Murder in the Forum

Chapter Thirteen

As I made my way back through the town I was not displeased with my progress. I knew the direction that ‘Egobarbus’ had come from, if not where he had gone. But what had he been doing on the road to Eboracum? I was beginning to believe that my enquiries should lead me in that direction. The fact that the trail to my wife also pointed towards that city had, of course, nothing to do with my decision.

The other information I had gleaned was quite suggestive too. I should have a lot to report to Marcus. I was so satisfied with the outcome of my enquiries that I was halfway across the city before it occurred to me that I had entirely omitted to discover whether anyone at the gate had seen Zetso.

It was too late now. If I returned to ask additional questions I was unlikely to be actually arrested, but I had no doubt that the guard would treat me with — at the very least — the utmost circumspection. Obtaining further information from him would be like trying to prise the flesh out of one of Marcus’s oysters. And just as potentially dangerous.

I tried asking at the East Gate, where Zetso had collected me in the carriage, but I learned nothing. One of the guards was the handsome fellow I had seen flirting with Zetso the day before. I had hopes of him — I saw his eyes flash up at the description — but (perhaps because Zetso seemed to have fled the city) he became so belligerent and hostile that I very soon abandoned my attempt, and made my way back to Gaius’s house. There, I felt, there must be something that would shed light on this affair.

The queue of would-be mourners at the door was shorter now, and I was admitted quickly and without question. This time I did not wait for a slave to escort me, but made my way directly to the kitchens.

There were far fewer servants here than there had been on the night of the feast, only a handful of slaves stirring pots or basting meat over the charcoal fire while a pair of kitchen-boys chopped herbs on a marble slab. A couple of live chickens clucked in a coop by the wall, watched balefully by Gaius’s remaining dog, which was lying under the table, gnawing scraps.

One of the cooks abandoned his bubbling pan and came fussing over to greet me, wiping his fat hands on his ample tunic. ‘How can I assist you, citizen? We are busy with the grave-meats, as you see.’

I outlined my questions, but the slave shook his head. ‘I really cannot help you, citizen. There were so many servants brought here during the feast. I scarcely knew any of them, because they came from a dozen houses round about. There were so many slaves in the kitchen that we were tripping over one another, but I was so busy with my own sauces and dainties that I had no time to take much notice. I doubt I would recognise any of them if I saw them.’

‘Not even,’ I suggested hesitantly, ‘two big red-headed slaves?’

The cook smiled. ‘The attendants of the Celtic gentleman? Yes, I did see them. Great hulking fellows with hands like dinner salvers. They came down to wait in the ante-room. We were so short-handed with the extra wine, I even thought of asking them to help, but when I went to speak to them I could hardly understand a word they said. So I abandoned the idea. I didn’t want them creating embarrassment by serving the wine all wrong, pouring it out without mixing and filtering it. And they would have been useless in the kitchen.’

I could imagine that. Celtic cooking can be delicious — at least to my taste — but it has little in common with a Roman feast.

The cook shook his head. ‘I didn’t see where they went to afterwards. Waited to escort their master, I suppose. I did see him briefly, visiting the latrine.’

I nodded. That was possible confirmation of one of my theories, at least. I wondered if Egobarbus had taken advantage of such a visit to divest himself of his cloak. Supposing, of course, that it hadn’t been seized from him by force.

‘Ah yes, the latrines,’ I said. ‘I gather you have managed to correct the problem with the drains.’ It was an unnecessary question. The difference was already evident. The stench of rotting fish had largely dissipated.

The slave looked at me doubtfully.

‘Your master explained it to me. The piece of fish fixed there. .’

The cook grimaced. ‘It was more than that, in the event. I sent one of the boys down there this morning with a brush, and he found something else. It wasn’t just the fish — some sort of animal seems to have died down there. Perhaps the fish attracted it, and it drowned. The lad found the tail wedged into a crack. There was no sign of the rest of the creature — doubtless it had washed away or been gnawed at by others. You find horrible things in the drain-stream sometimes.’

