Enemies at Home (12 page)

‘Galla Simplicia is a shrewd woman?’

‘Brutally,’ snarled Hermes.

‘Even so, to want two people dead seems extraordinary, let alone make it happen in such a terrible way. Are you certain Galla would do that?’

‘Absolutely!’ he assured me.

Without enthusiasm, I mused aloud that I would now have to trek to Campania, in order to interview this woman. Hermes barked with harsh laughter. According to him, Galla Simplicia would have heard that Aviola was dead, and was bound to be hot-footing it to Rome to make a claim on the estate.

‘Sit tight and you will soon meet her, whirling in to cause trouble!’

I could hardly wait.

I
returned to Sextus Simplicius’ house, with angry words in mind, but he was ‘not at home’. I bet he had gone out on purpose, in case I came racing back to roar at him for withholding information. Alternatively, he was in, but not to me – hiding behind a door until I went away. I hoped he got cramp.

It was the steward who spoke to me. It would be wrong for me to inform him he might be displaced by Polycarpus, but he seemed shrewd. I suspected he knew his job was threatened. I felt sorry for him, and I wondered if an unhappy man might open up.

I sighed, genuinely weary. ‘Oh dear. I am running around in circles over this Aviola business. I just learned about his ex-wife, Galla Simplicia, and I desperately need to ask your master for more details. There is a rumour she is troublesome, and on her way to Rome.’ The steward, Gratus, smiled slightly. ‘I need some background, Gratus, before I have to run up against her … Still, I won’t ask you questions that you shouldn’t answer.’ Of course I planned to do just that.

Gratus, who was slim and rather elegant, opened his hands in an ironic gesture. ‘Flavia Albia, I cannot possibly give an opinion of the lady … and I warn you, my master won’t spill secrets.’

‘Oh? Are they on friendly terms? I suppose while she was married to Valerius Aviola she was part of the same circle, and may still be …’ I made it sound as if I was musing to myself.

‘She will stay with us,’ Gratus murmured, as if he too were talking aloud to himself. ‘I have the bed made up already …’ Then he enjoyed telling me: ‘Galla Simplicia and my master are first cousins.’

I offered my hand formally and shook his. It was acknowledgement for this help, while indicating I could not possibly offend him with anything so uncouth as a bribe.

Gratus definitely knew Polycarpus was about to steal his job. He was still a slave; there would be nothing he could do about it. I wished I knew someone in need of a good household steward to whom I could recommend him.

I had had a busy day. Returning to the Aviola apartment, I felt in no mood to prepare detailed notes for Manlius Faustus, but Dromo was hanging about expectantly, wanting to take my report.

First I found my oil flask and went out to some nearby baths, taking Dromo too. There was just time for me to have a quick wash and scrape in the women’s hour, then when the bell rang to announce men’s time I waited in a colonnade, scrawling brief notes for the aedile, while the messenger washed. I had promised him a cake, and was true to my word.

Dromo still smelt – of more than chopped nuts and custard.

‘How many tunics do you have, Dromo?’

‘One.’

I added a postscript to my notes:
kindly supply your stinky boy with a spare garment! Please treat as urgent and make sure it has been laundered. Do this for me, most admirable Tiberius, so I can apply myself with a clear mind to the monster ex-wife. Should be good value. You know you want details.

I had no idea whether Faustus enjoyed gossip. If not, I could teach him. All you need is curiosity and a sense of humour. He had those.

Dromo sauntered off with my report, slavering over his pastry and getting custard on the note tablet.

I took a layered date-slice back with me to the apartment. Why should a slave have all the treats?

On the way I bought a hot pie too. This is not good nourishment, but the informers’ creed says the demands of our work compel us to live off unsuitable street food and large amounts of drink. Our life is hard. Some really like to suffer, so they attend experimental harp concerts or dangerous political readings, but after a day’s serious investigating, you risk falling asleep and wasting the ticket price.

I bought a flagon of cheap wine. You have to keep up the image.

Later, I was glad I stayed in or I would have missed a visitor. Galla Simplicia had rushed to Rome, where the minute she had dumped her travelling hat in her cousin’s spare room, she came straight here to view the scene of the crime.

