Rosemary Rowe - Death at Pompeia

‘You did not like Honorius very much?’

‘I did not, citizen. I’ll say it, now he’s dead. Livia was too good for him, and that’s the fact of it. And as for his mother — oh, but here she comes. I’ll go and get the mistress, excuse me, citizen.’

I could not blame her for avoiding Helena Domna’s company today. The older woman’s stony countenance was a match for any statue in the colonnade. She was still draped from head to toe in black, though today devoid of any jewellery. She was attended only by the page and she was not so much leaning on her stick as carrying it as a sort of potential baton in her hand. Remembering her prowess with the wedding fan, I promised myself that I would keep a wary eye on it.

The stick, however, could not have been more stinging than her words. ‘Pavement-maker! The steward informed me that you had come back. Presuming on your vaunted patronage again? Well, I hope you have something of importance to impart. Did you imagine that you’d be welcome here?’

I took a swift decision. Attack, I concluded, was my best defence. ‘Not as welcome as Antoninus, I suppose.’

There was a silence. Then: ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Only that he was a fairly frequent visitor. And at such unsocial hours, I understand. The other night for instance.’

The grim face hardened further. ‘And what of that? It was my son Honorius that he came to see.’

‘And now they both are dead. Is that coincidence?’

There was a sudden spark of colour in the sallow cheeks. ‘I heard that Antoninus had collapsed and died. It’s most unfortunate.’

‘And just before I was due to visit him,’ I said, softly. ‘Was that a coincidence as well? Or was there somebody who knew that I was going to call on him — and that he had something he was going to tell me when I arrived? Something that they’d rather I didn’t hear?’

She turned away, the fingers gripping more tightly round the stick. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Oh, I think you do.’ I was insistent now. ‘You knew that I’d been asked to call there, didn’t you? Not immediately — as one might have thought — but later on. Now why would Antoninus stipulate a thing like that? So there was time to pay him off, if a sufficient bribe was to be offered him? And who — apart from you — knew what was in that note?’

‘I don’t have to answer this,’ she said. ‘Besides, it is pure conjecture. You have no proof at all. In any case, the note was sent to you — why should he suppose that I should even learn of it?’ But she had waved the page away, so he was out of earshot, I observed.

‘Because he sent a writing tablet that he knew would catch your eye — indeed, the eye of almost anyone living in the house — because it looked like one that Livia had lost.’

She stamped an impatient foot at me. ‘But, fool, how could he know that I would see it — as I said before?’

‘He made sure that it was delivered to me here. I would obviously receive it in the company of you or Livia. I’ve heard that Antoninus had a little trick of taunting people with the evidence he had — and I think that writing tablet was a case in point. He let this household know he had it, and that was itself a threat.’

She looked at me stonily. ‘It was no threat to me. I simply knew that Livia had lost one like it, at one time — through her own stupidity. Carelessly left it where a thief could get at it, though it was a rare and valuable thing. She never did appreciate the fine things in this house. .’ She broke off as hurrying footsteps echoed in the court and Minimus came hastening back to us, nodding to signal that his mission was complete.

I gestured to him to remain where he was, beside the figure of Minerva in the court. I turned to Helena Domna. ‘Fine things? Like that statue where my servant’s standing now?’ I said.

That silenced her. For a moment, anyway. She slashed at the pathway in frustration with her cane, and when she spoke again her passion frightened me. ‘Get out of my house — you tradesman — before I throw you out. Mourners or no mourners, I will have it done. What right have you to come here and insult me in this way?’ Her voice was rising to an impressive pitch. ‘Get out, do you hear me? Seize him, page, and thrown him out of doors.’

Given that page was no more than eight years old, and that even Minimus could have felled him with a single blow, it was not a realistic prospect. The poor lad gazed at me, then galloped off towards the atrium as fast as he could go, shouting as he did so, ‘Mistress! Steward! Come!’ It echoed round the courtyard, and even the tuneless wail of the lament, which had been issuing from the atrium all this while, momentarily faltered before it rose again.

Livia burst into the courtyard, from the little passage to the front part of the house. She was accompanied by Pulchra and the steward too. ‘What is this disturbance? Libertus, is it you? And mother-in-law, whatever is the meaning of this irreverence? You, of all people, to disturb your son’s lament!’

Helena Domna had recovered a little of her lost patrician poise. She glared at me with baleful hatred in her eyes. ‘This upstart pavement-maker is accusing me of personal involvement in this sordid affair concerning Antoninus. He insulted me. I simply ordered that he be removed, but all that useless little page could do was shout for help. But now that you have come you can throw him out yourself. You should have had him locked up yesterday, when I suggested it. I will not be insulted in my own home like this.’

Perhaps it was that last remark that saved the day for me. Livia bridled. ‘But, Helena Domna, I am mistress here. If Libertus has accusations, then we should hear him out. But not here in the courtyard. Let us go inside. In the triclinium would be the best, I think, where there are seats enough for all of us and the steward can bring us some refreshments while we talk.’

And with quiet dignity, she turned and led the way.

The feasting room had been returned to something like its normal state by now. All the additional seating had been whisked away, leaving only the main table and the three enormous dining couches round three sides of it. I wondered what had happened to the other furniture — no doubt it would be required for the funeral feast: Honorius’s household would be careful to observe the traditional three days between a man’s death and his cremation pyre. I smiled. Given what I had to tell the family, I was unlikely to be invited to the feast.

Livia took the top couch, rather self-consciously, and indicated that I should sit down on her right-hand side, which left Helena Domna in the inferior seat. We were sitting, not reclining, obviously — since there was no question of a proper meal — but we were grouped around the table on three couches all the same.

The steward had already gone to fetch the ‘refreshments’ that were spoken of, but Livia signalled that the page and Minimus should leave. ‘This is clearly private business — not for servants’ ears.’ And the two of them reluctantly withdrew to wait outside. Pulchra however, made no move to go.

‘I’ll go, mistress, if you insist, of course,’ she said, but I held up my hand.

‘I think there are matters which you could help us with, if your mistress will permit it?’

Livia nodded. ‘Very well.’ The maidservant looked pleased and took up a position behind her owner’s chair.

‘Now then, citizen Libertus,’ the young widow began, but she was interrupted by the steward bursting in.

‘I’m sorry to disturb you once again, madam, but there are three citizens out here. They have forced their way in past the mourning queue and say that Libertus is expecting them. The usual doorkeeper has been relieved — ’ he shot a look at me — ‘and his deputy could not deal with them. They were making a disturbance, and he’s had to let them in.’