He looked surprised. 'No.'
'Any chance I might talk with your mistress?'
'That would not be appropriate.'
'She lives here?' He nodded. I made a small symbol on my tablet, without looking up. 'And the son?' Another nod. I ticked that off too. 'Is he married?'
A minute pause. 'Metellus Negrinus is divorced.' I made a longer entry.
'So.' Now I raised my eyes to the steward again. 'Calpurnia Cara ensured that her husband's death was formally witnessed by noble friends. I assume you can provide me with the seven names, incidentally.' He was already producing a tablet from a pouch. These people were expertly organised. Grief had not confused them at all. 'Was the viewing conducted before or after your master actually - ?'
'Afterwards. Straight afterwards.'
'Were the witnesses in the house while he -'
'No, they were sent for.'
'And do you mind - I am sorry if this is very painful - but how did he... ?'
I was expecting the classic scenario: on the battlefield a defeated general falls on his sword, usually needing help from a weeping subordinate because finding the space between two ribs and then summoning the strength to pull in a weapon upwards is damned difficult to fix for yourself. Nero cut his throat with a razor, but he was supposedly hiding in a garden trench at the time, where there may have been no elegant options; to be skewered on a dibber would have lacked the artistry he coveted. The traditional method in private life is to enter a warm bath and open your veins. This death is contained, relaxing, and reckoned to be more or less painless. (Mind you, it presupposes you live in a grand home with a bath.) For a senator, such an exit from disaster is the only civilised way out.
But it had not happened here.
'My master took poison,' said the steward.
V
TO INTERVIEW seven senators, I needed help. I returned home and summoned the Camilli. They had to be found first. I sent out my nephew Gaius, a lad about town recently returned from having his habits reformed in the country. It had not worked. He was still a layabout, but agreed to be my runner for his usual exorbitant sweetener. Trotting off to the senator's house to ask where the lads were supposed to be, he soon rousted out Aelianus from a bath house then rounded up Justinus, who was out shopping with his wife.
While I was waiting I did some budgeting, wrote an ode in my head, and replanted some flower tubs little Julia had 'weeded'. Helena pounced. 'I'm glad you're here. A woman called for you.'
'Oh good!' I leered.
'One of your widows.'
'Sweetheart, I promise you: I gave up widows.'
'You may do this one,' Helena assured me cruelly. 'Her name is Ursulina Prisca and she is about sixty-five.'
I knew Ursulina. She had been badgering me for a long time to take on an extremely complex wrangle involving her estranged brother's will. She was half crazy. I could have coped with that; most of my clients were. But she talked a torrent, she smelt of cats, and she drank. A friend of hers had recommended me. I had never worked out who the friend was, though I would like to have strong words with them.
'She's a menace.'
Helena grinned. 'I said you would be delighted to take on her work.'
'I am not available to the widow Ursulina! She tried to grab me by the balls once.'
'Don't make excuses.'
Luckily the lads turned up and I forgot the harassing widow.
I divided up the suicide witnesses, two to each of the lads while I took three.
'What was the point of having all these witnesses, Falco?' Aelianus asked fretfully.
'It's like getting your will ratified, if you are an important bean. Looks good. Deters questions. In theory it stops Forum gossip. In this case it also raises expectations of a good scandal.'
'Nobody will query certification by seven senators,' mocked Helena. 'As if senators would ever conspire to lie!'
We would be lucky if any of the seven agreed to see us. Having signed the certificate, they would hope to be left alone. Senators try to be unobtainable to the public. To be asked about their noble signatures by a pack of harrying informers would seem outrageous.
Sure enough, Aelianus failed to interview either of the men allocated to him. Justinus saw one of his.
'A strike! How come?,
'I pretended I had a good tip on a horse race.'
'Smart!' I must try that.
'I wish I hadn't bothered. He was rude, Falco.'
'You expected that, you're grown up. Tell.'
'He grudgingly said they were all called to the house by Calpurnia Cara. She announced calmly that since losing the court case, her husband had decided to seek an honourable exit from public life. She told them he had taken poison that afternoon; he wished them - as his circle of friends - to observe the scene and formally certify suicide. This, she said, would simplify matters for his family. They knew what she meant. They did not see Metellus die, but inspected the corpse. He was lying on his bed, dead. He wore a grimace, had a nasty pallor, and smelt of diarrhoea. A small sardonyx pillbox lay open on a side table. The seven men all signed the declaration, which the widow has.'
'Flaw,' I chipped in. 'Metellus did not himself tell them his intentions. Then they did not see him actually swallow any pills.'
