I did not voice these dreary thoughts, however. I spoke to the servant with the drinking cup. ‘Pompeia’s things will be brought back, no doubt?’
The slave girl nodded. ‘As soon as the immediate arrangements for the funeral have been made. She will need to change into some different clothes, even if she is not to help with the lament.’
The figure on the bed gave a convulsive sob at this. The servant made another attempt to give the girl the cup, which almost resulted in the liquid being spilt, and that brought Maesta hurrying over from her perch.
‘Can you persuade her to drink it, citizen? If Helena Domna comes and finds her still awake, she’ll send for the steward and make him force it down her throat. It could choke her if she struggles, and then they will blame me. My husband will be furious that I suggested this at all. He says that we are in quite enough trouble as it is – if it does turn out that there was any poison in the wine.’
I looked at her. She was quite dishevelled now. Her rich wine-coloured stola was hanging all awry, the greying hair was straggling from its fashionable combs and her stout face had taken on a mottled purplish tinge – which rather matched her under-tunic and her leather shoes. The haughty, sour expression had deserted her and she looked terrified.
‘Helena Domna knows that I have come to speak to her,’ I said, ‘so she will not be displeased to learn she’s not asleep.’ But I took the cup and motioned the slave to move away.
Pompeia seemed to sense that I had taken it away. She raised her head a little, and looked round at me.
‘I don’t want to speak to anyone. I want to be alone. Just go away – all of you – and leave me here until they come for me.’
‘Who is going to come for you, Pompeia?’ I enquired.
She rocked back on her knees and scowled up at me. Her face was red and swollen under the saffron veil, and the pathetic bridal plaits had been torn undone. She looked so miserable and angry that I felt sympathy for her.
‘I suppose they’ll kill me, after what I’ve done. Or send me to some island and leave me there to die.’
‘But what have you done, exactly?’ I kept my voice deliberately gentle as I spoke. ‘You said you killed your father, but I don’t believe you did. I don’t see how you had the opportunity today.’
She seemed almost disappointed at my cool response. ‘I made it happen – and that’s all there is to that. So let them come and get me. I don’t care any more. In the meantime, you don’t have to stand there watching and gloating over me. And I’m not drinking anything that woman has prepared. How can I be sure that it isn’t poisoned too? Somebody clearly wants our family dead.’
‘So it wasn’t you that put wolfsbane in your father’s wine?’
She gave a shivering sniff and glared at me. ‘Well, of course, I didn’t do it personally. Where, by all the gods, would I get wolfsbane from? And when did I ever have the chance to do anything alone? But – I am telling you – it was my fault all the same.’ Her voice was coming in little gasping sobs.
‘You mean you paid someone to do it?’ Pulchra’s voice was sharp.
Pompeia flung her a look that would have withered stone, and said, with the same little catches in her breath, ‘I had no money. How could I do that?’
I had a flash of sudden insight and bent very close to her. ‘I think I understand,’ I murmured softly. ‘You put a curse on him, or something of the kind?’
She looked at me with a kind of gratitude. ‘I knew it would come out somehow, though I vowed I would not tell. But now you know. It’s illegal, isn’t it? You can be put to death for using supernatural means to kill someone like that?’
I took a deep breath. ‘That depends on circumstance,’ I said, though she was right in principle of course. The use of magic to procure a death was still potentially a capital offence. Marcus – ironically – had mentioned it to me, not very long before he went abroad. The law had fallen into abeyance more or less in recent years, but the Emperor’s increasing willingness to see threats everywhere had meant that there had recently been talk of it again. Ambitious councillors and magistrates throughout the Empire – including, unsurprisingly, Honorius himself – had actively argued in favour of reviving it.
I turned to Pompeia. ‘It’s a question of whether you used spells and sorcerers.’ And whether it could be proved that there was a deliberate human agency instead, I added to myself.
