The Ides of April (39 page)

‘Shrewd as ever,’ answered Andronicus, turning it into one of the compliments I now hated. ‘You see it as it is, dear Albia – why him? Most honoured in Rome? Aediles must be among the top hundred officials. What has he ever done for that?’

‘Won votes and acted effectively – that’s the system, you know! I think your main quarrel is that he is too strong for you,’ I told him. ‘He sees through you. He won’t do as you want. Were all the terrible things you did to those other people caused by your naked jealousy of him?’

When I asked an uncomfortable question, Andronicus simply failed to answer me.

With no way yet to attract help, I was running out of ideas. I did not want to talk to him at all, and it was an effort concentrating on arguments with someone whose mind worked so differently from normal. I dared not take my eyes off him. I knew I was tiring. ‘You found my apartment, I gather. And earlier, you took my needle-case?’

‘Just a memento of you,’ Andronicus declared, as if it was a lover’s trophy. ‘You can have it back, if you want?’

Determined to stop his games, I lost patience and snapped, ‘Don’t lie. You cannot do that. Tiberius has it now.’

I watched Andronicus adjusting his story, as Tiberius had described. ‘He and I are on good terms. I can ask him for it any time.’

‘You’re not on good terms. He won’t give it to you; he needs it as evidence.’

‘He would give it to
you
!’ said Andronicus, smiling in a way I did not care for.

‘Do you still have my sewing needles?’

‘Probably not. Who knows?’ He did have them. With luck, he had had no opportunity to coat them with anything dangerous.

I said to him, as if it was perfectly normal, ‘Well, I would offer you refreshments but you know I have to keep a good eye on you, in case you jump over that counter and stick me with a poisoned needle.’

At that, he gave me a sweet, sweet smile. ‘I used the last one. Used it to kill the vixen.’ He was lying again, because I knew he had been in my apartment and taken the needle on the ribbon
after
he dispatched the vixen. ‘I had to help her, didn’t I? I did that for you, Albia.’

‘I know.’ I remained quiet, despite my anger. What was the point in saying I would rather not have such consideration from a killer? I didn’t need him. I could myself have found a way to do whatever was necessary. When the wounded fox was on the stairs, I could have been brave, held down her head with the broom, carried out the humane deed. ‘Yes, that was your only decent and honest action.’

‘And you know, it was horrible to do! Not a woman’s job,’ Andronicus insisted.

That made me flare up. All my work is thought by some to be unsuitable for women. I hate that attitude. ‘According to you, a woman should only admire men respectfully and submit. Shut up and open up.’

‘I never treated you like that, Albia.’

‘What you did to me was worse. I was not someone you preyed on for particular ends like Venusia, trying to pick her brains about Faustus, and even stealing her money. You liked me. I do believe it. You wanted our friendship, as much as you ever truly value anything – yet even so, you lied, deceived, manipulated and played with me.’

‘You are so hard on me!’ He grinned shamelessly.

‘At least you never stole my life savings.’

He feigned shock. Then he said, unbelievably, ‘Are you telling me it is all over?’

‘Of course I am. Be realistic. Our so-called friendship died the moment I began to see through you.’

Andronicus gave me his jealous frown. ‘So there is somebody else?’

He would never change. The fault could never be his. He would not accept that he had let himself down, that he had damned himself in a knowing woman’s eyes. He would go through life – whatever he had left of it – continually blaming others. When he blamed someone too angrily, he would remove them. He would plan someone’s destruction, secretly prepare his weapon, stalk them, attack them, then revel in their death as though he had somehow taken a responsibility upon himself – not to revenge his own imagined slights but to cleanse society.

For rejecting him, he would kill me too, if he could.

Suddenly, two things happened.

Junillus came in from the back, carrying a large pottery container of the Stargazer’s horrible daily chickpeas.

Two men we knew came walking together towards the caupona: Morellus and Tiberius.

