Murder in the Forum (16 page)

Not this time. Marcus shook his head. ‘He had nothing to add, beyond the fact that the visitor was cloaked and hooded – though that was not unexpected, with the rain. He did not wear a toga, though, and spoke Latin with a strange accent.’

I smiled. ‘Conspicuous enough, one would think. Almost as if he was wishing to be noticed.’

Marcus grimaced. ‘If that was the case he failed. The gatekeeper seems to have been paying more attention to the gifts than to the bearer. Costly bronze bracelets and a length of silk. Doubtless he was hoping for a tip. He didn’t get one. But I am sure he told us all he knew. Even the promise of gold from me was not enough to sharpen his recollections.’

I smiled more broadly. This interrogation, then, had been of the more gentle kind. Marcus knows my views. Feeble purse-strings can often be as persuasive as the thickest lash, and no more unreliable. ‘But you wish me to speak to him, all the same?’

Marcus’s grin was almost sheepish. ‘My wife wishes it, old friend. I do not know what you can achieve, but I am a married man. I am returning to my apartment, now, in a litter. Delicta is waiting for me. If you would attend us there?’

I bent my knee and bowed my head. ‘With pleasure, Excellence,’ and Marcus left. I could hear him summoning attendants in the hall. He would take Gaius’s attendants, of course. Marcus had no doubt dismissed his own to wait on Delicta, and my poor slave had not yet returned to the building. When I went to visit Marcus, I should have to walk the streets unattended.

That would raise a few eyebrows. A citizen in a toga is conspicuous without slaves, but in other respects this arrangement suited me very well. Before I went to meet my patron I hoped to make some enquiries about that missing poison phial, and I could do that most effectively without a clutch of slaves at my elbow. Something told me that if I did not locate it soon, then I would never find it at all. Phyllidia was a determined woman.

I walked quietly back across the house towards the wooden steps which led upstairs. No one paid the least attention to me. From the atrium the wailing continued unabated, and as I passed I glimpsed the man Tommonius taking his turn beside the bier while the funeral attendants wafted him with burning herbs. He glanced towards me, and I saw his face as I hurried away. He looked consolable at the loss of Felix, I thought.

I walked upstairs, unattended by any slave and – as far as I could see – unobserved by any member of the household. It was a strange sensation. One becomes accustomed, in big Roman houses, to the constant presence of slaves. It was slightly unnerving to find oneself so unexpectedly alone. Yet presumably Egobarbus had contrived to do the same, last night, in order to divest himself of his cloak and – somehow – his whiskers. And yet it was a rare event. Not for the first time, it puzzled me.

I was up the stairs by this time. I was not actually creeping about, but naturally I was taking reasonable care that my footsteps were as quiet as possible. I paused for a moment outside the bedroom from which I had seen Phyllidia emerge. There was no sound from within and no answer to my tentative knock.

I lifted my hand to the catch, and very gently lifted it. The door swung open at my touch.

I had been half prepared to find Phyllidia there, but the room was empty. Not a woman’s room, despite the little row of ointment pots and powders lying on the wooden travelling chest. The covering on the slatted bed was of coarse wool, although a pair of thick fox skins had been thrown carelessly over the stool, as though the occupant of the room might find the British night chilly and damp after the warmth of Rome. A stained and crumpled
stola
had been gathered into a pile under the window space, presumably awaiting the ministrations of the fuller, and a belt-ring – oil spoon, scissors, ear-scraper and tweezers – lay on the floor beside the bed. There was a tiny travelling altar set up in a niche, with figurines of the goddess of the moon, but otherwise the room was bare.

I hesitated. I am not by nature a spy, and the idea of searching the room uninvited in the absence of the occupier was not a comfortable one. But the opportunity was too good to miss. I went over to the travelling chest and, setting aside the little containers of cosmetics, gently lifted the lid.

There was not much in the chest. A few tunics,
stolae
and linen shifts, a change of woven stockings and a pair of leather slippers, and – to my embarrassment – a hefty corset and a pair of sturdy open-work briefs with frilling at the legs and fancy lacing at the side. There was also a fitted wooden box containing a selection of brooches and decorative hairpins, and another of carved ivory which clearly was intended to contain cosmetics, but of the famous phial of poison there was no sign whatever.