If the murder of Aviola and Mucia was
her
crime, as Hermes believed, this stupidly drew attention to herself. Still, any woman who does arrange to have her ex-husband violently taken out by professional robbers must have a touch of the brash.

I guessed who she was, though she looked a perfectly ordinary woman. That’s evil schemers for you. If all those who plotted had talons and Medusa snake hair, identifying them would be too easy.

I had heard voices; I emerged from my room unnoticed. I stood quiet in the colonnade and watched.

Myla must have let her in. They were now on the oppos-ite side of the courtyard with their backs to me. Myla was waiting while the visitor squared up and went into the bedroom where the couple had been killed. I read in Myla’s slumped stance that she was unhappy about the situation, but of course she made no objection. Myla was too lethargic. For her part, Galla Simplicia had an air of determined authority, even viewed from behind.

Some women neglect their back view, but this one was pert, cinched and ringletted. Her coiffure must have taken half a day. I wondered if she had it done specially to come to Rome legacy-hunting.

It struck me that if Myla had been in this household for a long time, then Galla Simplicia had once been her mistress, giving her orders – and possibly even forming a sympathetic bond.

I stepped forward to stand between the columns, so as soon as Galla re-emerged she saw me. Myla immediately took herself off; it was the first time I had seen her walking, which she did with a languorous sway. Galla shot a tetchy glance after her (so I could see no residual friendship), then came towards me across the courtyard as if she belonged here and meant to send me packing.

I got in first. ‘Excuse me! Can I help you?’ I called out, implying
who let you in without permission, and what do you think you are doing?
‘My name is Flavia Albia; I am working for the aedile Manlius Faustus. This is a crime scene, if you don’t know. We are not permitting ghoulish viewings. I will have to ask you to leave.’

Galla Simplicia braved it out well. She pulled her stole over her head, modestly burying her face in the material as if genuinely horrified by the hideous events. I could see her assessing me as she peeked out. ‘I meant no offence. I wanted to see where my husband died.’ For someone supposedly vindictive, her voice was surprisingly weak. A high, decently-spoken but thin voice: I took against it.

Now we stood closer, I saw she had a smooth face with fine, light-coloured hair. She peered slightly, as if she was short-sighted. Hermes’ angry denunciations had implied a hard-faced hag, a woman who would look worn by a hard life – or simply a hard nature. But Simplicia looked almost young for her age.

‘Valerius Aviola’s wife was Mucia Lucilia, who died with him,’ I pointed out severely. ‘You will be Galla Simplicia. Why don’t you sit here –’ I indicated the chairs I had put out when I interviewed Polycarpus. Myla had never removed them, of course. ‘You can recover from any emotional upset, while I fetch my writing equipment. Since you are here, let’s run through some questions I need to ask you.’

‘Should I have somebody with me?’ I thought her alarm was put on.

‘This is not a court.’ I steered her to the less comfortable seat. She ended up with an old folding x-stool; I wondered if she remembered it from her marriage. ‘I want to establish a few facts. Woman to woman,’ I cooed falsely. If she really had been involved in foul play, the last thing she wanted was an intimate exchange.

It took no time to gather up a note tablet and stylus in my room, but when I went back Galla Simplicia was already on her feet again, thinking to escape. She had dithered too long. I raised my eyebrows, as if failure to cooperate would count against her. She dropped back into her seat.

I took the more comfortable wicker chair. ‘Shall I ask Myla to bring refreshments?’

‘I don’t think so!’ I spotted an underlying dryness in Simplicia’s tone.

‘You’re right; she verges on useless. It beats me why people keep such girls, but I suppose when they have been in a house for a long time they are tolerated by default.’

My companion said nothing, though the ends of her mouth tightened.

On further inspection, Galla Simplicia must be forty, or closing fast. She was a type, proved by her wearing strappy sandals that just fell short of those beloved by the easy girls under the arches of the Circus Maximus. She indulged in time-consuming manicures, facials and hair-procedures. As well as too many finger-rings, she wore a complex gold necklace with a pendant of big Indian pearls, the kind that women with little-girl voices can extract from weak-willed men. She liked the good things in life; she knew where and how to obtain them. She continued to squeeze money from Aviola after he divorced her, but his marrying Mucia would finally have put a stop to it.

