The Ides of April (27 page)

‘Oh, you had a good time then!’ I grinned and Andronicus snorted.

‘Yes, I had a good time.’ He was obviously waiting for me to question the statement, but I teasingly refused.

We were silent for a moment. I was enjoying the bread that had been supplied with our refreshments. It was a good, fresh, crusty loaf torn up into its eight portions and served in a basket lined with a crisp white napkin. It came with a small silver platter of cheese which, unless I was mistaken, had been made by Metellus Nepos, Salvidia’s stepson. I was sure I recognised the flavours, though sadly there was none of the smoked cheese; perhaps Tiberius had devoured it all. At least tragedy had brought Nepos custom.

The thought struck me that since this appeared to be the only enclosed garden in the house, it must be where Cassiana Clara had lingered that night she came here to dinner with Viator. I tried to imagine the place, lit by a few oil lamps flickering along the colonnades. There were festoons of jasmine where sparrows played, small statues of young dryads and a bubbling fountain that actually worked. It would make a pleasant place to hide away – though not if you then had some kind of unfortunate encounter. She had. I was certain now.

I noted that if Clara had cried out in distress, people in the dining room would easily have heard her and come running to assist. A few strides would have brought Viator, angry that in some way his young wife had been affronted. I visualised how he must have strode out here, slung that muscled arm around Clara and steered her back to a couch for the dessert course, the flautist and her polite conversation with Faustus about music . . .

‘What really made Cassiana Clara so upset?’ I asked. ‘From talking to her, she clearly was.’

Andronicus looked startled. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Mild curiosity.’

‘She’s a silly girl.’

‘All girls are silly. I was silly myself once. She comes from a sheltered environment, she’s young, she is probably easily bored by long conversations about retail space and storage conditions.’

‘Personally,’ Andronicus joked, ‘I can never get enough of the iugerum-to-denarius ratio, and the free flow of air currents for optimal mould prevention.’

I loved his sense of humour. ‘You’re giving me a fine glimpse of the breakfast dialogue in this home.’

‘You’re right. From early dawn, one is expected to enjoy a symposium on underfloor granary aeration, with the latest anxieties about mice and beetle damage. Tullius is a
very
successful warehouse owner, Albia.’

‘It’s gained him a lovely house to hold beetle symposiums in . . . So,’ I persisted, ‘what did happen when Clara was bored with the space-to-hire-cost ratio?’

Andronicus shrugged. ‘As I said, I found her here and talked to her, aiming to cheer her up if I could. Hard work, I must say! When I could see it was making her uneasy to be on her own with someone, of course I quit the scene.’

‘Perfect manners,’ I murmured. I had not found Cassiana Clara hard to talk to, even now she was grieving, but I was a woman.

He pretended to preen. ‘I didn’t go for her anyway.’

‘Would that have made a difference?’

‘Why not?’ he demanded lightly. I felt a lurch in the pit of my stomach, but reminded myself he was a man. Surely he had no idea this caused me a pang of jealousy? Or maybe he did know. What he said next came as a shock. ‘Faustus must have come along immediately afterwards, when she was still moping alone, and could not believe his luck.’

‘Faustus?’

‘He lives here, you know!’

‘But “couldn’t believe his luck”, Andronicus?’

‘He grabbed. She screamed. Out rushes everybody, her maddened husband in the lead.’

‘Hey, steady on for a moment! . . .’ I had to readjust. This was a possibility that had never occurred to me. Up until now I had not imagined the supposedly priggish aedile as a man who would set upon a young female visitor to his home, let alone when her husband was toying with the nuts and peaches dessert course only a few yards away.

‘The girl was to blame,’ said Andronicus.

‘Why? All Cassiana Clara did was put herself in the wrong place briefly, while she needed a breather from a stultifying dinner.’

I could accept Clara was inexperienced enough to have secretly been excited by an older man mildly flirting (any aedile must be thirty-six by the rules, against her nineteen, a significant difference). But anything serious would have shocked and alarmed her, I was sure. She would not have known how to handle it. Anyway, she was devoted to Julius Viator – unless her devotion now was guilt after the event.

‘She wound him up.’ I stiffened instinctively, at which Andronicus immediately dropped the hard attitude. ‘Oh, just testing! I realise you are bursting to accuse me of every kind of masculine hypocrisy, dear Albia. You are quite right. A woman should be able to sit by herself in the garden of a private house—’

‘Or anywhere!’ I snarled.

