The Ides of April (34 page)

I need not say that while I ranted, Tiberius listened inscrutably. I doubt he realised there were few people to whom I would reveal such depths of feeling. I truly felt I trusted him.

He had pushed back from the table, arms full-stretch, while he settled himself to hear me out as if this was an unpleasant formality that had to be gone through.

I finished. I fell quiet. He applied what passed for a reasonable expression; he even cocked his head slightly to one side. The poser.

‘You told me,’ he corrected me, ‘you did
not
sleep with him.’

‘You are being pedantic.’

‘Better,’ the mimsy swine intoned, ‘than being hysterical.’ After a moment he added in a serious voice, ‘You made a mistake. It lasted a few weeks. Some of us have to live with the fact that we harboured this creature for years. He seemed harmless. We would have ended his bad behaviour at home. He would never have been detected as a killer, without your enquiries. To my shame, I even tried to get the vigiles
to stop you.’

‘Pax!’

‘Thank you. So, Flavia Albia, shall we two sensibly together work out the sequence of events?’

I summed up first, while the runner indicated agreement to each point with silent nods. I had noticed he did this in meetings. It gave the impression he was waiting to catch people out, but I now realised he liked to hear from everybody else first, in case it affected his own contribution. If he saw any need to intervene earlier, he would do it.

‘To begin where I first came on the scene,’ I said. ‘Andronicus killed Salvidia because she had visited the aediles’ office and verbally attacked him; she was enraged about that wall poster calling for witnesses to the death of little Lucius Bassus.’

‘My fault!’

‘Your fault,’ I agreed unrelentingly. He wrote the poster. ‘Andronicus was right that he was blameless, merely the man she had found in the office, but Salvidia’s violent reaction shook him. It was unjust. He was overcome with outrage, as happens with him, so he took an extraordinary revenge by killing her. Then I turned up in the office, and perhaps he wanted to stop me investigating – I remember he kept saying, “So you don’t need to waste any more time?” I guess he went to the funeral and tried to find me, still hoping to make sure I discovered nothing against him. He met the old woman outside the necropolis. Celendina took umbrage in a way he found insulting, so he followed her home and killed her too.’

‘Morellus thinks you had a lucky escape that night.’

‘Andronicus could have killed me any time.’

‘Ah, but soon he was unable to resist you!’

‘Skip the crass jokes.’

‘I was not joking,’ replied Tiberius mildly. ‘He spoke of you to us at home as a gorgeous creature. There was hope you might reform the irresponsible side of his character – though I’d like you to know, I never wished him on you.’ He paused. ‘I tried quite hard to keep you apart.’

Feeling disconcerted, I carried on: ‘Prior to those attacks, he had killed Julius Viator – why? Can it be that when Cassiana Clara was sitting in the garden at your house during that dinner party, and Andronicus found her,
he
was the man who assumed she was, as he told me very crudely, “asking for it”?
He
made a grab for her? I wanted to persuade her to give me a witness statement—’

Tiberius shook his head and interrupted. ‘No need. The girl can be left to forget the incident, if she really can ever forget that it led to her husband’s murder. I was in the colonnade on the other side of the garden, coming back from the facilities. Andronicus had not heard me. I saw it all. And yes, he tried to force himself on her. She was very inexperienced; the assault was a great shock to her.’

‘So he read the situation wrong? She screamed?’ A nod. ‘Viator rushed out, saw his wife struggling, was furious, and like the other victims, he made his feelings known much too strongly for Andronicus?’

‘Viator actually thumped him.’

‘Oh, now we see that was Viator’s death sentence!’

‘That seems to have been his first death,’ Tiberius said glumly. ‘One good punch from an athletic man caused his deterioration into a killer. And Andronicus was in severe disgrace at home for weeks after he assaulted Cassiana Clara,’ he told me. ‘Tullius gave him a warning. He came very close to being dismissed permanently that time.’

‘That time?’

‘He has a long history of behaviour problems. Being reprimanded has no effect. He never admits he has done anything wrong. If forced, he blames other people; once you know him, you can watch his cunning brain devising excuses as he wriggles.’ Tiberius described it wearily; I had the impression he had been involved in trying to rehabilitate the culprit. ‘He wins over Tullius, who likes an easy life, with that charm of his.’

