A Comedy of Terrors

by Lindsey Davis

  The Orion’s Dog was open, because it was the kind of bar that never closed. Customers were trying to buy their breakfast, though somewhat hampered. The small counter was taken up by someone lying upon it. They persisted, managing to stretch over him, while the dogged barman passed across their orders, placing cups and bowls on the counter man’s chest while he took the money.

  Deprived of anywhere to lean, the customers stood back in the street, in strangely calm contemplation, as they consumed their purchases. The doctor was there too; he must have finished his new examination because he was having a small tot of something. It looked like a courtesy gift from the bar keeper.

  The person laid on the counter did not require first aid. Nothing would revive him. He was dead. It was Victor.

  LIII

  Victor was not acting. The doctor confirmed he had really passed away. No one said, “Agemathus did it.” Even in unruly festival times, being dead first was an alibi.

  The cohort doc was a lean, humourless man who riled me just by standing there. I may be prone to taking against people, but be fair: this man, though attached to the Fourth Cohort, had actually volunteered not to attend their drinks party. Not even for the proverbial “just one drink.” I could imagine the kind of sanctimonious advice he would give the troops about their hangovers.

  I never asked his name. The swine might be competent, but he followed the rule that a medical man should do no harm—only give me heartburn. He enjoyed himself at the centre of attention, as he pronounced that both brothers had died in exactly the same way.

  My first question was “Had they been eating nuts?” Even the barman sneered as he informed me the Orion’s Dog never served nuts. Well, seeing what a dump it was, I should have worked that out.

  I asked whether the brothers had eaten anything else, then: no, they had spent their entire sigillaria proceeds, but none of it on food, only drink. The doctor boasted how he had sensibly ascertained that no other customers last night had felt even slightly ill. None were deceased. Most had even returned here for breakfast, in their normal health. They had phlegmy coughs, limps, piles and psoriasis between them, but nothing terminal.

  I mentioned in an undertone my fears that by acting as informants Agemathus and Victor might have suffered a vicious reprisal. Without dropping his voice, the doctor replied that they may well have angered the crime agent. “But Greius did not cause their deaths.”

  “What then?”

  “They both had the same symptoms.”

  “That seems an odd coincidence.”

  “Family history, bound to be. Same effects, same conclusion, same manner of death. Classic. Witnesses report they complained of feeling seedy. They had pressure in the chest, which they called indigestion. It spread down their arms, they felt terribly tired. Agemathus went home but Victor did not bother. Even so, he expired in the same way not long after. Their hearts gave out.”

  “Verdict of natural causes?”

  “Drastic over-indulgence by people whose poverty normally made them abstemious. If you want to call that a ‘natural’ event, then yes.”

  “But they died happy?” Paris supplied, being the optimist.

  “No, they died unhappily,” snapped back the doctor. “Heart attacks are sometimes sudden, but for the victim, being struck down in that way can be frightening and painful.”

  “Agemathus appears to have died in his sleep eventually,” I protested. “When I looked just now, there was nothing to suggest that, once he lay down on his bed at home, he had any idea what was occurring.”

  “And Victor had drunk too much wine to feel anything.” The barman supported me. He was keen to advertise that customers of the Orion’s Dog enjoyed themselves even while dying on the counter. “Victor was asking me for another, when he just stopped and passed out. Nothing would revive him. We did try fanning and shouting at him. After a bit I decided to keep him here while the rest of us carried on being festive. This was his favourite place. It was what he would have wanted. If I had known Agemathus had passed away too, I might have sent someone to fetch him, then propped them up together for their last night on earth.”

  “Leaning against an amphora?” suggested Paris.

  The barman thought this was such a good idea, he nearly did it even at this late stage. That misery the doctor stopped him, pointing out various unhygienic aspects, legal obligations, and the possibility of being fined for disrespect to corpses. Undaunted, the barman rapped back, “Well, they will have to be kept somewhere. Nobody’s going to give them a funeral until the holiday ends, are they, Aesculapius? They both adored the festival—it was when they made their money. I thought they were lovely customers. Everyone else who came here always enjoyed meeting them. The best! What could be wrong in showing our love for them by letting them join in the celebrations for one last time?”

  I smiled sadly and saluted him with “Io Saturnalia.”

  LIV

  My mission to spy on Terentius was permanently delayed. I decided to turn back for home. Tiberius and Morellus could check out the house, taking a posse. Rufo was relieved, Paris more regretful.

  I was full of sadness for the two brothers. They had been part of the festival locally for many years. When Mother had first recommended Agemathus, she told me she had bought sigillaria from him since Postumus was adopted. When family festivals continue through generations, human nature dictates nothing should ever change.

  In my work I was more used to death by foul play. Simple misadventure upset me more. Natural causes seemed just as pointless as murder, yet nothing I could do would achieve any form of justice for these victims. Nature had struck them down. There was no solace.

  When I reached home, Rodan took a look at my expression and just waved me in.