She shook her head. ‘Nothing of that kind, citizen. I called upon the gods. I made a secret, special sacrifice and made a vow to Venus that if she heard my prayer, I would remain a virgin all my life. I didn’t want to marry like my sister did, some business contact that my father had picked for me. Or be like poor Livia, bullied and tormented by a mother-in-law who made her days a living misery. I prayed to all the gods that they would deliver me – and so they have done. In this dreadful way! So you see, citizen, it is exactly as I said. I deserve whatever punishment the courts reserve for me. I was responsible for my father’s death.’
There was shocked silence and then Maesta said, ‘Well, there you are then. Best if she drinks that potion I made, and it will give her oblivion at least. Have them bring a slave in, if she doubts that it is safe, and have him take the draught. She will see it only makes you sleep. I have another dose of the same mixture in this phial.’ She produced a woven basket from underneath the stool – it had been hidden by her skirts when she’d been sitting there – and took out another little bottle. ‘I was going to leave it here, in case it was required. They can give her that one, if she would prefer.’
Pompeia turned her tear-stained face to me – she had obviously adopted me as her protector in all this. ‘Don’t let them, citizen. How can I be sure that the mixture is the same – or that the poor servant won’t be murdered too?’
‘I don’t think so, Pompeia. I am here to witness what is happening, and they could not give you poison without my knowing it. Besides, there is a different proposition I could make. We’ll put a little of this poppy juice into another cup, and Maesta herself can have a sip of it.’
Maesta looked startled. ‘And if I fall asleep?’
I shrugged. ‘What does it signify? You were staying here to see that the potion took effect, and you were to be locked into this room with her until it did. If Pompeia goes on refusing to touch it in this way, it might be quicker if you simply had a sip yourself.’ I didn’t add that I was interested to see her reactions for myself. Maesta’s skill with herbs might be important yet. Someone had poisoned Honorius, after all – although it seemed that Pompeia had not – and who better than the vintner’s wife to have access to the wine? Though, admittedly, it was hard to see what her motive might have been. I would have to talk to Maesta – and her husband – later on.
For the moment, though, Pompeia was my chief concern. I turned towards the girl. ‘If Maesta agrees to taste it, then I think that you should drink the rest. It would be good for you to sleep. You do not want them to call a medicus and have him declare you mad, or worse still call the guard and have you dragged away. I am not surprised you hold yourself responsible for this – by your own admission, you called on the gods to help you to thwart your father’s plans. But you did not curse him, or ask them to strike him dead. I don’t think any court could find you guilty – particularly when someone else set out to murder him. And there is no law against praying to the gods.’
She gave a little groan. ‘You really think so, citizen? I made my vows in private – there is no proof of what I said.’
‘It may be that the gods have a sense of irony, but I think this murder was by human hand. I don’t believe your prayer was really answered, anyway. You wanted to be delivered from this marriage, I’m aware, but it was really the married state you wanted to escape – and your grandmother’s still hoping to find a groom for you.’ I didn’t add that Gracchus was employing me, and was prepared to take her as a wife himself.
I had rather expected that she would be relieved by my reassurance that
she was innocent, but instead she looked appalled. ‘But my vow to Venus! I promised on my life . . .’
I grinned. ‘Ah, that is where you are very fortunate. Or you made a very clever bargain with the gods. If you are given in marriage your prayers have not been heard – in which case you are not bound to keep the vow. If you remain single, it will keep itself.’
For the first time I saw the flicker of a smile, and was amazed how it transformed her face. It wasn’t pretty – it could never be that – but it softened markedly, though there was still a hint of fierce determination in the eyes. Perhaps I should not have been surprised at that – most girls would simply have embraced their fate, not tried to enlist the aid of goddesses. Perhaps she had inherited a little of her paternal grandmother’s strong will and stubbornness.
‘Very well. If you will undertake to speak on my behalf, I will drink the potion, if Maesta tastes it first. But I don’t want to marry, you can tell them that – especially not someone who just wants my settlement. And if they try to force me, I’ll find another way. I’ll hide the balance scales – someone has to hold them at the ceremony or it will be so ill-omened they won’t let it proceed. Or better still, I will refuse to say the words. They can drag me to the altar, but they can’t make me speak.’
