Enemies at Home (30 page)

I could try leaning on my parents; they collected waifs, though they probably had enough already. Another possibility might be Manlius Faustus, though his uncle, who ran their household, was a slightly unknown quantity. Uncle Tullius had bought Dromo, for one thing.

I shook hands with the steward and on Graecina’s behalf thanked him for his attention to everything today.

The last person to leave was Sextus Simplicius. He told me he would like to know as soon as the investigation was closed. He was eager to close up the apartment, sell the contents and terminate its lease. That was more urgent now Polycarpus was not around, though Simplicius had asked Graecina to keep an eye out, temporarily. She must have seen how her husband ran things. I made a mental note to suggest to her becoming a concierge as a way of earning. Another good deed for the unfortunates I had met in the course of the case.

‘I gather,’ I said to him, ‘you are ready to sell off the slaves?’

‘Any who survive your enquiries without being executed!’ Sextus Simplicius agreed. ‘Not to mention you-know-who.’

Indeed, he did not mention Myla by name but I noticed she was lurking in a colonnade again and heard him.

Since funerals are night-time events, it was now very late. Dromo was pointedly ‘asleep’ on his mat. Fake snores made it clear he was not intending to take a report to Faustus now – not that I would have sent him out on his own in the dark.

Despite the time, as soon as Simplicius left I called out to Myla. She would have been able to tell from my tone there was no point in playing deaf. So she shuffled up at her own slow pace, complaining rudely, ‘I was going to bed!’

‘So am I in a minute,’ I retorted, not letting her see how she vexed me. ‘This cannot wait. I want a serious chat with you.’

Analysing how I felt towards Myla, I could not decide whether I was sorry for her plight or simply felt too much distaste – not distaste for what she had done with Aviola, where she had no choice, but for the attitude she adopted in consequence. I had noticed her looking hopefully at other men who might take her on. I despise women who rely on men entirely for their own existence. I like men, never think otherwise. Today, seemingly hours ago, I had kissed one with memorable pleasure. But a woman should keep her self-respect – because if she does not, men will all too easily lose their respect for her.

I had had a few moments to think through my new information.

‘I have been hearing about how things were here, Myla. I know this household looked good on the surface but there were all kinds of jealousies and bad feeling. It is the same in many houses in Rome; some are far worse. But here a master and his bride were murdered.’

I saw Myla’s face set. As faces go, hers would have been acceptable but it was ruined by her constant surly expression. Perhaps she kept a better one for Aviola.

Perhaps he was not interested in her face.

If I wanted to be generous, I could say it was possible the very way he had made use of her over the years accounted for her graceless manner. She may not always have been so miserable with the world.

‘I am intrigued,’ I told her. ‘All those slaves who went to the Temple of Ceres, the slaves who are accused of the murders, had little reason to have turned on their master. Whereas you, Myla, have managed to be excluded from the investigation even though you had a big motive.’

Myla still said nothing, though she had been vocal enough when she argued with the Simplicii. She stared at me truculently, and I knew why. There was nothing she could do about me. She ogled men who came here, presumably hoping to gain their protection in the limited way at her disposal. I was a woman. I was an enemy over whom she had no power.

‘You know you are shortly going to the slave market. You were already listed for sale, before your master died. This may be your last chance, Myla. If your master had led you to believe something different, now is the time to tell me.’

When she yelled at Valerius Junior, Myla was bursting with grievances. Even though he was a young man with limited experience, Valerius saw trouble coming and immediately walked away. I would listen to her grudges, but I think she knew I would not respond in the way she wanted.

‘I was promised my freedom,’ Myla declared.

‘Did he say that exactly?’

‘It was understood.’

‘Ah, that tricky situation! Almost certainly not understood by Aviola … I hope you were not expecting him to honour unspoken promises, Myla?’ She seemed silly enough.

‘Yes I was! I was going to be a freedwoman and then he would have married me. He was just waiting for the right time.’

‘Oh, Myla! And while he was waiting for this mythic moment, he happens to have married someone else?’ I did not believe Valerius Aviola ever made such a promise to Myla, or even hinted. I knew too much about the kind of women he chose as his wives; this slave was not what he wanted. Possibly Myla raised the issue and he avoided answering. Perhaps he answered bluntly but she would not listen. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. After so many years of you being a convenience, why had he never changed things before? Myla, you were fooling yourself.’