‘A tail?’ I said. A strange hypothesis had occurred to me. ‘Only a tail? You are sure of that?’

He looked at me with distaste. ‘See for yourself. We threw it out into the alley this morning onto the midden-heap, together with the remains of the fish. I imagine it is still there. You can’t miss it. The length of a man’s span, hard in the middle and tapered. It looked like a tail to me. I didn’t examine it too closely.’

The idea of doing so didn’t appeal to me, either, but I could see no help for it. I followed the cook’s directions and went around to the side of the house where the stinking alley lay. In common with most of the houses in the colonia, Gaius’s residence presented only blank walls to the outside world, at least on this side, and — lacking a sufficiency of courtyards — the household waste was simply brought outside and abandoned in the narrower alleyways until rains or the occasional desultory street-cleaners carried it away. In the meantime, it lay there festering, a haven for scavengers of both the two and the four-legged variety. Even now something furry scuttled away at my approach.

I could see the item I was interested in on top of the heap. The smell of putrid fish almost drove me back, but I picked up a stick and hooked up the dripping object. It was too wet and disgusting to handle, but I examined it as best I could. It might have been a tail. It was the right length, and it had the same knotted, hairy look. On the other hand it might have been the hairs, twisted together and held with some sort of wax, that had once formed one side of a long drooping moustache.

The whole thing was sodden and filthy with slime, but it was possible to imagine that the colour might once have been red. I let it slide back on the mire-heap and picked my way back to the house. The scowling doorman let me in again and, sending a slave for a bowl of water to rinse my hands, I made my way to the triclinium.

I had hoped to have a quiet word with Marcus, but he was no longer there. There was someone else, however, a huddled figure on one of the couches, who leaped up at my approach as though a snake had bitten him.

‘We meet again, Octavius,’ I said.

He did not return my greeting, but sank down on the couch again in a despondent fashion. ‘I thought you were Phyllidia,’ he said, reproachfully.

Since that is not an easy confusion to make, there was little I could say to this. I said nothing.

Octavius seemed to realise that he had been discourteous. He essayed a smile. ‘Libertus, you startled me. I have been waiting a long time. Phyllidia sent for me.’

‘They found you at the inn?’

He coloured. ‘They did. I was looking for her. I had gone to her rooms. And before you ask, I didn’t steal anything.’

I looked at him in amusement. ‘I did not suppose you had. Is something missing?’

He sighed. ‘Not that I heard. But I was surprised to find you here. I hurried over at once, as soon as I had the message, but now I am here Phyllidia hasn’t come to see me. I must talk to her. Have you seen her?’

I nodded.

‘What did she say? Did she mention me? Have you told her what you told me, about. . you know. .’ he glanced about him like a spy in a Greek tragedy, ‘about. . Felix?’ He uttered the last word in a penetrating whisper, so penetrating that it must certainly have reached the ears of the slave, who chose that moment to enter with my washing water.

‘She is performing her lament for her father, even now,’ I said, as smoothly as I could, to cover the moment. ‘No,’ I went on, when the slave had put down the bowl and retreated at my command, ‘I thought it better to keep my suspicions private — though you seem to be doing your best to prevent it.’

Octavius had the grace to blush.

I moved to the bowl of water and began to wash my hands. In the light of where they had been, I took peculiar care, rinsing them carefully several times and wiping them meticulously on the napkin which had been provided.

Octavius watched me curiously. ‘You are going to take a place at the lament?’ he asked, at last.

For a moment I was surprised. ‘No. I am not expected to join the mourners — not until the funeral, at least. What makes you ask?’

‘I thought you were making ritual ablutions.’

I had to smile at that. I still felt a certain sympathy with this young man, and his appearance of clumsy guilelessness, though I was beginning to suspect that he was not quite as guileless as he seemed. ‘Nothing so dignified,’ I said. ‘I was merely washing my hands because I made them dirty.’

