Death at Pompeia's Wedding

by Rosemary Rowe

  ‘Or bribery, if you prefer to think of it that way. A mutually profitable arrangement between friends, is how he talks of it. Either way, it’s clever – though not a pleasant trade. And don’t ask me where he gets his information from. I only wish I knew.’ He shook the jug again, and I realized for the first time that he was becoming slightly drunk.

  Otherwise, perhaps, I would not have dared to ask him, as I did, ‘And what is it that he knows about you, citizen?’

  For a moment he looked tense, and then he slowly smiled. ‘You’d hardly expect me to tell you that. You are clever, pavement-maker, I concede. You’ve already got far more information from me than I meant. But I’ve paid Antoninus money to keep my secret safe, and I’m certainly not about to share it openly with you. In any case, it is a purely private matter, nothing to do with Honorius’s death.’ The plump face creased into a humourless, wry grin. ‘Although, of course, I’d always be likely to say that, wouldn’t I? You will simply have to take my word for it. And that is all I’m going to tell you on the subject, citizen.’

  ‘You don’t think Antoninus will tell me what it is? It might be the very information he was going to offer me.’

  That troubled him a moment, but not for long. ‘I doubt that, citizen. But I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll accompany you to Antoninus’s dwelling place myself, and whatever he has to tell you, he can tell us both.’ He could see that I was about to refuse his company, and he tapped the desktop sharply with his fingertips as if to remind me of what was in the drawer. ‘It might be to your advantage, citizen, to have me come along. If he has found out from Gracchus that you’re investigating this, I wouldn’t go there wholly unprotected if I was you. Especially if he turns out to be in any way involved.’

  ‘And you think he might be?’

  ‘Nothing would surprise me, where Antoninus is concerned. He did have business dealings with Honorius – and I happen to know that he was there last night. I think I mentioned that I called round there myself, and I saw Antoninus skulking in the street, though he did not see me and I didn’t speak to him – for reasons obvious. I generally try to avoid Antoninus in public if I can.’

  I frowned. ‘But surely Honorius was a stickler for the law, and is famous for living a life beyond reproach? Antoninus couldn’t possibly have had a hold on him?’

  Redux stood up and went across to where his toga was. ‘I don’t know, pavement-maker, I honestly don’t know. A man who makes a public show of high morality is always very vulnerable if he does do something wrong, especially if he is a well-known councillor, and urges harsh punishment for other people’s crimes. On the other hand, Antoninus does sell some proper merchandise as well – he would not last very long if that were not the case – and it might be clever for him to engage in simple trade with someone as well known for probity as Honorius.’

  I got to my feet. It was clear this interview was almost at an end, but there were things that I still wanted to ask him while we were alone. I hastened to agree with the last thing he’d said – that often makes people more inclined to talk. ‘I see what you mean,’ I said, respectfully. ‘It makes Antoninus seem respectable so people are not ashamed to be known to deal with him.’

  He nodded. ‘And apart from his victims, nobody would guess where he really gets his money from. A sort of double bluff, like men who play at dice honestly declaring what numbers they have rolled – until the moment that they choose to pounce.’ He raised his fingers to his mouth and made a whistling sound – rather as I’ve heard Marcus summoning a dog.

  The skinny slave came running from the room next door. ‘You want me, master?’

  ‘Help me with my toga.’ He raised his arms and let his servant wrap the garment on, folding and tucking until just the end was left. Redux took that and draped it round his arm – suddenly the very picture of wealthy elegance. ‘I am going to accompany this citizen into town – just as soon as I have fixed the price of salt. Fetch my foreman and have him come in here.’

  The slave said nothing, but bowed himself away. Redux went over to the desk and took out a small knife in a leather case. ‘In case I should be called upon to dine,’ he said, giving me a wicked little smile. ‘I wouldn’t dream of carrying a weapon in the streets. That would be illegal.’ He attached the knife case deftly to his belt where it was hidden by his toga-folds. ‘But enough to give Antoninus pause, if he tries to threaten us. If he has one weakness, it is cowardice.’

  ‘If Honorius had a weakness . . .’ I was still following my earlier train of thought. ‘What do you guess that it would be?’

