The Ides of April (16 page)

Eventually he settled back, signalling time for conversation.

I made it clear that if anyone was going to give, it must be him. He opened up; I was surprised how much. He knew how to lay out facts logically too. I wouldn’t call him surly, just plain-speaking. It should be mentioned that I was never alarmed in his presence and, given the job he did, I thought the man honest.

According to him, he had been working as the aedile’s eyes and ears on the streets ever since Faustus entered office. I knew that Faustus would have been elected last July, starting the job officially four months ago in January. There were four aediles, two of them plebeian, who divided up the city among themselves and cared for a quarter each. So Faustus must have charge of more than just the Aventine peaks. His various tasks covered the repair of temples; sewers and aqueducts; street cleansing and paving; traffic regulation; dangerous animals; dilapidated buildings; fire precautions in all kinds of property; superintending baths and taverns (hence his genuine ability to blight the life of my Aunt Junia, who owned the Stargazer); anti-gambling and usury laws; plus, if this list was not enough excuse for interfering in people’s daily lives, the care of public morals, including prevention of foreign superstitions. Aediles’ market duties involved overseeing the storage of commodities; they were trading standards officers; they checked weights and measures. On top of all that, they were responsible for aspects of the public games, not least the Games of Ceres with its ritual of the foxes.

‘Having an undercover spy on the job must boost the fines Faustus levies,’ I said, ‘handily fuelling his personal ambition.’

‘He is not unduly ambitious,’ Tiberius disagreed.

‘So how do you see him?’

‘A decent man, trying to do his public duty.’

I whooped with derision, freely letting rip.

‘You are wrong,’ argued his runner, in a patient tone. ‘It’s true he grew up a rich boy who never had to do anything. He lost both parents, one after another, when he was sixteen. He came to live with Tullius, his mother’s brother, and although there has always been a pretence of teaching him the business, in reality, Tullius rules. Standing for aedile was the uncle’s idea, of course, with the aim of increasing their joint prestige – but that doesn’t prevent Faustus seeing it as his opportunity to achieve something useful at last.’

‘Well, Tiberius, you are a good advocate. But he sounds a typical politician, with an added snort of piety.’

Tiberius shrugged.

We moved on to discuss the peculiar deaths. Tiberius wanted me to know that Faustus had always been taking these seriously. He, Tiberius, had been redeployed from his previous forays investigating dishonest street traders. Now he was out full-time, trying to spot the killer. He even claimed that was what he had been doing when he came across the accident, when little Lucius Bassus was killed by the runaway cart.

‘Of course if the perpetrator concentrated on one area, it would be easy to flood the street with manpower. But he moves about – assuming it’s just one person. These attacks seem to have a random nature. It makes our task impossible.’

‘Some incidents happened up here on the tops, but the oyster-shucker was down on the Embankment . . . ’ I smiled slightly. ‘I assume you know about the oyster boy? You have conspired with Morellus today?’

Tiberius shared my grin. ‘He told me you filched his list, Albia.’

‘Borrowed.’

‘Whatever you call it. Morellus is now scrambling around after you, doing follow-up interviews to those you were not supposed to do yesterday.’ Cocking his head on one side, the runner then asked in a changed voice, ‘Have you looked into the murdered maid?’

‘Not yet. Don’t try to stop me!’

‘Calm down. Not the intention. Manlius Faustus has had a change of heart about you.’

‘Oh really?’ I sneered. ‘Highly unlikely, so soon after he tried to get rid of me!’

‘Yes really, girl.’ He leaned forward a little. ‘Look, do try to give him credit. He is a good man.’ He made no attempt to say why Faustus changed his mind. Still, magistrates are above explaining themselves. This would not be the first time one of them was confused and contradictory.

‘That’s not the impression I gain from my friend Andronicus.’ Now our relationship was in the open. Why not? Andronicus and I were free people.

Tiberius looked troubled. He seemed to be trying to decide how much to say. ‘Be very careful, Albia.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means I realise there is no point trying to influence you, regarding him. You won’t listen to me. But please, do not trust everything Andronicus may say.’

‘You don’t like him.’

