Death at Pompeia's Wedding (22 page)

‘Died of fright, but with a knife stuck in his back?’ I said. ‘That doesn’t sound a likely circumstance to me. But something happened, and I don’t know what.’

‘There must be lots of people who would like to see him dead,’ Redux mused. ‘I was afraid, when I saw that writing block, that he’d had some hold on poor old Zythos at one time – but it seems that it wasn’t necessarily the case. But you’ll question other people. Gracchus possibly? I’ve noticed him avoiding Antoninus once or twice. It makes me wonder if he might have had dealings with him, in the past.’

That might explain why Gracchus was in debt, I thought. I said aloud, ‘You’re right! I’d better talk to him. And probably to Maesta and her husband too, but that will be tomorrow – if I can manage it. For now, I’m going home. It’s getting late. The sun will soon be setting and the guards will shut the gates. It may be the last time that I walk out of them. Besides, my wife will be anxious for my safety by this time. She must have expected me to come home long ago.’

Redux surprised me. ‘And mine will be throwing a pretty tantrum too.’ I had never heard any mention of a wife – indeed, I had the impression he was not the marrying kind. He grinned at me. ‘I know what you’re thinking – but I do have a wife. Isn’t it the duty of every citizen? Marry and raise up new generations for the state. Zythos thought so – and my brother too. Though he has only a daughter to show for it, so far.’

‘Miles was married before Honoria?’

He grinned. ‘He was – but it’s Honoria’s daughter all the same. His first wife perished, giving him a son who was weak and died a few days afterwards. That’s why Miles was so anxious about the latest pregnancy – insisting that Honoria always slept in her own bed and didn’t come to Glevum to see her family. Ironic that it should be that which killed her in the end. Honoria was healthy – she’d have borne him heirs. But I thought you already knew all this?’

I shook my head. But of course, I should have done. Honorius had made a new will, hadn’t he, disinheriting ‘his eldest daughter and her heirs’. But his eldest daughter and her unborn baby were already dead – there was no call to write a new will over that. I should have realized that there had to be a living child.

‘I am getting very old,’ I said, and I went through the gate, though not without a strange look from the man on guard. People who have been arrested by a tribune and brought in, do not often walk so calmly out again. Near the archway that led into the town, I could see Redux’s servant leaning on the wall, with a pair of stouter sandals in his hand. The last I saw of Redux, he was changing into them. I turned the other way.

The garrison was adjacent to the south gate of the town, and Minimus was waiting outside with the carriage and driver he had hired.

Twenty

It took a long time to get home, even so. We had to go the long way, on the military road – no carriage-driver would willingly take the older Celtic track, with its boggy hollows, corners and vertiginous descents – but the newer route was mostly quicker anyway, especially in the dusk. The road was busy, as it always was towards the end of day, with carts and wagons coming to make deliveries: no civilian horse-drawn transport was permitted on the streets, until the town gates were ready to be shut.

There were few things going in our direction, though, and we made good progress. There was no military traffic to force us off the road – we did not even catch up with the soldiers from the garrison. I wondered if they had gone another route but as Minimus pointed out: ‘They are trained to march twenty or thirty miles a day carrying full equipment, so a two-hour route-march is simple exercise to them. I wouldn’t be surprised if we met them coming back!’

Indeed, as we turned off the main road on to the gravelled spur that led to Marcus’s estate – and therefore to my roundhouse which was built on part of it – I thought I did hear the sound of approaching marching feet and the clanking of armour from somewhere up ahead. But there was no time to think of that. The sun was setting further in the west, and the shadows of the forest were distinctly lengthening. The chill wind of evening was rustling the leaves and the first owl was hooting as it searched for its prey. The driver slowed the horses to a walk. At any moment, I thought, he might refuse to take us any further in this light. That would be a serious predicament. It was dangerous to be walking on unfrequented roads, in the forest, unarmed and in the dark.

I rapped on the back of the planks behind his seat. He stopped and craned over to look in on me. ‘You wanted something, citizen?’

‘Not much further now. I’ll give you a brand to light yourself back home.’

