The Ides of April (36 page)

When she found her lover cooling off, Venusia had become demanding; she threatened to tell Laia he was making trouble for the aedile. His response was the attack that killed Ino. Terrified, Venusia told her fears to Laia, though without admitting the full relationship at that point; she was sent to Aricia. I heard Tiberius comment that it might have been better to ask first, in case official advice was different because of the investigation. At that point someone, probably Tiberius himself, must have noticed the open door and quietly closed it.

I got on with making an elegant job of fountain maintenance. I had no need to hear what followed. I could amuse myself imagining Laia’s response to anyone who dared suggest she should have taken advice.

Eventually the door reopened. Laia bounced out first, exclaiming, ‘It’s no use arguing. I will do it!’ as if she meant to have the runner’s balls toasted in a bread roll.

The elderly maid I recognised must have been chaperoning; she scuttled ahead, presumably to organise Laia’s chair, which I had spotted out in the street when I arrived earlier. Tiberius, tight-lipped, escorted Laia as far as the atrium, whence she would leave the building. He took her down the colonnade, which had a certain amount of entwined foliage between the columns; as I remained beside the fountain in one corner, neither of them spotted me. I was therefore a secret witness to their parting: Tiberius leaned in and gave Laia Gratiana a deliberate kiss on the cheek. After a moment of hesitation, she even returned the favour, albeit with an angry peck. Then she swirled her skirts as she turned away; she left without another word on either side.

This was unexpected. I could easily believe that Tiberius would act as a trusted go-between, given that Laia could not abide Manlius Faustus. But the cheek-kiss is a formality for intimates; it is strictly reserved for close colleagues, friends and family. Such farewells should not occur in Rome between a woman of her status, an élite member of the cult of Ceres, and a man who acted as little more than someone else’s errand boy.

Well, well!

T
iberius stood with his thumbs in his belt, as if ensuring Laia was off the premises. When he turned and noticed me, I almost thought his expression lightened. I was innocently scratching moss off the shell-shaped fountain bowl. Dropping the stick, I brushed my hands clean. ‘Oh there you are!’ I said off-handedly. If he feared I had seen his odd moment with Laia Gratiana, he did not blush.

I followed him into the room he occupied, which at least I had never been in with Andronicus. It must have been decorated for the aediles. Stirring wall frescos showed heroes shedding the blood of monsters, watched by vacuous maidens, in various rocky locations: the sort of lurid adventure people suppose takes place abroad. I had been abroad, and knew otherwise. None of the characters had all their clothes on. There were borders of pretty foliage and distant hints of the seaside. I could live with it. Not from choice, however.

I was offered a ladies’ armchair, still warm from the thin backside of Laia. I hopped off that and found a cushioned X-stool. Tiberius took a hard man’s stone seat. Not quite marble; Pa had several better ones in a corner of the antiques warehouse.

I sat meekly while my companion relayed all I had overheard Laia saying. He tipped back his head and looked down his nose at me, as if he guessed I had eavesdropped.

Tiberius sighed. ‘We have a problem.’

‘Really?’

‘Andronicus escaped—’

‘Yes, while you were sauntering round the Aventine to give yourself courage, he was calmly eating an apple at my place and helping himself to my last sewing needle.’

‘I’m afraid he just walked out of our house with a basket of old documents, saying he was taking them to the rubbish-heap. The porter had not been warned, because we did not want to alarm Andronicus with any whiff of trouble coming. But he must have sensed it; he never came back. At least we have found and arrested the apothecary who supplied his poison, and warned others. Apparently Andronicus was quite open about who he was. He claimed he needed the drug to paint on arrows to shoot rats in the archive store.’

‘Every poisoner says that,’ I grumbled. ‘You would think apothecaries would be trained to report mad-eyed people who have a rat problem.’

‘You know him,’ replied Tiberius wearily. ‘A few smooth jokes about the vermin being unfeasibly tenacious, that big-eyed confident look of his, and he would convince anyone.’

Me, for instance.