  He shrugged, and began to rifle through the tallies on his desk. ‘I don’t know, citizen. Works of art, perhaps? The lady Livia? His family honour, even – he has killed for that.’

  ‘So, to protect his mother?’

  He was scratching something on a tablet with a stylus now. ‘He might be persuaded to do something foolish, I suppose. But I’m not sure of that. She was always domineering and wanting her own way, and since he defied her and married Livia, relationships between them have been distinctly cool. And I don’t think she’s forgiven him for Honoria’s death – whatever she may say about that publicly. Honoria was her favourite grandchild after all.’

  ‘And what about Pompeia?’

  That hooting laugh again. ‘Oh, the would-be bride? She was the younger daughter and of no account. Everyone ignored her, except Honoria, and after her sister’s execution she was heartbroken. Helena Domna never spoke to her, except to use her like a slave – order her about and find fault with what she did. Livia was quite kind to her in a vague, general sort of way, but she would do the same for a beggar at the gate – it wasn’t for Pompeia in particular. I rather think that’s what prompted the child to make that pathetic so-called “confession” when her father died – and don’t pretend that you were taken in by it. What did it turn out to be – she’d called down a curse on him?’

  ‘Not even anything as definite as that. She had simply appealed to the gods to be released.’

  He smoothed out what he’d been writing, with the stylus. ‘Well, there you are. Unless you think she made a point of confessing to all that, to disguise the fact that she had secretly poisoned her father all along? I don’t think she has the subtlety for that. I think she wanted some attention for a change – and I’m not surprised.’

  ‘She might have been better getting married then.’

  He looked up from his task. ‘Not to Gracchus, pavement-maker. Not if she wanted to be of some account. Gracchus likes his wine and dancing girls and doesn’t care who knows – a wife is just for breeding in his view of things. I think Pompeia knew that – she is not a fool. I used to tell Zythos that he would have a chance with her, but he wasn’t interested.’

  Zythos. Again there was that suspicion of emotion at the name. I made a sudden guess. ‘You encouraged him to marry? But surely, you were attached to him yourself.’

  He had turned the colour of his tasselled shoes. ‘Who told you, citizen?’

  ‘Your own tone of voice.’

  He turned away from me and stared out of the window hole towards the dock. ‘Is it so obvious? Well, citizen, there is no shame in it. He was so beautiful he was loved by everyone: pages, married women, councillors – they all flung themselves at him. I could not expect to have him solely to myself – and besides he was a Greek by birth. They have a different philosophy from us – men for pleasure, women for the race.’

  ‘Not unlike Gracchus’s attitude in fact?’ I said, ungraciously.

  ‘Except that Zythos would always have been charming to a wife, and Gracchus is a boor. Pompeia would have been ideal for him in many ways – she can be amusing when she puts her mind to it – but, as I say he wasn’t interested. I rather think he may have had his eye on someone else, but – for once – he wouldn’t tell me who.’ He stared at something imaginary in the sky. ‘I found a poem he had written on a tablet, once: “To my fair-haired beauty.” I think that at last he had truly
lost his heart. It was not to me.’

  ‘And it was not Honoria, you are sure of that?’

  ‘As certain as I can be. Although Honoria was by far the prettier of the two, she was still dark and dumpy – like her father was.’

  ‘Of course.’ I remembered the swarthy councillor as I had seen him once on the steps of the basilica.

  ‘And she had his temperament – all prim morality. She would never have demeaned herself, as she would think of it. She was devoted to my brother – and he was fond of her. As these things go, it had worked out very well. Besides she’d just announced she was with child, and Zythos regarded that as sacrosanct. He would never have forced himself upon a woman – I am sure of that – especially a member of my family. More likely he was after one of the maids, that night, or one of my brother’s little serving boys.’

  ‘So what was he doing in Honoria’s sleeping room?’

  ‘I imagine that he found himself surprised, felt that he’d dishonoured me and my family by the act and simply rushed into the nearest room to hide. And then Honorius came in.’ He snapped the tablet shut. ‘But we will never know. If there was an explanation, Honorius would not hear. But, enough of that. Here comes my foreman. It is time to buy some salt, and then I’ll come with you and we’ll pay that little call.’

