A Bitter Chill (35 page)

“Gentle and shy,” I agreed. “Or to put it another way, weak.”

“That’s a shade harsh, isn’t it?”

“In family matters, I think it’s fair. He finds it almost impossible to stand up to his parents, especially Sempronia…. Well, let’s not speculate till we see who’s run away.”

“All right.” She smiled suddenly. “You and Quintus seem to be on good terms again. Have you made it up?”

“I think so. I’m afraid I was being unreasonable, and perhaps a bit—well—”

“Jealous of Fabia?”

“You don’t miss much, do you?”

“She’s a pleasant girl,” Clarilla said thoughtfully. “And a real beauty. A good family, too. My brother is quite taken with her.”

“Clarus is?” There was something in her tone of voice that caught my ear. “Now what are you up to, Clarilla? Not thinking of match-making, by any chance?”

“Me? No, certainly not. It’s just that Publius has been on his own too long. And he’s ambitious.”

But we couldn’t pursue this intriguing topic, because Clarus and Quintus reappeared.

“We’ve searched everywhere,” Quintus said. “And we can’t find any sign of either Priscus or Diogenes.”

C
HAPTER
XXV

“Two runaways!” Quintus groaned, as we walked back to our little office. “And I thought I’d been so careful, posting guards round the house! If it wasn’t that Rufio is a first-class man, I’d give him a good hiding for this.”

“It’s hardly his fault if Hector got caught out. And you can’t blame Hector altogether, either. What’s the poor man supposed to do? His master comes out of the door and walks up to him, and knocks him unconscious before he realises the danger. Or maybe Priscus just distracted him while Diogenes knocked him out.”

“I suppose so.” We sat down on a couch. “If they were working together, that is. Or did they join forces just to make their escape? They always gave the impression of hating one another’s guts.”

“There is one serious question we need to answer straight away.”

“Just one? I’d say there were several.”

“Which of us is going to wake Sempronia and tell her that either her son or her secretary is suspected of murder?”

“Gods, I need a drink!” He got up and poured us each a glass of white wine from the jug on the table. “This is no way to spend Saturnalia, is it?”

“We’re better off than poor Margarita and Gaius.” I accepted the glass gratefully and took a large sip of the watered wine. “Ugh, this stuff’s not very good. They’ve given us the rough stuff the slaves normally get! Oh well, I need something to keep me awake.” I raised the glass again.

“Aurelia, no! Stop! There’s something wrong with it!” Quintus reached out and knocked the drink out of my hand.

“Hey, don’t do that!” I grumbled, and got up to fetch some more. Abruptly the room began to spin round me, and I sat heavily down again. My limbs felt like lead, and it was hard to breathe. I tried to ask Quintus to help me, but my mouth wouldn’t move. As my mind slowed down, I had only one clear thought: the wine is poisoned.

***

I felt like death. Somebody had kicked me in the stomach, and was wielding a hammer inside my head. But I was awake, and that was something.

I was lying on a bed in a small green-painted room, with thin daylight shining in through a high glazed window. It showed me a figure sitting on a stool close to my head. He smiled as he saw my eyes open.

“Hello, Aurelia,” he said. “Thank the gods you’re awake. You gave us a fright.”

I said “Hello, Quintus,” but only a croaking sound came out. Whoever had kicked my belly had filled my mouth and nose with sand.

“Don’t worry. I’m here, and you’re going to be all right.” He took my hand and held it. “How do you feel?”

“Not strong enough to answer silly questions,” I croaked, and he laughed.

“I’ll interpret that as ‘I’m getting better, so kind of you to ask.’”

“Where are we? This isn’t the Oak Tree.”

“We’re still at Clarus’ villa. You’ve been unconscious for more than twelve hours. It’s good to have you back again.”

“Can I have a drink of water please?”

“Here.” He held a beaker to my lips. “You must drink as much as you can. I’m afraid it may make you sick.”

It did, but after that unpleasantness, I felt better and sat up. Quintus held out a cool damp cloth dipped in rosewater, and I wiped my face with it. He put his arm round my shoulders for a few heartbeats, and I felt better still, comforted and safe. I even began to think I might survive.

The scene in the office came gradually back into my mind. “I drank some wine, and then everything went strange. Was it poisoned?”

