Lindsey Davis - The Ides of April

I went to the Stargazer. Seating myself stiffly at one of the inside tables, I signalled to Junillus for bread rolls and hot mulsum. Of his own accord he brought over the remains of the main cold meat platter; he shook out the ends of various olive bowls among the last slices of Lucanian sausage and shreds of smoked ham on the big dish from which he made takeouts and counter snacks for early workers. My vigiles minder stood upright, having something basic. Eating automatically, I fell into a vacant dream.

It was a warm day with a breeze, not chilly. Mid-morning, for I had slept in late. No other customers.

Life seemed bad. No hope, no solution, no point.

Without me being aware of it, Junillus had gone into the back kitchen, taking crockery to wash. In any caupona it was daily routine. He would be there for a while, starting preparations for the lunchtime rush. The vigilis must have gone out to use the lavatory, then being a man who could never stay quiet, he started talking to, or at least, at Junillus. He had been getting no joy out of me. I could hear him maundering on about the races or another tedious subject, with occasional grunts or short phrases from my cousin, among chopping and scooping sounds as he worked on food. I could not see them. I was alone. As a relative, I would be in charge of the bar if any customers came and I was accustomed to serving myself if I wanted anything, so Junillus would not bother to pop out to check. Junillus and the other man were out of sight and separated from me by several yards, when someone leaned over one of the counters from the street, a mere four feet from me.

It was Andronicus.

Oddly enough, even in this confined space, I felt little fear being alone with him. It was easier to be face-to-face than menaced by an unseen presence. Anyway, I knew him. Even with a killer, you feel that it matters. You have been friends, so he will not harm you. He will believe you can help him. You loved him once, so he cannot kill you. Alone among the people he threatens, you will be safe.

"Well there you are!" he exclaimed.

He had his weight on one elbow, leaning on the irregularly shaped, pastel-coloured pieces of marble that form the crazy patterns of most bar counters. He was giving me the old look, that flash of innocent, open eyes, the wrinkled forehead, the bright, shared, conspiratorial gaze. The past few days might never have happened. He was boyish and mercurial again, acting the man I fell for. This time the attraction failed.

I kept my voice level. "I am surprised you show your face, Andronicus!"

"Why? I have done nothing wrong." He would always believe that. It was at the heart of his madness, a disease of his soul. He had no remorse.

"You know what you did. You killed five people-five we know about. Viator, the boy, Salvidia, the old lady, the maid. Were there more?

He shrugged. He seemed indifferent.

"Do you admit you killed those people?"

"Why not? None of them is a loss. Don't grieve. The stiffs deserved it."

"Were there others beforehand? Or when you heard about the needle killings at the aediles' meeting did you start then? Did that first give you the idea?" When he made no answer, I insisted, "Andronicus, were there others?"

He shrugged again. "That was all." I would never know whether I could believe him.

"So you confess to me, Andronicus? Five people offended you, so you murdered them? You knew poisoned needles were being used in an outbreak all across Rome. You reasoned you could do something similar, concealing your crimes?"

"It was not me, I'm just fooling you."

It was you.

"Why do you care?"

"Because I hate injustice!" I railed at him. His lack of empathy exasperated me. There was no reasoning with him. "All of those people were taken from life before their time and for petty motivation. All because you are an emotionless, irresponsible, utterly cold-hearted bastard. Superficially charming-but in truth you are dishonest, arrogant and completely callous."

Finally, my agitation shook him. My failure of composure forced him to say, "If you are right, then I am sorry for it all."

I could see his thoughts already, finding excuses for himself, working up some new story to try out on me. "I had a hard life, Albia. You have no idea."

"Rubbish. I know about hard lives. You were never abandoned, starved, beaten, abused. What do you know of isolation and hopelessness? Bitter cold, curses, constant fear and misery? You never endured any of that. You have always had a roof and food, you never knew insecurity. Compared to me, Andronicus, as a freedman brought up in a comfortable home and given every opportunity, you were damned fortunate."

He would never accept my comparison. He was totally self-centred.

I was trying not to let him spot me watching for a chance of assistance. For the only time ever, it seemed, nobody at all came walking down either of the streets on whose corner the Stargazer sat. If I tried to attract attention from Junillus and the vigilis, Andronicus could easily reach me before they understood what I wanted. Nothing on my table would make a satisfactory weapon.

"I am trying to understand why, Andronicus. Why are you so resentful, why so unhappy? You are amiable and talented, well thought of as an archivist, with a good post in a prestigious temple." A thought struck me. "It sounds as if it all went sour for you when Manlius Faustus became aedile. You and he had already had a set-to over the position as secretary that he refused you-you see him as idle and worthless, favoured by his uncle and in high position simply because of who he is. Am I right?"

"Shrewd as ever," answered Andronicus, turning it into one of the compliments I now hated. "You see it as it is, dear Albia-why him? Most honoured in Rome? Aediles must be among the top hundred officials. What has he ever done for that?"

"Won votes and acted effectively-that's the system, you know! I think your main quarrel is that he is too strong for you," I told him. "He sees through you. He won't do as you want. Were all the terrible things you did to those other people caused by your naked jealousy of him?"

When I asked an uncomfortable question, Andronicus simply failed to answer me.

With no way yet to attract help, I was running out of ideas. I did not want to talk to him at all, and it was an effort concentrating on arguments with someone whose mind worked so differently from normal.

I dared not take my eyes off him. I knew I was tiring. "You found my apartment, I gather. And earlier, you took my needle-case?"

"Just a memento of you," Andronicus declared, as if it was a lover's trophy. "You can have it back, if you want?"

Determined to stop his games, I lost patience and snapped, "Don't lie. You cannot do that. Tiberius has it now."

I watched Andronicus adjusting his story, as Tiberius had described. "He and I are on good terms. I can ask him for it any time."

"You're not on good terms. He won't give it to you; he needs it as evidence."

"He would give it to you!" said Andronicus, smiling in a way I did not care for.

"Do you still have my sewing needles?"

"Probably not. Who knows?" He did have them. With luck, he had had no opportunity to coat them with anything dangerous.

I said to him, as if it was perfectly normal, "Well, I would offer you refreshments but you know I have to keep a good eye on you, in case you jump over that counter and stick me with a poisoned needle."

At that, he gave me a sweet, sweet smile. "I used the last one. Used it to kill the vixen." He was lying again, because I knew he had been in my apartment and taken the needle on the ribbon after he dispatched the vixen. "I had to help her, didn't I? I did that for you, Albia."

"I know." I remained quiet, despite my anger. What was the point in saying I would rather not have such consideration from a killer? I didn't need him. I could myself have found a way to do whatever was necessary. When the wounded fox was on the stairs, I could have been brave, held down her head with the broom, carried out the humane deed. "Yes, that was your only decent and honest action."