‘Sorry,’ apologised Tiberius, although I had not spoken. He became brisker. ‘Look, I haven’t time to be delicate about your love life. Plans must be made. You are not the only person to be harried by Andronicus since he walked free. Laia Gratiana is in danger. She felt somebody was following her around yesterday, and when she arrived home from the station house last night, she definitely saw a man lurking outside her apartment. She is sure it was the same person she glimpsed when Ino was attacked. She described Andronicus’ build and distinctive colouring.’

I felt hard-hearted about Laia. At least her harasser had not invaded her apartment, and she did not live alone. People would always be around her, and in addition to her large household, Tiberius said she and her brother were to be provided with a day-and-night protection squad from those fine squaddies in the Urban Cohorts.

Well, jolly good for the cult of Ceres! Andronicus was probably unaware that Laia’s brother even existed. I did point out that all I was assigned were a couple of near-useless vigiles. Tiberius annoyed me by saying that was because I was thought more capable.

Then I learned that the ‘problem’ was more complex and risky than safeguarding a couple of target homes until the killer was caught. Tonight there was a serious risk that Andronicus could strike again. Despite having been stalked – presumably because Andronicus was enraged she had put Venusia out of his reach – Laia was insisting on joining in an after-dark ritual that was a high spot of the Cerialia: the cult women would be roaming the Aventine, dressed in white and carrying torches, as they re-enacted the goddess Ceres’ search for her missing daughter. I groaned with disbelief, as I imagined the scene: women who had no street-sense at the best of times, running about in all directions as they called for Proserpina at all the crossroads. There were many of those on the Aventine, most of them in seedy areas, overlooked and underlit.

‘Tiberius, we cannot allow this! Surely for just one year, Laia Gratiana can sit it out and weave at her loom at home?’

‘She absolutely refuses.’ Well, who likes weaving?

‘Get her brother to lock her in the house.’

‘No, he thinks she is wonderfully brave and spirited.’ The runner looked at the floor. ‘Of course, this has to do with Faustus.’

‘She sets herself up as a target, in revenge for his unfaithfulness? If anything happens to her, all the blame lands on him?’

‘She won’t think of it like that, not consciously. But you are right: as organisers, the aediles are responsible for the cult women’s security. Normally all it entails is keeping drunks away from them.’ Tiberius dropped his face into his hands for a moment. When he looked up, he was unusually satirical. ‘And keeping them away from the drunks sometimes . . . Albia, this will be a nightmare. You must have seen it. You have a bunch of women who are not safe handling fiery torches, and who in my opinion have secretly tucked into wine fortified with very dubious substances. They run amuck like bacchantes, shouting their heads off and threatening to burn down the whole bloody region.’

This was a deliciously intimate revelation about a ritual most people suppose to be sedate. I giggled, partly at his despair. ‘If it’s that kind of wild party, I may join in myself.’

Tiberius sat up. He said that was the best idea anyone had had so far. He would be one of the group patrolling the area, and I could go with him. Then he could personally look out for my safety while I could lend my eyes to assist him.

I
t would go wrong, almost certainly. Set up a woman as bait for a man who had already sent too many bodies prematurely to the pyre? An invitation to disaster.

I spent the rest of the day at home, supposedly resting. I had been taken back to Fountain Court by my vigiles escort, after the fool finally caught up with me. Later he delivered me to Prisca’s baths. I enjoyed the amenities, but my real purpose was to proposition two people I thought could be helpful.

Zoe and Chloe, the women who wanted to be gladiators, were bemused by my story. I told them the truth about Andronicus and the danger he posed, because I wanted to be fair. I explained that he was out to get me, and also one of the cult members who would be cavorting on the Aventine that night. I knew from Tiberius that to give Laia courage, she would be with her friend, Marcia Balbilla; I wanted them to have bodyguards.

‘The women will be in the chariot, because the chief priestess is too old. So we will always know where these two are, even if all the others are weaving about like escaped sheep. It’s a women-only night, supposedly – well, participants – so we can’t line the streets with soldiery; that would be out of place. But no one will object if the targets have two armed Amazons.’

‘This chariot—’ Chloe was the facetious one. ‘I’ve seen it other years. It’s towed by big serpents, isn’t it? Can’t we dress up as the snakes?’

