Murder in the Forum

by Rosemary Rowe

  I looked around. They were all watching me, spoons and goblets partway to their mouths. Junio gave me a cheeky grin. He knew I loved an audience.

  ‘Zetso told me,’ I said, savouring every minute, ‘that Egobarbus “barged in” to the house in Letocetum, where there was a meeting. Think what that means. He cannot have confronted them, since Felix did not know what he looked like, but after that he begins to talk of money – serious money – and Felix takes a house, an entire house mind you, to meet Egobarbus and pay him. Not a lonely house, or a house in a town, but a house in a small village where everyone will see the Celt come, but – clearly – Felix never intends to be seen. Almost as if he were creating an alibi. Yet up to then, Felix had ignored Egobarbus – to the extent that the Celt lost patience and “barged in” to the house.’

  ‘So,’ Julia Delicta said, ‘you think he overheard something? And was trying to blackmail Felix?’

  ‘Or Felix thought he was,’ I said. ‘Which was equally fatal.’

  There was a gratifying silence.

  ‘And my slaves?’ Delicta said. ‘You think that was Zetso’s doing too?’

  ‘Oh, I am sure it was. That was where Zetso went when he left the banquet. On Felix’s orders, of course. He took the carriage to the ex-centurion’s house . . . we know that now?’ I looked enquiringly at Marcus.

  He nodded briefly.

  ‘. . . and exchanged it for a horse. We know that it was nothing for Zetso to ride at night, although most men could not do it. He took some “gifts” from Felix’s belongings and rode to Corinium. The gatekeeper told me that the rider was drenched: I should have realised that he must have ridden a long way in the rain. I do not know quite what he planned, but when he arrived at the house you were not there, so he looked for you in the town. It was not your slaves he wished to kill, of course, but you. He thought that he had done it too – hence his dismay at seeing you at court. You were either a ghost or a witness against him.’

  ‘Deceived by the hair,’ Delicta breathed. Across the room I saw Junio shudder.

  ‘But why,’ said Pertinax patiently, ‘should Felix wish to kill Delicta?’

  ‘I can answer that,’ Phyllidia said. ‘He wanted me to marry Marcus. If Julia Delicta was set upon in town, and killed by thieves, then Marcus was free to marry again. It must have been important to his plans.’

  No one said anything to that. We were all thinking the same thing. An alliance with Marcus – and hence Pertinax – would be very useful to Felix if Commodus had died. A little false evidence, and the Britannic governor could easily be blamed for planning the murder – after all he had been acclaimed as Emperor once before – with considerable rewards for the accuser. Or if Pertinax rose to the purple after all, his close acquaintance might expect to be a candidate for high office. And, of course, even an Emperor is mortal, especially if there is poison in his cup.

  ‘There is one thing that I do not understand,’ Marcus said, at last. ‘Who did poison Felix? It was not me, despite what Zetso said.’

  ‘Zetso thought that you had executed Felix for conspiracy,’ I said. ‘And as for poisoning him, that is the strangest thing. I do not believe that anyone did, at least not deliberately. I think it was a kind of accident.’

  ‘You mean he really choked on the nut?’

  ‘He choked,’ I said. ‘But that was not what killed him. We have the evidence of the dog for that. Something there was poisoned. Not the wine, which everyone was sharing. Not Gaius’s potion, though I thought of that. Not Felix’s drinking vessel, either. He was drinking from that goblet when he stood up, when he showed not the slightest sign of distress, and he was still holding it when he fell. No, what killed him was what someone gave him later, in an honest attempt to help him when he choked. And there is only one thing that it can have been. Water – the extra water Egobarbus used to dilute the wine he did not like.’

  Marcus put down his goblet with a bang. ‘Yes, of course, I remember. Felix himself sent for that extra water. He kept on saying that Egobarbus did not drink much wine.’

  ‘It is obvious, when you think of it. Felix had already made one attempt to poison Egobarbus, but it had not worked, or Felix thought it hadn’t. And Felix now thought that he knew why. “Egobarbus did not drink much wine.” So Felix had Zetso poison the extra water. They expected no trouble – the drains were stinking, and it is easy to blame bad water for a death, as Felix knew already. Zetso hid the bottle in the rubbish-pile as he left. Only, when Felix choked, someone forced the water through his lips. He may even have known it – you saw how he tried to struggle.’

