Pandora's Boy

by Lindsey Davis

  “Someone did eventually go with her? You?”

  “I did. She was my little sister, so I wasn’t going to leave her there asleep. I and a couple of friends made sure she arrived home safe and sound.”

  I walked over to stand in front of the friends. “Let us give Publius a rest now. I don’t want him to feel harassed. Granius, I believe you were one of the friends he just mentioned. Stand up, please … Now, will you describe what happened when you returned Clodia to her parents’ building?”

  Granius, one of the least likeable of the group, stumbled upright. “We borrowed a chair and put the tipsy infant into it. She was all over the place—it was not easy!”

  “Let’s be clear, it was Auctus, you and Popilius?”

  “No. Popilius was originally going to help, or he said he would, but he had sneaked off. He left with someone else.”

  “Who?”

  Granius shot an apologetic look at Popilius. “Sabinilla, I believe.” I gave him a hard stare, so he landed everyone in it, ticking them off on his fingers: “Sabinilla and Popilius shot off together, Redempta and Cluvius, Anicia and Numerius. The rest of us had commandeered Ummidia’s chair. She was in it with Clodia.”

  “Was Clodia conscious then?”

  “Not really. It took all of us to carry her and manage things.”

  “A slight fifteen-year-old girl? Well, you were all drunk!”

  “Out of our skulls!” he admitted proudly.

  “Tell me everything.”

  He looked like a schoolboy who had not done his homework. Stumbling over his words, he explained that Ummidia had sat in the chair, clutching the girl, while the lads walked alongside. At Apricot Street they told Ummidia to wait in the chair. It was late. Everyone in the Volumnius building was sleeping. As quietly as possible, the two young men between them carried Clodia up the first flight of stairs to the landing. Publius knew which window was the one for Clodia’s bedroom. They opened the window. It was a tight fit for someone of his build, but Publius climbed in.

  “Could you see? Was it dark?”

  “There were oil lamps on the balcony. He took one when he clambered inside.”

  “Am I right—Clodia’s bed was placed against the room door?”

  Granius looked surprised I knew that. “Yes. Publius had to go over to move it. Ummidia went in and helped him.”

  “I thought you said Ummidia was left waiting in her chair?”

  Granius seemed perplexed that I had caught him out. “No—er … she decided to come and help us anyway. She said we were useless idiots. Sorry, I was trying to leave her out of this … Anyway, she always teams up with Publius—at least she did until she heard the naughty things he had done in Tripolitania…” Granius giggled unbecomingly. “I stood outside holding up Clodia. Then I helped to lift her in over the sill, which was tricky, while they caught her and carried her to her bed.”

  “All this time she had not woken?”

  “No.”

  “What next?”

  “Ummidia was terrified we would all be caught. She was the only one thinking straight. She hopped out through the window. We started whispering to Publius to come away quickly.”

  “Why the delay? What was he doing?”

  “Arranging his sister comfortably.”

  “You two saw that?”

  “We were looking through the window, urging him to hurry up.”

  “Did he, or he and Ummidia, undress her?”

  “No. That would have been tricky with her flopping about asleep!”

  “You and Ummidia would have seen if there was any foul play at that point?”

  “Get away! Of course we would, but of course there wasn’t. Her brother was ridiculously fond of her. He straightened out the little drunken mite on the bed nicely and carefully. If she was my sister, I wouldn’t have bothered!” He noticed that his parents, opposite, were not pleased, so he looked shifty.

  “In what position was Clodia?”

  “On her back. Arms by her sides. Face upward, dress pulled down properly. Publius blew out the lamp safely. Then out he popped to join us. He took Ummidia home, I believe. Then he must have walked back to his billet with the Cestii. I expect he had to climb in secretly, in case the worried parents found out young Numerius was out on his own so late with a girl, what a man he is! I toddled off to my own loving pair of wrinklies, who were, I can tell you, both waiting up for me with kindly goodnights and very interested questions about where I had spent my evening, not to mention the exact cost of it.” The parents in question were now looking at Granius with even harder faces. Cluvius’ mother, the one I had met at the Nine Day Feast and thought a sweet woman, put her arm round the mother of Granius. “All normal. Night over.”

