Lindsey Davis - See Delphi And Die

Albia had taken against her and was showing it. Helena pushed Tiberia forward, nudging her. 'Go on. Tell Marcus Didius what you came about.'

Tiberia had other ideas. She hung back, leaning against Helena, head down awkwardly. I heard Albia growl in her throat. I took a firm line. 'We are all feeling a bit sad here. Come on please, don't be girly. Let's hear it, Tiberia.'

Given another unsympathetic shove by Helena, the girl spoke her piece. Her voice was almost too confident, though its tone was languid. 'It's just that, well, after you told us about Cleonymus, I heard you say you were going to see Phineus.'

'So?' It was probably too curt, but I had had enough that day.

'Why did you want to see him?'

'Never mind – what's the interest for you, Tiberia?'

'Oh… nothing.'

'That's soon dealt with then.' I showed I had lost interest in her. It worked.

'I don't like him,' she whispered.

'He's not my type either.' I tried softening my tone. 'What's he done to you?'

Tiberia squirmed. I gave her the sceptical gaze I reserve for when I am too tired to bother. Deep questioning was out. She could tell me if she wanted to, or go to Hades. 'I don't like the way he always helps you on to the donkey.'

Helena finally helped me out. 'Hands everywhere?' Tiberia nodded gratefully. 'Is that all he does?' Again a nod. It could have been much worse, though to a girl this young, the man's behaviour could assume monstrous significance. 'I suppose,' suggested Helena, 'you don't like what happens, but you feel there is nothing specific to complain about?'

Again Tiberia nodded hard. Phineus would deny there was any wrongdoing; he would suggest the girl had made it up, for all the wrong reasons – or that she was over-sensitive to perfectly normal behaviour.

Helena loathed gropers. She encouraged Tiberia to open up more. 'It happens, but I always hate it too. If you say anything, men like that have a habit of suggesting you are a prude. Nobody ever takes it seriously – but we do, Tiberia.'

'No sense of fun, he'll say,' I contributed, myself now sounding more friendly. 'Sarcastic references to the Vestal Virgins…' There was a risk the women present would suppose I shared the Phineus view. Maybe once I would have done.

Tiberia went pink. 'My father said I had imagined it.' Bastard. If she had been one of my daughters, Phineus would be for it. But Sertorius was more gauche than he would admit, and people in general conspire to ignore such a situation.

'I expect your mother knows the truth,' said Helena gently.

'Mother hates him too. All the women do.'

'Did Valeria Ventidia hate him?' I asked. 'Had he bothered Valeria?'

Tiberia nodded. That was an excuse to fiddle with her hair again. By now I was ready to strangle her with the damned ribbon.

'And is he just over-familiar? As far as you know, he never takes it any further?' checked Helena. When the girl looked puzzled, she specified, 'For instance, does he ever try to get you to meet him secretly?' Tiberia looked really alarmed. 'Just a suggestion. Don't worry about it. He won't ask and even if he did, you wouldn't go, would you?… Well, thank you for telling us this.'

'What will you do?' demanded Tiberia. Her voice still had that languorous note, but she was pleading with me, wanting rescue.

'That's for me to decide, when the moment is right,' I said. 'As for you, if any man annoys you in that way, try shouting loudly, 'Don't do that!' – especially when other people are present. He won't like to be shown up in public. And the other people may be shamed into taking your part.'

Tiberia went off, looking as if she had wanted more reaction. I did not expect her to be grateful for my good advice, but I hoped she would follow it.

Helena joined me. I tweaked her nose. 'It's not like you to make me handle that confrontation, fruit.'

'I could tell that she would slouch and pose and play with her hair,' Helena admitted, unabashed.

'Hmm. What were you like when you were thirteen?' I grinned, though I wished I had known her then.

'More direct! She irritates me so much, I knew I was going to bungle it.' After a moment Helena asked, 'Do you believe her?' I acknowledged that. 'So is it significant?'

'Probably,' I said.

The worst part of my job has always been attending funerals. If it's a victim, I feel angry and sour.

To my great surprise, Cleonyma asked me to officiate. I had been expecting her to involve Amaranthus. Still, we knew she and Cleonymus had only met him that season, and although we had seen them so much together, apparently she viewed the relationship as temporary.

Helena reckoned that I represented authority. She said it without irony, but I was not fooled. I suggested to Cleonyma that we ask Aquillius Macer to assist me. She agreed. Aquillius looked horrified but could hardly refuse. So Cleonymus, who had once been a slave, was dispatched to his ancestors by an imperial informer and a patrician diplomat.

Marinus and Indus organised a whip-round to cover a feast. The collection was fixed up with great efficiency; well, they had already done it twice before. Cleonyma provided her dead husband with a good send-off and a magnificent memorial stone; that would eventually be placed on a public building which she planned to donate to the city, thus recording and celebrating Cleonymus for all time.

The ceremony was held in the grounds of the governor's residence. The governor himself was still away on his milestone jaunt, but all the group turned out, together with Phineus. He had come up with an undertaker and musicians, though I know Cleonyma paid for them. Aquillius and I performed our duties without a hitch. He cut the throat of the sacrificial sheep; he did it with dispatch, looking perfectly cool. Afterwards he told me that a down-to-earth uncle had given him lessons in ritual when he first stood for the Senate. Knowing that he would be called upon to officiate at public sacrifices, a professional priest had been brought to the family's Campanian villa; Aquillius spent a whole day learning, until half a flock had been slaughtered and Aquillius could butcher anything with four legs.

He was, however, terrified of public speaking, so it seemed fair that I should compose and deliver the eulogy. I found enough words of praise, and I meant them. The widow wept gently. She thanked me for what I had said; although I still felt like a fraud to be taking the lead role, it was better than most of the alternatives. I still had not told her I suspected that Cleonymus had been murdered, though I wondered if she had guessed it for herself.

Cleonyma went through the day calmly. She supervised the start of the feast, though I noticed she ate and drank nothing. Once the meal was under way, she slipped outside. Feeling no joy in feasting, I followed her. The residence had the usual elaborate but slightly sterile garden, everything doubled, everything surrounded by miniature hedges, long pools lit by tiny lights to prevent people splashing into them, a subtle scent of jasmine wafting everywhere from unseen climbing plants.

'Well, I got through it, Falco!' To my amazement I could now tell Cleonyma was pretty drunk. All day, I had never seen her take a drop. 'Now you're going to tell me, aren't you?'

'Tell you what?'

'What really happened to my husband.'

So then I told her what I knew for sure and what I suspected. For a while she stood considering. 'Yes, I thought it must have been like that.'

'Any ideas about this 'well-dressed' man, Cleonyma?'

'You think it's Phineus.'

'I can't prove that. He denies it – Of course, he would do,' I said quickly.

'He fits,' she replied, with an air of resignation.

'Well, if it's possible to show he did it, or that he caused any of the previous deaths, I'll do my best for you.'