Death at Pompeia

Sixteen

The appearance of a troop of Roman soldiers in full uniform cleared the staircase as surely as a pail of water will get rid of dogs. Not even the ancient dice players were there to see us leave, though no doubt there were unseen figures still watching from above. Still, our exit was less ignominious than it might have been.

The tribune was as good as his promise, too — he did not draw his sword, although the way he marched us down the street, with himself between us and a half a pace behind, made it quite clear that this was not a pleasant social stroll.

The streets were busy at this time of day — everything from egg-women to imperial messengers — and we attracted a good many frank and curious stares. But no one hemmed us in. When people suspect that you are under guard, they tend to pass by on the other side, and give you as wide a berth as possible, as if you have some terrible disease which they might catch. Today was no exception, and though the streets were thronged with traders, shoppers, slaves, animals and groups of wealthy councillors emerging from the baths, the crowd seemed to open up miraculously to allow us through.

So it didn’t take us very long at all to walk across the centre of the town and turn down the wide and handsome thoroughfare towards the southern gate, where the garrison commander had his headquarters.

Redux had begun by trying to look bored and casual, but the tribune forced us to maintain a brisk and steady pace and it wasn’t long before the warehouse keeper was out of breath again. Scarlet and panting, he leaned on a wall, begging to be allowed to rest, but the young officer was keen to show his power. He threatened to march us at sword point if Redux stopped again, much to the entertainment of a scrawny boy, who was sweeping up the street.

‘I’ll put you in this bucket, citizen, and carry you,’ he mocked, waving the stinking pail of manure: droppings from the animals which had been driven to the forum market earlier that day, which he was doubtless picking up to sell. ‘Can’t have a fine gentleman like you marched off like a common criminal.’

Redux flushed more than ever and struggled on again, though he was getting more out of breath at every step. I was finding it difficult to keep up, myself.

So there was no chance of any conversation on the way, and when we reached the gatehouse finally it was a huge relief to be allowed to stop. Though even then there was no rest for us. The tribune gave the password and the guard let us in. We were marched into the courtyard where troops were forming up, for some sort of route-march by the look of it. We huddled in a corner and were told to stand and wait, while the tribune sent a passing soldier scurrying upstairs to let the commander know that we were there.

‘Give him a report. Say it’s from the tribune who arrived here yesterday. Tell him two suspects await him in the yard. Arrested in suspicious circumstances at a murder scene. Between them they have daggers and an empty phial — both of them are common tradesmen and though they’re citizens, I doubt that either of them was of Roman birth. Tell the commander that — and that one of the wretches claims acquaintanceship with him. I’ll have them guarded, until he sends for them.’ And with that he disappeared into a guardroom opposite, where I saw a centurion get up at once and offer him a seat, even before the door had time to swing closed after him.

It was a long wait, standing in the dusty wind, but we were not permitted to sit down, or squat, or even lean. As surely as we did so, the centurion came out and rapped us round the legs with his confounded stick. Obviously he’d been detailed to keep his eye on us. I tried to have a word to Redux as we stood — to ask why he had not spoken up in my defence — but our guard saw me whispering and rapped my legs again, bellowing that I had not been told to talk. In the end there was nothing for it but to stand there and endure.

After what seemed like an eternity, a different soldier came clattering down the stairs and announced that the commander was awaiting us. I was about to take him at his word and climb the steps, when the tribune reappeared — obviously anxious to be seen in charge. He drew his blade and ordered us to precede him up the stairs, while he urged us onwards with sword pricks from behind.

We were escorted past the lower office and up the steep stone steps. I had been in the commander’s office once before; a spartan room with just a desk and stool, and no other ornament of any kind at all except a shadowy statue of a deity set into the stone wall, though two large wooden doors led off into other rooms beyond. It smelt of damp and lamp oil and Roman soldiery — that peculiar aroma which the military have: a mixture of leather, sweat and perfumed oil, and the goose grease and metallic earth they clean their armour with.

The commander was writing something as we came into the room, his armour gleaming in the light of an oil lamp set beside him on a stand. He did not look up. ‘Well? There has been some disturbance, do I understand? But it’s a civil matter, isn’t it? Why has this come to me, and not simply to the lock-up in the town?’

The tribune stepped forward and took his helmet off. ‘In the name of his Imperial Divinity Commodus, the blessed, the pious, the-’

The commander did not wait for him to list the whole array of honorific titles that the Emperor had recently bestowed upon himself. He looked at his subordinate with the impatience of a man who had been a tribune once himself. ‘Oh, get on with it, or we’ll be here all day.’

The tribune looked affronted, but he could not protest. The commander still outranked him and had seen action too, though instead of retreating back to Rome and politics he had stayed on in military service for the love of it. (Marcus said it was because life in the senate had become so uncertain and corrupt.) He opened his mouth, but nothing sensible came out.

I answered for him. ‘That was my suggestion, commander, I’m afraid. I appealed to your authority. I’m sure my patron would have wanted it.’

‘Indeed?’ He was scattering powder from a horn on to the ink, and then blowing it gently to dry off the writing. He had not glanced at us. ‘And who exactly might your protector be?’

‘Marcus Sept-’ I began, and then he suddenly looked at me.

‘Great Jupiter! Libertus! Are you here again?’ But it was not unfriendly, and I thought I saw the glimmer of a smile. He was as lined and weathered as I’d remembered him, and the air of intelligence shone just as brightly from his eyes. ‘And there is talk of murder, once again, I hear. You seem to attract troubles, like moths around a flame. What is it this time?’

The tribune gave a self-important cough. ‘That, sir, is what I was hoping to explain. Permission to report?’

