Conspiracies of Rome (21 page)

    As if from nowhere, slaves appeared with bread and olives. I ate without enthusiasm or much awareness.

    Out in the street, among the householders and slaves about their normal business, I felt a little more human. Some gave me sorrowful looks. One of the neighbours I’d seen the night before came over and embraced me, expressing his regrets in a thick accent I couldn’t place.

    I went down to the Basilica with Martin and the old watchman for support.

    ‘Shocking – perfectly shocking,’ said the prefect from behind his desk.

    I sat before him, alone in the office. He’d already had the news, and his sympathy extended to pouring me a cup of wine with his own hands.

    ‘A priest, and so brutally slain,’ he continued. ‘I shall hardly be able to bear reading my copy of the medical report. Have another cup, my dear friend. The wine is from Cyprus. I have it brought in specially. You’ll agree it’s so much finer on the palate than the local muck. Now –’ he leaned across the desk – ‘what brings you to see me?’

    My mouth fell open. ‘I . . . I want to ask what investigation you will begin. Where I come from, we sort these things out ourselves. I will find the killers myself. But I shall need assistance. You are the civil power in Rome. You know this city. You have men who can help with the search. I’ve come to ask how we can work together in the investigation.’

    The prefect smiled indulgently. ‘Oh dear me, no. I can’t possibly do anything about this. I’m far too busy to sanction any investigation.’

    He lifted a pile of reports. ‘Can you begin to imagine how many murders there are in Rome? There were forty last month alone. There were two last night, including your friend. Not one has been or can be cleared up.

    ‘No – wait – one was cleared up, I think.’ He dug through the pile. ‘Ah, yes. A woman was murdered in her bed. That was another shocking crime. Her breasts were sliced off and her privy parts sewn shut. We solved it when the husband confessed to the local baker, then hanged himself. It was to do with disputed paternity of a child. Or something.’

    He took the sheet in question and added it to a clear space on his desk. He looked at it with a satisfied smile, and poured more wine.

    ‘It’s all to do with resources, you see.’ He took in a mouthful of wine and swilled it round before swallowing. ‘You can’t make bricks without straw.’

    ‘But he was a man of God,’ I said, astonished. ‘You can’t just ignore his being murdered in the street.’

    ‘But was he murdered in the street?’ The prefect leaned forward, pressing his fingers together. He switched into Greek: ‘What
did
you find outside Populonium?’

    A few years on, and I’d have given him back a look of stony incomprehension. As it was, I said nothing, but perceptibly stiffened.

    ‘You have many accomplishments for a barbarian,’ he said, pleased with his stratagem – not that I could see its purpose. He switched back into Latin. ‘What did you find outside Populonium?’ he asked again. ‘I had positive orders from –’ he waved a hand vaguely in the air – ‘from on high to send a mounted unit all the way over to Populonium. You were saved carrying a reasonable amount of gold and what I admit was a most holy relic. But none of this can explain the urgency of my instructions. Tell me – what did you find there?’

    ‘The relic and some other things,’ I said in confusion.

    ‘
What
“other things”?’

    Yes, what ‘other things’? I went cold.

    ‘There were some letters,’ I said with dawning horror. ‘There were three sealed letters.’

    ‘Letters?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Letters from whom? To whom? What was in them?’

    ‘I don’t know. Maximin had them.’

    ‘Did he read them?’

    ‘I don’t know.’

    The prefect shrugged and took up his cup again.

    I did know. Maximin had forgotten about the things just as I had. Letters hadn’t been on our list of things to grab from those English mercenaries; and since we’d got everything that was on the list, we’d paid no attention to anything else. But it wasn’t the gold or the relic that had primarily got that chase under way. What was it they’d said as they caught up? ‘Don’t let the fat one get away.’ They’d have killed me, sure enough. But Maximin had the letters, and they were after him.

    Maximin had been reminded of the letters in the dispensator’s office. That was why he wanted me out of the way that evening. He’d wanted time to read and think. What had he found? Whatever it was, it must have been big: he’d still been disturbed next morning. That explained his anger with me.

    Why hadn’t I picked up on this? Why had I spent the morning prancing about in fine clothes? If I hadn’t been so full of myself, and I knew I could have got information out of him had I tried, Maximin might still  . . .

    I checked the thought and focused back on the prefect. He was looking very pleased with himself. I declined another cup.

    He sighed. ‘I truly would like to help you. But unless you can show me those letters or tell me what was in them, I have nowhere to begin with an investigation.

    ‘Of course,’ he added as an afterthought, ‘if you wanted to offer a reward for information, I’d be glad to hold the money for you  . . .’

    As I left his office, I nearly bumped into a slave carrying another jug of wine. The old watchman shrugged when I said how little I’d got. I couldn’t say what I had expected. I’d read that the Romans had authorities to investigate and try crimes. Plainly, my sources were old. It would all be down to me – which I supposed was for the best.

21

Back in the house, all was chaos again. Marcella was running about screaming. A cane in her hand, she was lashing out at any slaves within reach. There was a gathering of the other guests out in the garden.

    I went into the courtyard. The diplomat was saying something to one of his slaves that I couldn’t understand, but, from its tone, sounded humorous.

    ‘What’s happening now?’ I asked.

    ‘The dispensator’s men came just after you left,’ he explained in his slow but correct Latin. ‘They searched the reverend father’s rooms and took all his papers. They were in yours too.’