  “And as far as you were all aware,” I asked Granius in conclusion, “Clodia Volumnia was still alive?”

  “We know she was. As we crept away like spirits in the night, we could hear her snoring. We all giggled.”

  LIX

  I was starting to feel tired. Like an athlete or an actor, I had prepared myself today with a set routine, knowing from experience it would be exhausting. That morning I had begun with a full strip-down wash in a basin in my room; I had made sure I had a decent bite to eat, I did a few stretching exercises that Glaucus had taught me, then I dressed with care: a gown I felt good in, a neat necklace and favorite earrings, shoes I could forget I had on. I pinned up my hair simply but firmly with long pins, so it would stay put. Then I deliberately cleared my mind of dross.

  Tiberius had watched this procedure with a smile of amusement. We even discussed whether I should send for my divining spoons and run the whole session in the guise of a Druid. It was good to be able to share mad ideas, then have them kicked out of the way by someone reasonable.

  He knew me. He had spotted all my weaknesses. People call me feisty but I am not robust physically. A few months before this, I had been dangerously ill; the demands of controlling such a meeting were almost too much. Now, Tiberius leaned forward, sounding anxious. “Do you want a break?”

  I shook my head. “No, we are almost at the end.”

  A hum of movement and muttering had broken out. Volumnius Auctus had taken the opportunity to elude me. First he went over to Ummidia but she snapped at him. He crossed to his parents; there were no spare seats so he sat on the ground at his father’s feet. I saw Firmus lean down and squeeze his son’s shoulder, while Sentia Lucretia ruffled his untidy hair. He would be forgiven.

  “Please settle down so we can finish. I have one final witness.”

  This personage had already come out onto the steps with Scorpus. He was a man in his fifties, portly, dressed in a rich tunic with expensive braid, almost bald. Now he descended with a cautious tread and took a seat. He had an air of authority, though we would see whether he deserved it. He thought he did. He had done well in life, though I would not have chosen to employ him. Still, all I needed today was his evidence.

  “My starting point for this last piece in our puzzle is something I found among the notes taken by Scorpus, the vigiles inquiry officer.”

  Scorpus, who had also joined us now, applied a mean-eyed glare because this had been sprung upon him. I gave him a reproving shake of the head, implying he had nothing to fear; I knew his notes had been cleaned up for public consumption when he gave Tiberius a copy.

  “This is an exemplary document, and will help us.” Scorpus let himself be appeased. “First, the officer gives details of Clodia, then assesses how she looked when he saw her body in her room: ‘Deceased: Clodia Volumnia, fifteen. Corpse: in bed, nightwear, no marks, no odd coloring. No vomit/diarrhea. No empty liquid bottle/pills. Used water glass—no scent: colorless/tasteless drops…’ We took an interest in this glass, in case it had contained the love-potion, but I am now satisfied it had held water, which Clodia may have woken up and drunk.”

  I saw her brother stir. “No, I drank it, while I was in the room.”

  “Thank you, Publius. One more note to m
ention, but I shall come to it shortly. Later the officer writes about a crucial witness he interviewed: ‘Doctor: Menenius, twelve years in practice. Confirmed: no foul play. No ill health history.’ I have slightly edited for brevity.”

  Scorpus looked relieved as he heard me omit some of his derogatory comments. Now I knew the parties concerned, I shared most of his rude opinions, but insults would be taken by these people to mean Scorpus was unreliable.

  “I discovered during my inquiries that one point there, while based on what the officer actually saw, reveals something very important. Before Scorpus arrived, the bedroom had been scrupulously cleaned. I know it was done from the best of motives, to protect Clodia’s memory. But there had been vomit. Chryse, who had been Clodia’s nursemaid, cleaned that away.”

