Enemies at Home

38

There were three of them: Amaranta, Libycus and Phaedrus.

I was not surprised to see Amaranta as a ringleader. She was a quicksilver hopeful, with years to enjoy ahead of her if she escaped this unscathed — and she had organising skills. Libycus, the other body slave, made a natural partner to her now. Phaedrus, who had not budged on his original story when I talked to him again, was unexpected.

Of those who did not come, the hard-drinking gardener and the man of all work — Diomedes and Amethystus — were bound to keep well out of anything tricky. Olympe was too young; Amaranta, being motherly, might even have told her to hang back. I would have expected Daphnus, so I wondered if there was unknown coolness between him and Phaedrus.

Chrysodorus surprised me by his absence, given that he was the only one to tackle me beforehand over the new evidence. Still, although philosophers reckon to address the issues of all mankind, most are loners and many are awkward socially. He may have upset the rest and been rejected as a co-commissioner. Or he may have pulled out in a huff.

I was still working in the office that Faustus used. I stayed where I was, on a reading couch. They stood. Of course they did. Making use of furniture is the sign of superiority in Rome. Men of power all sit their podgy posteriors on thrones and ceremonial stools. The mistress of any house has her armchair. Even an informer gets to recline when addressing a hangdog trio of slaves. The only unusual thing here was that I bothered to think about it.

I waited for them to speak. Amaranta had been chosen as their spokeswoman. ‘Flavia Albia, we have not been entirely straight with you.’

I raised my eyebrows. Informers should always take the trouble to keep their brows plucked. So much easier to express genteel scepticism, if you have neat arches for the uplift.

Since Amaranta had fallen awkwardly silent, I said, ‘Why am I not surprised to hear that, Amaranta? So, what secrets are you about to give up to me?’

‘We think we ought to explain about what the robber has told you.’

‘Indeed, I think the same. You should.’

‘We need to say why he never saw any of us.’

‘That’s right. You do.’

‘We were all there really. In the apartment.’

‘Yes, you must have been.’

‘We were having our supper.’

‘All together?’

‘Yes, Albia.’

‘And where was this meal taking place?’

‘In the oecus. There wasn’t room to squash in anywhere else.’

I swung my legs around, turning to sit up, with my feet on the floor. It gave me a view of them straight on. Bangles chinked as I leaned on the end of the couch, one-elbowed. I tugged at an earring thoughtfully, easing its hook.

As excuses go, this was not bad. They had no way of knowing (for I had mentioned it to none of them) that Roscius told Faustus he remembered lamplight in the Corinthian oecus. Amaranta had just unwittingly confirmed that.

I discussed what they were now saying, drawing out a portrait of a house that went to sleep with the master and mistress, only to reawaken once they were settled; a house that lived a second life — a life where the slaves held sway. In many homes this happens, so it was a credible tale. Sometimes it is perfectly harmless, because staff are permitted some form of private existence and their nocturnal sociability causes no disturbance. Sometimes riot occurs. That was not what Amaranta wanted me to believe.

According to her, the loaned kitchen staff departed. Polycarpus went home too.

‘He did not eat with you?’

‘No, never.’ It would have been his private relaxation time, in his own apartment, with Graecina and their children. His escape. A luxury only a freedman could have. ‘We quite liked him living somewhere else,’ Amaranta admitted. I did not blame them. Every evening the steward’s departure must have given them an hour or so of something close to freedom.

‘Who made your food?’ I slipped in.

Amaranta must have thought quickly — though not fast enough. ‘Myla.’

I laughed out loud. ‘Oh, come off it! Not only was she squeezing out another baby, foisted on her by who knows who, but the idea of Myla providing a meal for ten people is ludicrous. When I am there, I can barely get her to bring me a cup of water.’

The trio were silent.

I refused to accept their version. ‘No, Myla could not have produced your dinner.’

Libycus piped up. ‘It was not cooked food, just bits. We collected a few comports from the kitchen. The leftovers. Myla had scraped it together for us on serving dishes, that’s what Amaranta meant.’

‘Ah, a cold collage to mix and match …’ My favourite meal.

‘The master had never minded his slaves taking unwanted food,’ Libycus stressed, looking anxious.

‘I suppose, Libycus,’ I said encouragingly, ‘that was why you personally came home, after you went out and saw your two friends?’ He was eager to embrace the suggestion — and he was faking when he did so. Myrinus and Secundus had told me he was afraid to stay out longer, in case his master wanted something.

