The Chariots of Calyx (28 page)

‘The night that Monnius was murdered, a large amount of money disappeared,’ I explained. I did not add that it had disappeared again. ‘This man appeared next morning claiming that it had been owed to him.’

Annia Augusta fidgeted, and seemed to be making up her mind to speak. She was watching Eppaticus, who was beginning to open his eyes and shake his head dazedly. She cleared her throat. ‘You need not concern yourself with that, citizen. There was a debt from Monnius to this man. But it is paid. The man has called here since and I have settled the matter myself. With money of my own.’ She smiled, doubtfully. ‘Not a wholly regular arrangement, I know, since it was civic money which Monnius owed, but I did not want questions raised about the will. There would have been claims against his private estate – how much he was personally responsible and every kind of fuss. You know how these things are.’

I did. Any debt unpaid at a person’s death could be claimed for in the courts – always a long and expensive business, which can eat up much of the estate. If this was not simply a private debt, but one involving civic tax money, the courts would make a showpiece of it and spin the hearing out for weeks, employing their most eloquent orators. Any citizen could understand the impulse to settle such a matter, quickly and privately, before the whole inheritance found its way into the public purse.

I nodded. ‘So you can tell me what Eppaticus did not? What did Monnius owe the money for?’

She gave a would-be helpless shrug – unconvincing as a goose pretending to be a sparrow. ‘I did not ask him, citizen. I supposed it was something to do with corn – that was my son’s customary business. I did not enquire further. It was enough to pay the debt and remove the problem.’

From many women, I might even have believed it – the avoidance of long, costly wrangles in the courts at any price. But Annia Augusta, I recalled, managed her own estates. I did not believe that she would part with five thousand
denarii
without requiring at least some evidence of the original bargain – and properly witnessed proofs of payment, too.

‘Forgive me, madam citizen, but I know that a large sum was involved. You had that kind of money in your possession?’

Her eyes flickered – only for a moment, but I was sure they flickered – towards the lifting mosaic in the floor.

I was instantly alert. I was sure that the last time I was in this room Annia Augusta had not known the hiding place was there. Also, she did not bridle, as she normally would, at my impudent enquiry, but gave me that imitation shrug again. ‘I do have money, citizen, from my estates. My steward has recently sold a large quantity of produce, on my instructions. It was most fortunate.’

Too fortunate, I thought. By now my suspicions were thoroughly aroused. It seemed much more likely that she had paid Eppaticus with money she had discovered in the hiding place. Perhaps I had even led her to it myself. But that did not explain why the money had disappeared from Monnius’ desk and been hidden in the first place. And what about that missing document? Was this one of Eppaticus’ less than legal deals?

I said, watching Annia closely, ‘I would still like the warehouse searched.’

Annia was not good at hiding her emotions, as I had just seen, so I watched her closely this time for some slight start of guilt or gesture of unease. However, there was no change in her expression of Vestal innocence, and my hopes of finding anything at the warehouse dimmed. I looked at Eppaticus, who was conscious now and must have heard the whole exchange, but he seemed entirely occupied with collecting his wits and not at all concerned about the proposed search.

Whatever that transaction with Monnius had been, I thought, there was no evidence of it left. But I had committed myself. I nodded to the escort.

‘As you command, citizen.’ The senior soldier stirred Eppaticus with his boot. ‘On your feet, you Trinovantine dog!’ The Celt struggled unsteadily upright and spread his hands expressively at Annia.

‘You see what happen, lady,’ he muttered indistinctly. ‘I telled you this. No paper for the warehouse, make trouble for us all. Monnius every time, fix documents.’ He stumbled forward as the soldiers tugged his chains, and forced him, still reeling, from the room. Junio raised his eyebrows at me, after this most interesting outburst, and followed them eagerly.

Annia Augusta did not wait for further questioning from me. ‘Instead of wasting time on that rogue, citizen,’ she demanded, ‘why do you not send this lying charioteer to the torturers? My son’s spirit will rest more easily if you expose the truth about how this man came skulking back from Verulamium and killed him while he slept.’

Fortunatus gave a bitter laugh. ‘Madam citizen, I did not kill your son. The day I returned to Londinium I was with Pulchrissima all night, as I’ve no doubt she will tell you, if you send for her.’