He muttered something about not having realized how far it would be, and how he would not have taken the fare if he had known, but he did urge the horses slowly on again. After a few minutes, which seemed an age, I saw the roundhouse coming into sight and I signalled to the driver that it was time to stop. He drew up at the gate to the enclosure.

Minimus jumped down at once and helped me to the ground. As he was doing so his partner, Maximus, came running from the house.

‘Oh, master, you are home at last. The mistress was concerned. She was beginning to think of sending out a search party for you.’ He grinned at Minimus. ‘How was the wedding? Was it a good feast?’

‘I’ll tell you in a moment. First I have to pay.’

The driver named a sum that made me pale. But I would have to pay it, and persuade him to come back. My freedom depended on my being early into town and making some breakthrough with the problems that I faced.

The driver saw my frown. ‘A double journey, citizen, and a slow one in this light. I might have had a dozen customers by now.’

I turned to Minimus. ‘But didn’t you agree a price before we left?’

The slave boy shook his head, shamefacedly. ‘I’m sorry, master, Marcus never did.’ Of course, I had not thought. He was not accustomed to such bargaining.

I turned to the driver. ‘I will pay what you ask. But only on condition that you come back here in the morning as soon as it is light, and take me back into the town again.’

The driver looked mutinous. ‘Another double trip!’ Then he brightened. ‘I’ll take it in advance.’

I was prepared for that trick. ‘When you come tomorrow. I will pay you then – for both the journeys.’ That should ensure that he came back for me, I thought. ‘In the meantime, here is something on account. Maximus, go inside and find a sestertius for him. Minimus, you go and find a brand to light him home.’ The two boys ran to do this, and I turned back to him. ‘Tomorrow morning, as soon as it is light. I am going back to the garrison, so don’t be late.’

I left the two boys to pay him and fix the torch on to the metal hook which was provided for that purpose on the carriage frame. I went into the roundhouse to my wife.

She was sitting spinning by the central fire. She smiled as I came in. ‘Minimus says you’ve had a trying day.’

I was about to answer when she raised her hand. ‘Tell me later on. Junio is coming and you can tell us then. You are tired and hungry. Take your toga off and sit down on that stool, the boys will fetch some water and wash your face and hands. There is vegetable stew in that pot on the fire, and I have baked those oatcakes that you like so much.’

I sat down gratefully and did as she had said, willing to delay bad news as long as possible, while Minimus tended to my every need. How much longer would I have the luxury of slaves and home-cooked food like this?

I glanced at Minimus. He had been given a great bowl of stew as well. I was not hungry somehow, but he wolfed his down, and – seeing the disappointment of my wife – I forced myself to eat. It was fragrant and delicious and I did not speak a word until there was not a morsel remaining on the plate. Just as I was mopping up the very last of it, my adopted son Junio came into the house.

I told the story then, trying not to dwell too much upon the threat to me.

Junio and Gwellia listened carefully, and did not interrupt – except to ask for every detail I could recollect. I was grateful for their help. I had encouraged Junio to do this many times, and he had an aptitude. He often saw things I had not seen myself, and Gwellia had a gift for spotting discrepancies from a female point of view. This time however, they seemed mystified.

‘Let’s go back to basics,’ Junio said. ‘Who would stand to profit by Honorius’s death? Pompeia does, I suppose. Not Helena Domna, she has lost her home, and will only have her own allowance to live on from now on.’

‘And not Livia either,’ Gwellia put in. ‘She’s worse off than before. If she wanted to be rid of him, she only needed to sue for a divorce. They are not so difficult to come by nowadays – any good lawyer could have got her one. She has been dutiful and Honorius is cruel – he has shown that by executing his own daughter in that way. She would have got her dowry back intact, and the freedom to do anything she liked. As it is, she gets a guardian and shares the estate with Pompeia and the child. She’ll need the guardian’s permission to do anything at all.’

‘So it rather depends on who the guardian is,’ I said. ‘If it is Gracchus, he might have a motive, I suppose. And the doorman, too. He was hoping for his freedom, and Honorius might have been standing in his way. But how could they have murdered anyone? Or Miles, the son-in-law whose wife Honorius killed? He had a grievance, but he wasn’t there.’