A
ll three must have seen my predicament at pretty well the same moment. All three started towards me. I heard a whistle, the summons that would make any nearby vigiles come running. Junillus put on a surprising burst of speed for a boy with his arms full of deadweight crockery, containing a hotpot he had just spent effort preparing. He would not want to spill and waste it. Being nearest, he staggered forwards and interposed himself with the pot so Andronicus, who had clearly considered leapfrogging over the counter to come at me, had second thoughts. He had experienced the lunchtime chickpeas; he would not want to argue with that powerful concoction.

Andronicus had the option of fleeing down the other street, but chose direct attack. He spun around and ran at the others. Instinctively they separated to give him two targets. He chose Morellus. Assuming the hefty Morellus could handle it, Tiberius veered around towards the Stargazer in case Andronicus had harmed anyone there. I was on my feet by now. Morellus briefly grappled with the fugitive, but he yelled when Andronicus stuck something into him. Knowing the outcome of a poisoned needle, Morellus froze in horror. Andronicus escaped. Tiberius checked me, shot a thank-you at Junillus, then bounded back to help.

Scrambling out to the street, I too reached Morellus. There was a needle still in his arm. He was now gasping for breath in a panic attack. I plucked out the needle, holding it carefully by the eye between my thumb and one finger. I dropped it down a gutter drain. Then all I could remember about poison was that folk remedy for snake and scorpion bites: I fetched out my little knife, then slashed across Morellus’ reddened skin so I could squeeze and make him bleed as much as possible immediately. Tiberius put an arm under him and held him up, in case he fainted.

‘Avenging Mars, he’s done for me!’

Tiberius and Junillus were dragging him into the caupona where he could be given more attention. ‘There, Morellus, it was only a gnat bite. Albia has done you much worse damage.’

‘Be brave,’ I urged, though I did not blame him. ‘Fight it. Stay with us, Morellus. I’ll ask my uncles the lawyers to sue me for compensation; you want to be here for your payout, don’t you?’

I knew I was white-faced; the runner did not look much better. Our eyes met, facing up in despair to the fact that Morellus might be beyond help.

There were vigiles all over the place now; squads of them must have been stationed in nearby streets and alleys, combing the area for Andronicus. A crowd soon gathered, including the usual phony doctors, apothecaries, farriers, barbers and all those other charlatans claiming medical knowledge who hope to make fees from street accidents. Chair-men came at a run, jostling to be first in the queue to ferry any wounded home and charge them extra for alleged blood on their upholstery. All we needed was a seedy informer proffering legal advice, but I had that covered. Ever the professional.

Morellus was maundering about his wife and children, so he had definitely given up. Junillus brought him a cup of water, which he rejected, so I drank it. I remembered Andronicus had said to me that he had used his last poisoned needle on the vixen. I said this. Morellus calmed down slightly. Over his head, Tiberius was giving me the silent message that he would not trust anything Andronicus claimed, but what poor Morellus needed most was reassurance. Anything: in his line of work, he was comfortable with dishonesty. Either he was safe, or in a short while he would feel a strong need to lie down, then at least we knew he would pass away very peacefully.

I decided he would rather no one spelled that out.

The vigiles pushed back the crowd and ordered people to go home. During the pause while they arranged transport to take Morellus to the station house, I spoke to Tiberius. ‘This is beyond a joke!’

‘Yes. I want to catch him today.’

I reported my conversation at the bar with Andronicus. Tiberius and I were leaning against one counter. Around the tables people were clustering to bandage and fuss over Morellus. At the other counter, a couple of the Stargazer’s regulars had turned up and demanded service as if they had not even noticed what was going on. They never let any emergency interfere with their rights as daily customers. The phlegmatic Junillus served them.

Despondently, Tiberius replayed Andronicus’ history, as if seeking to find some clue to his character. ‘He had always been treated specially, maybe that was the problem. Tullius saw him as extremely bright – which in many ways he is. He was given education and training for a good clerical position.’

‘When Faustus came, after he was orphaned, did things change for Andronicus?’

‘Andronicus may have thought so. Tullius continued to see him the same way, as a first-class slave – but for him, that was all Andronicus ever was or would be, whereas a nephew was a nephew.’

‘Family.’

Tiberius suddenly opened up and confided, ‘Albia, the irony is that Andronicus could have a genuine grievance. Have you noticed his distinctive ears?’

