The dumpy maidservant was peering round the doorway by this time, and it was clear that Livia had been missed outside, and that we could not continue to stay here for long without her being discourteous to her guests. But I wanted her to make the most of what little time we had left. I leaned forward. ‘I can understand a coolness with the husband,’ I observed, ‘if he was not in favour of the punishment. But why should Redux bear a grudge? It could hardly be said to have affected him.’
She looked at me squarely, as if coming back to life. ‘Except that the fellow that was killed that day turned out to be Zythos, Redux’s great friend. Redux is convinced that he was innocent and there was some other explanation for his being there – though it is a little difficult to see what it might be. He was there – uninvited and concealed – at night and in Honoria’s room. If her father had not happened to call in to say goodnight, it is probable that they would have got away with it.’
She reached out a finger and sent the little tower of torn petals tumbling. ‘But, of course, there is no possible redress and – like his brother – Redux has to deal with my husband in his trade so he keeps his feelings strictly to himself. On the surface, anyway. Though I understand he has voiced his opinion to his friends.’ She jumped to her feet. ‘And that, citizen, is all that I can tell you, I’m afraid. Come – my slave has clearly been sent to look for me. I must go back and make my last farewells.’
I attempted to detain her. ‘But how did he get in? This Zythos fellow?’ I followed her, as she was walking to the door. It was an important question. A Roman home is not unguarded, like my roundhouse is. A man like Miles would have a doorkeeper and at least a dozen slaves – precisely in order to keep strangers out. So, I persisted. ‘Some member of the household must have let him in – unless he used a ladder, or scaled up a wall, and even then he’d need someone inside to keep a watch.’
She was still walking and did not look around. ‘I don’t know, citizen. Honorius asked the same thing, several times – but all the servants swore they’d never seen the man before.’
‘In Aqua Sulis, that is? But you knew him here?’
She whirled round and stared at me. ‘And why should you say that?’
I shrugged. It seemed obvious to me. ‘He was clearly familiar with Honoria at least. Being a young woman of good family, I don’t imagine she had many opportunities to meet young men, unless they were invited to the house.’
She smiled then, a little ruefully. ‘Of course. I had forgotten you were skilled at reasoning. And naturally, citizen, you are quite correct. After Honoria’s betrothal was announced, we saw him several times. He lived in Glevum, not very far from here, and, as I said, was a friend of Redux – the brother-in-law to be. We liked him very much. He was charming and successful – though a Greek, of course – and there was no hint of a special friendship with Honoria. He was equally attentive to all the womenfolk. In fact, Honorius had hopes of him for Pompeia at one time.’
Poor Pompeia – even a foreigner was good enough for her, since she was thought unlikely to attract a Roman man of wealth; that was very clearly what Livia had meant. The family must have been delighted when Gracchus asked for her. I said quickly, to stop Livia from walking off again, ‘So, when your husband found Zythos in Honoria’s room he felt especially betrayed? Is that why he exacted such a terrible punishment?’
‘Perhaps.’ She’d stopped to face me now and had turned deathly pale. ‘I was not free to voice the thought while my husband was alive, but I believe that it was cruel and unjust punishment – however much the law entitled him to it. The family was shocked, although we did not dare to grieve or even give her a proper burial. My husband could be completely heartless when he chose. I know that poor Redux was distraught as well – but of course, equally helpless to respond.’ She dropped her eyes and went on, in an altered tone of voice, in which it was evident that she was close to tears. ‘We’d even invited Zythos here to dine, you know, on several occasions when Redux was a guest. All in Pompeia’s interests, of course – not that it was ever mentioned openly. Officially it was to make up the proper number at the feast. Honorius was a stickler for social niceties like that. There must be nine at every table – three couches of three each, that sort of thing.’
‘But not today?’ I murmured, looking at the single table and the stools around the walls.