Galla would have hated that.

I began coolly: ‘You and Valerius Aviola split up long ago, so you are not a fragile widow around whom I must tiptoe gently. I realise what happened is a shock, but I have to be blunt. The situation has become an embarrassment for the Temple of Ceres, so they want answers quickly.’

‘The Temple? …’ Galla quavered, though I presumed her cousin had explained the situation to her.

I myself discussed the slaves taking refuge. ‘They will take the blame and be executed, for not saving their master and mistress – that’s unless it can be shown who really murdered them.’

‘Do you think you can find out?’

I looked Galla Simplicia in the eye. Was she saying
do you know it was me?
‘That is the intention.’ I paused for a beat, then said, ‘I was surprised to be told that you yourself wanted the couple out of the way.’

‘I deny it!’ Of course she did. ‘We were perfectly friendly.’ Of course they were not.

‘Well, I expected you to deny it,’ I replied, as if that was enough. A wise woman would understand that I hadn’t even started.

‘It is a terrible thing to say – and it’s a lie!’

‘It could be misinformation from people with vested interests –’ That sounded fair. I did not want her to be able to allege I was prejudiced against her. ‘But much weight is given to informants these days, you know. Our emperor encourages people to speak out against their associates. Please use this opportunity to clarify everything, will you? Accusations are being bandied about that you were afraid for your children’s future − so let’s talk about the children first.’

We established the family tree. Valerius, Valeria and Simplicia were twenty-five, twenty-one and nineteen. Valerius still lived with his mother. I could imagine what that signified. Both daughters were married, Valeria about to produce her first child; I wondered if the prospect of becoming a grandfather had spurred Aviola to remarry.

‘He wanted to prove his virility,’ sneered Galla, of her own accord. ‘Don’t they all? It’s so pathetic.’

‘You reckon he would have produced a second family?’

‘She –’ That was Mucia Lucilia. ‘– had no children. Yet! She wouldn’t refuse. Of course he would be thrilled − then he would have died on them while they were still helpless infants. Just
so
selfish!’

‘You have a bleak view of men.’

‘Don’t you?’ Galla demanded, staring at me bitterly. It was true I had seen the worst men do. But I felt no sense of sisterhood. Not that this woman wanted my friendship.

Even so, I pretended we were speaking freely. ‘So, Galla Simplicia, you were understandably anxious about your children? Perhaps you were afraid of them losing their father’s affection? Is it right you would have done anything to safeguard their position?’

‘I am a mother, I defend my brood. I have brought them up myself—’

‘With financial help, surely?’

‘Left to himself, my husband would have begrudged every copper. It was a constant battle to point out what was right. We wrangled for years. Of course the children have no idea what I had to go through; I managed to protect them from seeing the strife.’

‘Did their father not love them?’

‘Oh
yes!
’ Galla made an extravagant gesture. ‘But
love
does not pay for somewhere to live, for clothes, schooling, treats to give them a happy childhood – does it?’

Not if luxury is what you expect in life, I thought. If you grow up with nothing, then love − if you ever acquire it – is a huge luxury.

‘Were you really afraid Aviola would turn against them?’

‘Of course I was! That fear was perfectly justified, believe me. It does not mean, Flavia Albia, that I felt driven to send murderers here – even if I knew how one goes about finding such people. A woman like me … Or are you suggesting I came here secretly myself, and beat the victims to death with my own hands?’

I toughened up. ‘I see the grisly details have been kept from you, Simplicia. Only the door porter was beaten up. Aviola and Mucia were strangled.’

Galla blinked, then looked subdued. ‘Horrible. Would they suffer? Is it,’ she whispered with what seemed genuine pity, ‘a swift death?’

‘It can be.’ She must know I was watching her closely. ‘They both struggled. As the scene has been described, my interpretation is that Aviola was killed first, which implies he was perhaps taken unawares—’ I paused for effect. ‘Mucia Lucilia would have seen Aviola being killed, so she knew what was coming for her. Her terror must have been extreme.’

‘Unbearable,’ agreed Galla briefly.