Gordianus The Finder Omnibus (Books 1-4) (133 page)

Is it better to visit a poison dealer on a full stomach or an empty one? Empty, I decided, and so I declined the baker’s bun and made my way across the Forum and the cattle market to the riverfront, and thence to the seedy little tavern frequented by Quintus Fugax.

The interior seemed pitch-dark after the bright sunshine. I had to squint as I stumbled from bench to bench, searching among the derelicts. Only the most hardened drinkers were in such a place at that time of day. The place stank of spilled wine and river rot.

‘Looking for someone?’ asked the tavern keeper.

‘A fellow called Fugax.’

‘The scarecrow with the rheumy eye and the bad breath?’

‘That’s him.’

‘You’re out of luck, then, but not as out of luck as your friend.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘They dragged him out of the river a couple of days ago.’

‘What?’

‘Drowned. Poor sod must have fallen in; not my fault if a man leaves here too drunk to walk straight. Or maybe . . .’ He gave me a significant look. ‘Maybe somebody pushed him in.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Fugax had been strutting around here lately, claiming he was about to come into a big sum of money. Crazy fool! Saying a thing like that in this neighbourhood is asking for trouble.’

‘Where was he going to get this money?’

‘That’s what I wondered. I asked him, “What, are you planning to sell your garden villa on the Tiber?” He laughed and said he had something to sell, all right – information, important information that powerful people would pay a lot for; pay to get it, or pay to keep others from getting it. Not likely, I thought! “What could a river rat like you know that anybody would give a fig to find out?” He just laughed. The fellow was half-crazy, you know. But I figure maybe somebody heard him bragging, tried to rob him, got angry when they didn’t find much, and threw him in the river. The dock workers that found him say it looked like he might have hit his head on something – hard to tell with all those scabs and rashes. Did you know him well?’

I sighed. ‘Well enough not to mourn too much over his death.’

The tavern keeper looked at me oddly. ‘You need something to drink, citizen.’

I had declined the baker’s bun, but I accepted the tavern keeper’s wine.

The doorkeeper at Poplicola’s house tersely informed me that his master was not receiving visitors. I pushed past him and told him I would wait in the red study.

I waited for quite a while, long enough to peruse a few of the scrolls in Poplicola’s little library: Aristotle on ethics, Plato on the examined life. There was a movement at the green curtain drawn over the doorway. It was not Poplicola who entered, but Palla.

She was shorter than I had thought; her elaborate turret of hair gave an illusion of height. But she was actually more beautiful than I had realized. By the reflected light of the red walls, her skin took on a smooth, creamy lustre. The bland youthfulness of her face was at odds with the worldliness in her eyes. At such close range, it was harder than ever to calculate her age.

‘You must be Gordianus,’ she said.

‘Yes.’

‘My husband is physically and emotionally exhausted by the events of the last few days. He can’t possibly see you.’

‘I think he should.’

‘Has he not paid you yet?’

I gritted my teeth. ‘I’m not an instrument to be used and then disposed of. I helped him discover the truth. I brought him certain information. Now I find that an innocent family has been driven into hiding, and another man is dead, very likely murdered to keep him quiet.’

‘If you’re talking about that wretch Fugax, surely the whole city is better off being rid of such a creature.’

‘What do you know about his death?’

She made no answer.

‘I insist that your husband see me,’ I said.

She looked at me steadily. ‘Anything you might wish to say to Poppy, you may say to me. We have no secrets from each other – not anymore. Everything has come into the open between us.’

‘And your son-in-law?’

‘Father and son are reconciled.’

‘The three of you have worked it all out?’

‘Yes. But that’s really none of your business, Finder. As you say, you were hired to find out a thing, and you did. There’s an end of it.’

‘An end of Chrestus, and of Fugax, you mean. And who knows what’s become of the baker and his family?’

She drew a deep breath and gave me a sour look. ‘The slave Chrestus belonged to my husband. His death was an injury to my husband’s property. Chrestus was old and slow, he pilfered from his master’s food and might not have survived another winter; his market value was nil. It’s for Poppy and Poppy alone to seek recompense for the loss, and if he chooses to overlook it, then neither you nor anybody else has any business poking further into the matter.’

She crossed her arms and paced slowly across the room. ‘As for Fugax, as I say, his death is no loss to anyone. A public service, I should think! When the trial began to loom, and then the investigation, he tried to blackmail us. He was a stupid, vile, treacherous little man, and now he’s dead. That, too, is none of your business.’

She reached the far corner and turned around. ‘As for the baker and his family, they were paid a more than adequate compensation for their trouble.’

