The Chariots of Calyx (26 page)

‘And the lady Fulvia?’

‘She didn’t come. She was too horrified to move, I think.’

‘So you went back to tell her what you’d found?’

‘We did. I had to break the news – Parvus was still babbling with shock. Poor lady, she was terribly upset. And, of course, more worried for herself than ever. She made us stand beside her bed all night, with lighted lamps. And she has not eaten since. In the morning even Annia Augusta agreed to send for you.’

I nodded, and was about to dismiss the boys when a sudden thought struck me. ‘There was no one else in that part of the building at the time?’

The two pages looked at each other and then at me. This time it was Parvus who spoke. ‘No one that we noticed, citizen. Of course the servants’ stairs go up from there, and anyone could have slipped up there for a moment. Or gone out into the garden and the shrine – but certainly we did not see anyone.’

‘And what happened to the body afterwards?’

‘It was taken to the servants’ hall to wait. Fulvia went in this morning to the undertakers and insisted on a proper cleansing. Lydia made quite an uproar about it, but the lady Fulvia got her way. She paid them handsomely to do it, I think – with oils and everything. Quite an honour for a poor old nursemaid, with not a
sestertius
in the world.’

There were a few more questions, but they could help no further, and this time I did let them go. For form’s sake, I spoke to the undertaker’s man who had prepared the body. He was a big, rough fellow, with hands like corn scoops and a wind-scarred face, but he confirmed the pages’ story.

‘First time I’ve ever been called on to do it for a slave-woman, and an old, ugly one at that. Waste of time of course – the household isn’t paying for a funeral, and the slave guild simply picks the bodies up, throws them all together on one pyre, and sets fire to them. What’s the point of elaborate preparations for a funeral like that, when there’s no public exhibition of the body – not even any mourners to speak of?’

I thought for a moment that he was about to spit for emphasis, but he seemed to recollect himself.

‘Going to put it out the back first, when they found it, out of the way. But the widow-lady, the pretty one, insisted that we took it upstairs. She’d got it into her head that it was her fault or something – and then this morning she came in, offering silver for us to prepare it for burial. Mad as a satyr, of course, but you don’t argue with a bag of coins! So when the mask-makers were here I went upstairs and dealt with the thing – gave it a quick wash and oil, and got it tidied up a bit. Hadn’t been dead long, either, when we took it up there – the body was still warm. You notice that sort of thing in this job.’

I remembered that I had failed to notice something similar myself.

He seemed to take the colour in my cheeks as a sign of personal enthusiasm, and he went on with professional relish. ‘It’s still up there, if you want to see it. Not that there’s very much to see. There were no marks on the body, citizen, if that is what you are thinking. Some pink patches on the skin – I’ve seen them before with people who’ve been poisoned – but no bruises or any sign of force. Ate, or more likely drank, something that was poisoned, and a few minutes later she fell to the floor foaming.’ He shook his head. ‘A nasty way to die, citizen. But we did a nice job on her, if I do say so myself.’

He bent towards me confidentially. He smelled of death – herbs, oils and corruption. I almost found myself leaning backwards to avoid it. I put on my most official manner and briskly asked another question. ‘And the body had not been tampered with overnight?’

He straightened up and shook his head. ‘Just as we left it, citizen. Covered with a cloth and all that, and I’d stake ten
denarii
that no one had been anywhere near it. The servants were frightened out of their wits, as it was, with having a corpse up there – we put it in an alcove, but I noticed this morning there were prayer plaques nailed to the door, and herbs and salt on the floor as if someone had been doing a purification rite. And they all keep away from us undertaker-slaves as if we are plague-carriers.’

I nodded. I rather sympathised with their position.

‘Believe me, citizen,’ he went on heartily, ‘they wouldn’t tamper with that body willingly. There aren’t even any of the right herbs up there to burn, and the corpse’ll be beginning to stink by this time. Besides, what would be the point of touching her? The poor old soul had nothing to steal.’ He flashed his remaining teeth in a crooked grin, as though we were comrades in complicity. ‘You just say the word, citizen, and I’ll take you up there and explain the whole process, step by step.’

I hastened to tell him that would not be necessary, and his face fell a little.

‘All the same, citizen – anything you want to know about the business, you come to me. Now if you are sure . . .?’

