Murder in the Forum

by Rosemary Rowe

  I flushed. Unhappy enough to be caught spying, but a charge of stealing could bring the might of the law against me. I said hastily, ‘My patron Marcus has asked me to investigate. However, I have exceeded my instructions. He did not ask me to search here. I hoped to find the phial, that is all.’

  Phyllidia’s plain face darkened. ‘Indeed? Then perhaps you should have had the courtesy to ask me. There is no mystery. I have strapped it under my garments, as my servant told you. You wish me to produce it?’ She flung the mourning veil onto the bed.

  ‘If possible, lady.’ I tried to sound as humble as I could, in the hope of allaying her anger. Phyllidia in this mood would tell me nothing. But she was not to be pacified. To my horror, instead of asking me to go outside, she turned away, hoisted up her outer tunic and – with her back to me – began to fumble among her inner garments.

  It was a protest, I understood that, designed to make me feel how much I had intruded on her privacy. I was agonised by the impropriety of it – as no doubt she had intended. I said, ‘Lady, I will wait outside the door . . .’ but it was too late.

  Phyllidia let drop her skirts and whirled round, a small blue glass flagon in her hand. ‘Why should you do that, citizen? It is clear how I am regarded here – a worthless female, with no more rights than a slave. I hoped my subjugation had perished with my father, but I see that I was wrong. Better I had drunk this, as I intended.’

  ‘Lady, no!’

  She withered me with a glance. ‘No? Dragged here unwillingly by land and sea to marry a man I do not even know? Refused permission to see my friends, spied on and restricted at every turn? And even now, I cannot leave my room an instant without a stranger searching my intimate belongings. I should be grateful, perhaps, for your restraint. In your place my father would have had my woman strip me while he searched.’

  I was genuinely horrified, and it must have shown in my face.

  She raised her chin defiantly. ‘Well, soon it will be so no longer. I shall have a powerful protector. Gaius the magistrate has agreed to approach the praetor and offer himself to be my legal guardian. We shall see who treats me as a servant then.’

  I was astonished. It seemed that Marcus had lost no time in persuading Gaius to adopt the duty. But some apology was necessary. I had already alienated Gaius and if he heard of this latest outrage it could easily cost me my liberty, Marcus or not. I said sincerely, ‘Lady, you have my most abject apology. I had no thought of treating you so ill – it was merely that I hoped to find the phial. Octavius—’

  ‘Ah yes, Octavius.’ The tone softened and for a moment the stolid face looked almost tender. ‘Where have they taken him?’

  I saw an advantage and I took it shamelessly. ‘I believe they are holding him in the house. I advised my patron not to send him to the jail. I do not believe that he poisoned your father.’ I took the phial from her unprotesting fingers as I spoke. ‘This may help to prove his innocence.’

  This time there was a thaw in her manner. ‘It may?’

  I held the bottle to me. ‘Of course. He knew there was a phial, but since it is full it could scarcely have been used to poison anyone, not even the dog.’

  Phyllidia frowned. ‘So, there is a possibility that my father was poisoned?’

  ‘Not by Octavius,’ I said. ‘At least not personally. I was with him at the banquet and he would have had no opportunity.’

  The frown lifted a little. ‘You do not see him as a murderer?’

  ‘On the contrary, I think he would do anything for you,’ I said. ‘Another reason why I think I should take away that phial of poison which you stole from your father. You did steal it, I assume? The maidservant was right?’

  Phyllidia coloured. ‘I told you the truth,’ she said. ‘My father ordered me to follow him to this province and meet him in Glevum. He had some business to see to in the north and then he intended to arrange a marriage for me. A political marriage – he had planned it with the Emperor. That alone would be enough to make me fear it. I tried to protest, wrote to him begging him to change his mind, but he would not listen. I intended to confront him here – threaten to take the poison, in public if necessary. I would have done it, too. I am not a chattel to be sold to the highest bidder.’

  Poor girl, I thought – that was exactly how her father had regarded her, although as an unattractive daughter she was not even a valuable chattel. I said, in an attempt to be comforting, ‘Your fate would not have been so dreadful. My patron Marcus is a just and honourable man.’

