Last Act In Palmyra

by Lindsey Davis

  ‘A lesson to you,’ I commented. ‘Don’t wait too long to retire, Plancina.’

  ‘Not in this bloody group!’ she agreed. ‘I haven’t been any help, have I?’

  ‘Don’t think that.’

  ‘But you still don’t know.’

  ‘I know enough, Plancina.’ I knew I had to work on the clowns.

  ‘Be careful then.’

  I thought little of her warning when she gave it. I watched her leave, carrying the soup bowl she had brought me. Then, with the eerie ability the clowns had to turn up just when they were on my mind, one of them came sauntering to my tent.

  It was Grumio. On my guard, I was ready for most things, though not for what was about to transpire. I was certainly not ready to accuse him of anything. My bets were still on Tranio anyway.

  Grumio parried with a few casual questions about Helena and then asked, ‘Where’s Musa?’ He sounded so casual I knew that it mattered.

  ‘I’ve no idea.’ I had forgotten about him. Maybe he was being entertained by Byrria.

  ‘That’s interesting!’ exclaimed Grumio, knowingly. I had a feeling of being teased and spied upon, as if I were being set up for one of the Twins’ practical jokes. Taking advantage of a man whose much-loved girlfriend had been stung by a scorpion would be just like them. I even felt anxious in case another attempt had been made on Musa’s life.

  Deliberately showing no further interest, I swung myself to my feet and made as if I were going in to see Helena. Grumio failed to enlighten me. I waited until he left. With a sense of unease I called Musa’s name. When there was no answer, I lifted the flap on his part of our shared tent.

  It was empty. Musa was not there. Nothing was there. Musa, with all his meagre property, had gone.

  I had believed him to be homesick, but this was ridiculous.

  I stood, unable to take in what was happening, staring at the bare ground in the empty tent. I was still there when footsteps hurried up behind me. Then Byrria brushed against me as she pushed me aside to look.

  ‘It’s true!’ she exclaimed. ‘Grumio just told me. There’s a camel missing. And Grumio thought he saw Musa riding off back the way we came.’

  ‘Alone? Across the desert?’ He was a Nabataean. He would be safe, presumably. But it was incredible.

  ‘He had talked about it.’ I could tell the girl was unsurprised.

  Now I was feeling really grim. ‘What’s going on, Byrria?’ Whatever their strange relationship, I had had the impression that Musa might confide in her. ‘I don’t understand!’

  ‘No.’ Byrria’s voice was quiet, less hard than usual, yet strangely dull in tone. She seemed resigned to some dirt fatality. ‘Of course you don’t.’

  ‘Byrria, I’m tired. I’ve had a terrible day, and my worries about Helena are nowhere near over yet. Tell me what has upset Musa!’

  I realised now that he had been upset. I recalled his anguished face as he beat the scorpion to death in such a frenzy. I remembered it again later, when he came to offer help - help I had curtly refused. He had looked withdrawn and defeated. I was not an idiot. It was a look I didn’t want to see, but one I recognised.

  ‘Is this because he’s fond of Helena? It’s natural, when we have lived so closely as friends.’

  ‘Wrong, Falco.’ Byrria sounded bitter. ‘He was fond of you. He admired and hero-worshipped you. He had much deeper feelings for Helena.’

  Stubbornly I refused to accept what she was saying. ‘He didn’t have to leave. He was our friend.’ But I was long accustomed to Helena Justina attracting followers. Helena’s devotees came from some strange walks of life. The very top, too. A quiet, competent girl who listened to people, she attracted both the vulnerable and those with taste; men liked to think they had privately discovered her. Their next mistake was discovering that privately she belonged to me.

  As I stalled, Byrria reacted angrily: ‘There was no room for him! Don’t you remember today when you were looking after Helena? You did everything, and she wanted only you. You know he would never have told either of you how he felt, but he could not bear being no use to her.’

  I breathed slowly. ‘Don’t go on.’

  Finally, too late, our misunderstandings unravelled. I wondered if Helena knew. Then I remembered the night we had entertained Byrria. Helena would never have joined me in teasing either Musa or Byrria if she had understood the situation. The actress confirmed it, reading my thoughts: ‘He would have died of shame if she had ever found out. Don’t tell her.’

  ‘I’ll have to explain where he is!’