'Quite. How can they say he did it willingly?' Justinus agreed.
'Still, well done; at least we know what song these warblers want us to listen to.'
'How did you get on, Falco?' Aelianus then asked, hoping my record with the witnesses was as bad as his. I had spoken to all three of my targets. Experience tells. Aelianus replied that it also causes pomposity.
'All my subjects told the same story,' I reported. 'One did concede it was bad form that they had not been addressed by Metellus beforehand. That's the ideal procedure in a council of friends. But they trust his wife, apparently - or they are scared of her - and I was assured that availing himself of the suicide ploy was entirely in character. Metellus hated to lose. He would enjoy thwarting his accusers.
'He won't enjoy much from the Underworld,' Aelianus muttered.
'Right, I think we'll end up telling Silius it stinks. Before we do, we'll go one stage further.'
'You'll try to see the strangely calm widow!' Justinus thought he was ahead of me.
I grinned. 'Helena hates me seeing widows.'
'I know -' Helena herself had it right: 'He is sending me. And if I am successful in gaining entry, Falco will arrive halfway through, as if innocently collecting me to walk me home.' I had not thought of that. 'Don't do it,' she said immediately. 'Keep out of my way, Falco. Calpurnia and I may become great friends.'
'Of course. You'll go back there to swap bangles and gossip every afternoon.'
'No, darling. I just want to ask her advice on procedure, in case I ever decide things are so bad, you should poison yourself.'
'I'll take that as a threat! - Well if I do it, I don't want seven sleazebags invited to sit on the bed and watch.'
I waited around a corner, perching on a bollard. I might be banned from joining Helena in her visit to Calpurnia Cara, but I had brought her to the Metellus spread and I would walk her safely home. Rome is a city of dangers.
When she reappeared, looking thoughtful, I decided not to press her but to make the long hike home first. We had to traverse most of the length of the Forum, pass around the base of the Capitol and Palatine Hills, then skirt the end of the Circus Maximus. At least since moving to Pa's house, we no longer had the steep haul up the Aventine, but Helena looked tired when we finally staggered home. It was dinnertime, we had our children to attend to, and before we found a chance to talk the rest of the household was in bed. We went up to the roof terrace to watch the bright stars overhead and the dim lights down along the riverbank. A single oil lamp glimmered on a table among the trained rose trees. Insects plunged at it madly, so we sat a little apart in shadow.
'So,' I prompted. 'You were welcomed in?'
'Well, I was allowed in,'
Helena corrected me. 'I pretended that my mother had sent commiserations. Calpurnia Cara knew she had never met me, but she may have been unsure who Mama was. In case they were old acquaintances who had talked for four hours at the last secret gathering for the Good Goddess, she felt obliged to be polite.'
I shuddered. Traditional religion has that effect. I was relieved that Helena had never expressed any interest in the notorious female goings-on in honour of the so-called Good Goddess. My own religious observance stopped short at the guano-spattered environs of the Temple of Juno, where I had duties as the Procurator of Juno's Sacred Geese - a merry jest of the Emperor's. 'So what is Calpurnia like?'
'Between fifty and sixty, as you would expect from her husband's and son's positions in the Senate. I wouldn't call her handsome, but -' Helena paused. 'She had bearing and presence.'
That sounded as if Calpurnia was a vicious old bat. Since my own life's companion certainly had presence, I was careful of my phrasing: 'She would have been no cipher in the marriage?'
'Oh no. She's a little defensive -'
'Bad tempered?'
'Let's say, very confident. Well groomed, but not wearing much jewellery. She seems cultured; there were reading-scrolls in the room. Mind you, there was a wool basket too, yet I reckon that was just for show! I can't see the lady actually spinning like a traditional good wife.'
'You suspect a slave had been sent out in a hurry to buy some wool so they could stage-manage appearances?'
'Could be. She had a mousy maid in attendance, to look modest.'
'How formal? Was she veiled?'
'Don't be silly, Marcus; she was at home. Her manner was reserved, but it should be, with nosy strangers coming to her house for days, trying to catch her out.'
'She was receiving well-wishers, though?'
'A queue of callers; I gathered I was lucky to find her alone. I felt that accepting condolences - from both genuine friends and even the wickedly curious - was an ordeal which Calpurnia Cara quite enjoys.'
'A duty?'
'A challenge.'
'She wants to test her own endurance?' I wondered.
'Oh I think she knows how capable she is,' Helena replied warmly.
The air temperature was dropping. Helena reached for her stole, which I helped to tuck around her. As usual it was a good excuse to explore her body affectionately.
'Do you want to hear this, Marcus?'
