Death at Pompeia's Wedding (17 page)

On the left was a narrow passage to the rear, which I guessed led into spaces used for slaves or stores. If there was a kitchen area it was out of sight, but more likely Antoninus sent out for more elaborate meals, or wangled invitations from his friends or guilds. Even braziers were a danger in a block like this.

However there was one heating the corner of the room, beside an altar table with the household gods displayed. I went over to it, thinking to warm myself while I was waiting to be summoned by our host, since there was nowhere obvious for a guest to sit.

There was still no movement from the other room. From my new position I could glimpse it through the half-open door. It was obviously some kind of study area: there were several wooden racks containing scrolls in pots, while other – perhaps less-regarded – manuscripts were neatly stacked on top, beside half a dozen little oil-lamps and a water clock festooned with jet and gold around the base. It appeared that Antoninus liked expensive things. It seemed too, that he had seen and admired Redux’s foreign chair, because there was one exactly like it, pulled up to the bench which its owner was clearly using as a desk. He was leaning intently forward on it now, for though the open door obscured the greater part of him, the edges of his toga were clearly visible. There was another brazier standing quite close to him in there.

I was preparing to give a warning cough to remind him we were here, but something in his slumped attitude – combined with Redux’s obvious alarm – finally warned me of what I should have guessed before.

I glanced at my companions and rushed into the room. ‘Dear Jupiter!’ I cried.

He was sprawled across the desk, his hands outstretched and his face and upper body in a pool of seeping black. I thought for a moment it was drying blood, but it was only the contents of a bowl of ink that he’d been working with, and which his dying gesture had upset and spilled. The blood was quite a different colour, though there wasn’t much of it – apart from the thin stream that had trickled down his arm from the knife stuck into his back.

I turned to Minimus who had followed me inside and was staring at this spectacle with wide and stricken eyes. ‘Go at once and find a member of the town watch, if you can – or even a soldier from the garrison. You might find one off duty in the wine shop opposite. Someone in authority should know of this at once.’

The little slave glanced up at me. His skin had taken a pale and greenish hue and he looked as though he was close to being sick. The adventure of helping me with questioning had obviously dimmed. ‘You think that he is dead?’

At any other time that would have made me smile. Antoninus was as dead as it was possible to be. ‘It rather looks like it.’

‘The same hand that killed Honorius, you think?’

I shook my head. ‘We can’t be sure of that – at present anyway. You go and find that soldier while we take a closer look.’

Minimus nodded gratefully and disappeared at once.

‘What do you expect a closer look to tell you?’ Redux said. He had been hovering at a distance all this time, as if reluctant to come nearer to the corpse. ‘Surely he is dead, and there’s an end to it. But I suppose you are the expert on these things, pavement-maker. What do we do now?’

For want of a more intelligent reply, I raised the ink-stained head and taking the ink bowl, which was made of burnished brass, I held it closely to the lifeless lips. ‘No breath at all,’ I was saying smugly, when I stopped in some surprise. ‘There’s still a little warmth in him – that might be because of the brazier perhaps – but he’s still pliable. He cannot have been dead for very long.’

I turned to the brazier, where the coals still glowed but were covered by a pile of recent ash. Somebody had been burning something and not long ago. ‘Did you touch anything?’

Redux shook his head. ‘He was like this when I got here. And, in case you were about to ask me, that is not my knife. Mine is still here.’ He gestured at his belt.

It had not occurred to me to wonder about that, although his sharp assessment made me think I should have done. I tried to make amends by asking briskly, ‘All the same, it seems that someone came here fairly recently and ran a dagger into him. And set fire to some documents. Another of his so-called clients, do you think?’

Redux shook his head, but he did not speak and I noticed that his hands were trembling. He attempted to disguise the fact by gathering some of the scattered scraps of bark paper, and laying them fastidiously beneath the window space. ‘We might as well collect the rest of them,’ he said. He had contrived to turn his back towards me, I observed.

‘And you didn’t see anyone suspicious on the stairs?’ I said.

He spread out another sheet of writing and said, in a more collected tone of voice. ‘Not that I noticed. Should we make enquiries of the neighbours, do you think?’