  ‘Oh you’ll do it! You’re a man; you’ll think up some lie.’

  The wrath with which the girl had just spoken was typical of her contempt for all things masculine. But her earlier bitterness brought another thought to me: ‘And what about you, Byrria?’

  She turned away. She must have been able to hear that I had guessed. She knew I meant no harm to her. She needed to tell somebody. Unable to prevent herself, she admitted, ‘Me? Well what do you think, Falco? The only man I could not have - so naturally I fell in love with him.’

  My own heart ached for the girl’s distress, but frankly I had far worse on my mind.

  I found out that Musa had already been gone for hours. Even so, I would probably have ridden after him. But with Helena lying so ill, that was impossible.

  Chapter LIX

  Despite my efforts to keep the poison from entering her bloodstream, Helena soon had a high fever.

  There was a small Roman garrison at Palmyra, I knew, Another we had left behind at Damascus. Either might contain somebody with medical knowledge. Even if not, the troops would have tried out the local physicians and would be able to recommend the least dangerous to consult. As an ex-soldier, and a Roman citizen, I was ready to use my influence to beg for help. Most frontier garrisons were an abusive bunch, but mentioning that Helena’s father sat in the Senate should encourage the career-conscious. There was always a chance, too, that among the battered legionaries I might find some ex-British veteran I knew.

  I reckoned we needed a doctor as soon as possible. At first, it had not seemed to matter which way we went; soon I wished we had turned back to Damascus. That was nearer to civilisation. Who could say what we were heading towards instead?

  Helena lay helpless. Even in lucid moments she hardly knew where she was. Her arm gave her increasing pain. She desperately needed rest, not travel, but we could not stop in the wilderness. Our Palmyrene guides had adopted that annoying trait in foreigners: looking deeply sympathetic whilst in practice ignoring all my pleas for help.

  We pressed on, with me having to do all the driving now that Musa had decamped. Helena never complained - quite unlike her. I was going frantic over her fever. I knew how badly her arm hurt, with a burning pain that could be caused by the cuts I had had to make, or by something worse. Every time I dressed the wound it looked more red and angry. To kill the pain I was giving her poppy juice, in melted honey drinks since I distrusted the water. Phrygia had produced some henbane to supplement my own medicine. For me, the sight of Helena so drowsy and unlike herself was the worst part. I felt she was going a long way from me. When she slept, which was most of the time, I missed not being able to talk to her properly.

  People kept coming up, as if to check on us. They were kind, but it meant I could never sit and think. The conversation that stays in my mind most clearly was another involving Grumio. It was the day after the accident, in fact. He turned up again, this time in a most apologetic mood.

  ‘I feel I let you down, Falco. Over Musa, I mean. I should have told you earlier.’

  ‘I could do with him,’ I agreed tersely.

  ‘I saw him ride off, but hardly thought he could be leaving you permanently.’

  ‘He was free to come or go.’

  ‘Seems a bit odd.’

  ‘People are.’ I may have sounded grim. I was feeling drawn. After a hard day on the desert road, with no hope of reaching the oasis yet at the dir
e pace we were travelling, I was at a low ebb.

  ‘Sorry, Falco. I guess you’re not feeling talkative. I brought you a flagon, in case it helps.’

  It was welcome. I felt obliged to invite him to stay and share the first measure with me.

  We talked of this and that, of nothing in particular, and of Helena’s progress or lack of it. The wine did help. It was a fairly ordinary local red. Petronius Longus, the Aventine’s wine expert, would have likened it to some off-putting substance, but that was just him. This was perfectly palatable to a tired, dispirited man like me.

  Recovering, I considered the flagon. It was a handy size, about right for a packed lunch if you were not intending to do any work afterwards. It had a round base covered in wickerwork, and a thin, loosely plaited carrying string.

  ‘I saw one like this at a scene I’ll not forget.’

  ‘Where was that?’ asked Grumio, disingenuously.

  ‘Petra. Where Heliodorus was drowned.’

  Naturally the clown expected me to be watching him, so instead I stared into the fire as if gloomily remembering the scene. I was alert for any twitches or sudden tensions in him, but noticed none. ‘These are about the most common kind you can get,’ he observed.