Tragically, I had. I had nibbled them. Andronicus had ears where the tips took an unusual turn forwards, almost as if when he was a baby, the lobes had been folded by a silly nurse with pinching fingers.

‘Uncle Tullius.’

‘What?’

‘Tullius has the same,’ Tiberius told me in a sombre voice. ‘Quite a few slaves in the household have inherited the resemblance.’

‘Tullius fathered him?’ It was hardly unusual. Legally, it would make no difference, because a child in Rome followed the status of its mother. Some slave-owners recognised their children, if they felt real affection for the parties involved, though there was no obligation. I guessed Tullius was a hard man.

‘Imagine what Andronicus’ deranged imagination could make of that!’ mused Tiberius.

I thought failure to notice his probable paternity showed Andronicus was not as bright as he himself believed. The rich master’s natural son? His jealousy of the nephew would have exploded.

Morellus was being carted off. I saw Tiberius exchange words discreetly with some of the vigiles, then he returned to me. ‘I am going to take you safely home.’ By then I was shaky, so disturbed by events that I did not argue.

We walked to Fountain Court, with a couple of vigiles following close. I could not help glancing around nervously; although I spotted no one lurking, I guessed Andronicus would not be far away. We walked in silence.

Outside the old laundry, the alley was the same as usual. The short row of run-down shops opposite had their shutters pushed open but were doing no trade. The ones further down on the same side looked as sleepy. Disreputable blankets hung out over balconies. The Mythembal children were jumping in puddles, puddles that were probably animal urine, but they scampered away when we approached. There was slight sunshine, which in a park would have been pleasant but here just warmed up the midden, stewing its horrible contents and stirring maggots to life. Smells of industrial processes, fishbones and fresh dung shimmered above the irregular pavings.

A stranger would find this place ominous. To me, it was dirty, dank, yet depressingly normal.

Tiberius left me outside the potter’s. He told me quietly that I should spend the day in my own apartment, locking the doors and admitting no visitors for my safety. He said this sternly and made a point of waiting until I agreed the instruction, nodding at him fretfully.

‘Do what I tell you, Albia. Stay in!’

‘Dear gods, you are tyrannical.’

I picked my way alone across the roadway filth. There was no sign of anyone detailed to guard me. I could see Rodan out on a stool in the old courtyard for some reason; he would have been able to see any visitors, had his gummy eyes been open; he looked dead asleep.

As I reached the fire porch I glanced back. Tiberius held up an arm in farewell, then shouted unexpectedly, ‘Better get working, girl! It’s about time you did something useful for your clients in your precious office!’

A moment before he had been telling me to rest up. He really knew how to annoy me. And the whole street must have heard him. It amounted to slander. Muttering, I strode indoors.

Tiberius was becoming as contradictory as the archivist. Imprinted with his first stern instructions, the idea of collapsing wearily in my apartment straight away held great attractions. Still, rebellious as ever, I chose to nip upstairs first. If there were any messages in the office, I could bring them down and work on them.
I
would decide how my work was done.

I went up, feeling the weariness in my legs as I climbed storey after storey. Amazingly, the rubbish boy must have cleared all the old amphorae off the top landing. I had been nagging him for years. To my annoyance, somebody – him? – had been in the office. The outer door stood open. Not only that, across the room, the balcony door was open too. I wondered if my father was at last having a contractor look at its stability; the ropes were no longer securing its old door. It was a feature that from inside the room you could only see part of the balcony, the part by the door. Strange material was blowing in a breeze that constantly raked it because of the height of the tenement. As this eye-catching stuff
fluttered, I thought a woman was sitting out there until I recognised my own stole, one I always left in the office for when I felt chilly.

I walked over there. The stole had been tied onto a handle of one of the old amphorae. What in Hades was that about? The amphorae, about five of the dusty, heavy things, were all standing out there. So much for the boy tidying. He had just lugged them outside. I would have to drag them back in because the extra weight was dangerous. I bet he meant to heave them over and let them drop in the alley, but could not manage it. I knew better than to try.