He was still gawping at me like a sun-blinded owl, and I added, more to put him at ease than anything else, ‘Raking through the waste-pile in search of evidence. Evidence about that secret you so nearly publicised to everyone.’

I intended to be merely facetious, but I had clearly failed. Octavius turned whiter than a fuller’s toga, and said in a hoarse murmur, ‘Did you find. . anything?’

I was about to answer candidly, but his manner was so awkward and furtive that I said instead, ‘I did. As you clearly knew that I would.’

For answer Octavius rested his elbows on his knees and buried his head in his hands. I could not imagine that a tail — or even a moustache — would cause him such manifest anxiety. So evidently there was something else out there that I should have noticed. I shut my eyes and gave an exasperated sigh. The prospect of digging about again in that odoriferous pile was not a welcome one.

Octavius misinterpreted my irritation. He raised his head wearily. ‘Oh, very well,’ he said. ‘Since you have found it, I suppose I must confess. I put it there. Last night after the banquet. Before Phyllidia arrived. Is there. . was there. . anything in it?’

This was, in the circumstances, a difficult question to answer. Whatever the woeful object had been, it was hard to image anything ‘in it’. I said carefully, ‘You put it there, Octavius. Should there have been anything in it?’

He buried his head again. ‘So it was empty! I should have guessed. Oh, merciful Venus — I should have prevented this. Well, I suppose there is no help for it.’ He straightened up, looked me directly in the eye, and got slowly to his feet. Then he stretched out his two hands, wrists together, like a captive waiting to be bound. ‘Very well, Libertus, you are too sharp for me. You had best deliver me to the magistrates. I confess it. I murdered Felix — slipped poison into his goblet and threw the phial on the midden-heap. Here.’ He thrust his hands towards me again. ‘Call for a slave and have me bound and taken.’

I looked at him for a long moment. ‘Why did you do it? Because he would not let you marry Phyllidia?’

‘Marry her? He would not let me look at her. And he half ruined me, besides.’ There was enough venom in the voice to have killed Felix twice over. ‘Killing Felix was not a crime, it was almost a public duty.’

‘I see. In that case. .’ I went to the door. ‘A slave here!’ The servant trotted obediently into the room.

Octavius swallowed and shut his eyes, his hands still outstretched.

‘Take it away,’ I said to the slave, indicating the water bowl. He did so, casting a startled look at Octavius as he went.

There was a silence. Octavius opened his eyes. ‘You didn’t. .’

‘No,’ I replied gently. ‘And neither, I think, did you. At least, not in the way you pretend. You were late arriving at the feast, I seem to recollect. When, exactly, did you manage to slip the poison into his drinking vessel?’

Octavius gulped, reddened, and gulped again. ‘I had help,’ he said sullenly. ‘That is. . one of the servants. . I did it before-’

He might, indeed, have told me the truth then and there and saved us all a lot of trouble later, but at that moment the door opened and Phyllidia arrived, accompanied by the fish-featured serving woman. Octavius leaped to his feet, like a startled sentry dozing at his post.

‘Phyllidia, I have confessed.’

Phyllidia paled. ‘Confessed?’

‘I poisoned Felix, and threw the phial away.’

‘Octavius! Surely. .? You poisoned him?’

‘This citizen found the phial,’ the young man said, running a hand through his receding hair. ‘So naturally I had to tell him.’

Phyllidia turned to me. ‘Is this true? My father was poisoned?’

I could personally have poisoned Octavius at that moment. There would be no keeping the secret now. The aged maidservant was gaping like a dead carp, but there was little I could do about it.

I did my best. ‘There is a rumour to that effect. Of course, most people have paid no attention to it. Perennis Felix choked on a nut, in front of witnesses. But if what Octavius says is true. .’

Phyllidia said, ‘Octavius! Why?’ just as he exclaimed to her, ‘But surely. .?’