  It was true. I nodded easily. ‘Oh yes. I’m not suggesting it came from the same vintner, in the same basket of shopping.’ All the same, it could have done. ‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, Grumio. People have been wishing on me the idea that Heliodorus was killed because of his gambling habits.’

  ‘You asked Tranio about it.’ I was interested to hear they had conferred.

  ‘So I did. He lost his temper,’ I mentioned, now turning a calm stare on him.

  Grumio cradled his chin, looking reflective. ‘I wonder why that could be?’ He spoke with the light twist of malice I had heard from him before. It was hardly evident - could have been an unfortunate mannerism - except that one of the times I had heard it was when he was entertaining the crowd at Gerasa by hurling a knife at me. I remembered that rather clearly.

  I stayed calm. ‘The obvious reason is he had something to hide.’

  ‘Seems a bit too obvious, though?’ He made it sound like a question I should have thought of for myself.

  ‘There has to be some explanation.’

  ‘Maybe he was afraid you had found out something that looked bad for him.’

  ‘That’s a good thought!’ I replied brightly, as if I had been incapable of it myself. We were sparring here, each pretending to be simple. Then I let a growl slink back into my voice. ‘So tell me about you and your tentmate playing dice with the playwright, Grumio!’

  He knew there was no point denying it. ‘Gambling’s not a crime, is it?’

  ‘Nor is having a gambling debt.’

  ‘What debt? Playing was just a lark from time to time. We soon learned not to bet seriously.’

  ‘He was good?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ There was no hint that Heliodorus might have cheated. Sometimes I wonder how gambling sharks get away with it - and then I talk to an innocent minnow, and realise.

  Tranio might know that Heliodorus had weighted his dice; I had wondered about that when I talked to him. So now I considered the interesting prospect of Tranio perhaps keeping this information from his so-called friend. Just what was the relationship between these two? Allies covering up for each other? Or a pair of jealous rivals?

  ‘So what’s the big secret? I know there must be one,’ I urged him, putting on my frank, successful-informer air. ‘What’s Tranio’s beef?’

  ‘Nothing big, and not a secret.’ Not now, anyway; his friendly tentmate was about to land him in it without compunction. ‘What he was probably loath to tell you was that once, when he and I had been having an argument, he played with Heliodorus while I was off on my own - ‘

  ‘With a girl?’ I too could be disingenuous.

  ‘Where else?’ After my chat with Plancina, I didn’t believe it. ‘Anyway, they were in our tent. Tranio needed a forfeit and placed something that wasn’t his, but mine.’

  ‘Valuable?’

  ‘Not at all. But as I felt like having a wrangle I told him he had to get it back from the scribe. Then, you know Heliodorus - ‘

  ‘Actually, no.’

  ‘Oh well, his reaction was typical. The minute he thought he had something important he decided to keep it and taunt Tranio. It rather suited me to keep our clever friend on tenterhooks. So I let on that I was mad about it. Tranio went spare trying to put things right, while I hid a smile and got my own back watching him.’ One thing for Grumio; he possessed the full quota of the comedian’s natural streak of cruelty. By contrast, I really could imagine Tranio taking the blame and becoming distraught.

  ‘Maybe you should let him off now, if he’s sensitive! What was the pledge, Grumio?’

  ‘Nothing important.’

  ‘Heliodorus must have believed it was.’ So must Tranio.

  ‘Heliodorus was so dedicated to torturing people, he lost touch with reality. It was a ring,’ Grumio told me, saying it with a slight shrug. ‘Just a ring.’

  His apparent indifference convinced me he was lying. Why should he do that? Perhaps because he didn’t want me to know what the pledge really was…

  ‘Precious stone?’

  ‘Oh no! Come on, Falco. I had it off my grandfather! It was only a trinket. The stone was dark blue. I used to pretend it was lapis, but I doubt if it was even sodalite.’

  ‘Was it found after the playwright died?’

  ‘No. The bastard had probably sold it.’

  ‘Have you checked with Chremes and Phrygia?’ I insisted helpfully. ‘They went through the playwright’s stuff, you know. In fact we discussed it and I’m sure I remember them owning up quite freely that they had found a ring.’

  ‘Not mine.’ I thought I detected just a faint trace of irritation in young Grumio now. ‘Must have been one of his own.