I was returning the contents to the chest, ready to transfer my search activities to the bedding, when the door opened abruptly and Phyllidia came in.

I froze.

Slowly she took off her mourning veil and stood regarding me. She did not look upset as I half expected, but she was clearly furiously angry. Her voice was biting as she said, ‘What are you doing here? Searching my things?’

Since she had caught me halfway down her luggage it was difficult to deny this. I said, ‘Your pardon, lady. I was looking for the poison phial your servant spoke of.’ It sounded feeble. It is hard for a man to appear dignified when he is clutching a bust-binder in one hand and a woman’s underslip in the other.

She shut the door behind her with a bang. ‘My father is lying dead downstairs,’ she said, ‘but it seems I am not to be free of his methods. Who paid you to do this? Or are you simply thieving?’

I flushed. Unhappy enough to be caught spying, but a charge of stealing could bring the might of the law against me. I said hastily, ‘My patron Marcus has asked me to investigate. However, I have exceeded my instructions. He did not ask me to search here. I hoped to find the phial, that is all.’

Phyllidia’s plain face darkened. ‘Indeed? Then perhaps you should have had the courtesy to ask me. There is no mystery. I have strapped it under my garments, as my servant told you. You wish me to produce it?’ She flung the mourning veil onto the bed.

‘If possible, lady.’ I tried to sound as humble as I could, in the hope of allaying her anger. Phyllidia in this mood would tell me nothing. But she was not to be pacified. To my horror, instead of asking me to go outside, she turned away, hoisted up her outer tunic and – with her back to me – began to fumble among her inner garments.

It was a protest, I understood that, designed to make me feel how much I had intruded on her privacy. I was agonised by the impropriety of it – as no doubt she had intended. I said, ‘Lady, I will wait outside the door . . .’ but it was too late.

Phyllidia let drop her skirts and whirled round, a small blue glass flagon in her hand. ‘Why should you do that, citizen? It is clear how I am regarded here – a worthless female, with no more rights than a slave. I hoped my subjugation had perished with my father, but I see that I was wrong. Better I had drunk this, as I intended.’

‘Lady, no!’

She withered me with a glance. ‘No? Dragged here unwillingly by land and sea to marry a man I do not even know? Refused permission to see my friends, spied on and restricted at every turn? And even now, I cannot leave my room an instant without a stranger searching my intimate belongings. I should be grateful, perhaps, for your restraint. In your place my father would have had my woman strip me while he searched.’

I was genuinely horrified, and it must have shown in my face.

She raised her chin defiantly. ‘Well, soon it will be so no longer. I shall have a powerful protector. Gaius the magistrate has agreed to approach the
praetor
and offer himself to be my legal guardian. We shall see who treats me as a servant then.’

I was astonished. It seemed that Marcus had lost no time in persuading Gaius to adopt the duty. But some apology was necessary. I had already alienated Gaius and if he heard of this latest outrage it could easily cost me my liberty, Marcus or not. I said sincerely, ‘Lady, you have my most abject apology. I had no thought of treating you so ill – it was merely that I hoped to find the phial. Octavius—’

‘Ah yes, Octavius.’ The tone softened and for a moment the stolid face looked almost tender. ‘Where have they taken him?’

I saw an advantage and I took it shamelessly. ‘I believe they are holding him in the house. I advised my patron not to send him to the jail. I do not believe that he poisoned your father.’ I took the phial from her unprotesting fingers as I spoke. ‘This may help to prove his innocence.’

This time there was a thaw in her manner. ‘It may?’

I held the bottle to me. ‘Of course. He knew there was a phial, but since it is full it could scarcely have been used to poison anyone, not even the dog.’

Phyllidia frowned. ‘So, there is a possibility that my father was poisoned?’

‘Not by Octavius,’ I said. ‘At least not personally. I was with him at the banquet and he would have had no opportunity.’

The frown lifted a little. ‘You do not see him as a murderer?’

‘On the contrary, I think he would do anything for you,’ I said. ‘Another reason why I think I should take away that phial of poison which you stole from your father. You did steal it, I assume? The maidservant was right?’