‘I doubt they’ll talk to us.’ It was true. I walked over beside him and looked through the window, but there was nothing to be seen, only the usual gaggle of slaves and tradesmen going about their business in the town. We were not far from the temple and the forum area, and the streets were busy with commerce at this time of day, including Vinerius, whom I noticed haggling with a man – a tall stooped figure that might have been Honorius’s lugubrious doorkeeper. ‘If I had worn my working tunic, I might have had a chance, but our togas are a serious barrier in a place like this.’

He nodded. ‘Then we’ll leave questions to the authorities, since you have called them in. No doubt they’ll have the means to get a story from any witnesses – though whether it will be the truth or not, is quite another thing.’ He pretended to be rapt in examining a scroll. ‘It is only to be hoped that they don’t start suspecting us – though as citizens we should be safe from actual torturers.’

It was not a happy notion – but of course he was quite right, especially as Marcus wasn’t here to speak for me. I was beginning to wish I hadn’t been so quick to call the guard.

He put down the bark paper and picked up another sheet. ‘It might help if we could find a list of clients anywhere. I suspect he kept one, but I haven’t found it yet.’

So that was what he had been looking for! It was an interesting notion, and I joined him in his task. The little scraps were scribbled on in various different ways, but nothing that looked like an appointment list. There were columns of figures, a fragment of a note, something that might have been a bill. Not all in the same ink or writing, I observed. I picked up the last one, and placed it on the pile.

‘Of course it might not have been a client after all,’ Redux said. ‘It could have been a stranger – a robbery, perhaps. We cannot be certain that there’s nothing missing here.’

I shook my head. ‘Not a stranger, I am sure of that. It is clear that the killer was admitted freely to the house. There is no sign of a struggle, or forced entry anywhere. Antoninus was sitting calmly at his desk. Besides, would any thief leave precious objects like that water clock? And why burn documents if you’re a passer-by? So either a client, or someone with a key. I presume Antoninus had some family? And I think you mentioned slaves – someone will have to question them as well.’

He nodded. ‘No family that I know of, but he did have slaves. There are two of them: a pretty little chap that Antoninus uses as a personal attendant and a pet, and a burly fellow whom he keeps in case of trouble, I suspect. But, as I told you earlier, he sends them both away if he’s doing business of the kind we spoke about. They will not come back till dusk, I expect.’

‘And who would know that?’

‘Any of his clients.’ Redux refused to look me in the eyes.

‘So when you come to see him, who comes to let you in? He doesn’t leave the door ajar in this way normally?’

He shrugged. ‘Of course not. You have to knock and wait. He’d let you in himself. I think he would peer through the key-space to make sure it was you. And he always insisted that you sent your slaves away. He said it was essential for proper secrecy. But it’s very unsettling when you’re used to having them – it makes you feel exposed and unprotected. Which is exactly why he did it, I expect.’

‘So anybody could have come this afternoon, and expected to find him unaccompanied?’

‘Any of his clients, that is, who knew that he had a private appointment at this time.’ He patted the collected bark fragments into a single roll and tied them with a ribbon lying on the desk. ‘Which is odd, when you think about it, wouldn’t you agree? Because you tell me that you had no arrangement till you got that note, and that was after the wedding was postponed. But he would have expected to be at the feast all day, and he would have made no other appointments for this afternoon. So who might have known that you were coming here and that Antoninus would therefore be conveniently alone?’

‘Just what I was about to ask, myself.’ The voice was unexpected, and I whirled around to see a Roman soldier standing at the door. A legionary tribune by the look of it, a youth in decorative armour, fancy cloak-clasps and expensive boots and a look of self-importance on his handsome face. He was standing in a swaggering attitude now, one hand on his baton and the other on his sword, looking down his long and narrow nose at us, while Minimus cowered behind him and glanced nervously at me.

‘I found this soldier in the wine shop, master, as you said . . .’ he began, but was silenced by a heavy cuff around the ear.

‘I was talking to these citizens,’ the tribune snapped, in Latin that was absurdly cultured and refined.

