Lindsey Davis - Enemies at Home

Daphnus thought Amaranta would protect him too, but he might learn otherwise.

I addressed her. ‘I am writing my final report. I shall write it now, this afternoon; then I shall leave here and play no further part. It is your choice. If you tell me the rest of the story, I promise I will recommend to Manlius Faustus that the two of you have immunity from prosecution, your freedom, and such other rewards as he and the Temple of Ceres see fit.’

I meant it. Faustus had given me authority to offer as much.

‘Three of us,’ begged Daphnus.

‘Three?’

‘My brother, Melander.’

I said it was good to see family loyalty. Far be it from me to separate twins in the city of Remus and Romulus; Faustus would make it a triple amnesty.

Yes, I know about Remus being murdered by his twin out of jealousy.

So they settled down to confess to me. Daphnus started the story, under Amaranta’s watchful eye. I knew the beginning, from Cosmus invading the bedroom and exploding, through the other slaves discovering what he had done — ‘Too late to stop him, which we would have tried — ’ then their deciding with Polycarpus that the murders of Aviola and Mucia put them all at risk.

‘Did none of you ever think of handing Cosmus over?’

‘Nobody blamed Myla nor Cosmus,’ said Amaranta. ‘None of us cared for either of them much, but we could see that Myla had been treated badly. She didn’t have enough imagination to see she was in a good home and things could have been far worse. Cosmus neither. He was really lucky Polycarpus took him. Cosmus never saw it that way. He just grew up hating the fact that his father, the master, never wanted anything to do with him. He was always obsessed by that.’

‘He had reached the age when he brooded,’ Daphnus put in. He was young enough to remember his own puberty vividly.

‘Myla was used, for years,’ Amaranta said. ‘Of course she was supposed to endure that sort of thing, but it doesn’t mean she felt nothing. Whenever she was angry about it, she would pour out her heart to Cosmus, making him even more resentful.’

‘They were very close?’ I asked, thinking how Myla had tried to take the blame for Cosmus’ acts, just before she committed suicide.

Amaranta nodded. ‘He convinced himself he killed Aviola and Mucia in defence of his mother, to stop her being sold.’

‘Right. Tell me about the robbers, please.’

Daphnus took up the tale. The fleeting visit by Roscius and his men had given Amaranta the idea to fake a robbery. Some of what the neighbour Fauna had seen from above — people running about with lamps and whispering urgently — happened when the slaves packed up the wine set; they hid it in the chair seat, then hurried the chair out to the unused lock-up. They had to act fast, because they knew they must soon involve the vigiles.

I tried to sound neutral. ‘Once you decided to use the silver to make it look like a robbery gone wrong, was it anyone’s intention to keep the valuables afterwards?’

Their eyes flickered towards one another, but they both denied it. I could imagine what would have happened; if they had got away with it, escaped any accusation, then some time later — probably too soon to be wise — a cloaked figure would start visiting a pawnshop where no one ever asked too many questions, on each visit taking some new closely wrapped bundle … one by one, the wonderful items in the wine set would have been sold. The slaves would gain a tiny fraction of the pieces’ real value. But perhaps to them it would seem more.

Daphnus had played his part in what happened next. This was the incident that had always bothered me. Daphnus had suggested how to make the fake robbery look good: they should give Nicostratus a black eye and pretend the home-invaders rushed him. Nicostratus was willing to be tied up and shut in the mop cupboard, but that was not colourful enough. He was less keen on being battered about, but Amaranta and Daphnus persuaded him.

‘Who hit him?’ I sounded as neutral as possible.

‘The first time, I did,’ Daphnus admitted. ‘I admit I lacked practice, so my punch made no marks. Nicostratus had already had enough of it, though. He said to stop there and we would just have to hope a few bruises came out on him next day.’

‘But?’

‘Phaedrus came up behind him suddenly, carrying a plank from the well. He swung it and cracked open his head.’

‘He never meant to kill him,’ Amaranta put in quickly.

‘Phaedrus and Nicostratus had never got on?’ I checked.

‘No, they were sworn enemies.’ She went slightly pink.

From what Gratus had told me after Polycarpus’ funeral, Phaedrus had had a liaison with Amaranta. I wondered if Nicostratus was another, or wanted to be? That would explain the quarrels between the porters — and why Phaedrus hit him so hard. If so, this pert young woman had much to answer for. She liked to look neat and demure, but she was a free-wheeling heartbreaker.

‘I saw the results of the beating on Nicostratus,’ I said dourly.

‘Phaedrus went mad,’ Daphnus told me, sounding subdued. ‘He had had a drink earlier. Afterwards he blamed his German heritage. It turned him into a maniac, he said.’

I realised why Amaranta chose to dump Phaedrus. She saw him as too dangerous a partner. Amaranta would never be a woman who teamed up with a man who thrashed her, and then claimed ‘he never means it and he’s always sorry afterwards’. She flew straight to Daphnus.

‘Did you help out?’ I asked Daphnus. ‘Did you hit him again?’

He shook his head. ‘No, but Amethystus and Diomedes did. They were out of their skulls as well. Nicostratus didn’t pass out at once, and as he buckled at the knees he yelled so loudly, they rushed to knock him cold to stop him. Phaedrus joined in again with that plank while we were trying to stop him. What a nightmare …’

‘How long did this nightmare go on?’

‘Not long. A lot happened very quickly.’

‘Phaedrus seemed to feel Nicostratus’ death sincerely, when I talked to him about it.’

‘He would,’ Amaranta argued. ‘Phaedrus was as shocked as the rest of us, when he sobered up later. He has no idea what came over him, he says. When he saw the damage he was inconsolable.’

Always sorry afterwards … I was angry. ‘Inconsolable? He hid that well with me! Phaedrus carried out a vicious attack, in which all of you were associates. Whatever jealousy caused his feud with Nicostratus, there is no excuse for him, nor for Amethystus and Diomedes − and there’s no excuse for the rest of you. Tell me, when you brought Nicostratus here with you, was that in case he regained consciousness and told tales? Were you hoping to prevail on him to keep quiet?’

‘Partly. We really did think we could look after him, to make amends. But −’ at this one point Amaranta showed visible pride in her ingenuity − ‘we brought him in the chair, where we had hidden the silverware. So nobody would find it.’

Amaranta was a clever young woman. She had not reckoned with that cult busybody, my bugbear Laia Gratiana, tidying the unwanted chair away from her precious sanctum by despatching it back to the apartment as soon as she spied it.

So that was their story. I told the disreputable pair that even though it disgusted me, I would keep my promise about the aedile.

I could not help reflecting ruefully how these slaves had spent more energy and invention on a volatile fellow slave boy, a youth they did not even like, than on protecting their master and mistress or showing them loyalty after their deaths. Loyalty to Nicostratus had been shaky too. Relationships in the household of Aviola and Mucia, two reputedly decent newly-weds, had been corrosive. Under the surface of a happy home had raged divisions that led to fatal results.