  She turned on me. ‘Then I would have been used to ruin him. My servants are all spies, and Marcus is known, in Rome, to be a friend of the Governor Pertinax. The Emperor fears him – no doubt in time my father’s spies would have found some excuse to bring about his downfall. Already there are whispers in the court that Pertinax is to be moved from his command – to some other post, perhaps, where he is away from the disaffected legions.’

  I was staring at her.

  ‘You doubt me? Then you should talk to Zetso about it. Octavius heard him crowing about this to some handsome charioteer, one evening in the Circus Maximus – bragging of his master’s influence. That is how I knew of it. I am not well versed in the intrigues of the city.’

  ‘Octavius frequents the circus?’

  She smiled. ‘Not often, no. He went because my father was there. The foolish boy had heard rumours of an unbeatable horse and driver, and was hoping to win some money on the races in order to offer for my hand. Thought it would impress my father. Being Octavius, of course, he lost what little money he had.’ She said it with affectionate irritation. If Octavius attained his wish, I thought, and took Phyllidia to wife, he would not have the easiest of lives.

  I nodded, slipping the little bottle carefully into the folds of my toga. There was a cord threaded through a glass eyelet near the stopper, and I looped that around my belt where it would be safe.

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘I will do my best for him. I’ll take this to my patron. He will be pleased.’ That was true. Marcus was more likely to be impressed by a phial of poison, even if it had not been used, than by all the information in the world. For good measure, I decided, I would go back to the heap and take him the moustache, however malodorous it was. I could always hire a slave to carry it for me.

  Phyllidia inclined her head. ‘And I will send for a little bread and water to sustain me. There will be no meals served in this house, of course, until after the funeral, and I will observe the public fast – but I see no reason why I should go hungry.’

  ‘You do not altogether mourn your father?’

  She met my eyes then, and I was shocked by the fire in them. ‘I will tell you the truth, citizen. I stole that poison with the intention of drinking it, but the idea of giving it to my father instead had occurred to me. I was almost ready to do it. Fortunately, I was spared the necessity – by accident or design. And I warn you, citizen, I do not greatly care which it was. Even if it was shown to be a murder, I should not wish to bring a case against . . . whoever did it.’

  She meant it. Under Roman law there is no case without an accuser. ‘I see,’ I said softly. ‘Though the Emperor himself might take an interest. I will send a servant with your supper.’

  She had turned quite white, with little patches of scarlet on her cheeks. And with that I left her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  My first thought was to attend my patron. The interview with Phyllidia had delayed me, and Marcus is not in any case a patient man. Pausing only to collect my cloak from the alcove where I had left it and to glance into the servants’ ante-room in case there was now a slave available (there wasn’t), I hurried to the door with the firm intention of stepping through it and making my way to Marcus with all available speed.

  The doorkeeper had other ideas. Instead of opening the door at my approach, he stepped out in front of me with a ferocious scowl, and the thick baton at his side found its way menacingly into his hand. ‘You were thinking of leaving, citizen?’<
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  It was not an encouraging opening. Obviously I was thinking of leaving or I would not have been making towards the door. However, over a long life I have learned never to quarrel, if I can avoid it, with a man who is bigger and younger than I am and armed with a baton.

  I flashed the man a hollow smile. ‘I am under orders to rejoin my patron, doorkeeper, but there are still no slaves in evidence. I was resigning myself to a long lonely walk through the town.’

  The smile was strictly unrequited. I remembered with unease that the doorman had been suspicious of me from the beginning. I did not expect him actually to strike me – after all I was a citizen, albeit a unprepossessing one – and I was known to be a protégé of Marcus. That alone should afford me a little protection – which was indeed why I had mentioned him at all. But from the look on the doorman’s face it would not take much to have him wield that baton.

  ‘Have no fear, citizen,’ the doorman said, with a nasty sneering emphasis on the final word, ‘you will not be walking through the town, lonely or otherwise. My master Gaius wishes to see you. He is awaiting you in the librarium.’