  Fourteen

  I collected Minimus, who had been crouching inside the warehouse door – playing knuckle bones with the skinny servant by the look of it – and we followed Redux and his foreman out on to the dock.

  The purchase transaction took a little time. It was clear that the foreman had already half-agreed a price, but when Redux appeared there was a flurry of further haggling, with a lot of raised voices and emphatic gesturing. I retreated to a safe distance with my slave and settled down to wait.

  ‘Did you discover anything useful, master?’ Minimus enquired, when we were out of earshot of the rest. ‘I was sorry not to be able to assist you in your questioning.’

  It seemed a pity to deflate the boy by admitting that I hadn’t succeeded in asking Redux much. ‘I’ve learned a lot about Antoninus, for one thing,’ I replied. ‘Not a pleasant character, by all accounts. Redux has offered to accompany us there – he knows the man well, and he may be of help.’ I didn’t mention daggers.

  Minimus grinned at me. ‘And after all, Redux is not himself a suspect, I suppose?’

  But of course he was, I thought. And I must not be seduced into forgetting that, just because he’d pointed out the facts himself. Redux had both the motive and – as I now knew – the opportunity, since he had been to Honorius’s house the night before and could obviously have taken a little wine with him – as a gift, perhaps, just as he’d suggested that I take some with me. Or he could have slipped poison into something else – it had not been proved that it was in the wedding wine.

  But would he have shown me how easy that would be, if he had really done it? I shook my head. Redux was sharp enough to have outlined a case against himself, knowing that I would reason exactly in this way. He had even mentioned the strategy of confession as a bluff – although in relation to Pompeia, of course. I looked at Minimus. ‘I have not entirely ruled him out,’ I said, and gave the boy a sketchy outline of my reasoning.

  He beamed at me. ‘Then, master, I have something which might interest you.’ He held out a small glass phial with no lid on it. ‘I didn’t know if it was useful, but thought you would be pleased to have it anyway.’

  It was quite empty. I turned it upside down but not a drop came out, and when I gave it an experimental sniff I could not really detect anything at all. I was about to dip my finger in the neck and see if I could recognize the taste, but Minimus – who had been almost bouncing with excitement during this – put out a hand and stopped me doing so.

  ‘Don’t do that, master. It may do you harm.’ He sounded gleeful, rather than alarmed.

  ‘What was in it?’

  ‘Wolfsbane, master. The slave was using it. He mixes it into the ink, he says, to stop the rats and mice from nibbling the writing on the bark. His master always keeps a stock of it in his office for that use.’

  I took my finger out of the phial as quickly as I could. ‘And how did you get hold of this?’

  ‘I beat the slave at knuckle bones and claimed this as my prize. He had lost the stopper so it wasn’t any use, and I pretended that I was going to put some ink in it and try his little tip. He was quite relieved. He only had a single as in cash and he was afraid I was going to ask for that.’ He grinned. ‘So, I suppose you could say I paid an as for it. But I thought you would be interested to know about the rats.’

  I beamed at him. ‘You did well, Minimus. Here, give that to me. Redux might not be very pleased to know that you have taken it.’ I put it inside my toga as I spoke, securing it in the large pouch-purse attached to the belt of my tunic. ‘And wrap that tray securely in my cloak. I’m going to give the package to that soldier over there and have him take it to the gatehouse when he is relieved, and hand it to the commander of the guard. That way we won’t get robbed. I’ll go and do it now, in fact, while Redux is busy with his bargaining.’ I left my servant waiting and went over to the guard.

  The soldier was reluctant to take responsibility at first, argued that it was hours until his relief was due and it would be impossible to look after my package till then, but when I mentioned Marcus his demeanour changed. ‘Oh very well, citizen. I’ll see what I can do. There is a party from the barracks coming down here very soon – the army are taking a little of this salt. They’ll bring my relief and I’ll go back with them. I presume there will be a small reward?’