  This time it was Scorpus who moved slightly, though he did not interrupt me. He saw immediately what this meant.

  “This is no criticism. Scorpus, you described what you saw. People lied about it. There was a denial of cleaning the room, initially, but I have obtained the truth. So, let us come to my witness.” I introduced him. “This is Menenius.”

  He enjoyed the attention. He even stood up, giving us a prissy little bow, bending slightly from the waist. I almost expected him to pass around the audience handing out tablets with his address and references.

  “Doctor, you were called in when Clodia was found. You examined her. Had the room been cleaned at that point?”

  “No. It was a mess. And I want to point out that when I saw her, the patient—victim—was dressed not in nightwear but as if for a dinner party.”

  “Thank you. I was about to ask you that.”

  “A slave rushed to bring me in a hurry when the body was discovered. People were still hoping I might find signs of life.” Menenius folded his hands together, lacing long fingers. “The child had expired some time previously, so I could do nothing for her. There was, as you mention, Flavia Albia, a degree of effluxion.”

  “Clodia had been sick?”

  “She had. Over herself, her clothes, her bed.”

  “Strong smell of wine?”

  “Indeed.”

  “Have you seen this kind of scene before?”

  “Oh, yes! It’s normally with men. In extreme intoxication, unaware of anything, they can die, by choking on their own vomit. It was the first time for me to find a young girl like that, extremely distressing for everyone, but the situation was familiar and I had no doubt what had happened to her. No doubt at all.”

  “Did you say so?”

  “I did. I would not obfuscate.”

  “So why was your diagnosis not the official verdict?”

  “I said it. Nobody would hear me.” Menenius did look sympathetic. He glanced toward the Volumnii, making a small open-armed gesture of apology. “In my opinion—based on extensive experience—the parents, and the nursemaid too, loved the child too much to bear it. They all saw perfectly well what the situation was, but they could not face such a disturbing, unpalatable truth. When the vigiles officer asked me about this later, there was no foul play to follow up. I saw no reason to alert him, thinking that to make distressing details public would aggravate the parents’ grief.”

  “This has not helped them.”

  “I believe it has not, for which I am naturally sorry.”

  The man was an idiot. They wanted answers. He should have pressed on until they were ready to listen to him.

  Clodia’s mother dropped forward, forehead right on her knees as she broke down weeping. Perhaps she had not cried so freely until now, and it was desperately needed; Volumnius Firmus found it in himself to put an arm over her, then lowered his head to hers and spoke quietly. They were supposed to be divorcing, but in his actions anyone could see the remains of a once-good marriage.

  I also watched the two grandmothers; they looked across the huddled couple at one another. It was clear to me that neither had known until now what really happened. A challenging glance passed between them. Then these two women who had both loved and doted upon Clodia simultaneously reached out and clasped hands, so tightly their knuckles whitened.

  Still sitting at their feet, Clodia’s brother stared at the floor. It would come to him, if it had not already done so, that leaving his sister lying on her back had been a terrible mistake. He would have much to deal with.

  He was young. He had been very drunk. Even so, he had done his best to help her. One day he would come to terms.

  I might be over-romantic, but I still thought the slender pale girl called Ummidia might be reconciled and help him. She did gladiatorial swordplay, with style her trainer told me; she was tough.

  *

  I walked across to the family. Volumnius Firmus raised himself to look at me.

  “I am sorry,” I said. “I have found you the answer, as you wanted. There could never have been any easier solution, but at least you know the truth. It was a misadventure, a tragic accident. She is gone and nothing can change that. Heal your family. Help your son. Perhaps you can all join together to remember her. Use the money that would have been Clodia’s dowry to build a temple in her memory. Something that will bring you all consolation.”

  I left them together and walked back to Tiberius.

  LX

  It had been a long, hard morning. Tiberius embraced me. I let my head rest upon his shoulder. His strong fingers were massaging the back of my neck, while he murmured, “Well done.” Then something happened.