‘And Faustus?’

‘Sees through him.’

‘One day Andronicus took me to the house,’ I admitted, knowing that Tiberius would raise a scathing eyebrow. On cue, he obliged. ‘I thought the other staff were friendly with him.’

‘That’s how he gets away with it,’ Tiberius said, scowling. ‘You and I view him as a predator, but most people notice nothing unusual. He knows how to blend in. He has hidden his aggression and his lack of remorse in plain sight.’

‘When I said her husband had been murdered, Cassiana Clara was terrified he would go after her next. It seemed extreme then. Of course she is right. If he fears she might give evidence against him – say he assaulted her and her husband threatened him – Andronicus will attack her too. Someone threatens him, he just wipes them out of existence. Has Clara been sent away from Rome to protect her? Has the aedile warned her family?’

‘Yes. To both questions.’

That was a relief. ‘So,’ I concluded, ‘what do we think about Lupus?’

‘Lupus?’

‘The oyster boy.’

Tiberius chipped in immediately: ‘We buy our shellfish from that stall. Lupus was a cheeky lad; I remember him. Liked to joke with customers, typical barrow boy, pain in the arse sometimes, basically too young to judge when his comments were inappropriate. The Porticus is over by the temple, so if no one else was on that side of the hill but Andronicus had to be at the archive, he would be ordered to pick up supplies. On one occasion, he came home complaining bitterly that a boy had been rude. Took it personally, as he always does. Refused to go again.’

‘Clearly he did go, once too often,’ I concluded grimly. ‘When I interviewed the family they reckoned they saw nobody the day Lupus was killed, but if we paraded Andronicus they might remember him.’

‘They might.’

Tiberius stood up. The subject was affecting him. It was affecting me too, so I also lumbered to my feet. I felt stiff, weary and downhearted. He complained about us sitting in that enclosed stuffy room for too long to be good for thought; he urged that we left the station house and went somewhere with a new view and more air.

In the doorway Tiberius paused, looking at me from close quarters. He could see I was reluctant to go. ‘All right?’

‘Fine.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘I will be.’

He waited a beat, but when he saw my chin come up, he steered me into the colonnade and we set off walking.

S
lowly, as Tiberius and I walked through our city that morning, I recovered my courage. I had lived in Rome for fifteen years, most of them on the Aventine. These were my streets. I became determined not to be driven out of them by fear.

Our steps led away from the riverside, a direction in which I rarely went. We must have taken a turn around the Plane Tree Grove, a rather bare public park near the road that was named after it, though I was so distracted I had no memory of this afterwards. Then we worked across the southern side of the main Hill until we emerged out of the Thirteenth District into the Twelfth, beside the vigiles’ Fourth Cohort headquarters, where I had been entertained by Scaurus and his henchmen. No mention was made of that.

For a long while, we did not talk at all, as we meandered down the wide Street of the Public Fishponds towards the Circus Maximus. Stopping short of a descent right down to the racetrack, we made our way above it instead, along the lower part of the Hill again, back past the two Temples of Venus and eventually that of the flower- and vegetable-covered garden god Vertumnus. I remember I commented to Tiberius on the Temple of Venus Verticordia that only in Rome could the goddess of love and lust be worshipped in a version that was propaganda for sexual purity.

‘Venus the “turner of hearts” towards virtue – meaning
women’s
chastity, of course,’ I grumbled.

‘Faithfulness in love,’ argued Tiberius, revealing a romantic side.

‘If you believe in it!’

‘You don’t?’

‘I do. My husband was faithful to me, and I to him.’

‘I have noticed you always speak well of your marriage.’

‘Well, it was short!’

‘And a long time ago? – Yet you still wear your wedding ring.’

Wrong. Lentullus and I had never bothered. I explained wryly that I acquired this ring only a few years ago from a house sale my family organised and wore it to imply respectability in my work. Sometimes it may have deterred men, though I had no wish to remind the runner that I ever looked available. It was bad enough that he knew I had attracted Andronicus.