I gave an inward groan. When I had sent Minimus out to fetch the guard I had not envisaged this. I’d expected some humble auxiliary from the Rhineland, perhaps, anxious to earn an honest copper coin or two by taking charge, not an arrogant young aristocrat sent out from Rome for the customary short spell in the army before a senatorial seat – an imitation officer with a career to make. Such youths may never see a battle in their lives and generally had scant respect for lowlier citizens – especially not for ancient Celts like me.

He proved my fears by marching to the desk and lifting Antoninus’s head as I had done, beneath the chin but with his baton rather than his hand. He let it fall again with an unpleasant thump, and then he turned to me. ‘You, in the scruffy toga, you heard what I said. From what I overheard you were expected here and the household slaves have all been sent away. What was your business with this citizen?’

‘I’m not completely sure.’ Even as I spoke, I knew it sounded lame. ‘I simply got a message asking me to come. Here –’ I fished into my tunic – ‘read it for yourself . . .’ I was about to hand the tablet to him before I remembered I had scratched out the message and written over it, and now I had no proof that I’d been summoned here.

I explained this to the tribune, but he looked unimpressed. ‘I believe you, citizen, of course,’ he said, with just the degree of courteous mockery that told me he did nothing of the kind. ‘I just hope that my superiors will do the same. I will have to ask you to accompany me, of course.’

I blanched. ‘But it’s the truth,’ I stammered. ‘I’m sure this citizen will vouch for me . . .’ I turned to Redux.

But he refused to look me in the eye. It was clear that I was going to get no help from him. He shook his head. ‘I never saw the note. Libertus simply told me he was coming here, and I accompanied him because I knew the way. I’d had dealings with Antoninus in the way of trade – I’d even spoken to him at a wedding, earlier today. In fact, this pavement-maker was a guest as well, but the feast was cancelled because the father was found dead.’

The tribune looked scathingly at me. I was not surprised. If Redux had intended to cast doubt on me, he could hardly have chosen his words with greater skill. ‘I see. And you are a friend of this so-called pavement-maker, I presume? Though you seem unlikely acquaintances, from your form of dress.’ He looked at my companion’s fancy tunic with disdain.

Redux fussed daintily with his embroidered cuffs. ‘I had never seen him till the wedding feast. Though he was conspicuous there. He took charge after the host was dead. Then later he called on me at my warehouse at the docks. I was not expecting him.’

‘And you? Where did you go when you left the feast?’

‘Directly back to work. I’m sure the overseer at the dock would vouch for that. He hires my slaves when I’m not using them, and he was surprised to see me back so soon. The pavement-maker did not come for quite a little while.’

‘So, there would have been time to have called here on the way.’ The tribune turned back to me again, less supercilious and more threatening now. ‘I’m afraid, citizen, that you’ll need better witnesses than that – unless you are proposing to rely upon your slave? I’ll take him away and have him questioned if you like.’

Minimus looked stricken and I shook my head. Of course, the boy would vouch for me, if I was called to court, but a servant’s unsupported testimony is of no account. It is assumed that he will dutifully support his master’s report of everything – indeed he would be likely to be punished otherwise – so such slaves are generally handed over to the men with whips and brands to ensure that the truth is tortured out of them. I prayed for Minimus’s sake it would not come to that.

It may have been the gods that gave me an idea. ‘Helena Domna!’ I said suddenly. ‘She knew that a message came for me at the house, and she knew what it said. She insisted on looking at the note.’

‘Helena Domna? The mother of Councillor Honorius?’ Even the tribune was visibly impressed. ‘I have heard tales of him.’

‘Ex-councillor Honorius, now,’ Redux put in at once. ‘He was the one who was found dead today. It is generally supposed that there was poison in his wine.’

The officer made a thoughtful pouting movement with his lips. ‘And this citizen just happened to be there?’ He turned to me. ‘Let’s have a look at you.’ He took his dagger out and held it casually in the region of my heart while with his other hand he moved my cloak aside and ran his fingers round my toga belt. I knew, in a sinking moment, what he was about to find. I was here, not only without proof that I had been asked to come, but with an empty poison phial hidden in my clothes. If I were investigating Antoninus’s death, I thought, I should be very interested in me.