Perhaps the sort of assassin, I thought, who expected us to reason in that way. But I did not say so. ‘Perhaps a man who had no choice,’ I said. ‘Withdrawing the knife from the wound was difficult. It is possible the killer intended to remove it, but could not stop to do so. There was so little time in which to commit the crime – unexpected delay would be fatal.’
Flavius licked his lips. ‘So you think . . .?’
‘I do not think anything, citizen. Except that owning the murder weapon does not absolve you from the crime. Marcus will wish to question everyone. You too, I’m afraid, Lupus.’
Lupus looked too terrified to protest, but Flavius was still scowling. For a moment he was silent. He seemed to be thinking furiously. Then he did speak, and when he did so his words were unexpected.
‘I want to speak to Julia,’ he said.
Chapter Five
Flavius got his chance to see Julia more quickly than he imagined. When we reached the house she was already in the atrium. She had changed into a simple dark brown Grecian coat, presumably out of respect for the dead, and was looking pale and shaken. Indeed, she was leaning heavily on Sollers for support, to Marcus’s obvious irritation. The news of her husband’s death had been a visible blow to her. She looked, if possible, more beautiful in grief.
I tore my eyes away from her and turned to Marcus. ‘I bring you the citizens Flavius and Lupus, Excellence. I found them waiting in the colonnade.’ I said nothing about hearing their conversation. That was information I preferred to keep to myself, at least for the present.
Lupus greeted Marcus with all the deference due to his rank, and Flavius muttered his way through the appropriate formula. His attention, though, was elsewhere. Throughout the whole of the formalities his eyes never left his former wife.
‘Julia!’ he said, as soon as it was decently possible to do so. Marcus, who was already frowning, compressed his lips. ‘Julia, I must talk to you.’
At that she relinquished Sollers’s arm – to the satisfaction of every other man present – and drew herself up proudly. She had stripped herself of her finery – presumably in deference to the news – and wore a simple jet necklet. She looked pale, but magnificent. ‘Flavius. I heard that you were here. I have nothing to say to you. Our marriage is over. And you can have nothing to say to me – at least nothing that cannot be said here, in public.’
It was courageous. Now that Julia had no husband as protector, she had few legal rights. Flavius was a wealthy man and he would make a powerful enemy.
At the moment, however, he merely looked despairing. ‘But Julia! You know what I want to say to you.’
‘I know,’ Julia said, ‘I have heard it all before and I do not want to hear it again. There was no sorcery which made me leave you. I left because I did not want to stay. And do not send me gifts and messages. I will not accept them – do you understand? You are wasting your time. I shall simply throw them away, as I did the others.’ I looked at her with growing admiration. A lady to be reckoned with, obviously.
‘Julia! I came here to plead with you . . .’
‘You lie!’ the woman said. ‘You knew I would not speak to you. You came here to “plead” with my husband, as you call it. My poor sick, wounded husband. To threaten him, or try to bribe him, perhaps? And then he is found with your knife in his body. What am I to think of that, Flavius?’
He interrupted her. ‘I did not stab Quintus, I swear it. By all the gods.’
She withered him with a glance. ‘Perhaps you did not strike the fatal blow yourself – perhaps you are too much of a coward for that – but I know you, Flavius. I know what you are capable of.’
‘Julia . . .’
She ignored him. ‘I do not know, Flavius, what you hoped to gain by this. Did you think that with my husband dead I would turn back to you? If not from love, then at least from fear? Never, Flavius. Do you hear me? Not even if he leaves you guardianship of me under his will. I shall kill myself first. And if this death is proved against you I shall have my revenge, never fear. Citizen you may be, but if you did this, I swear I will see you thrown to the beasts.’
That was even possible, in fact – the murder of a decurion would call for the most savage rigours of the law. But even if wealth and status saved Flavius from being tied bleeding to a stake in the arena, to be set on by wolves or dogs, the other legal remedies were unpleasant enough. Flavius paled.