‘Without every hot-blooded male who spots her taking it as an open signal to stick his prick in.’

‘You’re saying Manlius Faustus is the same lousy type as his uncle?’

Andronicus just pulled a face and left me to think as I chose.

I put this in context with what Tiberius had told me about the aedile’s old affair. Imagine it: back then, Faustus, when left alone with his patron’s trophy brooch-buster, assumed the beauty was there for the taking. ‘She offered. He took,’ Tiberius had said. But presumably that woman liked and wanted his attention.

For some reason, I suddenly felt I would like to ask Tiberius for his opinion about this story of Cassiana Clara’s assault.

‘You can imagine the furore when the silly thing started yelling. The girl was to blame,’ repeated Andronicus, matter-of-factly. Then he said, ‘So you know, Albia, there is a good reason to say it was Faustus who got his revenge by taking out Viator afterwards – revenge for spoiling his fun and showing him up.’

‘T
ook out Viator?’
I drew a sharp breath. ‘You are accusing
Faustus
of killing the fur magnate? Oh come on! Let me remind you, Andronicus, last time you had anything to say about this, you pointed to Tiberius.’

‘Yes, I do seem rather changeable.’ He smiled, unabashed. I had a weakness for his pretended amoral streak. A girl likes the unpredictable. Then he explained, ‘Fact is, Albia, something happened last night that made me see things differently.’

‘What? What happened? What did you find out?’

Andronicus leaned back, with his hands linked behind his ginger-brown head. I had never been in any doubt he enjoyed being the sole focus of my attention. I hoped it did not make him exaggerate for effect. ‘Something happened after the horse race.’

I took myself in hand, playing calm. ‘Tell me.’

‘Come on. You are excited. Admit it.’

‘I am excited. Now show me whether you are a full player or your dice box is empty, you abominable tease.’

Andronicus, who had as usual been picky about the food we were brought, now stopped to take a slice of cheese and savour it. What he was really revelling in was the suspense. I let him.

‘My dice box is never empty.’ He had a way of speaking sometimes that could sound over-serious. But he gazed at me with his confiding expression. I grew up watching people who worked in a close, loving partnership, and his manner at that moment gave me a warm feeling of promise for our own relationship. People ought to work like this.

‘Oh come on, friend!’

He leaned forwards confidingly. ‘This is it. At the end of last night’s proceedings there was a big social shock. A gathering had been arranged at the chief priestess’s house; Faustus went, naturally. A lot of our people had to go home, but I managed to get taken along.’ I couldn’t help thinking wistfully that that was the moment when Andronicus could have escaped and come to see me. But one must not be selfish. ‘We all trooped to the old woman’s house, where we mingled in a stilted fashion with spiced wine and oatcakes, most people wishing they had not bothered to go. Faustus was lapping up compliments, but the night had taken a toll; he looked about finished. Then it happened. While people were beginning to drop out and leave, Laia Gratiana actually came up and spoke to Faustus.’

I blinked. ‘From what I know, that must have startled everyone.’

‘Especially him! Normally they would ignore each other. It was the kind of do where she could easily have kept out of his way. She hates him. He can’t bear to deal with her. Yet she marched up and confronted him without any foreplay. He, poor dog, did not know where to look!’

‘So what did Laia want?’

‘A word with him –
in private!’

I sucked my teeth. ‘That’s annoying.’

‘Trust me, Albia.’

‘You bug! You listened?’

‘I was not going to miss it. You would have been in there with me.’

‘Oh I would!’

‘You would have had to disguise yourself as a small bay tree, but fortunately the planting pots where I was obliged to lurk were large.’

‘And?’

‘He said,
“This is a surprise!”
She said,
“Shut up and listen. I just wondered if you had realised who Venusia was.”
Annoyingly, he then – the bastard – only said,
“Surely not
that
Venusia?”
Anybody would think he knew I was watching.’

If he was at all alert, there was a good chance Manlius Faustus suspected Andronicus was spying on him. Any of his staff might do it. In Domitian’s Rome, this was inevitable, whether or not people really had secrets. In fact, to stand near any plant tub or statue when you could not see behind it was extremely foolish. Some would say even laurel leaves had ears these days.