‘Have you ever been married, Tiberius?’ He only wore a signet ring, its symbol a spirited fish-tailed horse. I had seen it when I inspected his scarred hand.

‘Once.’

‘Oh – and never again?’

‘I didn’t say that.’ This man failed to say quite a few things, I was beginning to suspect.

Our meandering had brought us to the lower reaches of the steep Clivus Publicius. We had to pass the house where the child Lucius Bassus had lived, the very spot where he had been run over by the Metellus and Nepos wagon. On the wall where Tiberius had written up his fatal poster calling for witnesses, the family had now installed an oversize memorial plaque. They must have spent the compensation money Salvidia’s stepson paid. A touching message commemorated Lucius:

Lived three years, four months, ten days: a little soul who loved only play, returned to the gods of the underworld: his parents’ hopes are shattered.

Tiberius muttered impatiently that the Bassus family would have done more good by using the cash for their other children. I felt obliged to murmur, maybe the plaque comforted them. He declared that kind of comfort was overrated.

He pointed out angrily that the door of the house stood open again. Nothing had been learned. Any other infant could have run out into danger.

‘I wonder why anyone bothers!’

‘Do you have children?’ I asked.

‘No, I never had the chance to neglect innocent offspring!’

Tiberius strode on, with me hurrying after. We looped up over the heights, through little streets with markets and fountains at crossroads, under the commanding bulk of the great Temple of Diana of the Aventine, through more local alleys and byways, until we returned to my home area. Much of the time we spent together, I was barely aware of my companion. I was lost in private meditation, sometimes of a neutral kind that serves to empty your brain of trouble, but frequently much darker. We walked; I was reclaiming my right to do so, after a long night and morning of apprehension. Exposing Andronicus had shaken me. What that callous killer had done left me bleak and lacking faith. Worse, before I calmed down on today’s walk, I had been deeply frightened.

Even Tiberius wanted to warn me not to be complacent. ‘Until he is in chains, keep your wits about you, Albia. If you have said or done anything to upset him—’

‘That’s me! Unfortunately, I dropped him. He will not forgive me for that.’

I saw no need to dwell on the end of my love affair. But I did mention that my brother had been dangerously obstreperous with Andronicus last night, probably in the same way that young Lupus once cheekily aroused his loathing, a lad doing what came naturally without realising it threatened his safety. Tiberius thought Postumus should be kept in at home, just to be on the safe side.

He offered no advice about me. Wise fellow.

Everywhere had a bright but relaxed holiday atmosphere. People were having lunch. There was no suggestion Tiberius and I should do that together. Instead, he left me at the Stargazer where I said Junillus would look after me. Looking tired, Tiberius said he had to go home. It had been a kind move to remain with me when we left the station house, although I could tell why he did it. He, too, had needed time to prepare himself for the next action.

‘Andronicus has been kept busy at home with tasks for Tullius. It is time to confront him. Then make an arrest.’

Despite myself, I thought about Andronicus, unwittingly working with the aedile’s uncle while retribution approached. Tullius would know what was going on. He would be aware of the room search, and the evidence discovered; while Tiberius finalised the case, Tullius must have agreed to supervise Andronicus. What would it be? Lists? Rental dates and prices? Reviewing old contracts that could now be used for wrapping up fishbones, or simply dumped with the household rubbish? Presumably a hardbitten old businessman would be able to keep his archivist occupied, without showing signs that formal charges were in the last stages of preparation.

I had no wish to see Andronicus being made a prisoner, no desire to know what would happen to him in the judicial system. There could only be one end for a freedman who was found guilty of unlawful homicide, especially when two of the citizens he had killed – Viator and Salvidia – had been wealthy. Murder carried the death penalty. He was not important enough for his trial to be drawn out. The prosecution would be brutal, his defence sketchy. He could hardly rely on the traditional character witnesses to plead for him. Justice would be swift. There was only one outcome. He would be sent to the arena to be torn apart by the beasts.

I would make sure I was away from Rome then.

‘Don’t let it prey on your mind,’ said Tiberius heavily. ‘It is over. You can leave the rest to me.’

Brave, manly words – a declaration which always sounds convincing and never goes wrong, does it?