  ‘Gaius?’ When I had left the old man earlier he had not seemed eager to keep up the acquaintance.

  ‘I do not know what you have done to offend him, citizen, but he sent down his page a moment ago with orders to stop you leaving. I understand he is not best pleased with you. Now, have I to lock this door, and accompany you upstairs with this baton, or will you go up quietly yourself?’

  I can make a choice, when it is presented clearly. I said, ‘I will be honoured to attend upon him again.’

  The doorkeeper looked unimpressed. ‘Then I suggest you do it quickly, citizen. My master is an old man, but he can be fearsome when roused.’

  It was hard to imagine the querulous old magistrate deserving that description, but I turned away obediently and retraced my steps up the stairs that I had so recently come down. I was, frankly, puzzled. What could have occurred to visit the wrath of Gaius on my head?

  I tapped apologetically on the door. The young page opened it, and I was shown in to where Gaius was waiting.

  The doorman was not wrong. Gaius was furious. He was sitting on a stool beside the table, and he rose to face me as I came in. His thin face was white with anger, and his eyes blazed. Even the dog crouching at his feet could sense the mood, and rose at my approach to growl at me menacingly.

  ‘So, you have come.’ The voice, customarily no more than a rusty whisper, had become a croaking bellow. ‘Well, I warn you, citizen, I am most displeased. Asking intrusive questions of me is one thing – I am an old man and a magistrate and I am accustomed to defending myself in the senate. But this is different. Phyllidia is more than my guest, she is my ward – or will be very shortly. I will not have you distress her in this fashion.’

  I was surprised that the news of my escapade had reached him so soon. Phyllidia must have gone to him at once. The dog was straining at me in an unpleasant fashion, only restrained by Gaius’s hand upon the chain. I glanced at it nervously.

  I said, as soothingly as possible, ‘Most respected Excellence, I assure you there was no disrespect intended. I went to her room simply to attempt to find a phial of poison which I knew was in the building somewhere. It is unfortunate that she surprised me searching in her travelling chest, but I was acting under the orders of my patron—’

  Gaius lunged towards me with a roar. ‘You were doing what? Searching her possessions? Under my very roof? As if matters were not already bad enough! By Juno, if you were not a citizen I should have you flogged for this.’ For a moment I feared that he would strike me himself, or loose the dog at me, but instead he thumped his bony old hand down on the table with such force that his writing papers rattled, and the page boy in the corner flinched. The dog howled and sat down, eyeing me with mistrust.

  I was looking at it in a very similar vein.

  Meanwhile, I was thinking hastily. I had miscalculated, clearly. Whatever had been the reason for my summons it had not been my searching for the phial, and rather than assisting myself I had now given Gaius additional cause for displeasure. I tried a different tack.

  ‘Excellence,’ I said, in the best imitation of Marcus’s manner that I could muster, ‘this house has been the scene of a most unfortunate event. More unfortunate, perhaps, than you suppose.’ I saw his features change, and I pressed my advantage. ‘I am merely obeying the orders of my patron. If aspects of this reach the Emperor—’ I stopped dramatically and nodded towards the door. ‘Between ourselves, perhaps . . .?’

  Gaius was not a magistrate for nothing. At the hint of international intrigue his manner altered abruptly. He nodded sharply to the page and gestured to him to leave, so peremptorily that the slave went scuttling from the room like a startled chicken.

  The old magistrate sat down on his stool again, and his hound skulked under it to lie at his feet. That at least was a more favourable sign. ‘Well?’ Gaius said sharply. ‘Tell your tale, pavement-maker, and make it plausible, or I shall see that you never lay a tile in this town again.’

  That was a threat which worried me more than a beating. I made a rapid calculation. Rumours that Felix had been poisoned could not now be long in starting, at least in this house – the arrest of Octavius had seen to that. Indeed, if Gaius had spoken to Phyllidia, he had presumably heard it already, and my own blurted explanation a moment earlier had mentioned a poison phial.

  I took a deep breath. ‘It appears, Excellence, that the death of Felix may not have been quite the accident that it appeared.’

