Rosemary Rowe - The Chariots of Calyx

‘Not! Not!’ he was still protesting volubly in his inimitable Latin. ‘Nothings I have done deserving this. Only an honest trader — nothing tricks. .’ The tirade ceased as one of the soldiers placed a heavy foot on his neck.

‘Apologies, citizen,’ the senior soldier said. ‘He took us by surprise. He was quiet enough when we arrested him, but as soon as we got outside this house and he saw where we were bringing him, he suddenly tried to make a break for it. It took all six of us to bring him down and get him under control.’

I made no answer. I was looking at Annia Augusta. The arrival had taken her by surprise. For one brief second she had caught her breath, pressed both hands against her face and widened her eyes with a kind of appalled horror. She regained her self-control at once, but I had registered that immediate response — like some kind of allegorical statue representing Guilt.

‘You know this trader, lady citizen?’ I enquired, rather pointlessly.

Before she could utter a word, Eppaticus lifted his head with an effort and began again. ‘Nothings. I know nothings. Just is a business — come here for my money and now happening all this. .’

The soldier moved to silence him again, but caught my eye and instead tugged at his bonds and allowed him to scramble to his feet.

‘Eppaticus,’ I said, when he had struggled upright. ‘What was it that you sold to Monnius?’

The great Celt looked discomfited. He dropped his head and gazed at the floor but did not answer, even when the soldier kicked him savagely.

I repeated the question, in Celtic this time.

Then Eppaticus did raise his head and glanced at Annia. ‘A private matter,’ he replied unwillingly, in his quaint version of the same language. ‘It was a business accommodation, that is all. I have done the same thing for Monnius before.’

‘A business arrangement with those female slaves you had for sale?’ I prompted. ‘Setting up a lupanarium , perhaps?’ Five thousand denarii would have been a high price to pay for a brothel and its inmates, but I was convinced that the arrangement was something that Eppaticus found embarrassing, and the setting up of a whorehouse was a possibility. A potentially lucrative business, but something which the Trinovantine might prefer not to discuss openly in front of his partner’s mother. We Celts do not share the robust Roman acceptance of these things.

Eppaticus shook his head and mumbled. For a moment I thought he might be about to tell me.

But all this conversation in a language that he did not understand had angered Fortunatus. He had lost his earlier shame-faced air, and now began to berate me angrily.

‘Enough of this nonsense! Why have I been brought here? Of what am I accused? Killing Monnius? That’s a monstrous lie. If I am to be charged with deliberately falling at the races, very well — let me go before the council and stand trial. I have admitted it, and I will pay the fine — and take the flogging too, if that’s the penalty. But to be brought here at swordpoint and accused of killing a citizen! There is some mistake. Someone will pay for thi-’

He broke off in surprise. Eppaticus had struggled free and with a furious effort had broken from his guards. Before anyone could stop him, he had launched himself across the study at Fortunatus, raised his bound hands with a snarl and sent him reeling sideways against the wall.

‘You fall deliberate? And all my money lose! And I here risk myself to come to this house two times, even when man is dead — only for find some way of pay my debts. I kill you, son of a pig!’ He raised his hands again as if to bring them down on the charioteer’s head with murderous intent.

It was doomed, of course. There were too many soldiers and he was hampered by his bonds. The nearest soldier solved the problem with professional skill. He raised the heavy baton that he held and hit the Celt neatly and hard behind the ear.

Eppaticus pitched forward with a soft moan and this time he did not get up again.

There was a sudden hush. The little librarium was crammed with people, but all of them were suddenly silent after this casual display of force, and were watching me warily.

I looked at the gigantic figure on the floor, which (to my relief) was already beginning to stir slightly. Whatever else, the Celt was strong — the blow he had received would have half killed a lesser man. I made a decision

‘Take him outside,’ I said to the soldiers who had brought him in, ‘and when he has come round a bit, I want you to escort him to that warehouse of his. Have a look around. I want to know what he sold Monnius. He seemed strangely reluctant to tell me. That is curious. Don’t let him mislead you.’

‘I know where the warehouse is, master,’ Junio said unexpectedly. He was still standing behind my stool and I realised he had been waiting for some opportunity to make himself useful.

‘Then you go with them, Junio,’ I said. ‘Take that wax tablet from the writing desk. I want a list of everything he stocks. In particular anything that might be worth several thousand sesterces. I remember you saying there was no sign of grain? Check that. It would have seemed the obvious commodity.’

Junio nodded importantly. I had taught him to read and write, and he was proud of his accomplishments. ‘He has some slaves there — I will talk to them,’ he said, picking up the writing tablet and the stylus. ‘He’s keeping them chained up at one end of the warehouse. If he sold something significant, recently, they may be able to tell us what it was.’

I glanced at Fortunatus. He was sullen, but not subdued. ‘Don’t look at me. I don’t know what he had. I tell you, the man was only at my house to sell me furniture and dishes — he had some Samian ware, he said, extremely cheap, and some inlaid cabinets from Egypt. He came to see me at the inn and we went to the house together to see if the larger chest would fit in my new cubiculum . He was recommended to me by Glaucus — I have never seen the man before. I do not understand what any of this is about.’

‘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.’