‘I swear I did not murder Ulpius. Before Jupiter, Greatest and Best, I didn’t even see him. I came to seek an audience, but he treated me like a common trader. I was sent away to wait. It was humiliating, but I had to see him. I was in the front court all the time after that. Lupus was there. Ask him.’
But they hadn’t been together all that time, I thought. I knew that, if the others didn’t. I looked at the elderly decurion, in his absurd wig.
Lupus licked his lips. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I am an old man. I can’t walk about like Flavius can, I just went to the arbour and sat down.’ He looked at Flavius nervously. ‘But he was in the garden, certainly. He couldn’t have got into that room to stab Ulpius without my seeing him. And I couldn’t have done it, either. He would have seen me. We can vouch for each other in that, can’t we, Flavius?’
If Lupus had been paid money in the public theatre to represent the part of a shifty and untrustworthy conspirator, he could not have done it better. Everything about him – his faltering tones, the way he fidgeted from foot to foot and the way he refused to meet our gaze – contrived to make him seem about as reliable as a second-hand donkey dealer at a fair.
‘Well, we shall hear your story in a moment,’ Marcus said, in a voice which suggested that he shared my opinion of donkey dealers. ‘I shall want to question everyone. Libertus will assist – he witnessed the original attack, and he may have additional questions.’ He turned to Lupus and Flavius. ‘I am sorry to make you wait again, citizens. Perhaps you should send a message to your homes. This may take a little time. I presume you could give them a bed here, if necessary?’ he added, to Julia.
She looked at Sollers uncertainly. He nodded, and she said, ‘I am sure we can contrive something. There are couches in the triclinium.’
‘Great Minerva! I can’t stay here,’ Flavius expostulated angrily. ‘I am expected tonight at the dinner of an important client. Besides, I have appointments, business, affairs . . .’
Marcus looked at him coolly. ‘Of course, if you prefer a more formal detention, I am sure that it can be arranged. A night in the town gaol, perhaps?’
Flavius subsided, still muttering.
‘Then if there is no objection . . .’ Marcus began, but he was interrupted by a loud disturbance in the front court. There was a great deal of banging, followed by cursing and raised voices, and we all stopped, silent in amazement.
A moment later Maximilian stormed into the room, accompanied by two slaves. He wore a clean toga, this time edged with the black stripe of mourning that tradition demanded. Following a recent custom there were ashes rubbed onto his forehead, but otherwise he was hardly the traditional picture of grief. On the contrary, he was clearly furious.
He wasted no time on civilities. ‘What is going on here? I am to be master of this house, yet I come home to start mourning my father, and find myself locked out of it like a criminal, and have to threaten the gatekeeper before he will consent to let me in. On whose authority were the gates locked?’
Marcus was looking dangerous. ‘On mine.’
‘Oh!’ Maximilian looked nonplussed. ‘I see. Then I must defer and apologise, naturally. But it is humiliating, having to hammer on your own gates for admittance. And who are these . . . gentlemen?’ He gestured contemptuously towards Lupus and Flavius.
‘We have seen you,’ Lupus put in eagerly, ‘at the chariot races. You remember?’
‘Oh, I think he knows you well enough,’ Sollers said. ‘He identified Flavius as the owner of that knife only a moment ago.’
Maximilan flushed angrily. Interest
ing, I thought. The youth was a convincing actor, but a poor liar. Had he really forgotten what he had said to us? Perhaps these two men were genuinely friends of his.
Marcus, however, had no time for such speculations. He looked at Maximilian stonily. ‘They were visiting your father. I asked them to remain. Just as I asked the gatekeeper to lock the gates. I presume you too would wish to prevent the murderer’s escape? Even if that left you embarrassed in the street?’
That was a threat, and Maximilian knew it. Failure to take satisfactory steps to find a benefactor’s killer is sufficient legal grounds for having a legacy overturned. He said sullenly, ‘I apologise, Excellence. I bow to your decision. My house is at your command. Obviously.’
