Murder in the Forum (30 page)

Junio, standing behind the diners opposite, caught my eye and gave me a most impertinent wink. He had been permitted, as a special treat, to wait on me at Marcus’s table and he was enjoying himself hugely.

Pertinax looked grave. ‘A man hears what he expects to hear, no doubt. If he was expecting the death of the Emperor, he would jump to such a conclusion.’

‘He was astonished when I told him that the death appeared to have been caused by choking on a nut. That was when he wrote his letter and rushed off to “warn the rest”. Of course, he sealed it with Felix’s seal, which he believed was still legitimate. And when they caught up with him in Letocetum he kept referring to his “seal”. He meant Felix’s, of course. I wondered why he never mentioned his warrant, but of course if Commodus were dead that might not have been honoured by the new incumbent.’

‘We have sent to Letocetum,’ Marcus said, picking at an olive with his pointed spoon. ‘We have found the letters. They were in wax. Zetso tried to erase them, but Felix had written so hard that there are marks in the casing. Enough to prove the matter, we believe. We hope to round up the others who were with him.’

‘Officers from the northern legions, I believe,’ I said, with a sideways look at Pertinax. These were, after all, his soldiers.

The governor sighed. ‘Indeed, and I believe that I could name them, too. The same men who tried to persuade me to take the purple, not so long ago. I imagine we can find them – they will have gone back to their legions. They will have learned by now that the Emperor still lives, but they have no special cause for alarm. When Zetso was arrested, the guard was told he was wanted for murdering some unknown Celt.’

‘He did that all right,’ I said. ‘On Felix’s orders. Felix took a house and invited Egobarbus to it, with promises that he should be paid what Felix owed him. Then he sent Zetso to say he was delayed, and sent a jug of wine as an apology. Only, of course, Zetso had poisoned it. He told me himself that Egobarbus was “poisoned”, though I had never mentioned how he died. We found the phial further down the road. He had not even bothered to disguise it.’

‘We have found the Egobarbus party now,’ Marcus said, thoughtfully. ‘They were discovered yesterday, just where you said they would be, on the road south to Aquae Sulis. A courier brought me word this afternoon. They have been arrested, and are being held awaiting word from me.’

‘And was their story as I suggested?’

He picked up his goblet. ‘Very largely so. After Zetso called at the hired house they were banished upstairs. Their master was waiting for the Roman, he said, and there was secret business. They heard no more, and when they dared to come downstairs next day they found him dead. But there had been no one there, and they thought they would be blamed. That would have meant instant death for them. They panicked and pushed the body down the well. The senior slave among them appears to have masterminded it. He claims to be a cousin of the Celt, and therefore the heir now Egobarbus is dead. He
was
a barber, by the way. I do not know how you discovered that?’

‘I guessed,’ I said. ‘It is impossible to keep a moustache like that without constant trimming and the application of wax. Egobarbus was vain. He would not travel far without his hairdresser. The man may well be a cousin. All those red-haired men are children of the same father. I imagine he cut off the moustache and fixed it with wax to his own face?’

‘He has admitted it. He knew the carriage was arriving and he saw a chance to escape. He dressed himself in Egobarbus’s cloak, and assumed his place.’ Marcus took a sip of his wine. ‘The intention, I think, was merely to come to Glevum and disappear, but there was a confrontation with the carriage-driver. He had been promised extra fare, and the slaves had no money. They had to appeal to Felix.’

I nodded. ‘I was extremely stupid there. Of course, that proved that Felix had not met their master. They would hardly have appealed for money to a man who would betray them. Felix must have been appalled – he thought the Celt was dead. But he could hardly say so, and he issued an invitation to the feast. The slaves could scarcely refuse. It must have been a dreadful evening for them – the pretended Egobarbus had poor Latin, hated wine, and his moustache was in constant danger of slipping off. I saw him dab at it a hundred times. He must have lived a night of agony.’

‘And then,’ Phyllidia said suddenly, ‘my father choked and died. The poor slave must have almost done the same. Two deaths at his side in as many days. He would never survive a questioning – so he threw off his disguise and became a slave again?’