  I heard Tiberius say my name; I caught urgency in his tone. I looked up.

  Into the clearing in front of the Temple of Salus had run an imposing figure. With wild hair and a hysterical expression, this was Polemaena, Pandora’s maid. She gazed around, searching for somebody. Everyone had now stood up and was in the process of leaving, so it was difficult to distinguish one person in the crowd. Paris, the runabout, and various temple slaves were already collecting seats, which added to the confusion. But when she saw who she was looking for, Polemaena let out a cry. She went toward Veronica.

  For a moment I suspected, and I was sure Veronica thought too, that Polemaena had come to curse us all for holding this meeting. It looked as if Veronica was being blamed. My brain somehow assumed the gangsters, the Rabirius family, disapproved of Veronica attending; they never reckoned to help any official investigation.

  That was not it. Some other trouble had occurred. Almost too out of breath to speak, Polemaena held out her hands to Veronica; she was in huge distress. She managed to gasp an anguished plea: “Come! Come, come to him!” Her tone was full of horror as she pointed back the way she had arrived.

  Without a word, Veronica flung her stole back on her shoulders, picked up her long black skirts and ran. Tiberius clutched one of my hands, then we sped after her.

  *

  Opposite the great temple of Quirinus a crowd showed us where to go. The bystanders were all subdued, caught between terror and the usual ghoulish fascination that follows a street accident. A few had distanced themselves, or sought a better view, by climbing the steps of the deified Romulus’ memorial temple; that substantial edifice, with its fifteen columns down each side and a double set of eight on the porch above us, was now hosting a small crowd. Priests were among the people gathered there. A heavy portico surrounded the temple, spoiling the view from it, and beside the street two symbolic myrtle trees named for the patricians and plebeians also obstructed the curious.

  This was at the start of the Vicus Altae Semitae, the high footpaths. Clustered around were various grand private houses, including the building where Sentia Marcella lived. Immediately opposite the Quirinus temple stood a new altar. It was one of a series Domitian had erected, to commemorate the Great Fire of Nero; Nero himself had promised to memorialize that tragedy but never did.

  The altar was made from travertine marble, positioned on a plinth formed of two steps. A heavily bloodstained body was lying there, one arm outstretched, like someone who had attempted to reach the steps as if crawling toward
them for sanctuary.

  Menenius, the doctor, had run here with us. He went straight to the body. He stooped over it, but immediately straightened with a hopeless head-shake. He walked off. There was no need for him.

  Veronica pushed past him. She fell to her knees beside the corpse. It was her son, Vincentius.

  LXI

  As soon as she saw the terrible truth, his mother threw back her head and let out a long, heartaching screech of anguish. He may have been known as Pandora’s boy, but Vincentius was Veronica’s life. She was kneeling in the road, oblivious to stones, dung and litter. This was a desolate mother keening over the child she had brought up alone, crying out aloud for him, lost in mental pain.

  Polemaena stopped, two strides from her. Her tall gaunt figure stayed there, with tears on her face, as if she was guarding the terrible tableau. She represented Pandora and the family, clearly, though she never touched Veronica.

  I was nearby but I did not go to her either. She would not have acknowledged any other presence. This moment was for no one else. We could not have consoled her. I might have helped by keeping others back, but no one tried to approach. For once the curious were repelled.

  *

  Tiberius began to move among the crowd, questioning witnesses. He was the right person for it; he had enough authority but people accepted him. He found out what had happened.

  Vincentius had been strolling toward the Temple of Salus. He was almost there, so close that if he looked down the slope he could see his destination. He had one slave, walking behind him, who had now vanished. That boy was probably the sneak who had been bribed by the rival gang to rat on his movements. There was never any doubt that the rival gang had done this.

  An ambush had been laid for him. In some ways, what had happened next looked like a street accident, but it was nothing of the kind. His family was meant to know. Vincentius could simply have been stabbed as if in a mugging, but that was not the purpose of his savage death. This was a message-killing.