She might just dare to do it, too, I thought. And without her uttering the ancient formula ‘where you are Gaius, I am Gaia’, the marriage would not stand. I wondered what Gracchus would say if he knew about all this. Refuse to pay me for my efforts, probably – though my contract only said that I must prove her innocent.
‘No one will expect you to marry anyone, at least until the mourning period is complete,’ I said. ‘And surely even marriage is better than slow death on a barren island, or permanently being locked up in your room, which is what will happen if they think that you are crazed.’
She shook her head. ‘I didn’t expect my father to be dead,’ she muttered. ‘I hoped . . . I don’t know what I hoped. Honorius being prepared to change his mind, or some other miracle like that. But I would not have chosen to kill him, citizen. It only puts me into Helena Domna’s hands – whoever my guardian is, she will have the final say – and I am no better off than I was before. It would have been better if Gracchus had been struck. Or my grandmother herself.’
I stifled a smile at this heartless list. ‘Would that have saved you?’
‘I think it might have done. Livia would have spoken for me, I am sure, if I had begged her to. She was quite kind to me, and she was the one person my father listened to. He could not deny her anything at all – not like my poor mother who was virtually his slave.’
This was a new insight into Livia’s married life. I glanced at Pulchra, but she was staring at the wall with that look of martyred patience waiting slaves adopt.
Pompeia gave a sigh and bounced herself upright. ‘But what does it matter now? It is all a dreadful, messy irony. Go on then, citizen. Let Maesta taste the sleeping draught and I will drink the rest. Perhaps it would be better if it killed me anyway. And it can’t taste any nastier than the last one that she made.’
I made a mental note to speak to Maesta soon. I remembered how Helena Domna had pounced upon the fact that Maesta had a certain gift with herbs when there was first concern about Honorius’s health – as if the idea was quite new to her. Yet it was evident that Maesta had made several cures for members of the household here at different times.
She saw me looking at her and burst out at once, ‘I made that decoction particularly strong – as Helena Domna instructed me to do – and no doubt it will affect me even with a sip. But I will take it, citizen, if you insist on it – though I would be glad if somebody would let my husband know what has happened and why I’ve not come home. Oh, I wish I’d not suggested it. I thought Helena Domna would be pleased and not blame us for the problems with the wine. I even hoped she might become another customer. And now look what I’ve done. But I suppose there is no help for it.’ She reached out her hand to take the cup from me.
Pompeia surprised us, by saying in a sober tone of voice, ‘If she is prepared to drink it, that is good enough. She would not do it, if there were poison in the cup.’ She looked at me. ‘I’m sorry, citizen. I have caused a lot of trouble for you and everyone, I can see that – but when my father died suddenly like that, you can see that I supposed that somehow I had been responsible for it. And when I learned that he’d drunk something poisoned, I was afraid myself. I would not put it past my grandmother to order me a draught to save the family the shame of having me arraigned. You know what she and my father thought about the honour of the house!’
I nodded. When I thought about it, I could understand. In her position I might well have thought the same myself. I handed her the cup.
Maesta stepped forward. ‘Half of it will do, now that she is calm. I made it very strong . . .’ But it was far too late. Pompeia had already swallowed every drop.
Ten
Maesta looked from me to the girl in some alarm. ‘She shouldn’t have done that, citizen. I made it very strong. It was intended to calm her frenzy as well as make her sleep.’
Pompeia gave her a beatific smile. ‘Well, for once, it didn’t taste too bad. And you needn’t worry. It’s having no effect – I thought from what you said I’d be fast asleep by now.’ But even as she spoke her speech was slowing down and I thought I noticed the telltale lack of focus in her eyes.
I turned to Maesta sharply. ‘What did you put in that?’