  Tiberius had a bowl of pearl barley; he was sitting with Fornix, who must have made it the night before (he was a very well-organised chef); he had another of the same for himself. They just listened, while Gaius and Lucius gravely told them about the parrot. It was a serious, educational conversation, perhaps pitched too high for men with sore heads who could barely dip their spoons. When reaction was needed, they took it in turns to nod carefully. Dromo was kicking his heels nearby, not contributing. His King-for-the-Day suit still lay unused beside him.

  I decided to talk to Tiberius when he rallied. First, I cornered Suza.

  “Tell me all about your visit. Start with the house. I want to imagine life with Murrius and Nephele.”

  “Clean and comfortable. Best of everything. Good staff. Smarter than here!” Suza said darkly. “New stuff.”

  “Gaius Murrius loves his wife and is a very rich loan shark. He wants to keep her, so he has bribed her with furniture.”

  “Tiberius Manlius loves you, though,” Suza answered, frowning. “And you have hardly anything.”

  “Suza, we have only been married a few months. Murrius and Nephele were together longer. She knew her spending limits, he knew her taste. Was Murrius there?”

  “No. Gone to see his sister. Everyone said he has got her a lovely neck chain for Saturnalia.”

  And perhaps even paid for it, I thought drily, remembering the creditor at the Cosmographer who had made him cough up. I assumed that was Hieronymus. “Tell me about his children.”

  Suza must have harboured set ideas about criminal homes, because the two young hosts were a surprise. “Well! Twins, a boy and a girl. Ever so nicely brought up. Beautifully turned out. Educated by tutors. They spoke politely and were sweet to your boys.”

  “That doesn’t fit with their stepmother yelling down the street that she was dumping his horrors back on their father.”

  “Well, I don’t expect they liked her either!” Suza countered angrily.

  “Oh? Did they talk about Nephele?”

  “No. Should I have quizzed them?”

  “Better not put them on the spot.” Twins have enough adventures traditionally. “Did they strike you as happy?”

  “Very happy now their stepmama ha
s gone.”

  “And what about this parrot they have?”

  “His name is Squawker. He can say it himself. Shut up, Squawker!”

  “A big birdie?”

  “He can sit on your hand, though he weighs quite a lot. He was too big for our boys, who were frightened of his nibbly beak, so the girl held him. He is grey, with a dark red tail and fluffed-up feathers. He can talk well. He says rude words.”

  “Do the twins encourage him?”

  “No, they apologised.” These were not like any children I ever knew! “Squawker does come inside the house, but he lives in a big area outside in a garden, which has a tree he can go in and netting, so he won’t fly away.”

  “The Murrius children didn’t mind you coming to see him?”

  “No, they don’t meet many other children, so they were quite glad. They spent a lot of time with ours, because as well as seeing the parrot, they showed off their toys—they own a lot. Then I’m afraid ours told them about the joke turd.”

  I winced. “How did that go down?”

  Suza chortled. “The twins want to know how to obtain one.”

  “Ha! As my mother used to say, Well, that’s another nice home where we won’t be asked a second time! So”—crux of tale—“have you learned any new hairstyles? Did you get a chance to meet the maid?”

  My girl threw back her head, spread her arms wide, puffed her cheeks, assumed the air of one who could be trusted with a simple task. “Did I? You bet I did!” I smiled like one who had known she could be trusted while I waited for the story. “I shall definitely try out a few things on you.”

  “I’ve been warned! What’s she like?”

  “Thinks a lot of herself.”

  “No! Really?”

  “Well, Albia, she was dying for some attention. She’s pretty narked that she was left behind with no warning, simply dumped like an old neckerchief. She has nothing to do now her mistress has vanished. None of the other staff will talk to her because they all think she must have been in on it, and even the girl twin has her plaits done by her own special nurse. Murrius keeps grilling the maid—his brother next door nastily told Murrius to thrash the truth out of her.”

  That made me nervous. “Has Murrius hurt her?”

  “No. Even she said he is not like that.”

  “Then what about the mistress leaving home? Does the maid know how it happened?”

  “It was a complete surprise—she could hardly believe it. And she definitely cannot say where Nephele has gone.”

  “Really?” Suza’s face darkened. From being ebullient she closed in. “Now look,” I explained, “the whole point was to find things out for me. It’s no good you going there if you then keep secrets. I dare say this girl, or woman, made you promise that anything she whispered must never be imparted to another soul—”

  Suza’s eyes widened. “How do you know?”

  “I have met enough fancy maids! This will shock you, Suza. I bet she claimed she has never told anybody else, and you are her only confidante. Be warned, though: the next person who takes an interest will be given the full story just the same as you.”

  Suza was indeed shocked. “She would tell you?”

  No, she would not tell me because I was an informer and she would be afraid of trouble. That was my reason for sending my poor innocent Suza.

  “Well, then!” My own maid soon ditched this untrustworthy friend. “That’s not very nice, is it? She swore I was the only person she could trust and how relieved she was to tell somebody what had been going on. I felt glad you sent me, since I could do her so much good by listening!”

  “I am sorry, Suza. The world is full of people who are not as honest as you.”

  “A complete crook!”

  “Well, she works in a crook’s household. I expect she has learned from example.”

  “Actually, she thinks Gaius Murrius is a good man. It’s his wife who was getting up to things.”

  “Doesn’t deserve him?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Has been playing around with a boyfriend?”

