The Chariots of Calyx (29 page)

Fortunatus spoke with difficulty. ‘Do you think, citizen, she might have killed herself? Suppose she
had
heard about Pulchrissima, after all. She barricaded the doors herself, we know. Perhaps took one of her potions to give herself courage, and then rammed home the knife with all her force?’ His voice shook and he kept his back turned to that awful figure on the bed.

Annia Augusta raised her head and spoke with something of her old spirit. ‘You overestimate your charms, I think, charioteer. Fulvia was not the sort of woman who would die for love. She might kill herself, but only if it would avoid more dreadful pain, like being thrown to the beasts. And she would choose an easy way, poison perhaps, and put it in a sleeping potion first. Not this – it is a dreadful way to kill yourself. Supposing that the wound had not been fatal? That might mean hours of dreadful agony!’

I could not have put it more cogently myself. As a solver of mysteries, however, I felt I should add something to her words. ‘Besides, look at her hands – they are spread out, not clasped against the knife.’

Fortunatus shifted uncomfortably. ‘It was just an idea, citizen. So there was someone from outside after all. It was simply that I could not think who it might be. Who would want to murder Fulvia? I suppose it is possible. The killer could have escaped through the garden – the shutter in Monnius’ room was slightly open.’

‘Open?’ I said sharply. It should have been closed, by custom, in a dead man’s room.

‘That was how I got in. I couldn’t open this one, it was bolted from inside. And the doors to the corridor were barricaded too. You don’t suppose . . .’ he dropped his voice and looked around uneasily, ‘that we have something supernatural here? That Monnius . . .?’

I looked around the blood-splattered room. Parvus, the little page, had insinuated himself into the room and was sitting by the bedside, holding Fulvia’s hand and weeping helplessly. ‘I think this was a human being at work,’ I said grimly. ‘Supernatural retribution is generally more inventive. But you are right, chariot-driver. The question of the barricades is interesting. How were the doors wedged shut?’

‘That wooden chest in this room,’ he replied, ‘and in the other someone has blocked the door with a statue. See for yourself.’

I walked to the interconnecting door. It was open, and with the shutters pulled back I could see the situation for myself. It was Priapus, of course, still on his marble plinth but now lying on his back beside the door. Bizarrely there appeared to be a silken cord tied around his most outstanding feature, and the wooden bowl – without its feathers now – was lying in the corner where the statue had once stood. The painted satyrs leered down from the walls.

It was indecent in a room of death. I went over and righted the statue. It was top-heavy and fairly difficult to move, especially in my weakened state, but I managed to do it and opened back the door of the bedchamber. As I did so, it was to find Lydia in the passageway outside, hurrying towards me with Filius at her skirts.

‘Citizen!’ she exclaimed as soon as I appeared. ‘What is going on here? There are mourners congregating at the door already. I went out to speak to them, but the soldiers came and herded them away, and made them go off and wait further down the street. Oh, sweet Minerva!’ She lifted her bony hands in a gesture of despair. ‘Poor Monnius – and poor, poor Filius. What an appalling omen for his adulthood – this is his first public duty as the head of the household, and here we have funeral guests driven from the door, while arrested criminals are invited in.’

Fortunatus had followed me through into Monnius’ room, and the sound of voices had brought Annia Augusta and her maid into the passage too.

‘What is this uproar, Lydia?’ the older woman said.

Lydia gave a little sob, while her son stood mulish and stolid by her side. ‘Madam, it is time to start the rituals, and neither you nor Fulvia could be found. But I see the door is open now. Has Fulvia consented to come out?’

I looked into that pinched and anguished face. ‘There has been an accident,’ I said inadequately. ‘Fulvia is dead.’

The pale eyes opened wider and the corners of her lips drooped downwards in an expression of dismay that made her look rather like a fish. ‘Dead? She can’t be. I saw her just before she locked herself in there, and she was quite well then.’

Annia Augusta said quickly, ‘Lydia, be careful what you say.’

But I had already seen the implication. ‘Then you were the last person in the house to see her alive. When was that, lady, and what happened then?’

A faint flush coloured Lydia’s thin cheeks. ‘This morning. Fulvia was very upset after the death of her maid, and what happened with the mask. She said that she was going to her room until the funeral.’ As she spoke she was pulling her fingers till they cracked. ‘She sent one of her pages to ask me for some reviving cordial – I brought it to her myself, and tasted it for her – she would not have trusted it otherwise. She took it from me, then ordered me away, and I heard her barricade the door behind me.’ She dabbed her face with her linen handkerchief. ‘Oh, this is dreadful, dreadful. And what about my husband’s funeral? There has been so much disrespect – his death is unavenged – we shall have his spirit walking the corridors. And if he is not decently laid to rest tonight . . . Oh, Annia Augusta, what are we to do?’