    He smiled, showing the wide gap between his front teeth, and said something more about that cargo of incense from Athens. I’d normally have paid attention – the man was a mine of interesting information about all matters commercial. Now, I rushed upstairs.

    They had been in my rooms. Everything written was gone, including the books I’d borrowed from Marcella. Everything else had been thoroughly searched. Maximin’s suite was almost bare. Even his spare clothes had been taken.

    Gretel filled in the details. Three large men had turned up just as I must have turned the corner away from the house. They’d waved the search order under Marcella’s nose and made her open the doors. Aside from an explanation of what the search order allowed, they’d spoken not a word from start to finish.

    The diplomat took me aside. ‘Is it true that an ethereal light was seen above the reverend father’s body when it was found?’ he asked. ‘This house may have been blessed by the final days of a saint. You should make sure to hold on to some of his property.’

    Maximin a saint? He’d been many things, and I’d loved him for all of them. But a saint? I said nothing.

    Marcella, though, was relishing the possibility that she had let rooms to a saint. She continued in hysterical mood. ‘They haven’t got no right to do this to persons of quality such as myself,’ she sobbed to no one in particular. ‘In my husband’s day, the rule with quality was always to ask to come in. Search orders was for everyone lower. Oh, what sad times these is . . . what terrible sad times. This world isn’t for much longer, I can tell you.’

    So she raved on. But I could see the satisfied glint in her eyes. Having a guest murdered – even away from the house – would not in itself mean good business. But a martyrdom was an entirely different matter. When I got back, I’d seen a couple of well-dressed slaves hanging around in the entrance hall. These had been sent over to enquire about rooms. The city would soon be filling up with assorted dignitaries, you see, for the consecration of the converted temple. For business purposes, Maximin’s death had come at just the right moment. Already expecting a full occupancy of her rooms, I had no doubt Marcella was now calculating by how much she could increase her rates. She lashed out with her cane, telling all around her that persons of her quality expected better treatment. But I could see her mind was elsewhere.

    I dodged behind her back, making for the exit. This was all too much. Maximin was dead. No one knew who had killed him. No one in any position to know seemed to care. I felt like a man who climbs down a well and then discovers that the friend holding the rope at the top has been called away. From that evening in Ethelbert’s palace till now, I’d always been able to turn to Maximin for support or for mere companionship. Now he was gone, and my world was falling apart in confusion and horror.

    I wanted to get back to my room and gather my thoughts. But the diplomat saw me. He clutched gently at my sleeve and led me over to the glass table.

    ‘Listen,’ he said gently, ‘I know this is not the best time – though it is a valid question
when
is the best time for what I have to say. But I really want your company for breakfast the day after tomorrow, on the Jewish Sabbath Day.

    ‘No, I can’t say now. But I will say everything on Saturday. Can I count on your company for breakfast? It will affect both you and your dear friend, the now-blessed Maximin.’

    His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Please keep this quiet.’ He repeated in an even softer whisper, ‘Absolutely quiet.’

    He turned back towards Marcella. I escaped into the sunlight. I didn’t want to go back to my room. I’d had another thought.

    ‘Where are you going, sir?’ Martin had appeared beside me from nowhere.

    ‘To the dispensator, of course. Where else do you think I should be going?’ I tried to put a firmness of purpose into my voice that I didn’t at all feel. I stepped back into the house. I’d not be needing a cloak in this sunshine.

    ‘Shall I come too, sir?’ asked Martin. ‘I can get you into the Lateran.’

    ‘I think I can do that for myself,’ I said, inspecting myself in a little mirror on the wall. My face looked rather haggard, but I wasn’t setting out on a social visit. ‘I’ll be grateful if you could start preparing the funeral, Martin. If you don’t know anyone, speak to the doctor. He must have a recommendation.’

    ‘I don’t think, sir, that will be necessary,’ he said with a close look. ‘The dispensator’s men placed a seal on the storeroom door. In view of the rumours circulating, I think the body will soon be removed to the Lateran.’

    I ignored the invitation to talk about these ‘rumours’. I’d already dismissed them as the gossip of slaves for whom finding a murdered priest wasn’t enough. ‘We’ll speak again when I’m back from the Lateran,’ I said.

    The dispensator was reading as I walked unannounced into his office. Getting into the Lateran had been easy. Getting into any building is easy, so long as you make it seem to the guards and receptionists or whatever that you are too important to be stopped.

    I sat down opposite the dispensator, who continued reading. He must have known I was there. I waited. Eventually, he looked up at me.

    ‘You have an interesting past, young man,’ he said, waving his hand over what I could now see was Maximin’s report. ‘You came here for penance, and penance you shall be given.’

    ‘What is in those letters?’ I asked abruptly.

    ‘These letters from Father Maximin?’ he asked in return. ‘Their contents are for the eyes only of Holy Mother Church.’

    ‘Stop playing with me,’ I snapped. ‘You know perfectly well what we found outside Populonium. What is in
those
letters?’

    ‘Do you not know that yourself?’ The dispensator brushed an invisible speck of dust from his sleeve.

    ‘I didn’t read them. I don’t know their contents.’

    ‘Too busy with the gold, I imagine,’ he said, a hint of a sneer in his voice. ‘It might have been well for Father Maximin had you paid more attention when you could.’

    ‘You received a letter during our last meeting, didn’t you?’ I asked. ‘It told you about the letters. As soon as you’d read it, you sent for Maximin. What did you discuss with him? What is in those letters? Who told you about them? What else did you find in his papers?’