Marcus ignored the hidden barb in the last remark, but I knew that he had noted it, and that it would not be forgotten. Sooner or later, Maximilian would pay for that, and for his earlier rudeness. Marcus took his position very seriously. For the moment, though, he contented himself with a tight smile. ‘In that case, perhaps we could make a start?’
‘Of course.’ Maximilian gave a brief nod to one of his attendants, who scurried away instantly. ‘And with your permission, I shall begin preparations for the lament.’ His voice was carefully polite, but his manner was still defiant. By proposing to begin the lamentation he made it deliberately difficult for Marcus to send for him for questioning: one cannot interrupt a mourner’s wailing without showing serious disrespect to the dead. I saw Marcus’s jaw tighten. I did not care for Maximilian, but I was tempted to utter a warning. This was a dangerous game.
It was Sollers who spoke. ‘Permit me a suggestion, Excellence. My friend has, of course, left instructions for his funeral. He revised them shortly after he was stabbed in the street. I witnessed them myself, and no doubt Mutuus knows where to find them. Ulpius wished, I know, to have a burial – in order that Julia might be interred with him – and had already purchased a stone coffin and a tombstone, and named the professional mourners and arrangers that he wished to have. Since there is all this to organise, could you graciously break with tradition and deal with some of the menials first, and let them return to work? The gatekeepers, perhaps, so that we can admit the anointing women and funeral arrangers when they come; and the personal slaves who were on duty in this part of the house at the time? While you are doing that, perhaps I could, with your permission, make a start with my own duties. If poor Ulpius is to be cleansed for burial, his wounds must be decently dressed and covered.’
Marcus looked at me, and I nodded. It was exactly what I should have chosen myself. Maximilian, however, shot Sollers a poisonous look. ‘I shall be needed for the ritual too. I am the heir here. It may be your job to tend his wounds, but it is my place to close his eyes and burn the herbs and light the candles around the body.’
‘Of course,’ Sollers said smoothly. ‘Perhaps you should be spoken to immediately after the servants – that will give you time to take a little sustenance before the lament begins.’ I realised as soon as he had spoken that this was exactly what he had always intended. ‘Perhaps the other citizens could also go to the triclinium?’ Sollers went on. ‘I have already spoken to the cooks, and they are preparing a light meal.’
It was neatly done: in one deft and deferential move Sollers had promoted himself over Maximilian as the organiser of the household. I glanced at Marcus, wondering how he would react – it should have been his place to decide on the order of interrogation – but he was nodding approvingly.
Sollers’s suggestions also overcame a difficult social dilemma for all of us. By custom a household does not offer formal meals while officially in mourning, except for the funeral banquet – presumably lest the spirit of the departed might feel neglected or peckish and return in spectral form to join the feast. On the other hand, there were important guests in the house who must be offered hospitality. By suggesting refreshment before the lament, Sollers solved the problem delicately.
Not everyone, however, was so pleased. ‘You spoke to the cooks? In my father’s house?’ Maximilian cried, heatedly. ‘I seem to have no position here at all.’
This outburst restored my patron to positive good humour. ‘Very well,’ he said, ignoring Maximilian. ‘Sollers, please see that it is arranged. Libertus and I will take refreshment in the study, and we will deal with people in the order you suggest.’
It was soon arranged. Marcus and I were shown into the room, which had been prepared for us with oil lamps and a brazier and even a water-clock to enable us to keep track of time. A couch and table had been provided for Marcus, and after we had partaken of a ‘snack’ (a tray of cold roast meats with fish pickle, and a selection of bread and cheeses which would have been a fine meal in my house), we were ready to begin.
Marcus and I had worked together before. What he liked was to have people brought before him one by one. He did most of the questioning, sitting in state on a chair, while I squatted on my stool beside him and threw in an additional query now and then.
It was a system which worked well in many ways. Marcus had authority and status. Even members of the curia could be exiled at a word from the governor’s agent, and he could open the doors of the gaol or bring the torturer running. People who would have dismissed me with a supercilious stare were inclined to grovel helpfully to Marcus.