It was Filius who spoke. ‘I don’t know why we can’t just go ahead as planned. Fulvia could be quickly washed and salved – the undertaker did that for the slave this morning, and it did not take very long. They’ve got that old nurse’s body up there on a funeral litter of sorts: we could have Fulvia put on that, and taken to the pyre with my father while we are about it.’ He looked at the shocked faces around him. ‘Well – that would have happened if she’d been murdered with him, or if she had killed herself for grief. I suppose there’s no chance that’s what happened, by the way? It would save us so much trouble if it were – even the mourners would understand if there was a short delay.’

‘Filius!’ Lydia’s voice was a horrified whine. ‘Do not speak so!’ She turned to Annia Augusta’s maid. ‘Go, quickly, bring some water, salt and fire. And some refining herbs. The undertakers will give them to you.’ The girl scuttled off. ‘Such dreadful disrespect. It must be purged. We need some Vestal virgins here to chant! . . . Oh, great Minerva, pardon Filius – I promise to perform a sacrifice . . .’ She was burbling.

‘Lydia!’ Annia Augusta broke into her lament. ‘Control yourself. A pity you can’t take some of your own restorative. Or did you give it all to Fulvia?’

Lydia shook her head.

‘When my slave-girl comes back, send her for some. And as for the funeral, perhaps Filius is right – Fulvia has no family left alive. It would fall to this household to organise a wake and that would only lead to more expense. Who profits by delay?’

Lydia let out a wordless wail, and buried her face in her handkerchief.

‘Annia Augusta is right,’ I said, feeling that some leadership was necessary. ‘A little restorative would do you good. You took Fulvia a great pitcherful; she did not use it all. Fortunatus, fetch some for the lady. You will find a small cup in the chest that Annia was sitting on.’ The charioteer looked doubtful, but I frowned at him in my best official manner and he went. ‘In the meantime,’ I added, ‘let us repair back to the
librarium
. We are all distressed, and I am feeling in need of my stool again.’

The little procession followed me into the study. Fortunatus was not far behind us, bearing the half-full pitcher and the drinking cup. He poured a little of the liquid out and handed it to Lydia. She smiled at him wanly, raised it to her lips and would have drained it at a gulp if Annia Augusta had not intervened.

‘Don’t drink it, Lydia. Don’t be such a fool!’

Lydia lowered the cup and looked at her in surprise.

‘Fulvia is dead, for Mars’ sake, Lydia!’ Annia Augusta said. ‘Who knows what is in that cordial! Do you wish to follow her to the grave?’

Lydia gaped. ‘But I prepared the potion with my own hands,’ she wailed. She turned to me. ‘You think that Fulvia was poisoned, citizen?’

I thought of that blood-stained figure on the bed. ‘I’m sure that she was not,’ I said. ‘Given a sleeping potion perhaps, to keep her quiet before she was attacked.’

Lydia sniffed at the liquid expertly. ‘I’m sure there is no sleeping draught in this.’ She took a tentative sip. ‘No, I am certain of it. This is just the potion I prepared. But perhaps you are right, lady citizen – it is better not to drink.’ She gave Annia Augusta a wan smile, and handed back the cup to Fortunatus. ‘I am recovered now.’ She turned to me. ‘You say that Fulvia was murdered, citizen? Someone escaped through Monnius’ window-space? But who could have done it? You think that Monnius’ killer struck again?’

Like the hiding place in the study floor, the whole section of mosaic suddenly slipped neatly into place. ‘Hardly that,’ I said, slowly. ‘Annia Augusta was right. I think that Fulvia murdered Monnius herself.’

If I had been an actor in a Roman tragedy, I could hardly have hoped for a greater response. Annia Augusta gasped, Lydia did her impression of a fish, and Fortunatus muttered, ‘By all the gods!’

Filius screwed up his unattractive face and said thoughtfully, ‘That would be parricide, wouldn’t it? Murder of one of your immediate family? Does that mean that she will have no claim on any of the estate?’

‘She will inherit nothing anyway,’ I said, ‘since she’s already dead. Nor could you bring a case against her, as you cannot take her to court. But if you wish to raise a question before the magistrates, I am sure they could find some way of delaying the will and relieving you of your money, as your mother always feared.’