‘So Faustus knows something about Venusia, even if he has to be reminded by Laia?
She
thinks it so important she has broken her fierce ten-year vow of Faustus-avoidance?’ My mind was racing. ‘Andronicus, Venusia was the other maid, that time Marcia Balbilla’s girl was attacked in the Vicus Altus.’

Andronicus whistled quietly.

‘And we do know what she once did to Faustus,’ he corrected me.

‘You found out?’

‘Oh I learned a lot from their merry banter, Albia. Details I have wanted to know for years. Apparently he may be a moraliser now but he was degenerate then. I finally discovered what happened to end their marriage.’

‘So?’ I asked cautiously.

‘Fortunately, Laia Gratiana is the type who likes to be theatrical when she has a chance to wallow in unpleasantness.
“Yes, Faustus. Venusia – who, when you had your filthy affair with that terrible woman, loyally came and told me.
” To which he could only answer,
“Oh!”
His repartee is extraordinarily tedious.’

I swung my legs out, kicking my feet restlessly.

‘Well, that’s interesting, but I fail to see why it makes you say Faustus may have killed Ino.’

‘Don’t you see – wrong maid!’

‘What?’

‘Faustus knows perfectly well it was Venusia who broke up his marriage. Naturally he has never forgiven her for snitching. Who would? He intended to get his revenge by killing her, but seen from behind, two maids all wrapped up in stoles look identical. Suppose instead of each following her own mistress as you would expect, they had inconveniently swapped places?’

‘With a group of people going along together in a bunch, it can easily happen,’ I agreed.

‘Yes – so he attacked Ino by mistake.’

‘Good theory. But it’s guesswork. How can you be sure they swapped positions?’

‘I can’t,’ agreed Andronicus. ‘But I bet if you ask any of the survivors, they will confirm I’m right.’

I had another reason to believe it. ‘That could explain something I learned today: Laia has sent Venusia off to the country. I thought it peculiar, but not if it is for protection. So could the two maids be misidentified? I wonder what Venusia looks like?’

‘An old Greek gargoyle.’

‘You know her?’

‘Seen her with Laia at the temple.’

Andronicus was probably exaggerating and anyway, the marriage ended ten years ago. I thought it was unlikely Faustus had ever taken much notice of his wife’s maid. He might well fail to recognise her now.

‘She’s gone away to save her skin, in case he goes after her again.’ Andronicus was definite. ‘Do you know where they have sent her?’

‘No, I don’t. Look, killing a maid who betrayed him would be rather obvious – and also rather late in the day, don’t you think? Ten years later?’ I heard myself becoming stern. ‘I have to say that this is a far-fetched theory, Andronicus. For a man in his position to go around causing people’s deaths is—’

‘Feasible, if he’s crazy.’

‘You live in his house. Is he crazy?’

‘Why do you think,’ explained Andronicus gently, ‘I have always been so keen to keep you away from him?’

I smiled back into his loving eyes.

‘But are you suggesting Faustus was responsible for the other deaths as well?’ I asked, struggling to keep to business, while Andronicus kept being affectionate. ‘Salvidia, for instance?’

‘He knew about Salvidia causing the little boy’s death. He hated that. He put up the wall poster calling for witnesses.’

‘I thought that was Tiberius.’

‘Did it or did it not have Faustus’ name on it? I seem to remember you coming to our office asking for him, Albia.’

I nodded. ‘All right. Suppose in that instance, the aedile took his role as a public official way too far. He hated Salvidia causing a child’s death through negligence, so instead of just fining her company, he took it upon himself to impose harsh justice. But what happened with the old lady? Celendina had done nothing to upset him.’

‘Ah, that I don’t know. There must be a reason. We simply have not seen it yet. Maybe that son you mentioned really did for her . . . As for the oyster boy,’ Andronicus rushed on, hopping in ahead of me, ‘Faustus often buys special provisions. He loves his food. He enjoys oysters and is particular who supplies them. He must have gone to that stall and somehow the lad annoyed him.’

It was routine for heads of household to shop for the home in that way. Men, particularly, saw themselves as retail experts. Killing a boy who, say, shucked his oysters incorrectly seemed unlikely, but once you start thinking that someone is crazy, normal rules fail. Andronicus was right about that. We all struggle to identify motives, yet killers are a feckless, inconsistent breed.