Death at Pompeia's Wedding (7 page)

Gracchus put a restraining hand upon her arm. People were queuing up behind us to take their leave of her, and might be listening to this interchange. He dropped his voice as if to warn her of the fact. ‘It seems he has a talent for solving mysteries of this kind – and now he has undertaken to work on my behalf. Perhaps, if he succeeds in doing it, we could have a wedding later on? On the same terms as this one, as far as dowry goes? After the funeral, and leaving a due period for mourning, naturally.’

For the first time I saw the glimmer of a smile. She said, with an attempt to drop her strident voice, ‘We could hold an appropriate public cleansing sacrifice, perhaps, to lift the evil omens of today, and appease the gods.’

Appease the gossips was what she really meant, but Gracchus merely smiled. ‘Then my word upon it, lady. We will speak of this again. In the meantime, I will take my leave.’ He took off his wreath, and said in a voice that was intended to be heard by everyone, ‘Send this, and my greetings, to the lady Pompeia and tell her I hope she will recover soon. And you will inform me when the body is laid out, I will come to pay homage and attend the funeral.’ He bowed his head to us and – acknowledging the surprised and sympathetic murmurs as he passed through the crowd – he followed his friend Linneus out into the street.

‘Well!’ Livia had detached herself from some departing guests and made her way to join us, the plump handmaiden still following at her heels. ‘The disappointed bridegroom has left us now, I see. I am sorry not to have managed to have a word with him. Though I doubt my words would be a compensation for his loss.’

‘It may not be a loss yet,’ her mother-in-law muttered, grudgingly. ‘Thanks to this incomer you think so highly of. He has wormed his way into Gracchus’s confidence, now, and persuaded him that he can prove Pompeia innocent – in which case Gracchus will have her in spite of everything. I can’t say I approve of the bargain – or of him – but I suppose that we shall have to make the best of it. It would assure Pompeia’s future, at the very least.’

Livia turned her pretty face to me. ‘Then it seems we owe you gratitude for this also, citizen. As well as your help in taking charge of things.’

Helena Domna scowled at me again. ‘I don’t know why you sent to ask him to do that. Most inappropriate. One of the family should have spoken to the crowd. You should not have called upon a stranger to dismiss our guests. And look at them – departing straightaway, without a semblance of hospitality. The news will be over the whole colonia by dark. I don’t know what Honorius would have said, I’m sure.’

Livia exchanged a meaningful glance with me. ‘I’m sure it is his death which will concern them more.’

Helena Domna sniffed. ‘And that’s another thing. Who is to close poor Honorius’s eyes, and do the calling of his name and start on the lament? You and I can’t do it, decently – much as I’m sure you’d like to volunteer to do the task yourself. A female! If we were to show such disrespect, I should expect my son to come and haunt the house for evermore. If only my dear brother was still here to act for us. But there are no living male relatives at all, and dreadful as it is, we may have to use a slave.’ She looked around. ‘But people are waiting to say farewell to us. We’ll say no more about this until everybody’s gone.’ She fixed an artificial smile upon her face and turned away to speak to a departing visitor. Most of the invited guests had left by now – including Antoninus, I observed – and, as she’d said, the few that remained were obviously waiting to say their goodbyes as well.

I raised my brows at Livia. ‘But isn’t there a relative by marriage in the house?’ I murmured, then added, since she was staring in puzzlement at me, ‘Somebody called Redux, or something similar? I thought I heard it mentioned.’

From the chill that followed you might have supposed that I had named the hound of hell himself within a house of death, and was myself in danger of bringing a curse upon the place.

Her face turned scarlet and her voice was surprisingly unsteady as she said, ‘Related by marriage in a fashion, I suppose. But quite remotely and some time ago. Hardly the person to perform the rites.’

She was so dismissive that I pressed the point. ‘But, surely, even a remote connection, in the circumstances . . .’ I trailed off, remembering. ‘Oh, but come to think of it, do I recall hearing that there was some kind of grudge?’

She gave me a thin smile. ‘Exactly, citizen. And that is family business, so if you’ll excuse me now . . .’