'Of course.' I was perfectly capable of groping a woman while extracting her evidence. My profession calls for a man to be physically adroit and mentally versatile, often at the same time. I could take notes while scratching my bum too.
'She told me what you already knew. Nothing added and nothing different. It seems very well rehearsed.' Despite the dusk, I knew that Helena had read my thoughts and smiled. 'That does not necessarily make it untrue.'
'Perhaps,' I agreed.
'One other thing -' There was a new note of mischief in Helena's tone. 'I didn't see the son, of course. I couldn't tell if he was in the house. They call him Birdy, by the way; I don't know why. I took the opportunity to ask one of the staff for an address for junior's divorced wife - ostensibly so I could pay condolences there too.' I said nothing. 'Unless you want to take over that visit?' she enquired, in apparent innocence.
'You know me so well.'
'I expect you will claim,' Helena scoffed, 'the divorcee may give us another side of the story. This may be a crucial breakthrough and you need to expose her directly to your experienced interrogatory skills?'
'My love, how comfortable it is to have a wife who understands my business.'
'Her name is Saffia Donata - and you need to know in advance that she is causing trouble!'
I said that sounded like exactly the kind of sweet little breakthrough I was looking for.
'She has three children and some money.' An excellent briefing. Helena Justina made a wonderful work partner - thorough, discreet, witty, and even fair to me. 'I did not ask if she is pretty.'
I said I could discover that for myself
VI
NEXT MORNING I began to see why Silius Italicus was so secretive about where he lived: self-protection. We were still at breakfast when a message was brought up that Ursulina Prisca had arrived downstairs. I sent Justinus to get rid of her. I could be magnanimous. Let her have a few minutes of pleasure being rebuffed by a handsome, polite young fellow.
Once that role would have been mine. Now I was middle-class, middle-aged, and full of middle-rank anxieties. When you have no money there is no point worrying. Once you obtain some, all that ends.
While dear Quintus interviewed the persistent baggage, using a side room which we kept tidy for that purpose, I kissed Helena, pulled a face at the baby, tickled Julia, locked the dog in a bedroom, and slipped out of the house. (Leaving home in a hurry was much slicker when I was single.) If Ursulina decided our boy was adorable, she might dig in her talons. My youngest brother-in-law was very polite and hated saying no to women in distress. I knew that all women were hard as nuts, but he would easily be manoeuvred into taking the commission. Fine. He could do it. Now our team had a nagging granny specialist.
I was off to try my skills on a much more difficult female. Forget the divorcee. My motto was hit them gently to see what happens - then hit them again, hard. I was going to revisit Calpurnia Cara.
There is a trick informers use. If you have assailed a house once in the afternoon and want another attempt, go next time in the morning. If the household is wealthy, they may work their porters in shifts. Mind you, many rich families work their door porters to death, thinking that the provision of a cubicle with a stool means the porter has an easy life. It's a boring career, and that can work to your advantage. On the whole though, door porters become obstructive, maybe because sitting on a stool all day cuts off the circulation painfully in their legs. It affects their brains too. They get above themselves. I hate the swine.
The Metelli, as I might by then have expected, kept their porter in situ all day. I observed this from the same unfriendly snackbar where I had rested my trotters on the counter yesterday. This meant I might have to wait around for hours before that other informing trick: knocking on the door at lunchtime when the porter takes his meal break. Luckily, I did not need to wait so long. While the door was open for a delivery, I heard the porter ask another slave to stand in while he went off for a pee.
Thank you, gods!
(Which reminded me again that I was Procurator of the Sacred Geese of Juno, and I ought to say hello to my fat feathered charges, now I was back in Rome.)
'Morning. My name is Didius Falco; I was here yesterday on business with your mistress. Could I possibly see her again for a few minutes, please?'
'I'm supposed to ask the steward,' the stand-in said. 'I think.' He was a kitchen worker normally; he had an apron on, stained with oil and sauce.
'That's right,' I agreed, smiling helpfully. 'The other Janus - what's his name?'
'Perseus.'
'Perseus asked the steward yesterday.'
'Oh he asked him, did he? Well, that's all right then. She's in the garden; this way, sir -'
The stand-in had left the door open. Assuming my helpful guise, I pointed out that while he escorted me to find Calpurnia Cara, wrongdoers might sneak in. That worried him. So he stayed there but gave me instructions how to cross the atrium, pass through a colonnade, and find the garden area by myself. I handed him a quarter denarius. It was the least I could do. I knew, though he apparently did not, he had just earned himself a severe beating for letting loose an informer in the house.
The Accusers Page 3