I was sure, and at last Junio was able to hustle him out of the door, taking the odour of mortality with him. The pageboy, Parvus, hurried in.

‘A messenger has come for you, citizen, from the governor himself. One of his own bodyguards, I think.’ The boy’s eyes were round as a discus. ‘He says he has important news for you.’

‘Show him in,’ I said, and a moment later one of the giant Nubians was kneeling before me. He was making an obeisance, but at the sight of my palace tunic his black eyes twinkled in his dark face and the lips that murmured courteous greetings were visibly trying not to smile. The hand that pressed mine to his lips was so enormous that it could have crushed me like a walnut in a press, and his strength seemed twice as great in contrast to my current weakness. I felt foolish, and we were both aware of it.

I signalled to the man to rise – a mistake in itself since he now towered over my chair like a basilica. ‘You have news?’ I enquired, with such remnants of dignity as I could muster.

‘His Excellence the Governor, Publius Helvius Pertinax, instructs me to inform you that two people whom you were seeking have been taken under arrest.’ The Latin was perfect, cultured, and spoken with a clarity and accent which would have made many students of oratory seem only half civilised.

I gawped. Could that be Glaucus and his corrupt team manager Calyx, I wondered. ‘Two people?’

The Nubian giant inclined his head in assent – to say that he nodded would be to understate the gravity of the gesture. ‘One of them is unknown to me, although I understand it is someone well known in the city. The other is one Lividius Fortunatus, a gifted pilot of the chariots. I have myself been known to venture a
denarius
or two on his abilities. You wish to speak to him, I believe? His Excellence, as supreme governor of the province under His Imperial Mightiness the Divine Emperor Commodus, enquires what you wish him to do with these two persons.’

‘Do with them?’ I said foolishly.

‘Would you prefer him to imprison them – neither, I think, is a Roman citizen, so they could be interrogated by the state, if you wish – or would you rather he should send them here, so that you can question them yourself? Under guard, naturally.’

I found myself smiling childishly. I confess to a sudden and unworthy desire to see Glaucus – if this was indeed Glaucus – brought in under arrest and finding himself answering to me. An opportunity to speak to Fortunatus – and in Fulvia’s company – would be interesting too. Perhaps even Filius would emerge from his annexe to see his hero and I would have the chance to learn something there. And – some inner demon asked me – what would Annia Augusta say if she saw the charioteer?

I smiled more broadly. ‘My thanks and greetings to the governor. Have them brought here,’ I said, and he bowed himself out, while I returned to my enquiries.

There was little left to do. I questioned the last remaining servants – a couple of garden-slaves who tended the plants, cleaned the pool and swept the paving stones. They had little to add. They had not been working in the peristyle, they told me, since their master’s death, apart from cutting a few plants for the undertakers. Their services had been required elsewhere, strewing aromatics in the street outside, and fetching extra water for the kitchens. In any case it would have been difficult to see into the house – the shutters in their master’s
cubiculum
had been kept closed since his death, and the ones in Fulvia’s bedchamber had been shut and bolted by the pages.

I dismissed the gardeners, feeling very little wiser, and heaved a dispirited sigh.

‘You are tiring yourself, master,’ Junio said anxiously. ‘Should I send for the litter for you, or a mattress so that you can stretch out on the floor?’

I shook my head. ‘But since you mention the floor,’ I said, ‘there is something that I’d like you to investigate. You will do it more easily than I will, and I think that there is time before we are interrupted again. There, underneath the table – you see where the square in the design has a deep space around the border?’

Junio was on his knees in a flash. ‘You think . . .?’

‘It lifts,’ I said. ‘I know. I moved it once before – and I think that you will find underneath it the solution to Eppaticus’ missing money.’

He flashed me a cheerful grin. ‘We’ll see.’ He inserted his fingers in the crack as I had done, and once again the central section moved. ‘It’s too big and heavy,’ he said. ‘I can’t grip it. I could get it up at one end, but I need something to prop it with.’ He looked around as if for inspiration.

‘That gong stick on the wall outside?’ I said, suddenly remembering.