‘No! He said this baby would be born free.’

‘Did he really say that, or was it just what you wanted? I think you convinced yourself of something he never intended. If he had, he left the formalities dangerously late.’

A child follows the condition of its mother; when Myla gave birth as a slave, her daughter was a slave too. Many people take a lax attitude to this rule, but it is asking for legal problems in future. Of course many lawyers earn a good living from that. Informers too, frankly.

‘That was the wife, stopping him,’ Myla claimed. ‘The wife thought she had got rid of me, but she was wrong. I never would have gone away.’

‘I’m sorry, Myla, I think you would have done – but in any case you will be sold now.’

‘I won’t go!’

She was deluded. They had intended to sell her, and they would. If she refused to comply, force would be used. She would be dragged out, hysterical and screaming. Originally it was supposed to happen once Aviola and Mucia were safely travelling. Polycarpus would have organised her removal from the apartment, then a vicious slave-master at the market would have taught her the realities with a knotted whip.

‘How old are you, Myla?’

I could tell by her face that she was uncertain, but she said crisply, ‘Almost thirty.’

This was my own age; I had a year to go. The slaves who would soon be entitled to be given or to buy their freedom were at the same stage of life as me. I liked the ones who were determined to achieve something better, using their talents. Not this one.

All this woman had to show for her life was a string of children she could never see again and a man who, she really must know, had cared nothing for her. Myla might have been groomed to do his bidding when she was barely into puberty; she could have carried ten pregnancies by now, only to be dumped with a child at the breast.

I could not let that influence me. ‘Yours is a tragic story, but I cannot exonerate you simply because you are unhappy. I need to know if you attacked your master, Myla. You had the most reason to lash out and kill Aviola – and his wife too.’ Particularly the wife, if Mucia instigated the plan to sell Myla.

‘Not me!’ Myla answered in a drab yet defiant voice.

‘Listen! You need to understand that you are under suspicion of murder.’ I was warning her formally.

‘I don’t care what you say.’

I saw exactly why the family all thought the best way to deal with her was to shed her. A slave needs to be obliging. Having to ingratiate herself even though she thought she had rights was the curse of Myla’s slavery, yet the only way she would survive was to accept the position. Stupidly, she kept railing. ‘I was at full term. I couldn’t move. Anyway, he was my only hope of a future, anyone who thinks I hurt him is mad. It was the last thing I wanted. I wanted him left alone. I was lost once he was dead. Whatever you think, I needed him alive.’

Her argument had some logic.

I
had had a long hard day: tailing Roscius, re-interviewing the slaves, Polycarpus’ funeral and its aftermath. It was best not to press Myla any further. I needed sleep. She too looked drawn. It might even do her good to spend time reflecting on her position.

I warned her we were not finished. Looking back now, all I meant was that we would resume first thing in the morning. My manner was not threatening, not by my standards. No murder suspect can expect smiles and sesame cakes.

Myla humphed and took herself off.

I fell into bed and must have dropped off immediately. I slept long and deep. When I woke next morning, everywhere was quiet, though my body clock said it was not especially late.

Dromo was missing. I went out alone to fetch fresh bread and food for breakfast. I felt stiff, the kind of sluggishness I hate, especially when I am facing important work. This was a morning when I would have liked to go to the Stargazer, not just for food, but to consult with Manlius Faustus if he happened by. Mind you, the last time I did that I ended up with this bothersome commission …

I had taken a clean tunic and managed to persuade a local bath house manager to let me in. The water was nearly cold, of course, last night’s leavings, and they would not fire up the furnace again until this afternoon.

What I needed was a lengthy hot soak and steam; that would have given me time to decide, before I spoke to Myla, whether I really thought she was implicated in any of the murders. She had a strong motive for attacking Aviola and Mucia, though she was lumbering in the last stages of pregnancy at the time. As for Polycarpus, I supposed she may have argued with him about the plan to sell her but I knew of no other grievance. Stewards get blamed for everything, even when they are only carrying out their masters’ orders. Polycarpus had been Aviola’s point of interaction with staff when there was any difficult issue. It was feasible that Myla made him into a hate figure. If so, I had seen no sign of it.

