Marcus continued cutting his apple with his knife and spearing little pieces of it into his mouth. I said nothing. I recognised from the furrowed brow that my patron was thinking.
At last Marcus spoke. ‘I fear for that man, Libertus. He is crazed with grief. Cursing at Felix in that vicious way when this catastrophe has occurred beneath his roof.’
I nodded. ‘It seems unwise of him,’ I said carefully. ‘The Emperor will have paid ears and eyes everywhere.’
‘Precisely.’ Marcus stabbed the last morsel of fruit and swallowed it. ‘I am surprised. Gaius may be ineffectual, but he has always had a peculiarly shrewd instinct for keeping out of trouble. That’s why he was so successful in business. Now, though, he seems to have lost all care for his own safety. He is concerned only about his dog.’
I did not know Gaius well enough to comment, but it seemed the old man had been behaving uncharacteristically throughout this whole affair. And, I recollected suddenly, he had given Felix some kind of concoction the night before, claiming it was a remedy. I did not, however, remind Marcus of this. He would have insisted on taking the old man under guard immediately, with two effects: rumours of murder would be all over Glevum by nightfall and I would never get a chance to question Gaius myself.
I changed the subject. ‘I assume Zetso and Egobarbus have not been found, Excellence?’
‘Not yet been found,’ Marcus corrected me. ‘It can only be a matter of time. We have alerted the soldiers at the town gate since daybreak and no one answering to either description has been seen trying to leave the city. They are both distinctive enough, and last night the gates were shut. They must still be somewhere in Glevum. We shall find them.’ He looked at me sharply. ‘You think they are together?’
It was not an idea that had occurred to me. It should have done. ‘I suppose, Excellence . . .’ I began, but Marcus was ahead of me.
‘You are very shrewd, Libertus. We should not have overlooked that possibility. If we are looking for a flamboyant dark-haired soldier and a red-headed Celt, we might overlook two drab dark-haired civilians in tunics – although that red moustache would be memorable enough in any context.’
‘Perhaps it is too memorable, Excellence,’ I said. ‘A moustache is not like a beard – an expert can remove it with two strokes of the blade. Yet it draws the eye. Without his plaid cloak and his moustache, can you recall what this so-called Egobarbus looked like?’
Marcus looked contemptuous for a moment. ‘Of course. He was . . . he was . . . he was red-headed and a little more than my height,’ he finished lamely. ‘Yes, my old friend, I do see what you mean. That description could fit a dozen strangers who come and go in the city every day. There are a lot of red-headed Silurians on the western borders.’ He gestured to the elderly attendant who had been hovering at the door awaiting instructions. ‘You! Find me a messenger. Someone fleet of foot. I want to send new orders to the gates.’
The slave vanished at once in search of an errand boy, and Marcus turned back to me. ‘And you, Libertus, what do you propose? I should like, if I can, to get to the bottom o
f this affair before news reaches the Emperor. I do not trust Perennis Felix, and we may be in murky waters.’ He wiped his knife-blade on the linen napkin and sheathed it again at his belt. ‘You have my permission to question anyone. Discreetly, of course, but if there is trouble you may refer them to me. I shall stay here, in case the guards manage to arrest Zetso, or that confounded Celt for that matter.’
‘Arrest them, Excellence? On what charge? With great respect, I must remind you that there is no public suggestion of a crime. Better, I think, to be seeking Zetso urgently simply to tell him of his master’s death; and the Celt too. Felix had important business with him, I heard him say so. More than one person left the feast early and we do not want to suggest that there is anything suspicious about the death. Rumour would reach the Emperor.’
Marcus had been looking rather sullen but that remark roused him, as I hoped it would. ‘Dear Jupiter, greatest and best! We cannot allow that. Yes, you are right. My words were ill-considered. Of course they will not be arrested – merely brought here to be informed of the news, and to perform appropriate mourning.’ He got to his feet. ‘Now, where will you begin? In the forum perhaps, to see what can be learned?’
I was being dismissed. I said, carefully, ‘I think, Excellence, I would prefer to begin in the house. I have already sent Junio to ask questions in the town.’
Marcus waved a vague hand. ‘Whatever you wish. Although I doubt that you will learn anything. Gaius and I have already spoken to the servants. Zetso went out during the entertainments saying his master had sent him, and nobody saw Egobarbus after the death. However, you are welcome to try. Once I have sent that message to the gates, I am going to the librarium, where Gaius has promised to furnish me with a slave and writing materials. I have letters to write.’
It was none of my business, but I asked, ‘To Pertinax?’
‘Of course.’ Marcus smiled. ‘And to my mother, too. Telling her that I have done her bidding at last, and found myself a wife.’
‘Speaking of that, Excellence,’ I said, ‘did you know that Felix’s daughter was in Glevum? Apparently she arrived too late to be admitted last night, and spent the night in a rooming house outside the walls.’
Marcus looked at me without interest. ‘More than that, she is here in this house. She arrived while I was lamenting by the body. She had not heard of her father’s death, and had to be given a glass of strong wine and helped upstairs to lie down. When she is recovered, she will change into mourning clothes and come to make her own lament.’
So, I thought, Octavius had not managed to find her. ‘Then you have not spoken to her yourself?’
Marcus shook his head irritably. ‘No. I believe Gaius received her. Of course, it will be a double blow to her – finding she has lost her prospective husband as well as her father.’
I thought of what Octavius had said. It was possible that Phyllidia would be consolable – on both counts. It would have been tactless, however, to say that to Marcus. Instead I took a deep breath and said simply, ‘Under whose jurisdiction will she be, Excellence, now that Felix is dead?’