  “Horribly!”

  “For long?”

  “Some time.”

  “Murrius knows?”

  “He does now!”

  “And does he know who the lover is?”

  “He doesn’t want to believe it.”

  “But the maid knows?”

  “Nephele seemed to end up not caring.”

  “Flaunting?”

  “Flaunting dangerously.”

  “Dangerous is correct. This is adultery,” I spelled out. “You know the penalties? A married woman who cheats is not simply disgraced. The law demands much more of her. If Murrius finds out his wife has slept with someone else, he has to divorce her—no choice—which, if he loves her as much as he says, he will not want to do. Plus she could lose all her personal property—well, all she has failed to carry off to her lover’s secret hideaway. Who is this lover, by the way?”

  “Quintus,” said Suza. “Well, I was puzzled at first.” Suza had learned how to spin out information. She cannot have acquired that from me: I hate withholding. “I felt amazed because the twin boy is a Quintus and he is only ten.”

  “She’s not a cradle-snatcher. Whatever she’s done, it’s not that bad.”

  “No, but I still think it is awful.”

  “Why, Suza?”

  Suza was still playing for effect. “Quintus is a family praenomen. The stern brother of Gaius Murrius is Quintus too—but it’s not him,” Suza hastened to assure me, finally taking in my irritation.

  “Caesius not adultery material? And surely much too close to home?”

  “Oh, Nephele didn’t care anything about that. All the time nobody realised, but it was going on right under their noses. Nephele’s affair is with his son. What about that, Albia?”

  “Juno!”

  I responded with a theatrical gasp to please her, though I felt less surprise than Suza really wanted. But to be kind, I kissed her and cried, “Oh, Suza, you have done so well! And, yes, it is a very bad situation. This young man is not simply a close relative but he has behaved abominably: Nephele has been carrying on with her own sister’s intended husband.”

  LV

  I took Suza into my confidence to reward her for her work. “Suza, we can see what caused recent events. Nephele had been having an affair with her nephew, which would have made both Murrius and his brother furious.”

  “But Murrius loves her!”

  “Not enough, believe me, to like her sleeping with his brother’s son! It may well have happened under his own roof too.”

  Suza told me excitedly, “Quintus lives right next door—at least, he does when he is at home. The brothers’ houses are joined inside by corridors. That helps them run their business more easily. So the wicked seducer was always around.”

  “And a looker?”

  “The maid says he is lustworthy. All the women in the household hanker, but now they realise Nephele was the one who quietly went about getting him.”

  I nodded. “Yes, but her sister Berenike was to marry him. From a talk I had with a colleague”—I was remembering Naevius—“while this liaison was still being brokered by the families, Nephele must have suspected her desirable lover began relations in advance with Berenike, who we know is much younger and prettier.”

  “And not married to his uncle!” Suza giggled. Her eyes were widening.

  “Quite! What a family entanglement. Nephele dreaded that she was about to lose him. Then everything grew worse because the wedding was fixed.” Thanks, Naevius: she did turn up to say sorry, no deal, goodbye. Her sister was quite determined to go ahead … “Crunch time for Nephele. The wedding is in the New Year, Berenike told me. Nephele’s dilemma was urgent. Time running out? She must have challenged the lustworthy Quintus, no doubt demanding that he should choose which sister he wanted. Since she’s run off to be with him, we can assume he picked her. At least, that’s what he’s promised her.” />
  “Why?” demanded Suza. “He has agreed to marry Berenike. Why would he want an old bird who is already married instead?”

  “Not instead. The love-rat wants her as well!” This young man was greedy—I had heard him say so to Pinarius. Even so, I suggested reasons for him to continue with Nephele: “She’s experienced? Richer? More grateful for attention? Probably more forceful.”

  “She bossed him?”

  “Seems likely. Perhaps he caved in, Suza. For Nephele, it would be intolerable that her lover would soon be sleeping with her sister—if he wasn’t already—and right next door, if the new couple live with their in-laws. The only bearable option for Nephele is to leave Murrius.”

  “Then she won’t have to think about Berenike and Quintus bonking?”

  “Yes, Suza—plus she can put one over on her sister. Berenike thought she’d got him. Nephele knows different. They were supposed to be ‘close’ but I suspect rampant jealousy.”

  Suza joined in, thrilled: “So, when that Berenike toddled along here, whimpering over her sister, she really was very upset! She realised Nephele has run away with Lustworthy, and so she’s lost him!”

  “Exactly. This explains Berenike’s anxiety over her marriage. She sensed her sister’s affair. She feels she has no grip on Quintus. Her own life will go wrong if they marry, with a husband who is already cheating. I thought Murrius had sent her here, but she desperately wanted to know the truth for herself.”

  Suza was still pondering. “So, why has Nephele pretended that she must escape from Murrius because he’s horrible? Her maid says he isn’t at all.”

  “Smokescreen.”

  “What will happen about her now? Where has she gone?”

  “Quintus is keeping a bachelor apartment. A friend called Pinarius told me.”

  “A nookie-nook? Do you know where?”

  “I’ve heard what street it may be in.”

  “How? He could have it anywhere in Rome.”