She flashed me that little rueful smile again. ‘Today was the exception. This wedding had to be at home and there were too many guests to seat them formally. We were going to have the slaves bring little folding tables in. Even then I had a job to talk Honorius into it. He thought it was ill-omened. And perhaps it was!’ She paused for a moment at the entrance way and glanced around the decorated room. ‘But you can see now, citizen – I’m sure – why Redux, despite his connection with the family, would not be the proper man to ask to close my husband’s eyes for him and call upon his soul.’
And with that, she joined the waiting slave and went back to the hall, leaving me alone among the empty chairs.
Seven
I watched her go, but didn’t follow her. In fact I deliberately stayed behind and bent down to pick up the scattered petals from the floor, where there was a fine mosaic of the seasons laid at the dining end. It was not my place to do so, in a household full of slaves, but I was half-hoping that one of them would come in after me and I would be able to learn the servants’ view of what had happened in this house today. Besides, Livia had given me a lot to think about and I wanted a little time to consider what it meant.
Had Redux somehow contrived to murder Honorius to avenge the honour killing of his friend, when the legal process offered no redress? That much was plausible. But how could he have put poison in the wine? Or had there been some other method of administering it? Perhaps I was wrong in thinking there was wolfsbane used at all – there were other poisons which would have the same effects – though surely only aconite would have killed so instantly?
I was collecting the flower-fragments as I mused, but I hadn’t gathered more than one or two of them before I was interrupted by a puzzled small voice from the door.
‘Master?’
It was my own slave, little Minimus. I straightened up and saw him standing at the entrance to the room, clutching the ill-fated wedding platter in one hand, and my cloak in the other. When he saw what I’d been doing he put those down at once and came across to pick the petals up himself.
‘You should have called me, master, not scrabbled on the floor,’ he chided, collecting up the scattered remnants in a trice and rising, flushed and panting, to put them in my hand. ‘I knew you must be in here but I couldn’t see you from the door. I brought your belongings. Everyone has left. I’m sorry, master, no one at all has stayed behind as you requested them – most people didn’t even stop to drink the wine. After Pompeia’s outburst they were all eager to be gone.’
I nodded and put the broken petals on the tabletop. ‘Antoninus among them. I am aware of that.’
I must have sounded sharp, because he looked chagrined. ‘I didn’t see him leave. I’m sorry if I should have prevented him from going. I thought of asking people to stay back to talk to you but I wasn’t sure who you would want to question. I did approach one citizen – that decurion that Honorius spoke to last of all – but he said you wouldn’t need him now, because there was no mystery. I suppose he thought that with Pompeia saying what she did . . .?’ He made a little helpless gesture with his hands. ‘I could hardly compel an important man against his will.’
‘It can’t be altered now.’ I picked my cloak up from the stool where he had put it down, and shrugged it round my shoulders in a careless way. ‘But I would like to have had a word with him, and Antoninus too – and a man called Redux who was with him in the hall. I suppose I shall have to try to find out where they live.’
‘Redux the trader, are you speaking of?’ Minimus brightened up. ‘I know where you can find him, master – or I think I do. He has a warehouse down b
eside the dock, trading with the ships from Hibernia and Gaul. I was talking to his slave upstairs, before the steward came to tell us that Honorius was ill.’
I looked at him with sudden interest. Perhaps the boy was not so useless after all. ‘A warehouse full of what?’ I said aloud – wondering if Redux dealt in wine at all.
Minimus was proud to show off what he knew. ‘Everything from Glevum roofing-tiles to Celtic woollen cloth. Anything that’s cheap from the locality. He buys it in when there’s a glut, and keeps it for a while, then either sells it on again when prices rise or exchanges it aboard the trading ships for things you can’t get here, like pickled anchovies and olive oil or even foreign slaves.’
‘And so makes a profit?’ I was struggling to fasten the cloak around my neck.