  ‘When the salver is safely at the villa,’ I replied. ‘In the meantime . . .’ I looked around. I was prepared to forgo the formal witnesses – I didn’t want Redux noticing the phial – but I had forgotten the necessity of getting a receipt. I had nothing to write on, and in the end I had to call on Minimus and smooth out the note that Antoninus had written to summon me to him. I didn’t have a stylus either, but I found a piece of stick and manage to scratch a statement using that.

  The soldier glanced at it and scratched his initials where I’d left a space. I wasn’t convinced he’d read it properly – or even that he could – but it would have to do. I was confident that he would see the parcel safely to the guardhouse at the gates, if only to lay his hands on that reward. I thanked him and put the tablet in my pouch as well – to Minimus’s visible dismay. ‘I’d better keep this now,’ I said to him. ‘In case I have to produce it at the gatehouse later on.’

  I looked around for Redux, and saw that he was busily engaged, waving his arms about and arguing. So when a pie seller sauntered past us, his tray upon his head, I fiddled in my purse to see what coins I had. The smell of hot pastry made my stomach groan and reminded me that I hadn’t eaten anything since shortly after dawn. I found enough to buy a couple of his remaining wares. They were tough and greasy, but I wolfed mine down, and Minimus was happy to tuck in as well, though he told me that he had eaten bread and curd-cheese at Honorius’s house – it was the custom to offer something to the slaves of visitors, while their masters enjoyed more lavish hospitality downstairs. Only, of course, the feast had not occurred.

  I was further tempted by the sight of a dairy woman coming down the dock, offering not only slabs of cheese but dippers of milk from the little metal cup chained to the handle of her pail. But I had spent all my money so I could not buy a drink. We contented ourselves with plunging our mouths and faces under the spout of the public fountain on a street corner nearby.

  We got back just in time. The bargainers had reached agreement finally – based on a price of hides and cloaks it seemed, because the foreman and the slave were fetching piles of each from the warehouse even as I watched. Redux came over, with an expansive smile.

  ‘Barter, citizen?’

  My puzzlement amused him. ‘Always rather more flexible than gold – it clears my warehouse, and besides, it is much harder for
the taxman to assess.’ He beamed. ‘And we are all satisfied with the bargain we have reached, I think. Now, shall we call litters to Antoninus’s house? It is a little way to walk and it is getting late. You wanted to be there by the ninth hour, so my foreman said, and it must already be rather more than that.’

  I made a face at him. ‘I don’t have money for a litter, citizen. I came out ready for a wedding feast, with just a little money – and I used most of that to tip the doorkeeper.’ I did not confess to the purchase of the pie. He was already looking rather pitying as if an empty purse was never part of his experience.

  I thought for a moment he might volunteer to bear the charge for me, but he simply nodded. ‘Very well. There isn’t a litter anywhere in sight, in any case. I’ll send my slave back to my rooms to fetch some other shoes – these are expensive but they’re rather soft to walk in on the streets. He can catch us up. In the meantime, let us make a start. If we keep to the main roads it should be fairly clean. This way, citizen.’

  He led the way across the dock, in the opposite direction from the way we’d come, where a wide street led directly into town, though the stones of the roadway were deeply grooved with carts. The pavements on each side were particularly high, to save pedestrians from walking in the dirty water, I suppose, on occasions when the river overflows its banks and – in dryer times like these – from the animal droppings and squashed vegetables which are the inevitable refuse of the town. Even on the pavement Redux was picking his way with care, obviously anxious about his fancy shoes.

  He was still pleased with his bargain, and he chatted about that – how the Romans were building concrete drying pans to improve the quality of salt, and how the price was still remaining high – as we hurried past shops and drinking places not so different in kind from what we’d passed before. Except that the soup kitchens and tavernas here were prosperous and clean, and if (as was likely) some offered girls upstairs, the advertisements for their services were much more discreet. But then we moved into the area where the copper workers were, and conversation became impossible. Not only was the street crammed with their merchandise, so that we had to walk past it in single file, but from the interiors incessant hammering went on. I wondered how the other little businesses survived the noise, squeezed into tiny premises between the coppersmiths, but they seemed oblivious. There was a busy fruit stall, a flower seller with a cart, a shoemaker in a narrow doorway stitching boots, and a baker pulling fresh loaves from an oven as we passed.