Annia Augusta snorted. ‘Pulchrissima?’ she said, in tones of disbelief. ‘What kind of name is that? Some paid girl from an inn who would say or do anything for a
quadrans
? What court will pay the slightest heed to her? A prostitute has no rights under law. Do not believe him, citizen. Fulvia . . .’

Fortunatus turned to me. ‘The lady Fulvia will not like to hear it, but it’s true, citizen, as Jove lives and rules. I came back from Verulamium to the team headquarters, gave my orders to my slave, and then went straight to Puchrissima at the inn. I have not left her room until today – any of the girls who work there could tell you that. In fact, we made ourselves the subject of ribald gossip, because we scarcely even troubled to send out for food and wine. Ask anyone in the tavern. A memorable few days, citizen. I am sure Pulchrissima could give you a detailed account.’

The two soldiers were examining their feet by now, trying to suppress their grins, but Annia Augusta was not amused. ‘You have the habits of a satyr, charioteer. Could you not confine your attentions to this Pulchrissima before, instead of dishonouring the wife of a respectable citizen?’

Fortunatus flushed slightly and answered with some spirit. ‘I dishonoured nothing. The lady Fulvia was a most unhappy bride. If it had not been me she welcomed to her bed, it would have been someone else. It was scarcely serious – we were very discreet, and I have managed similar affairs before.’ He shrugged his supple shoulders with a rueful smile. ‘I hope I do not shock you, citizen. This is not unusual, in my profession. And not without its benefits. Fulvia Honoria is very beautiful. And enthusiastic too. Since Monnius is dead it hardly matters if I confess that now.’

I looked at the young man with contempt. He and his Pulchrissima were well matched, I thought, in more ways than one. ‘You confessed it earlier, I think,’ I said drily. ‘To your team-mates in the barracks of the Blues. She could not get enough of you, you said. Yet when you came back to Londinium, you did not go to her.’

He had the grace to look discomfited. ‘She was getting too demanding, citizen. Wanting every minute of my time – insisting that I call on her whenever I was free from racing or the team. Sending messages and presents, in broad daylight too. She was becoming careless.’

‘Great Mars!’ Annia Augusta cried. ‘It
was
you who attacked her after all. You had had your fun with her, and when you tired of it you tried to kill her to get rid of her. You viper! Not even Fulvia deserved to be treated in that way.’

Fortunatus ignored her. He addressed himself to me. ‘I tried to tell her, citizen, but she would not listen. It was impossible to go on as we were – her husband would become suspicious, I would be disgraced, she would be exiled if not worse – and Glaucus and Calyx would have punished me severely for breaking my contract for training with the team.’

‘Besides, you were in danger of losing your golden fleece,’ I said. ‘Monnius already suspected, and had changed his will, leaving much less to Fulvia. Asked you to witness it, I think, to make quite sure you understood.’

Annia Augusta gasped. ‘So when you came back from Verulamium you crept in here and tried to kill them both?’

‘By all the immortals!’ he exclaimed. ‘I did nothing of the kind. I did not tell Fulvia I had come back. I went straight to the inn and found Pulchrissima. It was only the day after the next that Fulvia heard about my accident and tried to contact me – she sent a letter to Blue headquarters by one of the governor’s own palace servants. My team-slave came scampering over to the inn to alert me.’

I nodded. My reasoning about Superbus was confirmed. Annia Augusta had summoned him to the house (as she’d told me) and while he was there Fulvia had given him a message for Fortunatus. That had no doubt pleased him, since he knew that I had gone away on a fool’s errand to Verulamium. But I could imagine what alarm it had caused when he turned up at the
factio
, in palace uniform, after I’d been asking questions at the races, in Pertinax’s name. Glaucus had already come hurrying back to alert the camp for spies. So the unfortunate slave was taken to the cellar to find out what he knew, and had fallen to his death. Poor Superbus. I could imagine how self-important he had felt, taking that message to the charioteer. I hoped it had afforded him a little pleasure, at least, before he died.

I turned back to Fortunatus. ‘Fulvia didn’t come to you today?’

He looked almost as startled as Annia Augusta did. She clasped her hands and cried, ‘What do you mean?’ and he said, ‘Dear Mercury, I hope not. Did you think she might?’

‘She’s locked herself into her room,’ I said. ‘Or appears to have done. I wondered if in fact she’d run to you.’