‘Exactly.’ I speared another piece of duck. Unfortunately, it was covered in fish pickle. ‘And of course, being a slave, it was easy for him to slip past the guards as part of the funeral procession. He was the one who claimed to be going back to find his father, of course. Meanwhile, the others stayed in the town just long enough to sell Egobarbus’s sample trinkets which he had probably hoped to tempt Felix with. Enough to finance their journey home. No doubt some citizens got an unexpected bargain – that was the finest bronze. The slaves could hardly ask the real value, they would have called attention to themselves. They must have been terrified of discovery, and I must have frightened them terribly when I found the piece of discarded moustache. No wonder they attacked me.’ I swallowed the pickle with difficulty. ‘I thought at first it was Zetso who had joined the funeral, but of course it wasn’t. In that fringed military hood he could not have passed for a slave. The keeper of the bawdy-house reminded me of that.’

‘Then how did Zetso get past the gates?’ Marcus snapped.

‘I imagine he just drove through them in that carriage. There was no search afoot at that time, and with that blazon no one would have challenged him. I suspect one soldier noticed him, but he’d been flirting with Zetso earlier, and may have thought to save him trouble. He said nothing.’

‘So the death of Egobarbus was nothing to do with the conspiracy?’ Gaius said, breaking a piece off his roll. ‘Merely an unpleasant accident.’

‘I have been thinking about that,’ I said, ‘and I am not so sure. Felix had no qualms about exercising power – look what he did to Marcus’s herald. And Egobarbus was not a citizen, merely a tiresome Celt demanding payment – payment, incidentally, which Felix could easily afford. But even if he did wish to kill Egobarbus, why the secrecy? One trumped-up charge, one claim of insolence, and Egobarbus would have been strung up somewhere for the crows, just as the herald was.’

I looked around. They were all watching me, spoons and goblets partway to their mouths. Junio gave me a cheeky grin. He knew I loved an audience.

‘Zetso told me,’ I said, savouring every minute, ‘that Egobarbus “barged in” to the house in Letocetum, where there was a meeting. Think what that means. He cannot have confronted them, since Felix did not know what he looked like, but after that he begins to talk of money – serious money – and Felix takes a house, an entire house mind you, to meet Egobarbus and pay him. Not a lonely house, or a house in a town, but a house in a small village where everyone will see the Celt come, but – clearly – Felix never intends to be seen. Almost as if he were creating an alibi. Yet up to then, Felix had ignored Egobarbus – to the extent that the Celt lost patience and “barged in” to the house.’

‘So,’ Julia Delicta said, ‘you think he overheard something? And was trying to blackmail Felix?’

‘Or Felix thought he was,’ I said. ‘Which was equally fatal.’

There was a gratifying silence.

‘And my slaves?’ Delicta said. ‘You think that was Zetso’s doing too?’

‘Oh, I am sure it was. That was where Zetso went when he left the banquet. On Felix’s orders, of course. He took the carriage to the ex-centurion’s house . . . we know that now?’ I looked enquiringly at Marcus.

He nodded briefly.

‘. . . and exchanged it for a horse. We know that it was nothing for Zetso to ride at night, although most men could not do it. He took some “gifts” from Felix’s belongings and rode to Corinium. The gatekeeper told me that the rider was drenched: I should have realised that he must have ridden a long way in the rain. I do not know quite what he planned, but when he arrived at the house you were not there, so he looked for you in the town. It was not your slaves he wished to kill, of course, but you. He thought that he had done it too – hence his dismay at seeing you at court. You were either a ghost or a witness against him.’

‘Deceived by the hair,’ Delicta breathed. Across the room I saw Junio shudder.

‘But why,’ said Pertinax patiently, ‘should Felix wish to kill Delicta?’

‘I can answer that,’ Phyllidia said. ‘He wanted me to marry Marcus. If Julia Delicta was set upon in town, and killed by thieves, then Marcus was free to marry again. It must have been important to his plans.’

No one said anything to that. We were all thinking the same thing. An alliance with Marcus – and hence Pertinax – would be very useful to Felix if Commodus had died. A little false evidence, and the Britannic governor could easily be blamed for planning the murder – after all he had been acclaimed as Emperor once before – with considerable rewards for the accuser. Or if Pertinax rose to the purple after all, his close acquaintance might expect to be a candidate for high office. And, of course, even an Emperor is mortal, especially if there is poison in his cup.

‘There is one thing that I do not understand,’ Marcus said, at last. ‘Who did poison Felix? It was not me, despite what Zetso said.’