I was still thinking about how a group of slaves could take over the best space in the house and enjoy themselves there. How they did it, apparently, while terrible events happened right next door …

‘We were not doing any harm,’ Amaranta assured me, pleadingly. ‘The same thing used to happen in our old house, before Mucia Lucilia was married. She knew what went on. At our house, Onesimus used to arrange it, then he would be with us.’ I knew that Mucia’s steward was still a slave. ‘Just a meal, Albia. People have to eat.’

‘So you want me to accept that this nightly gathering was habitual?’ I was not intending to cave in too easily.

‘Well, some of us had only been at that apartment for two days.’

‘Yes, some of you came when Mucia Lucilia was married … So this kind of meal after hours was not yet a ritual for the conjoined households, but could have become one? You wait until your master and mistress retire for the night. Then you collect somewhere. Eat, drink a little too, if Amethystus can liberate a flagon from the household supplies. I imagine you would only be able to talk very quietly; no laughter, no music, no noisy tiffs.’ So very unlike dinner in most Roman families! ‘Passing bowls around in virtual silence. Not letting spoons knock on pottery. Putting things away and washing up afterwards extremely gently — but making sure you do it, so the mistress doesn’t take exception in the morning. Then you all went creeping off to bed, as if the house had never had its second life.’

I was embellishing because it made no difference. It all sounded so normal — yet even if this had been a ritual in the making, surely it never happened on the night the couple were killed, not while they were already lying dead on their bed.

Roscius was not my only source. Their description failed to fit what I had been told by that other witness: Fauna, who lived upstairs. She had told me of commotion, alarm, voices shouting, people running around with lamps. At what point did that happen? The slaves would not know about Fauna and her husband, standing on stools to look down at the courtyard.

‘So what is the sequence of events?’ I asked, suddenly addressing Phaedrus.

He jumped, but managed not to look shifty. ‘We had our meal and that is when the robbers must have come. We found the silver missing and the dead bodies afterwards. When we came out and went to tidy up quietly, like you said.’

I surveyed him, unimpressed. ‘According to you, the robbers never knew you were all in the oecus, and by the time you emerged, they had been and gone?’

‘Must have done.’

‘So what happened to the silver and who killed Aviola and Mucia?’

‘The robbers did both. Took the goods and murdered our master.’

‘Your word against theirs, Phaedrus.’

‘They are criminals and we are loyal slaves of a good master.’

I let Phaedrus think I had swallowed it. ‘So when they deny it, the robbers are lying? As Chrysodorus said to me earlier, “that is what professional criminals are bound to do”?’ All three slaves nodded hard. ‘Well then. You were invisible in the oecus, a place where nobody would ever expect slaves to be, so the robbers missed you. They must have crept around so surreptitiously, you never heard them. But Phaedrus, according to your version, there is one big flaw.’ The tall blond porter realised what I was going to say while I was still speaking; I saw it in his eyes. ‘What happened to your colleague, Nicostratus? When do you say he was attacked?’

Quick-witted Amaranta moved into the conversation smoothly. ‘He was not with us. We had saved some food for him. Phaedrus was going to relieve him after he had finished, then Nicostratus would come across for his bowl.’

Libycus took this up: ‘The robbers bashed him when they came in, exactly as we have always said. We all thought he was on duty at the front, and if he made any noise when the thieves got in, we never heard a sound.’

‘Just like you never heard a squeak from Aviola and Mucia — even while they were murdered right next door? One wall between you and that horrific crime — I shall have to check how substantial and soundproof it is! … Are you still saying, Phaedrus, that you found Nicostratus lying in the corridor, so that was when you discovered the crimes and raised the alarm?’

‘That’s right.’ No; according to what Roscius told Faustus and me, that was wrong.

‘So, Libycus — ’ I turned suddenly to Aviola’s body slave, ‘- you must have come home before the thieves struck? Nicostratus let you in before anything happened? Yes?’

Libycus had a wild-eyed moment, but nodded.

I was terse. ‘Frankly, that fails to fit the timing I had from your two friends. You are supposed to have seen Aviola to bed — helped him out of his party clothes and so forth, blew his precious nose nicely − then you went out. Secundus and Myrinus told me you spent a lot of time with them, and it was very late when you left.’

He had no answer, merely muttered that I must have misunderstood what his friends said.

We were going around in circles. I could not see what these slaves hoped to achieve here. All they seemed to want to say was that the thieves had been unaware of them because they were closeted in the oecus. It was a good-sized hall, and I could accept that their presence went unnoticed if they were behaving very quietly. But they failed to shake my belief in what Faustus and I had been told by Roscius.

The slaves still maintained the robbers carried out the crimes. For that to be true, Roscius must be a robber, a killer and a blatant liar. He was a habitual denier of his gang’s guilt, yet I still felt he had told the truth about that night.