“Yes. I noticed the odd smell of it when I was about to drink some. I wish I could have stopped you sooner.”

“But how could it be poisoned? There were only the two of us in the room.”

“The wine was left in our office while we were in the kitchen. Nobody admits putting it there, and almost anybody could have added the poison to it. I suppose the most likely are Priscus, Diogenes, or Timaeus. Can you remember last night, before you drank the wine? The banquet, and Plautius’ death?”

The memories flowed back like a river in full spate. I shivered. “So much death. So much killing.”

“I thought I was going to lose you.” He leaned close and kissed me. “I never want to lose you.”

“Then you won’t.” We kissed again, until I pulled away and smiled at him, suddenly feeling absurdly happy. “
Now
you can ask me how I feel, and I’ll say, ‘It’s not so bad, thanks, no worse than a nasty hangover.’”

“Good. Because as soon as you feel up to it, we’ve got work to do.”

I sat fully upright, swung my legs out of bed, and stood up. I felt weak and washed-out, and the hammering in my skull beat faster, but then slowed down to an ordinary parade-ground drumbeat. I sat down again on the bed. “I don’t seem able to think and stand up at the same time.”

He smiled. “Then stick to thinking for now. Do you remember, just before you passed out, we discovered Priscus and Diogenes had run off?”

“Yes. Does anyone know where they went?” I reached for the cool cloth and wiped my face again.

“It snowed hard all last night, so there was no point trying to follow them. But I think Priscus has gone to Eburacum.”

“Surely he could just as easily have headed for the coast, if he’s running away.”

“We don’t know that he is. He apparently said last night to Clarus that he wants to talk to Candidus about his father’s death. That’s one reason. And I assume he’ll be at the slave auction in two days’ time, looking for Margarita and Gaius.”

“Of course—the poor things. There’s no news, I suppose?”

“None, I’m afraid. At least Priscus should be fairly easy to pick out in a town like Eburacum. A well-dressed young nobleman, not a soldier, on his own in a place he doesn’t know, especially at holiday time. He’s bound to attract attention. I’ve sent Rufio over there today to start looking for him.”

“Diogenes will be more difficult to find,” I said. “Has he gone to Eburacum too, do you think?”

“That’s my guess. He can be anonymous there. He thinks he’s a free man now, and he may have saved some money. But having been a slave, he’ll know how to travel and live without drawing attention to himself.”

“He
thinks
he’s a free man? You mean he isn’t?”

Quintus shook his head. “Plautius has proved himself a match for Sempronia, right to the end.”

“How do you mean?” I reached for the jug of water and poured myself some. It tasted good, and didn’t make me queasy.

“You remember Clarus told us he witnessed a codicil that Plautius had written? Well, so he did. It contained instructions to disinherit Candidus. But there was only one alteration in the rest of the document. Plautius crossed out the part about freeing Diogenes. No other changes at all, so Sempronia’s beside herself, but there’s nothing she can do.”

“Good. And typical of the old boy. Gods, who’s going to keep Sempronia under control, now that cunning old fox is dead?”

“Not Priscus,” Quintus said. “Candidus, perhaps?”

“Perhaps, with a little help from Albia. We ought to go and talk to her ladyship, I suppose. Or have you interviewed her already?”

It was like a scene from a comic play. The bedroom door opened, and Sempronia herself stood there, as if she’d been waiting for my cue. Clarilla, in the corridor behind her, was saying anxiously, “I don’t think we should disturb Aurelia, really I don’t. She’s not even regained consciousness yet.” But she might as well have tried to talk an angry elephant out of charging across Africa.

Sempronia came into the room, glaring at Quintus, then at me. She remarked sourly, “It’s all right, she’s awake. Good. Now perhaps you can proceed with your investigations.”

“Yes, I’m awake. But forgive me if I don’t get up. I’m not feeling at my best, having narrowly escaped being murdered by one of your household.”

Her face reddened. “I
beg
your pardon? How dare you say such a thing! Well, I suppose I must put your rudeness down to your feeling unwell.”