‘Redux?’ Gwellia put in. ‘He had a private grudge concerning Zythos, it appears. But how could he have brought poison to the house? Which brings us back to Antoninus, possibly. Suppose that Livia is right – there really was poison in that garum and Honorius somehow tasted it today. Somebody realized that and killed the murderer. They might even have filled the amphora up again. That makes a kind of sense. It could even have been Livia herself – she seemed anxious that no one else should taste it afterwards.’

I made a doubtful face. ‘But why should Honorius begin that garum today? It was a small amphora and they had many guests.’

‘Well, he was tasting all the wedding wine,’ she said, obviously unwilling to let the theory go.

‘Of course he was,’ I murmured, and then stopped with a frown. ‘But, come to think of it, why was he doing that? It isn’t usual for hosts to test the wine when it has come directly from the vintners only hours before. Did something happen to make him question it?’

‘And why did he taste the wine himself, in any case?’ Junio was sounding interested and excited now. ‘Most people would have someone do it for them, wouldn’t they?’

‘As Helena Domna did, in fact!’ I said triumphantly. ‘Junio, you’re right. Did he ask the servants to taste the wine at all? Do you know, Minimus?’

There was no answer. The slave boy was sitting on the upturned pail which served him as a stool, and his empty bowl was still balanced on his lap, but he had slumped forward, his ginger head leaning upon his arms.

For an awful moment I felt my blood run cold. ‘Minimus!’

But my voice had roused him, and he slowly stirred. He opened one eye drowsily, then pulled himself upright, obviously horrified to realize where he was. ‘I’m sorry master – I was fast asleep. There has been so much to see and do today. It won’t occur again. What can I do to make amends to you?’

He clearly feared a beating, but Gwellia caught my glance. ‘You can rinse these dirty bowls for me, then smooth the straw and spread the blanket out to make your master’s bed. Then, I suggest that you should go next door into the servants’ sleeping room and go to bed yourself. You’ll be wanted first thing in the morning, so I understand. Your master has enough concerns without your carelessness.’

Junio smiled. ‘And I must go back to Cilla. She’ll be waiting up for me. She would have come to see you, father, but she’s not been well. I’ve been away from her all day – working on that pavement you started yesterday. I haven’t even had the time to go into Glevum and open up the shop.’

‘Poor Cilla! What’s the matter?’ I was all concern. Junio’s young wife had been a slave of ours, and had always been the picture of robust good health.

Gwellia nudged me sharply. ‘Nothing serious. But he should get back to her. Maximus, you can take a brand and escort him up the path.’ Junio’s roundhouse enclosure was very close to ours.

My son turned at the doorway. ‘Shall I come with you tomorrow, father, when you go into town? It seems to me that you could do with my support?’

‘If you would like to and if Cilla’s well enough,’ I said. It was as close to begging as dignity allowed. ‘There are several things that you could do for me.’

And he was gone, with Maximus holding a torch to light his way. Minimus murmured a blessing and withdrew, leaving my gentle wife and I alone. The evening rituals of the household seemed precious suddenly.

I helped her with the fire, raked the ashes over the clay pot in one half of it, so that the bread would cook in the embers overnight, and banked the other half with slower-burning logs, not only to warm the roundhouse, but to ensure that we still had a means of cooking when the morning came. Then I lay down on the bed that Minimus had prepared and Gwellia drew the covers over me, settled down beside me and blew the tapers out. A moment later her soft breathing told me she was fast asleep.

I was grateful for the comfort of her sleeping form, but I could not rest. My mind was too full of the worries of the day and fears about the morrow. It was not just the murders – though, Jove knew, they were sufficient problems in themselves – but there were little questions which niggled at my brain. That writing tablet for example, and the way that Livia and Redux had both been shocked by it. Livia’s astonishment was explicable enough, but could I really believe that Redux had merely been anxious for his friend? Antoninus had clearly possessed that writing block – he’d used the thing to send a note to me. Had Zythos bribed him with it, in exchange for silence over some misdeed? Was it about that statue, that it worried Redux so? I was sure the information was in that writing block, but for the life of me I could not work out what it was. And my future might depend on it.