Maesta was wailing in that keening tone again. ‘Nothing, citizen – or nothing that you would not ordinarily expect. Just the root of mandrake and white poppy juice, though I did add a few wild poppy heads as well. Wild poppy is a sovereign remedy for frenzies of all kinds, especially hysterias proceeding from the womb. Galen says—’
‘You have read Galen?’ I was incredulous. ‘How did that come about?’ Galen had been physician at the court when Commodus’s father Marcus Aurelius wore the imperial purple, and his works had been admired throughout the empire. But a copy of a book like that was very rare indeed – even an extract was a hugely expensive luxury. It could take days for an amanuensis to copy out the text – even if you could find a version that you could copy from – and a skilled scribe would charge you dearly for his services; and then there was the price of ink and bark-paper, or even costlier parchment, to take into account. ‘I know the public medicus in Glevum has access to a scroll, but I would be surprised if there was a private copy in the whole colonia. And how many vintner’s wives could read it if there were?’
Maesta was wilting under my questioning and her former pompous manner had all but disappeared. ‘My family were not always merchants,’ she explained. ‘Grandfather was a surgeon with the army, long ago, but he had only daughters so the tradition lapsed. He came to live with us when he was very old. He used to terrify us children with his tales – how some poor soldier had his guts ripped out and grandfather covered them in olive oil and put them in again then sewed the wound with grass, and how the patient had lived for days and days.’
She looked at me to see if I was satisfied, but I did not smile. ‘I’m surprised he taught a girl.’
She shook her head. ‘He didn’t – at least not directly, citizen. Grandfather kept his instruments and things until he died and then my father sold them in the marketplace. But we still had his herb box and a piece of rolled-up bark where he’d copied some of Galen’s work. The theories were amazing: how there is blood, not air, in all the arteries, and how the four humours teach us what herbs to use as cures. I was always interested in that sort of thing – more fun than the weaving and spinning I was taught – and I used to sneak it out and look at it by oil light when I was supposed to be asleep.’
‘But you could read it?’ Not many women of her age and class were as literate as that, even if they were Roman citizens. I had assumed until this moment that she had learned the use of herbs the way most women learned them – at their mother’s knee – but
it seemed she had a much more systematic grasp.
She smiled defiantly. ‘My father didn’t have me taught to read, of course – we were not wealthy enough to have a private tutor at home – but I learned from my brothers when they went to school. They hated it – the teacher would beat them every day – but I would make them read the tombstones by the road outside the town, and I would copy them till I could do it too. I soon worked out how letters represented sounds.’
I confess that I was quite impressed by this account. Maesta obviously had a lively intellect. I would treat her cures in future with more respect, I thought.
I was going to ask her a little more about all this – in particular what other herbs she had provided for this house – when I was interrupted by a sudden clatter behind me from the bed. I whirled around. I had almost forgotten Pompeia’s sleeping draught, but it had clearly taken dramatic and complete effect. The girl had drooped back on the pillows, fast asleep, and the rattle was the metal goblet falling from her hand on to the floor. Pulchra was already on her hands and knees retrieving it from underneath the bed.
Maesta walked over to the sleeping girl and raised one eyelid up. Pompeia made a little groaning noise and stirred but did not wake.
Maesta nodded. She was visibly relieved. ‘She will be all right. She is still half-conscious though it was a heavy dose – the sort of thing my grandfather would use before he wanted to cut off a limb. But Pompeia is a big girl, and it was not too much – though I could only guess what quantities to use.’ She nodded to the slave girl who’d been there when I arrived. ‘Keep a close watch on her. She will sleep all night – until past noon tomorrow, if I am any judge – and she may be very thirsty when she wakes. See that a jug of water is kept beside the bed.’ She went back to the stool and picked the basket up. ‘And now, I think, I may fairly claim my fee. My patient is sleeping – as I claimed she would. So if someone will escort me to Helena Domna now, I will take my payment and then I will go home. My poor husband must already be wondering where I am.’
Death at Pompeia's Wedding Page 8