  ‘Or Congrio might have it - ‘

  ‘He hasn’t.’ Yet according to Congrio, the clowns had never asked him properly about what they were looking for.

  ‘Tell me, why was Tranio afraid to tell me about this missing pledge?’ I asked gently.

  ‘Isn’t that obvious?’ A lot of things were obvious, according to Grumio. He looked remarkably pleased with himself as he landed Tranio in it. ‘He’s never been in trouble, certainly not connected with a murder. He overreacts. The poor idiot thinks everyone knows he had a row with Heliodorus, and that it looks bad for him.’

  ‘It looks far worse that he hid the fact.’ I saw Grumio’s eyebrows shoot up in a surprised expression, as if that thought had not struck him. Somehow I reckoned it must have done. Drily, I added, ‘Nice of you to tell me!’

  ‘Why not?’ Grumio smiled. ‘Tranio didn’t kill Heliodorus.’

  ‘You say that as if you know who did.’

  ‘I can make a good guess now!’ He managed to sound as if he were chiding me with negligence for not guessing myself.

  ‘And who would that be?’

  That was when he hit me out of the blue: ‘Now that he’s skipped so suddenly,’ suggested Grumio, ‘I should think that the best bet is your so-called interpreter!’

  I was laughing. ‘I really don’t believe I heard that! Musa?’

  ‘Oh, he really took you in, did he?’ The clown’s voice was cold. If young Musa had still been here, even innocent, I reckon he would have panicked.

  ‘Not at all. You’d better tell me your reasoning.’

  Grumio then went through his argument like a magician consenting to explain some sleight of hand. His voice was level and considered. As he spoke, I could almost hear myself giving this as evidence before a criminal judge. ‘Everyone in the company had an alibi for the time Heliodorus was killed. So maybe, unknown to anyone, he had an outside contact at Petra. Maybe he had an appointment with somebody local that day. You say you found Musa in the close vicinity; Musa must have been the man you had followed from the High Plac
e. As for the rest - it all follows.’

  ‘Tell me!’ I croaked in amazement.

  ‘Simple. Musa then killed Ione because she must have known that Heliodorus had some private connection in Petra. She had slept with him; he could have said. Again, the rest of us all have alibis, but wasn’t Musa in Gerasa on his own that night for hours?’ Chilled, I remembered that indeed I had left him at the Temple of Dionysus while I went off to make enquiries about Thalia’s organist. I didn’t believe he had been to the Maiuma pools in my absence - but nor could I prove that he had not.

  With Musa no longer here, I could never ask him about it either.

  ‘And how do you explain Bostra, Grumio? Musa being nearly drowned himself?’

  ‘Simple. When you brought him into the company, some of us thought him a suspicious character. To deflect our suspicion, he took a chance at Bostra, jumped into the reservoir deliberately, then made up a wild claim that someone shoved him in.’

  ‘Not the only wild claim hereabouts!’

  I said it, even though I had the inevitable feeling that all this could be true. When someone throws such an unlikely story at you with such passionate conviction, they can overturn your common sense. I felt like a fool, a bungling amateur who had failed to consider something right under my nose, something that ought to have been routine.

  ‘This is an amazing thought, Grumio. According to you, I’ve spent all this time and effort looking for the killer when the plain fact is I brought him with me all along?’

  ‘You’re the expert, Falco.’

  ‘Apparently not… What’s your explanation for the scam?’

  ‘Who knows? My guess is Heliodorus was some sort of political agent. He must have upset the Nabataeans. Musa is their hit man for unwelcome spies - ‘

  Once again I laughed, this time rather bitterly. It sounded weirdly plausible.

  Normally I can resist a clever distraction. Since there certainly was one political agent amongst us, and he was indeed now acting as a playwright, Grumio’s solemn tale had a lurid appeal. I really could envisage a scenario in which Anacrites had sent more than one disguised menial into Petra - both me and Heliodorus - and The Brother had schemed to deal with each of us in turn, using Musa. Helena had told me Musa was marked for higher things. Maybe all the time I had been patronising his youth and innocence, he was a really competent executioner. Maybe all those messages to his ‘sister’ deposited at Nabataean temples were coded reports to his master. And maybe the ‘letter from Shullay’ he kept hoping to receive would not have contained a description of the murderer, but instructions for disposing of me…