She made as if to turn away, but I prevented her. I could not lay a hand upon her arm – that would have been presumptuous – but I said in an urgent undertone, ‘Lady, if I am to help you in this matter, I must know the facts – and I would rather hear them from your lips than have to ask the gossips. Or perhaps Helena Domna would enlighten me . . .?’

The name – as I hoped – was enough to do the trick. Livia gave me a nervous sideways glance. ‘I suppose you’d find out somehow. At least if I tell you, there’s some chance you’ll hear the truth. Very well. Come into the
triclinium
, where we won’t be overheard.’

She waved her maidservant and Minimus aside and led the way into the dining room, where the decorated central table, and the stools and other seating set around the walls were a forlorn reminder of the cancelled feast. She sat on one of the three dining couches for which the room is named, and motioned me to sit beside her on a stool. ‘I can’t be long, I shall very soon be missed, but I will tell you the story very briefly, citizen. It is not a happy one. Redux was brother-in-law to young Honoria – Pompeia’s elder sister and my stepdaughter – who was executed by my husband for her presumed adultery. Perhaps you’ve heard the tale?’

I nodded. ‘I had heard rumours.’

‘I am not surprised. It was the talk of Aqua Sulis for a moon or two. In the old days, of course, when people like Julius Caesar were alive, it was a dishonour not to mete out that kind of punishment – but these are modern times. It was regarded as a very cruel and violent thing to do. Even Redux’s brother Miles thought so, and he was the husband in the case.’ She picked up one of the roses from the tabletop and – as if her hands were moving without her willing it – began to tear the petals from it one by one.

‘Though Honorius was defending the husband’s honour as well as his own,’ I said.

She nodded. ‘Miles didn’t want to believe Honoria had been unfaithful – the maids had heard her screaming that she was innocent, and he would have heard her out. But her father wouldn’t listen – there was no excuse, he said. He was visiting the house and found her in her sleeping room, apparently, lying on the bed frame half-undressed, with a man who was not her husband hiding underneath. There was only one thing for a father to do in such a case, according to his view. And, of course, he did it. He pulled out his dagger and slit both their throats – “cutting off the bough that shames the tree” he called it – to uphold the honour of the family name. And when there were protests – from Miles among others – Honorius took the matter to the courts, and won. The two men had business dealings – that is why the marriage was arranged in the first place – but it made for awkwardness. They are still obliged to meet. All, of course, kept perfectly polite, but there has been coolness between the families ever since.’

‘But this brother, Redux, was invited to the feast today?’ I said. I was surprised by the idea of social interaction after such events – if these were Celtic households there would have been a silent feud and people would have avoided each other in the street – but Roman patrician families did things differently, especially when there were business interests to be borne in mind.

Livia had started shredding another rose by now. She still did not seem conscious that she was doing it. ‘Miles lives in Aqua Sulis and has taken a new wife. He may have been invited to the wedding feast himself – I’m not sure of that – but he would not in any case have been expected to attend. Redux lives near Glevum so he was asked to come, since my husband has trading connections with them both. Or rather, he did have. I keep forgetting that he’s no longer here.’ She stacked the torn petals into a little pile and placed them on a ribbon which adorned the tabletop.

The dumpy maidservant was peering round the doorway by this time, and it was clear that Livia had been missed outside, and that we could not continue to stay here for long without her being discourteous to her guests. But I wanted her to make the most of what little time we had left. I leaned forward. ‘I can understand a coolness with the husband,’ I observed, ‘if he was not in favour of the punishment. But why should Redux bear a grudge? It could hardly be said to have affected him.’

She looked at me squarely, as if coming back to life. ‘Except that the fellow that was killed that day turned out to be Zythos, Redux’s great friend. Redux is convinced that he was innocent and there was some other explanation for his being there – though it is a little difficult to see what it might be. He was there – uninvited and concealed – at night and in Honoria’s room. If her father had not happened to call in to say goodnight, it is probable that they would have got away with it.’

She reached out a finger and sent the little tower of torn petals tumbling. ‘But, of course, there is no possible redress and – like his brother – Redux has to deal with my husband in his trade so he keeps his feelings strictly to himself. On the surface, anyway. Though I understand he has voiced his opinion to his friends.’ She jumped to her feet. ‘And that, citizen, is all that I can tell you, I’m afraid. Come – my slave has clearly been sent to look for me. I must go back and make my last farewells.’