I gave myself a quick scrape, basic ablutions, no relaxation. Deep thought was impossible. I had almost made up my mind that Myla would not be a serious suspect. I had to re-examine her, but her words yesterday weighed with me. It was in her interests to have had Aviola alive.

Shivering but clean, I emerged from the bath house which was a deadbeat place with half-blocked drains and mean towels. Even slowing to twitch my tunic where it clung to my damp body, it was a rapid walk to the apartment. I stopped only to buy bread, by now feeling peckish.

My meal was not to be. As I drew near the apartment, I could see figures engaging in agitated behaviour outside. Instinctively, I speeded up.

Fauna, the woman I had met from the apartment upstairs, was excitedly talking to Myrinus. ‘You’ve missed all the excitement!’ she exclaimed to me as soon as I was near enough. She was lapping it up, though the leatherworker looked more sombre.

They told me Graecina had come down that morning, carrying out routine checks the way Polycarpus used to do. After exchanging a few words with Myrinus and Secundus as they opened up their shutter, she went into the apartment. A short while later, the two men heard her having a furious argument with Myla. Much of it was audible through the back of their shop. They did not hear how the commotion started, but when they ran to listen, they could tell Myla’s imminent sale was the subject. Graecina was insisting it had to happen – so replacing Polycarpus as the agent of Myla’s doom.

‘Graecina made the mistake of saying, “Don’t expect me to be as soft as he was.” She went for her!’ Fauna was almost jumping up and down in her excitement.

‘What? Myla? Went for Graecina?’

‘You’re right – who knew she had that much energy? Except between the sheets …’ muttered Fauna cattily. ‘No, Albia, it was horrible. She ran into the kitchen and brought a big pan of hot water from the hearth. She threw it over Graecina. Her screams were awful; that was when I came running down.’ Fauna must have been on her stool looking, while the argument took place. She caught my eye, then added guiltily, ‘To see if there was anything that I could do.’

Myrinus said Graecina rushed out of the building, badly scalded. In terrible pain, she was tended by the two men from the shop, and had now been taken by another neighbour to an apothecary for treatment.

‘So where is Myla?’

‘That’s the thing!’ cried Fauna.

‘She burst outside,’ Myrinus explained. ‘She saw me and Secundus – we were standing here, wondering what to do. We were nervous of approaching her.’ It was noticeable that no one thought to send for the vigiles. Neighbourhood problems are not resolved that way.

‘I’d hardly ever seen her out in the street,’ said Fauna. ‘I was here with poor Graecina when Myla came out. She gave a shriek, then shouted something, and ran down the road.’

‘What did she shout?’ I had a bad feeling.

‘She said, “Tell them I did it then! Tell Albia she can blame me!” then she belted off down the Clivus like a mad thing.’

‘Oh, Juno! Did she have the baby with her?’

‘In her arms.’ Myrinus knew this boded ill. ‘I told Secundus to run right after her and try to catch her. He’s nippier than me. He took your lad, Dromo.’

‘Dromo? Where had he been holed up?’ I asked crossly. Myrinus nodded to the bar opposite, where Dromo was allowed to have his breakfast. ‘Fine. Never mind him. This is bad news, Myrinus. You thought she meant something?’

‘I know she did,’ Myrinus confirmed. ‘She screamed it at us, Albia: “I killed them all! – and now I’m going to kill myself!”’

I delayed only long enough to slip indoors and haul on walking shoes. Then accompanied by Myrinus, a man of conscience, and Fauna, a woman of curiosity, I hurried down the Clivus Suburanus in the direction Myla was last seen taking.

If anyone went far enough that way, it led them to the river.

I
t was a long walk if you were desperate, or even for concerned parties like us, hastening, fraught, wanting to prevent tragedy. It was one straight road after another, all the time having to shove through meandering crowds, dodge pavement obstacles, stand out of the way for soldiers, litter-bearers and hot pie-sellers with enormous trays. Clivus Suburanus, Clivus Pullius, Clivus Orbius, the push across the top of the Forum and the curve round by the Theatre of Marcellus … the same route I took yesterday at a much more sedate pace, on my way to re-interview the fugitives.