‘It’s mutual,’ stated Tiberius, even more curt than usual.

‘Do you want to explain?’

‘No.’

To avoid meeting my gaze, the runner poured himself more water, managing the jug and beaker carefully, one-handed. Conversation had jerked to a halt. I reversed, going back and asking him about this so-called change of heart he credited to Faustus.

It had to do with the other suspicious death I had heard about when questioning funeral directors, that of a wealthy woman’s maid. Tiberius knew something about it already. Mistress and maid had been out walking. They were jostled in the street. The maid was struck so hard she nearly fell over; shortly after returning home, she died.

Morellus had been given orders not to involve himself in this, because of the mistress’ standing. Manlius Faustus had decided that sending a woman to take a formal statement would be both more discreet and reassuring. I would have that privilege. I would be armed with a letter of introduction and was even offered a fee.

This was some change of heart. After instructing his runner to find me and block me from investigating Salvidia or Celendina, then ordering the vigiles to menace me too, the aedile had had a complete turnaround. No longer was I to be harassed. Now he wanted to commission me.

I
saw no reason to hide my ridicule: ‘So let’s be clear, Tiberius: one moment your aedile is determined to sour my relationships with clients and prevent me working, yet suddenly he wants to hire me himself?’

‘Not “hire”. It implies too much permanence.’ Tiberius flashed teeth irritatingly. ‘One interview. It is in your interests to help.’

‘Yet more threats! Why doesn’t he question this woman himself? He is her rank. He could have her husband, who is no doubt a crony of his, duly sitting in—’

‘He believes a woman’s approach could be beneficial; now that he is satisfied you are professional—’ He could see I was raging at that. Tiberius held up his unbandaged hand in an almost, though not quite, pacifying gesture. ‘Don’t dig your heels in.’ I remained hostile. ‘It is marginally tricky, Albia.’

‘Oh? What’s his game?’

‘The issue is not about Faustus—’

‘Why not? The man is trying to choreograph this investigation in a very odd way. Justify his motives.’

‘We already discussed what Faustus is attempting in his role as a magistrate. Just conduct the interview, Albia, and see what you think. Then, if necessary, I will explain the rest.’

Since I had wanted to do the interview anyway, I caved in. May as well be paid for it. I could have asked for a higher fee than normal, but I kept my integrity.

Marcia Balbilla was another member of wealthy plebeian society. She and her husband lived in a big two-storey mansion on the Street of the Plane Trees. She enjoyed river views and the nearby amenity of the old grove of planes. Yesterday evening I had been turned away. Though it was now late afternoon, I thought it was worth trying again for an interview today.

The introductory letter worked, so this time I was admitted. Once in, they kept me waiting. I expected that.

The matron who had lost her maid was in her early thirties, beautifully dressed and bejewelled. Under this flash, she was ordinary. Possibly she knew it. Two surviving maids, undoubtedly part of a much larger complement, accompanied her when she saw me. They were dressed much more plainly and wore no decorations. There was no indication that Balbilla beat them, but they were too subdued for me to tell if they had any character. I was interested in them, because the dead young woman must have been a colleague.

I assumed she had been young, though in fact the two others were no longer girls. As slaves, they were probably starting to hope for their release at thirty.

Marcia Balbilla thought she was conducting the interview, but I had more practice so I managed to steer it my way. While we conversed, she lay gracefully on a couch laden with cushions, while I was stuck on a backless divan. Still, I have no problems with posture and note-taking is easier when you perch on a hard seat.

Marcia had been out with a friend, not previously mentioned in the story as I knew it. Each woman had a maid as chaperone, though they had not taken bodyguards. The party was marching along the Vicus Altus, with the maids behind, where they would not overhear what their mistresses said. All four were well shrouded in stoles to be respectable, which I came to believe was significant.

Ino had let out a scream. Marcia Balbilla and her friend spun around, probably intending to chastise her, only to see the girl floundering. She would have tumbled to the ground had not the other maid grabbed hold of her and kept her upright. Both girls thought someone had banged into Ino from behind, hard, and they were sure it was deliberate. Although there were other people in the street, it was not particularly crowded. All the women decided it must have been a malicious lower-class person’s prank.