  ‘Poor dog,’ Gaius said gloomily. ‘It lapped up what was spilt. I always thought it unlikely that a dog would drink spilt wine.’

  ‘So there you are,’ Marcus said. ‘A judgement of the gods, as Tommonius always said. And speaking of poisons . . .’ He summoned a servant to bring him a covered salver from a small table nearby. He lifted the cover and revealed a small blue phial on a cord, which he handed to Phyllidia. ‘This is yours, I think?’

  She took it with a shudder, and looked at Octavius. ‘We shall not need this now, Octavius. The only drink that we shall share is the marriage cup at our wedding. Gaius has given his permission.’ She gave the bottle back to Marcus. ‘Save this,’ she said, ‘for some unfortunate criminal. It is the one thing which my father ever did with which I have any sympathy.’

  Marcus nodded, and put away the phial. ‘If Libertus had been sentenced yesterday, I was going to send it to him. I could not have allowed him to suffer.’ He raised his goblet in my direction. ‘Libertus is a lucid thinker, Pertinax, although he was once a slave. I do not know what I would do without him.’

  Helvius Pertinax rested his elbows on the table and made a triangle with his fingers. ‘My father was a freed slave,’ he said. ‘I have some idea what it means.’ He turned to me. ‘It seems that the Empire owes you a reward, Libertus. Is there some boon that you would ask of me?’

  I hesitated. I could think of a hundred boons, but I knew what politeness required. ‘You have commuted my sentence, Mightiness,’ I said. ‘I already owe you my life.’

  I owed him more than that, in fact. The traitor Felix could not be uncremated, but of course there would be no pavement in his honour. As soon as he had learned of this, Pertinax had ordered a small area of pavement in the basilica to commemorate his own visit. I was already amusing myself by designing the border – small ovals representing nuts and a wavy pattern like water.

  Pertinax laughed. He had a nice laugh, when he chose to use it, though he was in general a sober man. ‘Then I shall have to find my own favours. I have thought of one already. Junio?’

  Junio disappeared with a smirk, and reappeared a moment later with a platter, covered with a linen cloth, from which the most delectable smells were arising.

  ‘Oatcakes, master,’ Junio announced. ‘One of Marcus’s kitchen slaves is a Celt and she made them to her old recipe, especially for you.’

  I pulled back the linen cover and could not stop myself grinning. I picked up an oatcake and sank my teeth into the delicious warmth. Better than any layered fowl, and not an ounce of fish pickle in sight.

  ‘I had a second idea,’ Pertinax said. He nodded at Junio again, and my slave vanished for a second time. This time when he reappeared I did not smile. Instead I felt an expression of foolish surprise dawn on my face.

  ‘A toga!’ I exclaimed. ‘A new toga.’ I glanced down at the pathetic garment I was wearing. ‘How did you guess?’

  ‘I saw you in the court,’ the governor replied. At that moment he was wearing a synthesis himself, a combination tunic and toga that rich men often adopt for social occasions, which saves hours of folding every time the owner dresses for dinner. Nevertheless, I was delighted with my toga.

  ‘And for my last boon,’ Pertinax declared, ‘I have a proposition to make to you. This Felix business has decided me. When I report this to the Emperor, as I am bound to do, I intend to ask him to release m
e from this posting – perhaps to send me to Africa as he was suggesting. Britannia is no longer safe for me – there are too many plots and counter-plots. I have already sent my wife and children into exile.’

  ‘Mightiness?’ I was disappointed. I was beginning to like this governor.

  ‘However,’ Pertinax went on, ‘before I leave, I propose to make a tour of all the cities of the province.’ He beamed at me. ‘And Marcus tells me that you have a burning desire to visit Eboracum. Well, your wish is granted. When I go you may travel with me, in my entourage.’

  He was looking at me intently. I glanced around the room. Marcus was sipping at his goblet and pretending not to listen. Gaius and Octavius were discussing dowries for Phyllidia, who in turn was talking wedding plans with Julia Delicta.

  I thought of my own wife, and a lurching cart, and a worn, lovely face in the rain. This was so kindly meant. There was a prickling behind my eyes, and I raised my hand to brush them. A passing slave, misinterpreting my gesture, ladled fish pickle onto my oatcakes.

  I turned to Pertinax, blinking back the tears. ‘Thank you, Mightiness,’ I said. ‘That would be wonderful.’

  After all, the man had saved my life. And it is never wise to argue with a powerful Roman.