Lindsey Davis - Enemies at Home

Her argument had some logic.

I had had a long hard day: tailing Roscius, re-interviewing the slaves, Polycarpus’ funeral and its aftermath. It was best not to press Myla any further. I needed sleep. She too looked drawn. It might even do her good to spend time reflecting on her position.

I warned her we were not finished. Looking back now, all I meant was that we would resume first thing in the morning. My manner was not threatening, not by my standards. No murder suspect can expect smiles and sesame cakes.

Myla humphed and took herself off.

I fell into bed and must have dropped off immediately. I slept long and deep. When I woke next morning, everywhere was quiet, though my body clock said it was not especially late.

Dromo was missing. I went out alone to fetch fresh bread and food for breakfast. I felt stiff, the kind of sluggishness I hate, especially when I am facing important work. This was a morning when I would have liked to go to the Stargazer, not just for food, but to consult with Manlius Faustus if he happened by. Mind you, the last time I did that I ended up with this bothersome commission …

I had taken a clean tunic and managed to persuade a local bath house manager to let me in. The water was nearly cold, of course, last night’s leavings, and they would not fire up the furnace again until this afternoon.

What I needed was a lengthy hot soak and steam; that would have given me time to decide, before I spoke to Myla, whether I really thought she was implicated in any of the murders. She had a strong motive for attacking Aviola and Mucia, though she was lumbering in the last stages of pregnancy at the time. As for Polycarpus, I supposed she may have argued with him about the plan to sell her but I knew of no other grievance. Stewards get blamed for everything, even when they are only carrying out their masters’ orders. Polycarpus had been Aviola’s point of interaction with staff when there was any difficult issue. It was feasible that Myla made him into a hate figure. If so, I had seen no sign of it.

I gave myself a quick scrape, basic ablutions, no relaxation. Deep thought was impossible. I had almost made up my mind that Myla would not be a serious suspect. I had to re-examine her, but her words yesterday weighed with me. It was in her interests to have had Aviola alive.

Shivering but clean, I emerged from the bath house which was a deadbeat place with half-blocked drains and mean towels. Even slowing to twitch my tunic where it clung to my damp body, it was a rapid walk to the apartment. I stopped only to buy bread, by now feeling peckish.

My meal was not to be. As I drew near the apartment, I could see figures engaging in agitated behaviour outside. Instinctively, I speeded up.

Fauna, the woman I had met from the apartment upstairs, was excitedly talking to Myrinus. ‘You’ve missed all the excitement!’ she exclaimed to me as soon as I was near enough. She was lapping it up, though the leatherworker looked more sombre.

They told me Graecina had come down that morning, carrying out routine checks the way Polycarpus used to do. After exchanging a few words with Myrinus and Secundus as they opened up their shutter, she went into the apartment. A short while later, the two men heard her having a furious argument with Myla. Much of it was audible through the back of their shop. They did not hear how the commotion started, but when they ran to listen, they could tell Myla’s imminent sale was the subject. Graecina was insisting it had to happen — so replacing Polycarpus as the agent of Myla’s doom.

‘Graecina made the mistake of saying, “Don’t expect me to be as soft as he was.” She went for her!’ Fauna was almost jumping up and down in her excitement.

‘What? Myla? Went for Graecina?’

‘You’re right — who knew she had that much energy? Except between the sheets …’ muttered Fauna cattily. ‘No, Albia, it was horrible. She ran into the kitchen and brought a big pan of hot water from the hearth. She threw it over Graecina. Her screams were awful; that was when I came running down.’ Fauna must have been on her stool looking, while the argument took place. She caught my eye, then added guiltily, ‘To see if there was anything that I could do.’

Myrinus said Graecina rushed out of the building, badly scalded. In terrible pain, she was tended by the two men from the shop, and had now been taken by another neighbour to an apothecary for treatment.

‘So where is Myla?’

‘That’s the thing!’ cried Fauna.

‘She burst outside,’ Myrinus explained. ‘She saw me and Secundus — we were standing here, wondering what to do. We were nervous of approaching her.’ It was noticeable that no one thought to send for the vigiles. Neighbourhood problems are not resolved that way.

‘I’d hardly ever seen her out in the street,’ said Fauna. ‘I was here with poor Graecina when Myla came out. She gave a shriek, then shouted something, and ran down the road.’

‘What did she shout?’ I had a bad feeling.

‘She said, “Tell them I did it then! Tell Albia she can blame me!” then she belted off down the Clivus like a mad thing.’

‘Oh, Juno! Did she have the baby with her?’

‘In her arms.’ Myrinus knew this boded ill. ‘I told Secundus to run right after her and try to catch her. He’s nippier than me. He took your lad, Dromo.’

‘Dromo? Where had he been holed up?’ I asked crossly. Myrinus nodded to the bar opposite, where Dromo was allowed to have his breakfast. ‘Fine. Never mind him. This is bad news, Myrinus. You thought she meant something?’

‘I know she did,’ Myrinus confirmed. ‘She screamed it at us, Albia: “I killed them all! — and now I’m going to kill myself!”’

I delayed only long enough to slip indoors and haul on walking shoes. Then accompanied by Myrinus, a man of conscience, and Fauna, a woman of curiosity, I hurried down the Clivus Suburanus in the direction Myla was last seen taking.

If anyone went far enough that way, it led them to the river.

It was a long walk if you were desperate, or even for concerned parties like us, hastening, fraught, wanting to prevent tragedy. It was one straight road after another, all the time having to shove through meandering crowds, dodge pavement obstacles, stand out of the way for soldiers, litter-bearers and hot pie-sellers with enormous trays. Clivus Suburanus, Clivus Pullius, Clivus Orbius, the push across the top of the Forum and the curve round by the Theatre of Marcellus … the same route I took yesterday at a much more sedate pace, on my way to re-interview the fugitives.

If someone was in despair and suicidal, who knows? With their mind in turmoil, this distance might fly by. Or it might be the longest walk of their life — which for Myla it surely was in every sense. In life, she hardly went outside. Seeking death, she crossed most of Rome. It seemed she knew where people went for the purpose. It was the Pons Aemilius, from which so many have fatally cast themselves into the brown Tiber waters.

We were too late.

As we approached, we could make out the body. Boatmen or wharfingers must have dragged her out, so she was now lying under the celebratory arch erected by Augustus. Up above, the inscription proclaiming how that emperor had devotedly rebuilt this ancient bridge; below, the dripping corpse of a non-citizen. Nobody bothers to read the plaque. Nobody bothered with the corpse. People were walking past on their way to the meat market or Tiber Island, barely noticing the scene. Secundus and Dromo were there. Hardly anybody else stopped to look. It was just a dead slave.

I knew better than to blame myself, though I cursed my failure last night to see her desperation. I knew she was angry and bitter and probably afraid. I could not see her despair. Perhaps I failed to look for it. I should have done.