Enemies at Home

21

Quintus Camillus and I walked very slowly back to the apartment. We were both thinking, both not talking.

Dromo had woken up, in a fine panic about where I had got to. Faustus must have really given him stern orders to guard me. He glared at my uncle’s two bodyguards, jealous of anyone else with responsibilities, even though he himself resented being assigned to me. The bodyguards stalked around Dromo too, equally suspicious. They were like a group of dogs, sizing each other up on first meeting, feinting an attack with fangs bared. But each man had an eye on Quintus and me, knowing we would slap them down if there was trouble.

We left them to their devices, and went to sit in the courtyard. We discussed what we could do next about identifying the thieves, assuming they ever existed.

Quintus’ suggestion was predictable: ‘We’ll have to raise our level of engagement with the vigiles. Titianus is a lightweight and Juventus has absolutely no idea. I propose that Manlius Faustus and I hold a speedy face-to-face with the Second Cohort’s tribune. I can send a message now to tell him we are coming. That gives him time to pick his men’s brains; it’s only polite. The tribune can decide for himself, depending on his personal style of management, whether to have those idiots present, or present for part of the time.’

‘You presume “management” is what a vigiles tribune practises,’ I chortled. ‘So tell me — does the Camillus-Faustus personal style include taking me to the meet?’

My uncle wagged a finger. ‘Now you know, Albia sweetheart, if it was up to me … ’

‘Faustus approves of me.’

‘That is definitely my impression! But,’ said Quintus Camillus, turning into a paternalist Roman bastard, like them all, ‘we have to assume the tribune will be traditional. We don’t want to antagonise him, do we?’

‘I don’t mind.’

‘Ah, but Albia, we need answers, not moral confrontations.’

‘I like to use confrontations to thrash out answers.’

Quintus remained tolerant. ‘From what I have seen of your work, you can be devious. You try to avoid upsets. Hercules, Albia, let’s face it — you flirt!’

Biting my lip, I made no reply.

After a moment, Quintus added slyly, ‘So are you flirting with the aedile?’

‘You do keep on plucking on the same old lyre, Uncle.’ Quintus was laughing. We had a good relationship and I was honest with him. ‘I flirt when it’s needed, but I don’t flirt with him.’

‘Yes, he seems a little tight. Doesn’t he like your banter?’

‘I wouldn’t know.’

I knew all right. Faustus liked it.

Quintus, who was shrewd in the intuitive way of my mother, his elder sister, was still laughing. I reflected privately how glad I was not to be having this conversation with Helena Justina. She could winkle things out of people that they didn’t even know they thought and felt.

It made her a wonderful partner for my father. When I worked with the Camillus brothers, as I did intermittently, we had a similar relationship, but they always tried to take over the investigation. I was better on my own.

I never despaired of finding someone else to share my work in the balanced way my parents tackled commissions together — but I did not expect it to happen.

Quintus borrowed equipment and swiftly wrote letters, one to Faustus which Dromo took, and another to the tribune, carried by one of the bodyguards.

Commenting how quiet it was here (compared to his own lively ménage, with all those children tearing about), my uncle made himself at home. He had a nap, commandeering a bed in one of the good rooms. I sunned myself in the garden.

Polycarpus turned up, mithering about my visit that morning to his wife Graecina. I had half-expected him to check up. The steward was the type who needed to involve himself and be in charge. Now he wanted to satisfy himself first-hand that nothing had been said that he himself would have concealed.

‘Routine questions, Polycarpus. I just wondered if you could give me any useful background on Galla Simplicia. You must have had many dealings with her while she and Aviola were married, perhaps even since they divorced. I would value your opinion.’

‘Did my wife say something?’ he asked narrowly. Justinus had left his toga on the second chair, so the steward had to remain standing; he was a little put out and awkward. Excellent!

‘Nothing untoward.’ I presumed he had been told that in my talk with Graecina I had speculated on Polycarpus helping Galla Simplicia.

I tried to be honest with myself. Was I feeling prejudice? Did I want to think he was involved, because I had taken against him? ‘Polycarpus, we haven’t talked about your master’s ex-wife and children. Why didn’t you mention them?’

‘You didn’t ask.’

‘I was never told they existed! You could have said. So, come on — share your views.’

Polycarpus pulled a non-committal face, though what he said was pretty clear. ‘She looks soft, but she’s hard.’

‘Why did they divorce?’

‘She was a handful. He found it all too much. From little things he said, I think he was relieved to live as a single man again.’

‘But not permanently … Did he miss having a companion in bed?’

‘There are ways around that.’

‘Do you know what ways Aviola found? Assuming he did?’

‘I couldn’t say.’

He must know, but Polycarpus would not say it to me. I presumed this was the usual nonsense of men ganging up.

I changed tactics. ‘What about the suggestion that Galla Simplicia was so aggravated by Aviola remarrying, and the possibility he might have more children, that she arranged his murder?’ The steward looked startled — or at least made a good show of it. ‘Do you believe it?’

‘No,’ he said.

‘You never found her vindictive?’

‘I never found her violent. Or that stupid,’ he added. He was shifting from foot to foot, though he appeared to be talking straight. ‘She likes to play the innocent in formal matters, business matters, yet Galla Simplicia is very intelligent.’

‘She used to twist Aviola to her will?’

‘Yes − and I thought,’ Polycarpus confided, ‘she reckoned she could continue to get around him even after he remarried.’

I said that, having met her, I too thought that very likely. Of course continuing to obtain whatever she wanted meant Galla Simplicia had no motive to kill.

I probed Polycarpus on the subject of her cousin, the executor. ‘Is it true you hope to be offered a position by Sextus Simplicius?’ Apparently the offer had now been made. Polycarpus said that since he was still so shaken by his old master’s death, he had kindly been given time to consider. This was not so generous to the existing steward, Gratus, on whose side I found myself. ‘Does your past experience of Galla Simplicia make you at all wary of working for her family?’

‘Maybe!’ the Aviola steward agreed with a wry smile, as if to tell me that was why he had asked for a moratorium. He was unwilling to speak further. I ended the conversation and let him go.

Shortly afterwards a message came that the tribune would make time for my uncle and the aedile. Clearly Quintus knew how to pen a graceful request for an interview. I admit, I myself could never have persuaded a tribune to see me on my own initiative. Senators have unfair advantages.

I had the idea of inviting my uncle and Faustus to join me for supper, in order to tell me what they learned. Quintus happily accepted and said, hinting, that he would be sure to bring the aedile with him. I replied coolly that then he could see for himself how there was nothing between us.

‘Ah, that’s a shame!’

That kind of annoying so-called humour is why I ought to stick with my rule, never work with relatives.