‘The man’s family had been in that shop for generations! I can’t believe he left of his own free will.’

She stiffened her jaw. ‘True, Baebius was not completely cooperative, at first. A certain amount of pressure was required to make him see reason.’

‘Pressure?’

‘A black mark from a censor could have made a great deal of trouble for Baebius. Once that was explained to him, Baebius saw that it would be best if he and his family left Rome altogether and set up shop elsewhere. I’m sure his almond cakes will be just as popular in Spain as they were here in Rome. Poppy shall miss them, alas.’ She spoke without a shred of irony.

‘And what about me?’

‘You, Gordianus?’

‘I knew more than anyone.’

‘Yes, that’s true. To be candid, I thought we should do something about you; so did my stepson. But Poppy said that you had sworn an oath of secrecy upon your ancestors, that you gave him your word, Roman to Roman. That sort of thing counts for a great deal with Poppy. He insisted that we leave you alone. And he was right; you kept silent. He expects you to remain silent. I’m sure you won’t let him down.’

She flashed a serene smile, without the least hint of remorse. It struck me that Palla resembled a bit of poisoned cake herself.

‘So you see,’ she said, ‘it’s all worked out for the best, for everyone concerned.’

Legally and politically, the affair of Poplicola and the poisoned cake was at an end. The court of public opinion, however, would continue to try and retry the case for years to come.

There were those who insisted that the Senate investigation had been rigged by Poplicola himself; that vital witnesses had been intimidated, driven off, even killed; that the censor was morally bankrupt, unfit for his office, and that his happy household was a sham.

Others defended Poplicola, saying that all the talk against him originated with a few morally depraved, bitter ex-senators. There were even those who argued that the episode was proof of Poplicola’s wisdom and profound sense of judgement. Upon hearing such shocking charges against his son and wife, many a man would have rushed to avenge himself on them, taking their punishment into his own hands; but Poplicola had exercised almost superhuman restraint, called for an official inquiry, and ultimately saw his loved ones vindicated. For his patience and cool-headed perseverance, Poplicola was held up as a model of Roman sagacity, and his loyal wife, Palla, was admired as a woman who held her head high even when enduring the cruellest slanders.

As for his son, Lucius Gellius’ political career advanced more or less unimpeded by the scandal. He became more active than ever in the courts and in the Senate House, and openly expressed his ambition to someday be censor, following in his father’s footsteps. Only rarely did his unproved crimes come back to haunt him, as on the occasion when he sparred with Cicero in a rancourous debate and threatened to give the great orator a piece of his mind – to which Cicero replied, ‘Better that, Lucius Gellius, than a piece of your cake!’

THE CHERRIES OF LUCULLUS

‘Once a thing is done, it’s done. The accomplished fact takes on an air of inevitability, no matter how uncertain it might have seemed beforehand. Do you not agree, Gordianus?’ Cicero flashed a quizzical smile.

‘I’m not sure what you mean,’ I said.

We were strolling across the Forum on a fine spring morning. Ahead of us, fluffy white clouds were heaped on the horizon beyond the Capitoline Hill, like a vast nimbus crowning the Temple of Jupiter, but in every other direction the sky was an immaculate blue. The mild, warm air carried strains of birdsong from yew trees that grew along the slope of the Palatine Hill that rose steeply to our left. We continued to stroll at a slow pace, but paused when a group of Vestals emerged from the round temple of their goddess and crossed our path, holding their chins high and wearing haughty expressions. One of them deigned to cast a glance at Cicero, and I saw him give her a faint nod. I recognized his sister-in-law Fabia; once, years ago, I had rescued her from the terrible fate that awaits any Vestal who dares to break her vow of chastity. Fabia did not appear to notice me, or else deliberately avoided meeting my gaze. So it sometimes goes with those who call on Gordianus the Finder in their time of trouble; when the trouble is over, and they no longer need me, I vanish to their eyes, as the smoke from a censer can be dispersed by a puff of air, leaving no trace to the senses.

Cicero, tired of walking, indicated that he wished to sit for a while on the stone bench beside the steps of the Temple of Castor and Pollux. He gestured to the space beside him, but I told him I preferred to remain standing for a while.

‘What’s this you were saying, about inevitability?’ I asked.

Cicero hummed thoughtfully. ‘How did the playwright Ennius put it? “It is done now. The workings of the Fates I surmise; how could the outcome have been otherwise?” ’

‘Ennius was talking about the murder of Remus by Romulus, as I recall. But what in Hades are
you
talking about, Cicero?’