Lindsey Davis - Enemies at Home

After a while, Secundus and Myrinus came sauntering back to their shop. They had been taking lunch with Secundus’ aged mother; she could vouch for them. Titianus sniffed; I saw he would have liked to pin the crime on the leatherworkers, because they were foreign. They must have known it too.

Titianus had to treat them politely, especially with me watching. They equally politely told him what little they knew. They had seen Polycarpus go into the empty premises. They exchanged greetings while he was opening up the shutter, but he was still in there on his own when the two North Africans left. He had pulled the shutter closed after him, except for a space of about a foot — which I thought was odd, because whatever he wanted to do there, the place would surely have been too dark.

‘Graecina, did you know why your husband came down here?’

Something about the carrying chair, but Graecina did not know what. I went and had a look at it. The soiled seat, a padded drop-in rectangle on a wooden frame, had been lifted out. If there had been a bucket of water and a sponge, that would have answered the question for certain, but there were no cleaning materials.

Apart from being bloodstained, I could see nothing odd about the cushion. I swung open the chair’s half door and inspected inside. There was a compartment underneath the seat. It was empty.

As I emerged, Titianus spotted Cosmus loitering and remembered him from the Aviola incident. Apparently it was Cosmus Polycarpus sent that night to the station house.

‘Come here, you!’

Cosmus looked around as if he thought Titianus meant someone else, then loped across. He was a sturdy lad, just growing his first moustache. The vigilis muttered under his breath to me, which at least meant I was now a colleague he could grumble with.

Titianus questioned the slave with the air of a man who had wasted effort on the hopeless many times. He had an impatient, bullying approach which only drew out answers he clearly expected. Cosmus was the kind of slave who drifted about the neighbourhood, yet never heard or saw anything.

Cosmus said he had been sent downstairs by Polycarpus that morning to carry water to the apartment, so he was either away at the fountain (out of sight further down the street) or indoors out of earshot at the time when someone must have visited Polycarpus in the lock-up. Just before I arrived and saw him by the leather shop, Cosmus had been inside the house talking to Myla.

He was useless as a witness. Titianus could only roll his eyes and let Cosmus go.

I told him, ‘See if Graecina wants you to do anything. Then stay with her. She needs support.’

To make sure, I myself led him over to Graecina who was talking to the undertaker. She confirmed the story about Polycarpus sending Cosmus to fetch water, as he did every day.

Titianus and I went indoors to question Myla. She was in the kitchen nursing her baby. She made sure Titianus had an eyeful. He was more tolerant with her than I would have been, perhaps because he was riveted by the breast-feeding. Typical.

I told Myla Polycarpus was dead. She responded quite aggressively. ‘I hope you’re not saying I had anything to do with that!’

‘Well, did you?’ asked Titianus, unmoved.

‘How could I, when I’m in here all day with the little one and with all the jobs I have to do?’

I managed not to snort.

‘So is it right, you were here talking to that half-baked boy Cosmus?’ Titianus persisted.

‘Cosmus is all right.’

‘He behaves like a spook, who doesn’t know who he’s supposed to be haunting. Answer the question, Myla.’

‘We were here, I suppose. I don’t know. I don’t know when it was, do I?’

‘An hour ago, or less,’ I said, joining in, hoping to speed up the agony.

‘Well, Cosmus came in for a bite of lunch.’

‘Does he not get fed at home?’

‘Yes, but he comes down to see me sometimes. When he wants to chat.’

‘What do you chat about?’

‘Anything.’

‘Such as?’

‘He says what he wants to. He’s a sad boy.’

‘Why is he sad?’

‘He doesn’t know how to be happy.’

That was a conversation-stopper.

I started to rustle up lunch for myself, inviting Titianus to share. A true vigilis, he asked if I had anything to drink and when I said no, he went off to buy something from the bar. By the time he returned, carrying two full beakers on a rocky take-out tray, I had laid a portable table with snacks in the courtyard. The two chairs were still there.

He apologised if he had been a long time. ‘That place opposite serves sewer silt. I had to walk down to the other one. I met an old codger who wanted to talk about Polycarpus. Nothing pertaining to the death, but the old fellow would go on. Apparently the steward was very friendly.’

‘His modus,’ I said. ‘He kept in with everyone around here. I can imagine he would generously share some listening time with a maundering grandfather — though when he had had enough, I bet Polycarpus also knew how to go on his way without causing offence.’

‘I never seem to manage that,’ Titianus confided. He spoke with an innocence that reminded me of my late husband.

‘It’s a knack.’ I let myself reply consolingly, even though I thought it was a knack anyone who joined the vigiles ought to have mastered by their third day. ‘Did you find out anything from the old man?’

‘Polycarpus had had a moan about Aviola intending to give his job to someone else.’

‘Bad feeling against his master?’

‘Well, the old ’un said Polycarpus wasn’t exactly pleased. You can’t blame him.’

‘Polycarpus lined up something else for himself as soon as Aviola died.’ I said. ‘He had a good reputation. He was always going to find a place.’

We ate. Titianus drank. I merely sipped. I would enjoy the wine more on my own in peace, after he had gone. I could have a melancholy reminisce about Lentullus, my husband. I did that occasionally, often when a case was proving troublesome. You have to share with someone. At least the dead don’t argue with you about it.

Not that Lentullus ever argued much with me. The dear lad thought anything I said was wonderful.

It was ten years since the gods took him, though it felt like only as many days. Poor Graecina had no idea yet what she would have to go through.

As he mellowed with a drink, curiosity got the better of Titianus. He had to ask me about the man captured in the attack on Camillus Justinus two days ago. Of course he knew that my uncle had been to see his tribune before that. I caught a hint of grumpiness; Titianus evidently thought Justinus and Faustus went over his head. As of course they did.

‘I hope you don’t resent them,’ I said, aiming to win him over with frankness. At least I was able to assure Titianus that the male-only meeting when they saw his tribune was nothing to do with me.

‘They made themselves marked men when they interfered. Old Rabirius is bound to have heard about it. You must be glad not to be identified as their associate, Albia.’

I did not tell Titianus that it was me who had spoken to Gallo. Titianus clearly didn’t know that. He certainly would not approve. He was not as stubbornly ‘traditional’ as, say, that funeral director I saw this morning, Fundanus, but anyone who works with the vigiles hates women joining in their games.

‘So you think it’s obvious the attack on Camillus was set up by this gang?’ I pretended to ask for an expert opinion.

‘Seems likely.’ Titianus preened himself. This might have been easier if he ever bothered to have a good lotion on his awful hair. ‘I heard that their henchman, Gallo, went strutting to the Fourth’s barracks, asking for the captured man to be released.’