I attempted to detain her. ‘But how did he get in? This Zythos fellow?’ I followed her, as she was walking to the door. It was an important question. A Roman home is not unguarded, like my roundhouse is. A man like Miles would have a doorkeeper and at least a dozen slaves – precisely in order to keep strangers out. So, I persisted. ‘Some member of the household must have let him in – unless he used a ladder, or scaled up a wall, and even then he’d need someone inside to keep a watch.’

She was still walking and did not look around. ‘I don’t know, citizen. Honorius asked the same thing, several times – but all the servants swore they’d never seen the man before.’

‘In Aqua Sulis, that is? But you knew him here?’

She whirled round and stared at me. ‘And why should you say that?’

I shrugged. It seemed obvious to me. ‘He was clearly familiar with Honoria at least. Being a young woman of good family, I don’t imagine she had many opportunities to meet young men, unless they were invited to the house.’

She smiled then, a little ruefully. ‘Of course. I had forgotten you were skilled at reasoning. And naturally, citizen, you are quite correct. After Honoria’s betrothal was announced, we saw him several times. He lived in Glevum, not very far from here, and, as I said, was a friend of Redux – the brother-in-law to be. We liked him very much. He was charming and successful – though a Greek, of course – and there was no hint of a special friendship with Honoria. He was equally attentive to all the womenfolk. In fact, Honorius had hopes of him for Pompeia at one time.’

Poor Pompeia – even a foreigner was good enough for her, since she was thought unlikely to attract a Roman man of wealth; that was very clearly what Livia had meant. The family must have been delighted when Gracchus asked for her. I said quickly, to stop Livia from walking off again, ‘So, when your husband found Zythos in Honoria’s room he felt especially betrayed? Is that why he exacted such a terrible punishment?’

‘Perhaps.’ She’d stopped to face me now and had turned deathly pale. ‘I was not free to voice the thought while my husband was alive, but I believe that it was cruel and unjust punishment – however much the law entitled him to it. The family was shocked, although we did not dare to grieve or even give her a proper burial. My husband could be completely heartless when he chose. I know that poor Redux was distraught as well – but of course, equally helpless to respond.’ She dropped her eyes and went on, in an altered tone of voice, in which it was evident that she was close to tears. ‘We’d even invited Zythos here to dine, you know, on several occasions when Redux was a guest. All in Pompeia’s interests, of course – not that it was ever mentioned openly. Officially it was to make up the proper number at the feast. Honorius was a stickler for social niceties like that. There must be nine at every table – three couches of three each, that sort of thing.’

‘But not today?’ I murmured, looking at the single table and the stools around the walls.

She flashed me that little rueful smile again. ‘Today was the exception. This wedding had to be at home and there were too many guests to seat them formally. We were going to have the slaves bring little folding tables in. Even then I had a job to talk Honorius into it. He thought it was ill-omened. And perhaps it was!’ She paused for a moment at the entrance way and glanced around the decorated room. ‘But you can see now, citizen – I’m sure – why Redux, despite his connection with the family, would not be the proper man to ask to close my husband’s eyes for him and call upon his soul.’

And with that, she joined the waiting slave and went back to the hall, leaving me alone among the empty chairs.

Seven

I watched her go, but didn’t follow her. In fact I deliberately stayed behind and bent down to pick up the scattered petals from the floor, where there was a fine mosaic of the seasons laid at the dining end. It was not my place to do so, in a household full of slaves, but I was half-hoping that one of them would come in after me and I would be able to learn the servants’ view of what had happened in this house today. Besides, Livia had given me a lot to think about and I wanted a little time to consider what it meant.

Had Redux somehow contrived to murder Honorius to avenge the honour killing of his friend, when the legal process offered no redress? That much was plausible. But how could he have put poison in the wine? Or had there been some other method of administering it? Perhaps I was wrong in thinking there was wolfsbane used at all – there were other poisons which would have the same effects – though surely only aconite would have killed so instantly?