The commander nodded though he looked resigned, folding his arms across his breastplate with a sigh.

The tribune adopted a dramatic stance and began reciting in an officious tone of voice. ‘I was off-duty near the marketplace when I was accosted by this pavement-maker’s slave. .’ He gave a potted description of events. ‘So I brought these two in for questioning. I did not believe their version of what they were doing there.’

The commander listened carefully and heard him to the end. Then he turned his stool round so he looked at me. ‘You will swear that you just happened to be passing, I suppose?’

I shook my head. ‘Antoninus had actually asked me to be there. I hadn’t met him face-to-face before, but he wanted me to come to him and specified the hour. I had a message from him, saying so, but I scratched it out to use the wax again.’

‘Let me see.’ He rose and walked towards me with an easy stride. He was no longer young but he was strong and powerful, with the athleticism born of daily sword practice in the yard. He made the young tribune look quite feeble and effete.

I handed him the wax tablet and he looked at it, turning the ivory over and over in his hands. ‘This is a pretty thing,’ he said, and it was obvious that Redux thought so too.

He was looking at it so greedily I thought he was about to offer me a goodly sum for it, but all he said was, ‘Foreign workmanship.’

The tribune stepped forward. ‘It’s only a receipt, sir. I looked at it before. Something about a salver. Nothing relevant.’

The commander cocked an enquiring eye at me, and I explained. ‘I would expect the man to have delivered it by now,’ I said. ‘I asked the man to bring it to the gatehouse here. It belongs to Marcus Septimus. I could not take a risk. This man — ’ I indicated Redux — ‘could vouch for that at least. He himself was warning me about the risk of thieves. At one time he even wanted me to sell the tray to him.’

Redux was still staring at the tablet fixedly, but he pulled himself together and said sullenly, ‘I thought that’s what he’d come for. But it is the truth. He did have a salver when he first arrived and he may well have given it to the soldier as he claims — that’s what he said that he was going to do.’

‘You doubted it?’ The commander didn’t give the tablet back to me. His face had creased into a slight frown.

‘At the time, I did. When he refused to sell, and I learned where he was going, I thought he was going to use it to pay Antoninus. If Antoninus knew his clients couldn’t pay, he would sometimes agree to take goods instead of cash — though he valued them at much less than their market price, of course — and that tray is very much the sort of thing he always liked. But it seems Libertus really did arrange to send it here — certainly he wasn’t carrying it when we went through the town.’

The tribune swaggered forward, all pomposity. ‘Well, that should be easy to determine, shouldn’t it? We could summon the gatekeeper and ask if it’s arrived.’

The commander looked from him to me and back again. ‘Or better still, tribune, you may run downstairs and enquire. And I do mean run, please. I want an answer soon. I’ll go on questioning these gentlemen.’

The tribune looked mortified, but there was no appeal from a senior officer and he was obliged to troop downstairs and act the messenger for me, as if he were merely some humble new recruit. We could hear him panting — moving fast in armour is an acquired skill.

‘Impudent young puppy! His father has pulled a string or two in Rome to have him found a posting — and what is the result? Puts on some fancy armour and thinks it gives him leave to come here and advise me on how to do my job. Do you know he tried to countermand an order yesterday? If it wasn’t for his youth and family, I should have him flogged! But I’ll teach him a lesson or two before he leaves.’ The commander seemed to be talking to himself, but I knew that the explanation was addressed to me — in case I told Marcus later, I supposed.

I nodded. There did not seem to be anything to say.

‘However, he has brought this case to me and I suppose that I must deal with it as best I can.’ He had been pacing up and down the room, but he stopped in front of Redux and looked thoughtfully at him. ‘Now, I know you, Libertus, though I must confess I find your story this time rather thin — but who is this would-be purchaser of precious silver goods, with a taste for finery and fancy cuffs? And what was he doing at the dead man’s home with you?’

The question seemed to be addressed to me again, so I replied explaining how Redux had been showing me the way and how he got to the apartment first.

‘So, he had the opportunity to be there on his own?’ The commander was still talking exclusively to me, as though Redux was a mute, and Redux was doing little to prove the opposite.

I nodded. ‘Though, to be just, it wasn’t his dagger that was sticking in the corpse.’

That roused Redux into speech at last. ‘I did not kill Antoninus!’ He sounded drained and sad. ‘He would have deserved it, he was cruel and devious, and getting rid of him would be a service to the state. But I did not do it. When I got there, he was already dead. I can’t prove that, of course, except I scarcely had the time — and you can see for yourself that there’s no blood on me. Surely you would have expected it, if somebody was stabbed.’

The commander looked thoughtful. ‘That isn’t always so. When a knife is left inside a wound, it doesn’t always spurt. Though the tribune seems to think that it was poisoned anyway and it killed the victim instantly. Was that your impression? Did he look as if he’d made an effort to defend himself?’

Redux shook his head. ‘I don’t know anything about such things. You’d better ask Libertus, he’s the expert, I believe. I am a simple trader, and that takes up all my time.’ He sounded petulant.

‘Yet you accompanied Libertus halfway round the town, when — by your own admission — you’d gone back to work?’ The commander folded his arms across his breastplate again. ‘Were you not afraid of losing trade while you were out?’

Redux had the grace to look very much abashed. ‘I was supposed to be at a wedding anyway, today. No one was expecting to find me at my desk.’

‘Or Antoninus either?’ the commander said. ‘It’s a riddle, isn’t it? Yet somebody must have known that they would find him at his home — and, what is more, that he would be alone. Now who could possibly have known that — except the pair of you? And Libertus, I am including you in this.’