‘Zetso thought that you had executed Felix for conspiracy,’ I said. ‘And as for poisoning him, that is the strangest thing. I do not believe that anyone did, at least not deliberately. I think it was a kind of accident.’

‘You mean he really choked on the nut?’

‘He choked,’ I said. ‘But that was not what killed him. We have the evidence of the dog for that. Something there
was
poisoned. Not the wine, which everyone was sharing. Not Gaius’s potion, though I thought of that. Not Felix’s drinking vessel, either. He was drinking from that goblet when he stood up, when he showed not the slightest sign of distress, and he was still holding it when he fell. No, what killed him was what someone gave him later, in an honest attempt to help him when he choked. And there is only one thing that it can have been. Water – the extra water Egobarbus used to dilute the wine he did not like.’

Marcus put down his goblet with a bang. ‘Yes, of course, I remember. Felix himself sent for that extra water. He kept on saying that Egobarbus did not drink much wine.’

‘It is obvious, when you think of it. Felix had already made one attempt to poison Egobarbus, but it had not worked, or Felix thought it hadn’t. And Felix now thought that he knew why. “Egobarbus did not drink much wine.” So Felix had Zetso poison the extra water. They expected no trouble – the drains were stinking, and it is easy to blame bad water for a death, as Felix knew already. Zetso hid the bottle in the rubbish-pile as he left. Only, when Felix choked, someone forced the water through his lips. He may even have known it – you saw how he tried to struggle.’

‘Poor dog,’ Gaius said gloomily. ‘It lapped up what was spilt. I always thought it unlikely that a dog would drink spilt wine.’

‘So there you are,’ Marcus said. ‘A judgement of the gods, as Tommonius always said. And speaking of poisons . . .’ He summoned a servant to bring him a covered salver from a small table nearby. He lifted the cover and revealed a small blue phial on a cord, which he handed to Phyllidia. ‘This is yours, I think?’

She took it with a shudder, and looked at Octavius. ‘We shall not need this now, Octavius. The only drink that we shall share is the marriage cup at our wedding. Gaius has given his permission.’ She gave the bottle back to Marcus. ‘Save this,’ she said, ‘for some unfortunate criminal. It is the one thing which my father ever did with which I have any sympathy.’

Marcus nodded, and put away the phial. ‘If Libertus had been sentenced yesterday, I was going to send it to him. I could not have allowed him to suffer.’ He raised his goblet in my direction. ‘Libertus is a lucid thinker, Pertinax, although he was once a slave. I do not know what I would do without him.’

Helvius Pertinax rested his elbows on the table and made a triangle with his fingers. ‘My father was a freed slave,’ he said. ‘I have some idea what it means.’ He turned to me. ‘It seems that the Empire owes you a reward, Libertus. Is there some boon that you would ask of me?’

I hesitated. I could think of a hundred boons, but I knew what politeness required. ‘You have commuted my sentence, Mightiness,’ I said. ‘I already owe you my life.’

I owed him more than that, in fact. The traitor Felix could not be uncremated, but of course there would be no pavement in his honour. As soon as he had learned of this, Pertinax had ordered a small area of pavement in the basilica to commemorate his own visit. I was already amusing myself by designing the border – small ovals representing nuts and a wavy pattern like water.

Pertinax laughed. He had a nice laugh, when he chose to use it, though he was in general a sober man. ‘Then I shall have to find my own favours. I have thought of one already. Junio?’

Junio disappeared with a smirk, and reappeared a moment later with a platter, covered with a linen cloth, from which the most delectable smells were arising.

‘Oatcakes, master,’ Junio announced. ‘One of Marcus’s kitchen slaves is a Celt and she made them to her old recipe, especially for you.’

I pulled back the linen cover and could not stop myself grinning. I picked up an oatcake and sank my teeth into the delicious warmth. Better than any layered fowl, and not an ounce of fish pickle in sight.

‘I had a second idea,’ Pertinax said. He nodded at Junio again, and my slave vanished for a second time. This time when he reappeared I did not smile. Instead I felt an expression of foolish surprise dawn on my face.

‘A toga!’ I exclaimed. ‘A new toga.’ I glanced down at the pathetic garment I was wearing. ‘How did you guess?’

‘I saw you in the court,’ the governor replied. At that moment he was wearing a
synthesis
himself, a combination tunic and toga that rich men often adopt for social occasions, which saves hours of folding every time the owner dresses for dinner. Nevertheless, I was delighted with my toga.