Rosemary Rowe - The Chariots of Calyx

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.’