He rushed across to fix it with a shoulder-clasp. ‘Making a small fortune out of it, I hear. At least till recently. But according to the slave that I was talking to, Redux had a partner who died quite recently and since that happened things aren’t going so well. He doesn’t have the instinct that his friend had, it seems, for knowing what to buy and when to sell. But he’s still got the warehouse. I could show you where, I think. The slave was boasting about how big it used to be, and how it was sited right beside the docks.’ He fussed about me, settling my cloak-folds neatly into place with a care that my poor garment scarcely merited, then standing back to admire his handiwork.
‘Since you have brought me my cloak so diligently, you could take me there before we leave the town.’
‘Immediately, master, if you wish to set off straight away. Or I’m sure the offer of refreshment will still stand. Most things, of course, are being put away until the funeral feast – the sweet cakes and the wedding dishes that the kitchen had prepared – but you could still have fruit and watered wine before you leave, if you desire.’
I realized that he would not have dreamed this offer up himself – nor taken the initiative to bring the cloak to me. ‘Helena Domna sent you?’ I enquired. ‘To hint to me that it was time to go?’
He grinned. ‘In fact it was the lady Livia,’ he said. ‘Though only when she came out to the hall and found out that her mother-in-law had already organized the slaves and had them starting to clear the atrium. She had even sent the steward out to fetch the embalming women and arrange the bier – and of course she hadn’t consulted anyone at all. Her daughter-in-law was not best pleased, I fear, but Helena Domna insisted that she’d been forced to act because the household needed to begin the mourning rites as soon as possible, otherwise it was a dishonour to the corpse.’
‘That was really a rebuke to Livia, I suppose,’ I said, ‘because she was with me and wasn’t there to make the arrangements for herself?’
‘Exactly, master. But of course, it all needed to be done and there wasn’t much the poor lady could do except agree. Though she said to tell you that you’d be welcome to come back, once Honorius’s body is prepared for burial and laid out in the atrium in state.’
I nodded. ‘A good many people will be calling then, no doubt, to pay their homage and help with the lament.’
‘Oh, and the chief steward will be starting that, and closing the eyes and calling on the soul. I had to promise that I would tell you that. She seemed to think that you would want to know.’
‘In the absence of a suitable male relative,’ I said thoughtfully. It was a confirmation that Redux had not been approached for the task.
‘But doesn’t Livia have a guardian under law?’ Minimus enquired. ‘You’d think Honorius would have named one in his will. She doesn’t have three children so I thought she needed one. And – come to think of it – since Pompeia hasn’t married after all, won’t she be requiring a legal guardian too, now that her father’s dead? But perhaps there is no will. I know there was talk that Honorius was going to call for witnesses and nominate Marcus as a beneficiary. I heard it talked about when I was serving them one night.’
I picked up my silver platter. ‘Oh, there is a will, all right,’ I said, remembering suddenly what Marcus said to me. ‘Though whether it’s a new one, is another thing. Honorius was about to change the one that he had made, but I don’t know whether he’d had the new one witnessed and ratified or not. In fact, that might have a considerable bearing on the case. If he hadn’t, then he might have been murdered to prevent him doing so. If he had, then it would be interesting to know who would benefit by the later will, and therefore have a motive for removing him. And in that case, I suppose, as residuary heir, Marcus might even be the legal guardian . . .’ I went on, then trailed into silence as I realised the full force of this.
Marcus was a senior magistrate, and to be legal guardian was scarcely onerous to him. It was usually a titular appointment anyway and generally regarded as a compliment. But Marcus was at this moment on his way to Rome, and I was officially his representative; I did not like where this was leading me.
I was still thinking about this when Minimus piped up. ‘So do you wish me to lead you to this warehouse straight away, master? You can hardly talk to the family now, in any case, since they are preparing for the funeral.’
I nodded. I had spoken to Livia anyway, I thought, and that was probably the best that I could hope. Helena Domna was unlikely to cooperate with me, and though I would have liked to have had a word with some of the household staff, it had been made fairly clear to me that it was not convenient and it was time for me to leave. A pity. I could have asked somebody about the will, perhaps.