‘No. We shall have powerful men hidden inside the monster costumes. Strong enough to drag the chariot – or to help if the murderer is stupid enough to approach. If he does, we need you to be light on your feet. Keep him at arms’ length, remember; don’t let him strike you with a poisoned needle. Or the cult members while they are cuddling up together in the chariot,’ I felt obliged to add, having nothing against Marcia Balbilla.

Zoe looked deeply suspicious of the whole affair. ‘Are these women lesbians?’

‘Of course not! One is married. The other had a husband once.’

‘Could be a cover.’

‘I really don’t think so, Zoe. Marcia Balbilla has children, I believe.’ I could not believe I was having this conversation with two well-built girls who dressed up in breastplates and swords. ‘Look, the sisterhood is no big caboodlum anyway – what about you and Chloe?’

Zoe was shocked. ‘We are just close friends.’
Very
close, I reckoned.

‘So are Laia and Marcia. And if I’m wrong, they won’t jump you, they are faithful to each other.’

‘We don’t want to be seen with Sapphists. We have to think of our reputations.’

‘That never bothered you when you took up gladiating!’

I dragged these coy Amazons to Marcia’s house, where the cult women were preparing. They were dressing up in their folded-over white Greek gowns and fake wheat crowns, twittering like a wedding party. As had been insinuated by the runner, the devotional dames were well supplied with great silver bowls of some warm liquid that exuded a powerful aromatic smell. Not, believe me, thyme and rosemary.

There, to my further amazement, I had a similar conversation with the two respectable matrons as I had had with Zoe and Chloe earlier.

‘Just don’t show each other too much affection,’ I warned wickedly. ‘You don’t want the Amazons to get the wrong idea about you. Myself, I really don’t care what people get up to, but they are narrow-minded. No fondling!’

Balbilla and Gratiana looked put out, yet as I left I overheard them in fits of nervous giggles.

I went in a hired chair to the temple, my agreed rendezvous with Tiberius.

The Temple of Ceres was thick with people tonight, but as I arrived, he peeled off from a group of men and came up. He had been barbered again and was in white, though carrying a dark cloak. To comply with the law, he had to be unarmed. If I had been him, I would have broken the law, but as the aedile’s man, I suppose he was stuck with compliance.

I was in white myself. I only owned one proper white gown, which happened to be in delicate opaque material. Luckily it was long enough to cover my sturdy ankle boots, inappropriate accessories with silk-weave gauzes, but excellent for kicking. Not possessing a wheat crown, I had threaded a gold necklace through my hair; that had been put up professionally at Prisca’s bathhouse where, since I had had time to spare, a girl had also given me an eyebrow tidy and face-paint job.

This groomed effect made Tiberius gulp. ‘I see you are intending to stand out!’

‘Give me a torch and I’ll look like one of the others.’

‘None of them find it necessary to be in see-through.’

I had a perfectly thick undertunic (though a little short because I had run out of long ones) making the filmy dress decent. ‘Oh shut up. I’m not fourteen and you are not my mother.’

I let the prude stare. We had discussed the white dress plan; it meant I could blend in with the cult women.

His disapproval was spoiling the mood for me. Since so much of my life was spent looking dowdy for work reasons, I did occasionally like to lash on the cosmetics and jewellery. I admit Mother would have said
four
necklaces was one too many, but too late: my neat belt-purse was already full, with emergency cash and a small but deadly weapon which I could pass off, if challenged, as a fruit knife.

Every woman should own her own little decorative hunting dagger. You never know when you may need it.

‘H
ail, goddess, preserve
this city in harmony and prosperity
.
Bring us all the products of the earth,
feed our kine and cattle and flocks, donate the corn-ear, give us the harvest. Nurture also peace, so he that ploughed may also reap! Be gracious, O thrice-prayed for, great Queen of goddesses!’

Laia Gratiana was having a tremendous time amidst the wreathing altar smoke. She
was
blonde Ceres for tonight. After solemn incantations at the temple, she had ascended an enormous chariot, pretending to shake the reins. Marcia Balbilla was in there behind her, relegated to the role of torch-bearer. As Laia leaned forwards, shrieking, in go-faster mode, two men inside large curly snake costumes heaved the vehicle along. It was a great, heavy, bucketing thing. The friendly-faced snakes towed the vehicle with hidden ropes attached to the wheels.