He nodded eagerly, and soon came back with it. It was a strange shape, almost triangular, but when Junio lifted one end of the floor panel, and inserted it, the gong stick acted as a perfect wedge. It was exactly the right weight and width to slide under the aperture – almost as if it had been designed for that very purpose. With one end now propped open it was easier to lift the other, and a moment later the cavity was revealed. It was cleverly made: lined with wood and a stone floor set into it, it would have been a dry and certain hiding place for anything. And it was spacious too – just as I had remembered it.

Except that this time the cavity was empty. It was so surprising that I staggered from my gilded stool to look. There was no mistake. The coins had gone.

‘Empty, master?’

‘There were coins in there, Junio,’ I said, clinging to my dignity. ‘I’m sure it was the money owed to Eppaticus. So what has happened to it now? It was there after the murder. If Fortunatus did come here and strangle Monnius, he certainly hasn’t been back to take the money.’

Junio looked at me. ‘Perhaps poor Prisca stumbled on the hiding place. Look at the way those men treated you. And Superbus, too. They wouldn’t hesitate over an ageing nurse.’

I shook my head. ‘This death was different. Poisoning has to be planned.’

‘Then why Prisca?’ Junio said.

I sighed. ‘I wish I knew. Perhaps the poison was designed for Fulvia, as she claimed. In any case, we’d better put the lid back on the hiding place. I don’t want the thief to realise that I know. That way I might startle a confession from the one who took it – if I ever discover who it was!’

The lifting section of mosaic went back more quickly than it had come out, but even so Junio had scarcely time to hang up the gong stick and take his station behind my stool again before Annia Augusta swept into the room, followed by her apologetic maid.

‘Lydia is right,’ she announced, without further ceremony. ‘That wretched Fulvia, may Dis take her, has barricaded herself into her room. Literally barricaded herself. I’ve knocked and shouted, but she refuses to reply, and it seems she has even pushed something behind the door so that it cannot be opened from outside. That heavy storage chest of hers, I imagine.’

She looked like an avenging fury, with her folded arms and dark flowing robes. I said, diffidently, ‘You tried the door from Monnius’ chamber, too?’

She looked at me as though I were a toad, suddenly discovered in her bedchamber. ‘I would have, though it seemed disrespectful to the dead. But she has blocked the door from the corridor into my son’s room as well – put something heavy just where the panels would fold. And she will not even answer when I call. Great Minerva, citizen! They will be beginning the eulogies in an hour or so, and we cannot start the funeral without her. What are we to do?’ She glared at me, as if I were personally responsible for this affront. ‘And you? Have you made any progress here? Perhaps if we can discover who killed her maid, you will be able to persuade her to come out, like a civilised woman!’

I remembered the ladder leaning on the wall. Had Fulvia thrown caution to the winds and run away? Fortunatus had not been alone when he was arrested. I countered with a question of my own. ‘Have you any idea, madam citizen, who might have killed the servant? Or wanted to kill Fulvia, perhaps?’

She drew herself upright. ‘What are you suggesting, citizen? Are you accusing me?’

Of course, that was a possibility. Annia Augusta had made no secret of her animosity to Fulvia – but she must have known that the widow was employing a poison-taster. I tried a little hasty flattery. ‘Not at all, madam citizen. I am simply interested in your perceptions.’

Annia Augusta was not placated. ‘I wonder why? You’ve not been interested in what I thought till now. Besides, I have nothing to suggest. I cannot imagine who would be interested in a worthless slave, so presumably the poisoned draught was meant for Fulvia. Perhaps I should have paid more attention to her claims. I confess I did not believe there was any threat to her, despite her protestations. Even now, I do not understand it – unless that Fortunatus fellow has some other woman in the town, and she somehow managed to smuggle poison in.’

I thought of Pulchrissima. ‘And how would such a person arrange that Fulvia would take it?’ I said.

‘Fulvia did insist on sending out for everything herself. It might have been contrived.’ Annia lost patience suddenly. ‘I don’t know how. You are supposed to be solving this, not me. I am simply attempting to see that my son has a decent funeral, without its being interrupted any more than necessary. By his widow, among others. If he’d listened to his mother, and stuck to Lydia, none of this would ever have happened.’ She broke off as Fulvia’s pageboy, Parvus, came into the room. ‘What has happened, boy? Has your mistress finally consented to come out?’