Feeling vulnerable, they hurried home. Ino was crying and upset, but there was no reason to expect that she would then be found dead in her cubicle.

Marcia Balbilla had had a stone plaque made as a sweet memento of Ino. She insisted someone fetch it down from the wall (it was quite small) so she could show it to me. I commented on how beautiful the maid had been. Apparently not so beautiful, nor so young, as the portrait on the plaque, but Marcia Balbilla had thought it would be more pleasant to remember her looking soulful and artistic.

‘Tell me, did Ino have a male follower you are aware of?’

‘Certainly not! I never allow anything like that!’

I did persuade the mistress to let me have few quick words with the other maids, who admitted without much pressure that Ino did have a boyfriend. He was a slave in the same household, the husband’s wardrobe keeper, but he had a clear alibi; everyone was able to say he was at home when the street incident happened, and he had done nothing but sob since Ino died.

There had been much mention of Marcia Balbilla’s friend. Both women were senior members of the cult at the Temple of Ceres, Marcia told me; a much older woman was chief priestess though I could tell these two had their eyes on the position. The friend was a wonderful woman. The friend came from an important family of plebeian nobility, very wealthy; a leading figure in the ladies’ cult, she was religiously devoted, and a model of self-sacrificing service to the community. The friend was called Laia Gratiana. I had already met her, the first time I went to the Temple of Ceres. I had thought her a right menace.

I would have to visit the woman, nonetheless. Marcia Balbilla told me her dear cultured religious friend had thought at the time that she glimpsed the person who had bumped into Ino.

‘Did you report this to the vigiles?’

‘Oh no. People like us never have contact with them. Laia Gratiana said she would pass a note to the aediles’ office.’

Great.

So Manlius Faustus had already known everything about this.

I met up with Tiberius at a prearranged rendezvous next
day. I had promised to report back at the Stargazer. When I arrived, the runner was ordering a drink from Junillus. I prepared to interpret, but he seemed to be managing. I was not ready to approve of him just because he could communicate calmly with my deaf cousin.

Junillus must have seen that I was frazzled, because he gave me a hug and then brought me a bowl of pistachios. I kept them on my side of the table, so Tiberius could not reach them.

‘I’m bloody annoyed with you, Tiberius. Would it have hurt you to mention that there was a second high-and-mighty mistress and a second downtrodden maid, and that I would end up having to endure a second interview − with Laia Gratiana?’

He looked surprised. ‘You know her?’

‘We met. I am not going to enjoy this.’

‘Why?’

Although I was gobbling nuts furiously, I screwed up my mouth as if they tasted of aloes. But until I learned the situation here, I held back on too many insults. ‘Not my type.’

I spotted that the runner’s surprise changed to a faint gleam of humour. However, he said nothing.

‘Explain!’ I commanded. As his expression became positively whimsical, I kept nagging: ‘This is ridiculous. Laia Gratiana has enough connections with the aediles to notify them directly of her experience. So why not? What held her back and why doesn’t Faustus simply trot along in person to ask questions? Why involve me?’

‘It is nothing untoward.’

‘So?’

‘He prefers not to interview Laia Gratiana himself.’ Tiberius then owned up, watching my reaction: ‘They have not spoken for years. Laia Gratiana is his ex-wife.’

I admit I laughed.

A
fter a pause, Tiberius asked nervously, ‘So are you going to see her?’

‘I would not miss this for the world!’ I would never have asked intimate questions of the aedile himself, but staff can be useful. Many a confidence shared by a slave or freedman has opened up a case, so I pressed Tiberius: ‘Brief me.’

He raised one eyebrow.

‘I need to know what I am walking into, Tiberius. Exactly why won’t Faustus take this statement himself?’ The runner still looked blank. ‘Something odd must have happened. People get divorced all the time, but without being estranged for years. Plebeian plutocrats are a small circle. Every time someone throws a poetry recital, keeping Faustus and Gratiana apart must be an inconvenience to the hostess. Tell me about the marriage and divorce.’