“Fine. And I’ll put yours down to having about as much sensitivity as a granite obelisk.” Of course I didn’t say those words, but merely thinking them made me feel good. The anger I’d been carefully keeping in check these last few days welled up, still under control, but giving me strength and purpose. I wanted to shake her arrogant superiority and see what she knew about the tensions and violence that seethed around her.

“I assume,” I said, “that you’re not accusing my sister or your son Decimus of trying to poison Quintus and me? The poison must have been added to our wine well after they’d left here.”

“It seems so,” she conceded grudgingly.

“And you’ll agree that an attempt to poison us, the investigators, only makes sense if it was made by whoever murdered your husband?”

She thought about it, and gave a reluctant nod. “But nobody apart from your sister and Decimus had reason to kill my poor Gnaeus.”

“On the contrary, several people did. Your younger son, or your secretary, or perhaps your husband’s physician.” Or you yourself, I could have added, but that was going too far even for me.

I braced myself for an explosion, but it didn’t happen. Instead she heaved a deep sigh and sat down on a stool by the foot of my bed. “I don’t know. I thought that I did, but I don’t.” She glanced at me without her usual arrogance. “Now, I’d like you both to see this.” She held something out towards Quintus.

It was a small piece of papyrus with writing on it. Quintus scanned it and passed it to me, and I felt a shock of recognition. It was a scruffy piece, roughly torn from a larger sheet. I read the words aloud:

I’M SORRY FOR DOING SUCH A WICKED THING. PLEASE FORGIVE ME.

“Where was this found?” I asked.

“Among Priscus’ belongings. After he left, I had my slaves search his room thoroughly, to look for some indication of where he’s gone. I didn’t expect them to find anything. I know why my son has left.”

“Why?” Quintus asked.

“Because of Margarita and her son. We should never have agreed to let the kidnappers have them. It seemed a good idea, and of course I never intended Priscus to find out that my husband and I had a hand in their disappearance. But he somehow discovered it, and after he was rescued, he was so angry with both of us, so bitter and hurt. He said we had sold the two people he loved most in the world. He even hinted—you may find this hard to credit—he even hinted that Gaius is his son.”

We both sat quiet.

“Of course it isn’t true,” she hurried on. “It’s just a tale that Margarita has told him, to make herself even more desirable to him. But if
he
believes it, it would explain why he turned to…how he could bring himself to….” She couldn’t get the word out.

“Murder,” Quintus said.

“Yes.” It was barely more than a whisper.

“You think this is Priscus’ confession, then?” I asked.

“What else can it be?” Suddenly she seemed to crumple, to collapse into herself, and she looked old and frail, nearer seventy than fifty.

I said, “It isn’t a confession. At least not to murder.”

A spark of her old spirit flared up. “And what makes you so certain of that, pray?”

“Priscus didn’t write this. The person who did was confessing to nothing more sinister than letting your cat escape.” I told her about the note found with Leander, which was the twin to this one, and about how Gaius came to write his pleas for forgiveness. “I’m a little surprised that you don’t remember the incident,” I challenged Sempronia. “It was only a few days ago.”

“I do recall something, now you mention it. But I did not pay much attention when Gaius brought me his lines to look at. And I never saw the note that was found with Leander.” She raised her head and looked at me. “Then I must thank you, Aurelia Marcella.”

“For what?”

“You have been instrumental in proving that neither of my sons killed his father. That is a profound relief.”

I wonder if I really have, I thought, and was glad when Quintus courteously ushered her out of the room, using my weariness as an excuse.

It was a relief to lie back on the bed. Quintus came and sat beside me, taking my hand. “We seem to be making some progress at last, Aurelia.”

“I’m not so sure. There are still four people who could have poisoned Plautius and then left that note to be found in Priscus’ room. The two with the most obvious motives have run off. The one with the best opportunity had no motive. The fourth, who had an opportunity and a motive, is related to the provincial Governor.”

“Four that we know of.” He smiled. “I’ve faced worse odds than that. Now I don’t want to tire you out. Shall I leave you to sleep for a while?”

“No, don’t go. I must be on the mend. I feel quite hungry. It’s dawning on me that the good side to this situation is being here at Clarus’ villa for an extra day, with another chance to sample his chef’s brilliant cooking.”

“I expect we’ll all be eating banquet leftovers today. Just steer clear of any stuffed dates, that’s my advice.”