Filius retired in a sulk.

Annia Augusta said, ‘I cannot believe it – I thought that it was proved that she and Fortunatus . . .’

‘That was our mistake,’ I said, ‘yours as well as mine – supposing that Fortunatus was involved. In fact, I see now that was part of Fulvia’s plan. She knew that you would suspect him at once. So she chose to kill her husband on a night when – as she thought – Fortunatus was safely in Verulamium, racing a chariot in front of hundreds of witnesses, and could not possibly have been here. What she did not know was that her lover was engaged in a gambling fraud, and was going to throw himself deliberately from his chariot to ensure that his team lost. He was in Londinium that night, not injured as he claimed, and that fact confused me in my enquiries.’

‘But why did she do it?’ Fortunatus asked.

‘She wanted you,’ I said, and saw him flush. ‘You told me she was getting indiscreet – and Annia Augusta had made her opinions clear to Monnius. If he divorced her for adultery she would end up, at best, exiled to some barren island for the rest of her life. She would not even have her tiny dowry back. She would have nothing. She told me that her husband tolerated her unfaithfulness, but I don’t believe that. And he knew about it, thanks to Annia.’

Annia gave an affronted sniff.

‘He did change his will,’ Fortunatus said. ‘And asked me to witness it. That was to warn me off. I told her that, but she ignored me. She seemed to think she’d still get half of his estate. Of course, she might have been right. I couldn’t prove that he had other witnesses – and as you know, to be completely secure in law, any will must be confirmed by seven citizens.’

‘Even if he had changed his will, she still had much to gain,’ I said. ‘At least a country house and – she thought – a handsome husband too. Much to be preferred to a life of penury and exile.’

Lydia whimpered into her handkerchief. ‘But what about the man who came in through the window and slashed her arm?’

‘My dear Lydia,’ Annia Augusta said severely, ‘do try to concentrate. Of course there never was a man. Fulvia invented the whole story, and no doubt damaged her own arm to make it look convincing. I always thought there was something strange in that. Why should a man who strangled twice suddenly resort to using a knife, and run away just because a woman screamed? Naturally, I assumed that the intruder was Fortunatus, and she had let him in. But I can see she might have done it all herself – though I am surprised she had the courage to cut herself. When did you first suspect her, citizen?’

‘From the very first. Monnius was murdered in his bed, while the servants who were on duty were all drugged. I thought at the time that Fulvia had best access to their wine – and she had that sleeping potion too. She was cunning there – she deliberately bought a draught that Lydia had made, in case suspicion was ever aroused, and then made sure that everyone knew that the liquid in her phial had been exchanged for water. I began to think that my first suspicions were wrong.’

‘Dear Minerva! My sleeping draught would not have drugged those slaves so deeply,’ Lydia cried.

‘Of course not,’ I agreed. ‘But that was not the potion that she used. We know that she had skills with herbs herself. What she put in the servants’ wine was far, far stronger – the same potion that she doubtless used to make sure that everyone was sound asleep whenever Fortunatus came to visit her over the garden wall. Don’t argue, Fortunatus – it is clear you knew the route.’

He coloured, mumbled something indistinct, and fell silent again.

‘Of course,’ Annia said, ‘the slaves who were not on duty that night would not have drunk the potion – or very little of it – so they would waken when she screamed. Wicked, but clever. I always knew she was a schemer! But would Monnius listen to his mother? Doted on her completely, foolish man!’

I nodded. ‘Up to the very end, I think. He was killed, after all, by someone who managed to put a necklace round his neck. He was a big man, and even in a drunken stupor he would never have succumbed to that without a struggle. But if his wife came in – whom, as you say, he worshipped – and put a playful hand under his neck . . .’

Lydia looked appalled. ‘You mean she went in to his bed, uninvited?’

‘He often summoned her to him. We have the old nurse’s word for that. If he was as drunk as people say that night, I doubt he even stopped to question why she came. She put the necklace round his neck and pulled it tight. But she was not certain of killing him – he was not like the little slave-boy in the corridor. It seems he struggled. She had to kneel on him and hold the pillow over him to make sure that he was dead. Again, that did not sound like our supposed intruder. Fulvia talked about a “big man”, but any fit male – like Fortunatus here – could have throttled a drunken Monnius with own two hands. Certainly he would not need to finish off the victim by holding down the pillow until it split its seam. And why bother with the necklace? Why not use the knife?’