I sighed. It would have been quite different if Marcus had been here – he would simply have declared that they must talk to me – but as it was I had no proper authority. I turned to Minimus. ‘Since I am working on Gracchus’s account, I should have liked to have a moment with Pompeia if I could, but I don’t suppose it will be possible.’
He shook his head. ‘I doubt it master. Her handmaidens have taken her into her sleeping room and I know they have instructions not to let her out. And the older ladies will be changing into mourning clothes by now, so I doubt we shall see anyone from the household as we leave – except the page, of course. He is already waiting outside the door to see us out.’
And indeed he was. He stood in the now empty vestibule, where only a trampled wreath and an abandoned flute lay on the floor to show where the enthusiastic wedding guests had been. Through the open door of the atrium I could see a group of slaves, engaged in stripping the wedding flowers from the tables and the statues of the gods, while others stood ready to replace them with funerary wreaths. The imago of Honorius’s father had been brought from whatever cupboard it usually occupied and was already standing by the altar on a plinth, and no doubt Honorius’s own would follow it, when the funeral arranger had made a mask of him. Typical of this old-fashioned household, I thought, that these ancient customs should still be carried out here in the provinces when one heard that these days they were not always observed in Rome.
Even as I paused to watch the servants at their work, Helena Domna came into the hall. As Minimus had predicted, she had changed her clothes and now wore a long tunic of a sombre hue, with a dark net veil covering her hair and a gold chain set with fine jet beads around her throat. The most startling change, however, was the difference in her face. The careful chalk-paint and bright red lees had gone, and the sallow skin was almost colourless, except for the ashes she had rubbed upon her brow. There was no attempt to hide the wrinkles now, and there was no longer kohl around the eyes. She looked what she was: a ancient woman who had lost her son – and for a moment I felt a surge of sympathy.
There was no alteration in her manner, though. As soon as she saw me her mouth snapped firmly shut and it was through pursed lips that she addressed me. ‘Citizen? Are you still here? I thought that you had left.’
‘I was hoping, madam, for a word with you. I wanted to check on Honorius’s movements just before he died—’
She interrupted me. ‘Citizen, do not be so absurd. We women were all in the atrium with th
e wedding guests throughout. You saw us there, yourself.’
As there was no possible reply to that remark, I simply forced a smile and muttered that I’d hoped to speak to Pompeia at least. ‘If I am to do as Gracchus hopes and prove her innocent. But I understand that that’s impossible.’
Perhaps it was an instinct for contrariness, or perhaps it was the mention of Gracchus that made her say, ‘Who told you that it was impossible? It is entirely possible, if I give you leave. I am the child’s grandmother, after all – unlike Livia who has no blood-ties to the girl – and I still have some rights in that regard. If I say you may see her, then you may. Though you may not get a lot of sense from her. I have agreed that Maesta should provide a sleeping draught for her, made from the juice of poppies. She has just returned with it. I don’t know if Pompeia has yet taken it or not, but if you hurry you may find her before she falls asleep. You may leave your servant here, and I will find you a female slave to take you to the place.’
It was so unexpected that I almost gawped, but I collected myself sufficiently to say, ‘I appreciate your assistance, lady, very much.’
She no longer had her fan, otherwise she would have rapped me with it I am sure. ‘Then you will repay me by doing what you are employed to do, and seeing that my granddaughter gets married after all. Convince the world she didn’t kill her father, despite her outburst here. Though how you can do this without showing that she’s mad – which is no help to anyone – I confess I cannot see. However, Gracchus thinks you’ll do it, and if you prove him right I shall be as pleased as he is. So . . .’ She clapped her hands and at once the dumpy maidservant appeared. ‘Pulchra, show this citizen to Pompeia’s sleeping room. He has some questions he wants to put to her.’
Death at Pompeia's Wedding Page 6