  He had been white with fury, but I swear he paled. ‘Nonsense!’ he said shortly. ‘The man choked. I saw it myself.’

  ‘And your dog?’ I said.

  The old man glanced towards his remaining animal with such affection I almost warmed towards them both. ‘Poisoned,’ he said sulkily. ‘I would like to lay my hands on the scoundrel who did it. Felix, I dare swear. He has always hated this household. Unfortunately he is—’ he broke off suddenly. ‘Is this something to do with that poison phial you mentioned?’

  ‘I believe it is not entirely unconnected.’

  ‘You cavil like a Greek. Is it, or isn’t it? In any case I cannot believe that Phyllidia is involved. Why should she want to poison my dog? And how? She was not even at the feast.’

  ‘That was fortunate for her,’ I said carefully. ‘I have reason to believe that the poison was not intended for the dog.’

  He thought about that for a moment. ‘You are telling me that there is some connection? Felix was poisoned too?’

  ‘I believe it is a possibility. And my patron is of the same opinion.’

  ‘Juno and Mercury!’ the old man cried. ‘No wonder he was urging me to hold my tongue. But surely . . . you saw Felix take the nut. That idiot Tommonius cannot have contrived to poison them all. Even if he had planned that Felix should be offered nuts, how could he know which one the man would take?’

  I thought again of the scene at the banquet, Felix with his goblet in his hand lurching forward, flushed with drink and lust, to seize a nut, while the young acrobat swayed forward, teasing him, with the nut bowl balanced on his upturned feet. So it was Tommonius who had put the bowl there. That was something I had not realised until that moment.

  ‘An interesting point,’ I murmured. ‘Perhaps I should tell you that, according to the maid, Phyllidia did have poison in her possession. She had stolen it from Felix himself.’

  ‘You think that she intended to poison her father?’

  ‘An interesting question, magistrate. You say “intended”. That suggests that you are certain she didn’t. Is that, perhaps, because you know who did? You yourself had no cause to love him, and you were very defensive, a little earlier, when I asked you about meeting Felix once before in Rome.’

  He flashed me a glance. The anger had gone out of him now, and he was clearly frightened. ‘You really believe this? That the man was poisoned? Here, under my roof? Dear gods! But he w
as an imperial favourite.’ He buried his head in his hands.

  I said nothing. Experience has taught me that silence is sometimes a formidable weapon when a man is gripped by terror. I continued saying nothing long enough to allow Gaius to conjure graphic pictures of what might constitute a fitting punishment for a man who had allowed – perhaps had caused – one of Commodus’s favourites to die of poison at his table.

  It was enough. Gaius gave a little whimper of despair. I almost moved towards him, but the dog at his feet growled warningly and I thought better of the impulse.

  ‘It is true,’ he said at last, ‘I did meet the Perennis family once, in Rome – Felix among them. He was an objectionable man, even then, and treated us badly, but I was forced to have dealings with him. His wife, however, was very good to mine.’

  ‘Indeed?’ I was surprised, remembering Marcus’s scornful dismissal of the lady.

  My voice must have betrayed me, for Gaius hurried on, ‘When we arrived in the Imperial City and my young bride was exhausted by the heat and the journey, it was Phyllidia’s mother who befriended her.’ To my embarrassment, his voice was shaking with emotion. ‘Of course, she was much scorned by Roman society – she was no beauty and she had few graces – her father had to dower her well to get her married at all – but she was a kindly woman. Her husband held her in open contempt because she had never given him sons – but she took my wife into her own home, treated her like a sister and was with her when she died.’ He looked me squarely in the eye. ‘For her sake alone, I would have hated Felix. And for her sake I will make Phyllidia my ward.’

  ‘Felix treated her badly?’

  ‘Appallingly. There are some in Rome who think he murdered her, though naturally this is not a rumour one would dare repeat. Certainly, he sent her a gift of wine and she died shortly after, but the connection would be hard to prove. She would have watered the wine, and there was a problem with the well. Others died at the same time, who drank from it.’