He shook his head. ‘Not that I know of, citizen. I was not expecting her. No, she can’t have done. She’d have come to the house, and these soldiers would have found her there. She wouldn’t go to the headquarters, she knew that was forbidden, and she doesn’t know the inn exists. You’re sure she isn’t in her room?’

‘On the contrary,’ I said, getting to my feet urgently, ‘I’m beginning to believe that’s exactly where she is. And her serving-woman was poisoned yesterday.’ One of the soldier escort stepped forward to assist me, but I brushed him aside. ‘I’m starting to be alarmed about her. Her own door is blocked, and so is Monnius’.’

‘You think she’s drugged herself to sleep?’ Annia said. ‘She should be here by now – it is time for all of us to purify ourselves. The mourners will be congregating at the door.’

I looked at Fortunatus. ‘The window to the garden? Is it possible?’

He nodded. ‘There is a stone shrine built into the further wall. The niche has a projecting canopy – if you are very determined you can scale the wall and let yourself down by standing on the arch.’

‘As you have often done,’ I said, and it was not a question. ‘Could Fulvia have got out the same way?’

He shook his head. ‘You need a ladder to reach the roof of the niche from the inside. I do not believe that Fulvia could do it, citizen – it is an energetic climb, even if one is not wearing a stola! It makes demands on me, and I am a fit man.’

‘Then she is still there,’ I said.

He looked at me. ‘You want me to scale the wall and get her out? She would listen to me, I think, if no one else.’

‘Especially as she has no idea about Pulchrissima?’

He coloured. ‘That may be so, citizen, but it is to our advantage now. If you will call your soldiers off . . .’

I nodded. ‘Escort him to the wall.’

‘The people in the street!’ Annia Augusta cried.

‘See that the crowd is moved round the corner,’ I instructed. ‘Then Fortunatus can climb up, and if necessary force the shutters for us. Unless you have sufficient strength to force the door? Annia Augusta couldn’t do it.’

‘I could try,’ he said, and everyone fell back to let him pass. He went to Fulvia’s door, with the confidence born of familiarity, and hammered on it.

‘Fulvia! It’s Fortunatus! I’m here. Let me in.’ He rattled the panels of the door but there was no answer at all from within. He put his shoulder against one of the hinged folds and the door gave slightly, but he shook his head. ‘There is something heavy just behind the door. Annia Augusta is right – it’s impossible to move. I’d have to smash the wood.’

Annia frowned. ‘That seems unnecessary.’

He shrugged. ‘Then I’ll try the window route. Wait here.’

He led the way, followed by both the soldiers, although they had sheathed their daggers by this time. We waited in the passageway for what seemed a long time – long enough, in any event, to remind me that I was still weak from my recent ordeal. I put my ear against the door, but there was nothing to be heard.

At last there came a heavy scraping from within, as if someone was dragging something across the floor. The door opened back, and there was the charioteer. He looked shaken and pale.

‘You had better come in, citizen,’ he said. ‘She’s dead. Someone has stabbed her through the heart.’

The scene that met my eyes will haunt my dreams for ever. Fulvia’s beautiful room, furnished with such restraint, looked like a butcher’s shop. The floor was covered with the splintered fragments of the phials and vases from the shelves, their precious oils and unguents staining the tiles: a half-full goblet had been shattered into a thousand pieces by the bed, and splashes of blood bespattered everything.

Fulvia was stretched out on her pillows, the centre of a dreadful spreading stain. It had soaked the dark stuff of her mourning clothes, seeped across the blankets of the bed and was making an obscene stain on the white bandage round the outstretched arm. A pitcher of whatever she had been drinking still stood on the small chest beside the bed, but the hilt of a dagger protruded from her ribs, under the swell of her once lovely breast. Her neck, too, had been savagely slashed.

Annia Augusta had followed me into the room. She sat down heavily on the wooden chest, which stood now in the middle of the room, where the charioteer had dragged it away from the door. She looked old, suddenly, and defeated. ‘This is my fault, citizen,’ she said. ‘I should have listened to my daughter-in-law. She said she was in danger, but I did not believe it – even after the death of the old nurse. I was so sure that Fortunatus . . .’ She buried her head in her hands. ‘Dear Jupiter, what an awful scene. And I did nothing to protect her. Perhaps I am the old fool that you take me for.’