Rosemary Rowe - The Chariots of Calyx

‘Good idea, Superbus,’ I said cheerfully. ‘Of course, he wasn’t at his post when Eppaticus left — the Celt had dragged him in here, and thrown him on the floor, very much where you are standing now — but no doubt the doorkeeper did notice where the visitor came from. If Eppaticus came and went in the same direction, that would give you a good indication of where to start asking.’ I nodded at him encouragingly. ‘Very good, Superbus. You are getting the idea of this already.’

The slave, who had turned very pale at the mention of physical violence, swallowed and said, ‘As you wish, master,’ in a much more humble tone.

Behind his back Junio, who had been enjoying the exchange immensely, gave me a gleeful wink. I almost regretted my sarcastic tone, and I softened it with an attempt at flattery. ‘With your knowledge of the town, Superbus, you will have a much better idea than I would of where to look for him — where the corn markets are, and the Celtic quarter, for example.’

Superbus was still looking white-faced at the prospect of an encounter with the Trinovantine giant. ‘And if I find this man, citizen, what am I to do with him?’

‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘Simply find out what you can, and report back to me here. Or at the governor’s palace, if I have left this house before you return.’

Superbus looked extremely relieved. ‘At your service, citizen!’ he said, and left hurriedly before I could change my mind.

I turned to Junio, who was still grinning like a fish. ‘Well then, young man,’ I said, clapping him on the shoulder, ‘we have work to do. I want to talk to the other inhabitants of the house. But first you can tell me what news you have collected. I presume that you have been listening to the servant gossip as usual?’

Junio’s grin broadened. ‘You were the one who taught me to ask questions, master. It has become a habit with me.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ I said. ‘So, sit down quickly, and tell me what you’ve learned.’ It was not perhaps the most courteous of actions: I should have returned to the public rooms, but I was not anxious to meet Annia Augusta again before I knew what Junio had gleaned.

He perched on the chest again, and made a small grimace. ‘Not a great deal, really. Except I do not believe the servants can be in it. Caius Monnius was terrified of plots and every other slave in the place was his paid informer, as far as I can see. No one could have managed this without someone seeing him and giving him away, for fear for their own skin. Caius Monnius would have insisted on the letter of the law and had the whole household of slaves executed for a plot against him. Even now they were falling over their tunics to tell me things, but they seemed to have no real information to give.’

‘So they would have told Monnius if there’d been a slave plot against him. But would any of them have told him about his wife and Fortunatus?’

‘I am not so certain about that, master. That would not be an executing matter, and the slaves all seem utterly loyal to Fulvia. She is a just mistress, they say, and although she can punish faults mercilessly, she is always fair. Things have improved since she arrived, they say. And they should know. Most of them have been owned by Caius Monnius for years: all of them, in fact, except Fulvia’s nurse and pageboys — even Annia Augusta was not permitted to bring her own women with her when she came.’

‘But none of them saw or heard anything last night?’

He shook his head. ‘They were all sleeping like Morpheus until the screaming woke them — they had been working hard clearing away the banquet. And the slaves on duty downstairs were all asleep. That seemed to be unnatural in itself, with so many spies about — the staff seem to think that someone must have given them a sleeping potion. That is one piece of information that they gave me, by the way. Lydia has a way with herbs, did you know that? Apparently Annia Augusta taught her. Other people swore it couldn’t have been Lydia who drugged the slaves, because she never left the annexe all day yesterday. There was quite an argument about it.’

I nodded. ‘I think the servants’ wine was drugged,’ I said, and told him about my conversation with Fulvia. ‘I even wondered if Monnius himself had been affected, but why would he be drinking the servants’ dregs?’

‘He hardly needed a sleeping draught last night, by all accounts,’ Junio said. ‘He had drunk enough to fell a giant. He was rather given to that, it seems — harsh when he was sober and bestial when he was drunk — though he could be surprisingly generous to his favourites at times. His mother is just as difficult in her own way, they tell me — demanding and hard to please. She is the same with everyone, even with Monnius, refusing to take his advice over her estates and declining to use his drying houses. One of the maidservants called her a human elephant, making a loud noise and trampling everything in her path.’

I have never seen an elephant, but I grinned at the description. From the tales I have heard, they are larger than life, with big noses, and have been known to stampede out of control in the amphitheatre and terrify the bystanders. The comparison with Annia Augusta seemed peculiarly apt. (Although one can never believe everything one hears. Some of the legends say that elephants wear their teeth outside, upside down on either side of their mouths.)

‘And the lady Lydia?’ I asked.

‘Apart from her herbal skills, they think of her as a joke. She says, thinks and does whatever Annia Augusta tells her to, except where her child is concerned — she can be determined then, by all accounts. Apparently she was always the same. Completely indecisive. Some of the slaves can remember when Monnius married her — they did not live in this house then, of course. He built his career and fortune on her marriage portion. She could not find a husband, and her father gave her a rich dowry.’

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Monnius would have had the usufruct of that.’

‘Exactly — but he had to give her back her estates when he divorced her. The servants say he tried to claim that there was a question over her fidelity, so he could keep the estates, but Lydia was so plain she was always above suspicion.’ He grinned. ‘The whisper is that when her father died, Monnius hoped to get control of her lands again, and that is why he let Annia Augusta bring her here, but Lydia’s brother had been managing the money in the meantime, and most of it was lost in legal wrangles over the will.’

I nodded. ‘Then. .’ I began, but I got no further.

From Monnius’ bedchamber came the eerie sound of someone calling the dead man’s name three times. Then a low tuneless wailing began, followed a moment later by the moaning of funereal pipes, and the dreadful keening of professional weepers. I looked at Junio. The lamentations had begun.

We scrambled to our feet like a pair of guilty schoolboys. It would hardly be acceptable to be found here, gossiping like a pair of equals. We went out into the lobby.

The moaning was louder there, and I glanced at Junio in surprise. The voice that was doing the wailing did not sound like Fulvia’s.

We had come out into the lobby not a moment too soon. An instant later there was a disturbance in the death chamber. A door slammed, there was the sound of raised voices — during which the wailing faltered — and finally one long last ululation before the tuneless moaning stopped abruptly, and a woman’s voice took up the lamentation.

Junio and I stood back as the door to Monnius’ chamber opened and the bier was carried out, borne high by some of the funeral attendants, and accompanied by others: some carrying the sacrificial herbs, some banging gongs and playing pipes, some simply wailing and beating their breasts. Behind them walked Fulvia, her brow now covered in ashes, her eyes lowered and her hands clasped, lamenting in a sweet, low, melancholy voice.