It was daring. Marcus was clearly anxious to be gone. But it was a reasonable question. A woman, like a child, is not legally responsible for her own affairs: many women are wealthy and some effectively manage large estates, but they are still officially under the guardianship of a father or a husband or some other legally appointed male who can represent them in the courts. Marcus, for instance, was named Delicta’s guardian in her husband’s will.
I added, humbly, ‘I wondered if Felix had appointed someone for Phyllidia. You, perhaps, since he wished you to be her husband.’
Marcus gave me a startled look. ‘I have no idea. His will is presumably in Rome, so it will be some time before it can be read.’
I pressed my advantage. ‘In the meantime, who is to act for her? Both her parents are dead, and all her relatives were executed when the Prefect fell.’
He frowned. ‘I suppose, since she must have a guardian, we will have to ask the praetor to appoint one. It will have to be a senior magistrate in Glevum. Gaius perhaps, since this is his mansion – otherwise, I suppose, the duty would fall on me. Great Mars, Libertus, you do raise the most appalling ideas! Have you seen the girl? She is as plain as a sheep – and now, I suppose, it will be my duty to find her a husband.’
I thought of Octavius and smiled. ‘It is possible, Excellence, that I can help you there. The young man who visited me this morning is very anxious to wed her, plain as a sheep or not. He is not a rich man, but with her father’s death she does have a large dowry.’ Which her guardian would have temporary administration of, although I did not voice that.
Marcus gazed at me thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps you are right, Libertus. It is my duty to act for her in this way. And if there is a suitor, so much the better. Of course, she cannot marry him at once – it would not be seemly, her father being so newly dead.’
So the management of those estates appealed to him. I tried not to grin. ‘Of course,’ I said gravely, ‘once the will is read . . .’
He saw the force of that. If there was a querela lodged – quoting the will and contesting what the guardian had done – it might well be a very costly business. Such lawsuits often result in the whole inheritance ending up in the imperial pockets. Much better to pass the girl – and her presumed estates – on to a husband as soon as possible.
Marcus nodded irritably. ‘Yes, yes. Well, time enough to think of that when the funeral is over. Come in!’ This to the elderly slave, who by now had returned to the doorway with a young page, and was fidgeting there, unwilling to interrupt. Behind them, tiptoeing towards us past the atrium, I could see Junio, back from his mission in the forum.
He was looking upset.
I excused myself from Marcus and went to meet my slave. He gestured me towards an alcove in the corridor and we stood there for a moment while the page scampered past us and out into the street, where some kind of commotion was taking place.
‘You have news?’ I said, rather unnecessarily. Junio’s face was the colour of my toga – a sort of muddy white.
He nodded, gulping, and I saw to my distress that there were tears in his eyes.
‘Junio,’ I said urgently, ‘what is it? What are they saying in the forum? Are they accusing me? Or Marcus?’ Either of those things might put me in danger, I thought, and that would distress the boy.
Junio shook his head. ‘No, master,’ he said, and his voice was trembling. ‘There is not much news of the men you were seeking. Plenty of rumour, but nothing one can trust – only that Egobarbus’s carriage arrived at the North Gate and not from the south, as one might have expected. Zetso has not been seen, except in your company, since he was flirting with the soldiers at the town gate yesterday. Oh, and the herald’s body has been staked out near the forest, out on the Isca road.’
Like all slaves everywhere, he was doing his duty, reporting to me the matters I had asked him to investigate. The real news, which he was bursting to tell me, had to wait until he had discharged that obligation.
‘Well done, Junio,’ I said, putting him out of his misery. ‘And what is the other information which is breaking your heart?’
He looked at me sorrowfully. ‘It concerns Julia Delicta, your patron’s wife.’ He sighed. ‘You remember the bald-headed slave, the girl who was bought for her hair and then shaven?’
‘I do.’ I had been about to add ‘and with whom you had a forbidden flirtation’ but a look at Junio’s face persuaded me that this was no time for teasing banter. ‘Go on.’
‘She went out this morning, early,’ Junio said, ‘to choose some new material for a stola . . . Delicta, that is, not the slave. She was in a state of high excitement – anxious to come to Glevum, and wanting everything new for her new role. She took her handmaidens with her – or rather they followed her litter – to shop and fetch and carry and take her purchases home. And that was how it happened. She was so long returning that they sent a s
lave to look for her. They found the body lying in an alley, beside the litter, and one of the litter-bearers lying with her in a pool of blood. They had both been stabbed and all the purchases were stolen.’
I was gazing at him in horror. ‘Delicta is dead?’
He swallowed. ‘Not Delicta, master. She is here. She left everything, at once, and came directly to Glevum. I saw the hired carriage outside Marcus’s apartment. That was how I learned of this – one of the servants told me.’
‘Then who . . .’ I said, but I did not need to ask.
‘It was Rosita, master,’ and now he made no attempt to hide the tears. ‘The bald-headed slave. Stabbed in the back and left to bleed to death. When they found her, the dogs were sniffing at her . . . Oh, master!’
It is not accepted behaviour in the best of circles, but I could not help it. I put out my arm and held the lad to me. ‘We will find him, Junio, whoever it was who did it. As soon as I have finished this investigation here, I promise you we will go and find him.’
I spoke with such intensity that a smartly uniformed slave, coming in with a gift of fresh candles for the death-room, turned to stare at me in amazement.
Junio pulled himself together with an effort. ‘Perhaps you will. Delicta has come to Glevum on purpose to petition Marcus to find him.’
I released him. ‘Delicta is upset?’
‘She is very angry. The slave was her property, she says, and cost a lot of money. The hair was almost ready to cut, and now the girl is worthless. To say nothing of the purchases that were taken. Some were worth even more than the slave. The thief must be found, Delicta says, and made to pay the fine.’
He said it bitterly, as if he resented that his lady friend was of less value than a length of material.
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