However, terror can tie as many tongues as it loosens. I have often found that a little unguarded gossip is more help in an enquiry than hours of carefully constructed testimony – and no one is truly unguarded in the presence of an imperial agent. Besides, Marcus is inclined to lose patience with a line of questioning if he cannot see the immediate relevance of it, so I didn’t expect this joint questioning session to produce any immediate answers.
Even so, I was surprised by how little we learned.
Sollers was right to suggest starting with the gatekeepers. Their testimony was crucial because, from their little rooms beside the front and back gates they could see everyone who came in and out of the house.
The keeper of the main gate was whiter than goat’s cheese with terror, but his story was quite clear. Yes, there had been a small crowd of clientes calling at the house early this morning. Yes, he recognised most of them. Two of them were strangers, but they claimed to have been invited by Maximilian, and they were admitted. Then our party arrived, and then Maximilian in a litter, but by this time most of the visitors had left again. When the message came to close the gates there were, by the keeper’s calculation, apart from ourselves, only the two strangers within the walls, an ‘elderly councillor with a wig, and a red-faced narrow-striper who had left a fancy carriage waiting in the street’. Lupus and Flavius, evidently.
Marcus pressed him fiercely, but he was adamant. No one else had come to the house, and no one else had left it. The walls around the property were high, and no one could have scaled them without ladders and grapple irons. Whoever stabbed Quintus had not escaped that way.
The slave guarding the back gate had a similar story to tell. Various slaves had come and gone, sent into the town for oils and provisions, but there had been no strangers admitted. Visitors did not often come to that gate, which was reserved for animals and for access to the small farm at the rear of the property, where fresh food for the table was reared.
The slave who kept this gate was older, plumper and more confident. ‘We get an occasional tradesman or peddler, but there were none this morning, only a scruffy urchin asking for alms, and another wanting Maximilian. I sent them both packing. No one else. Though I am expecting a delivery of charcoal for the kitchens, and the funeral musicians and anointers will be at the front gates in a minute. And, of course, the slaves will be back with their various purchases. Are we to let them in?’
We gave them permission, and let them go.
‘Well,’ Marcus said, taking another sip of wine, ‘what does that tell us?’
‘Only what we knew before,’ I said. ‘Whoever stabbed Ulpius is still on the property. There is no question of some s
tranger with a grievance coming in on an off chance and murdering him, unless whoever it is is still hiding here somewhere.’
‘But you think that is improbable?’
‘With respect, Excellence, I think it is almost impossible,’ I said. ‘Any assassin would bring his weapon with him. He could not rely on finding one to hand. And how could he know that Ulpius would be unattended? Usually the man is surrounded by slaves and secretaries.’
Marcus thought about that for a moment, and then rewarded me with a smile. ‘Well done, Libertus. Now we are making progress. I had come to the same conclusion myself. The facts seem to argue that the murder was committed by somebody already inside the house.’
‘There is only one problem, Excellence,’ I told him gloomily.
He looked at me quizzically. ‘And that is?’
‘Exactly the same objections seem to apply to them.’
Chapter Six
Sollers had rounded up for us all the slaves who were anywhere near Quintus’s reception room at the time of the murder. There were at least a dozen of them, and when I first glimpsed them, lined up outside the door of the study, my heart sank at how long the questioning was going to take. A closer inspection, however, made me simply goggle. If it were not for the ochre-tunicked figures of the secretary and the chief slave – who stood out from the others like two Vestal virgins at an orgy – I might have suspected that I had drunk too much watered wine and was seeing everything double. We brought the chief slave in to question him, and soon discovered why.
The poor man was half gibbering with fright lest the death of his master might be attributed to a slave’s negligence, which of course would ultimately be his personal responsibility. He was more impassioned than the forum orators in his desire to explain to us how no possible blame could attach to any servant under his control.
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