Phyllidia coloured. ‘I told you the truth,’ she said. ‘My father ordered me to follow him to this province and meet him in Glevum. He had some business to see to in the north and then he intended to arrange a marriage for me. A political marriage – he had planned it with the Emperor. That alone would be enough to make me fear it. I tried to protest, wrote to him begging him to change his mind, but he would not listen. I intended to confront him here – threaten to take the poison, in public if necessary. I would have done it, too. I am not a chattel to be sold to the highest bidder.’

Poor girl, I thought – that was exactly how her father had regarded her, although as an unattractive daughter she was not even a valuable chattel. I said, in an attempt to be comforting, ‘Your fate would not have been so dreadful. My patron Marcus is a just and honourable man.’

She turned on me. ‘Then I would have been used to ruin him. My servants are all spies, and Marcus is known, in Rome, to be a friend of the Governor Pertinax. The Emperor fears him – no doubt in time my father’s spies would have found some excuse to bring about his downfall. Already there are whispers in the court that Pertinax is to be moved from his command – to some other post, perhaps, where he is away from the disaffected legions.’

I was staring at her.

‘You doubt me? Then you should talk to Zetso about it. Octavius heard him crowing about this to some handsome charioteer, one evening in the Circus Maximus – bragging of his master’s influence. That is how I knew of it. I am not well versed in the intrigues of the city.’

‘Octavius frequents the circus?’

She smiled. ‘Not often, no. He went because my father was there. The foolish boy had heard rumours of an unbeatable horse and driver, and was hoping to win some money on the races in order to offer for my hand. Thought it would impress my father. Being Octavius, of course, he lost what little money he had.’ She said it with affectionate irritation. If Octavius attained his wish, I thought, and took Phyllidia to wife, he would not have the easiest of lives.

I nodded, slipping the little bottle carefully into the folds of my toga. There was a cord threaded through a glass eyelet near the stopper, and I looped that around my belt where it would be safe.

‘Well,’ I said, ‘I will do my best for him. I’ll take this to my patron. He will be pleased.’ That was true. Marcus was more likely to be impressed by a phial of poison, even if it had not been used, than by all the information in the world. For good measure, I decided, I would go back to the heap and take him the moustache, however malodorous it was. I could always hire a slave to carry it for me.

Phyllidia inclined her head. ‘And I will send for a little bread and water to sustain me. There will be no meals served in this house, of course, until after the funeral, and I will observe the public fast – but I see no reason why I should go hungry.’

‘You do not altogether mourn your father?’

She met my eyes then, and I was shocked by the fire in them. ‘I will tell you the truth, citizen. I stole that poison with the intention of drinking it, but the idea of giving it to my father instead had occurred to me. I was almost ready to do it. Fortunately, I was spared the necessity – by accident or design. And I warn you, citizen, I do not greatly care which it was. Even if it was shown to be a murder, I should not wish to bring a case against . . . whoever did it.’

She meant it. Under Roman law there is no case without an accuser. ‘I see,’ I said softly. ‘Though the Emperor himself might take an interest. I will send a servant with your supper.’

She had turned quite white, with little patches of scarlet on her cheeks. And with that I left her.

My first thought was to attend my patron. The interview with Phyllidia had delayed me, and Marcus is not in any case a patient man. Pausing only to collect my cloak from the alcove where I had left it and to glance into the servants’ ante-room in case there was now a slave available (there wasn’t), I hurried to the door with the firm intention of stepping through it and making my way to Marcus with all available speed.

The doorkeeper had other ideas. Instead of opening the door at my approach, he stepped out in front of me with a ferocious scowl, and the thick baton at his side found its way menacingly into his hand. ‘You were thinking of leaving, citizen?’

It was not an encouraging opening. Obviously I was thinking of leaving or I would not have been making towards the door. However, over a long life I have learned never to quarrel, if I can avoid it, with a man who is bigger and younger than I am and armed with a baton.

I flashed the man a hollow smile. ‘I am under orders to rejoin my patron, doorkeeper, but there are still no slaves in evidence. I was resigning myself to a long lonely walk through the town.’