The old woman pursed her lips. ‘I knew it!’ she declared, in tones of vindicated triumph. ‘I told my master that some of the poison was missing. But he wouldn’t listen. Thought he knew best as usual. He even refused to pay me for the information.’

‘What information is this?’ Marcus had come in through the interconnecting door from the next room. ‘What have you discovered, Libertus? I heard that you were looking for me.’

‘It is my information, most revered Excellence.’ The old crone was almost prostrate in her grovelling. ‘Octavius has just brazenly confessed to poisoning my master. I heard him do it. Yes, and the citizen here found the phial. And I can tell you where Octavius got the poison. From this ungrateful daughter. My master Felix sometimes dealt in poisons — infusions of hemlock and the like. It was intended for the courts, for those condemned to hemlock, but he would also provide it, at a price, for people sentenced to more painful deaths. And Phyllidia found it out, the last time he visited the house. She must have done. I told him there was poison missing, but he was too trusting. And now, you see, they have poisoned him — this pair.’

Marcus turned to the girl. ‘Is this true?’

‘Of course it’s true,’ the old woman burst out. ‘She brought a phial of it with her. She thought I did not know it, but I did. I am too sharp for her. Last night, I discovered it — she sent me away for water, but I spied on her through the door crack. I saw her unbind it from around her waist, under her clothing.’ She gave Marcus a wheedling smile. ‘That is the information, Excellence. That must be worth a sestertius or two.’

Marcus looked at her with distaste and then turned to me. ‘Well, Libertus? What do you say?’

‘I say,’ I said carefully, ‘that this is true. And, since the woman saw the phial last night, it cannot have been used to poison Felix.’

Colour came back to Phyllidia’s face, but Octavius looked drained. ‘In that case. .?’

Phyllidia looked at him sadly. ‘My poor, poor Octavius,’ she said. ‘I know you did it for me. But there was no need, in the end. And now see what you have done.’

‘Citizen,’ Octavius cried, turning to Marcus, ‘it was a mistake. .’

‘Indeed,’ Marcus said dryly. ‘A bad mistake.’ He turned to his slave, who had been listening, open-mouthed, at the doorway. ‘Send for the guard. I’ll have this young man under lock and key. In the meantime, secure him somewhere in the house. He has confessed to a murder. You agree, Libertus?’

I nodded. ‘I agree.’

Two burly slaves were by now approaching the door, and Marcus handed Octavius over to them. He turned to the young woman. ‘And you, Phyllidia. You were carrying poison. Do you confess it?’

She looked at him coldly. ‘There is nothing to confess. I did not bring it in order to kill my father.’

Marcus frowned. ‘Then why?’

‘If my father had lived, and forced me to marry you, I should have taken it myself.’ Her voice trembled. ‘As it is, I shall be spared the necessity. Now, with your permission, Excellence.’

Marcus was looking at her, stunned, but he nodded in dismissal and she left the room.

The old crone edged nearer. ‘And me? Do not forget me, Excellence.’

Marcus glanced at her with contempt. ‘And you! You set out to offer false witness against your mistress. That is a punishable offence. I shall not forget you, never fear. Take her away, you can lock her up too.’

I have never heard my patron speak with such fury. Perhaps it was not surprising. The idea that someone would genuinely rather die than marry him must have struck a terrible blow to his self-esteem. His expression did not soften until the guards had left the room, taking their captives with them.

Marcus turned to me. ‘I congratulate you, Libertus. You have achieved a swift conclusion to this business.’

‘You think so, Excellence?’

He looked affronted. ‘I suppose you are going to tell me that Octavius did not murder Felix after all?’

‘I think he is acting most suspiciously, Excellence, but I am not sure that he administered the poison.’

Marcus frowned. ‘But the phial you found. .’

‘I did not find a phial, Excellence. I did not even suspect a phial until the young man himself mentioned it. We have no evidence against Octavius except his own word. And he is a citizen. Perhaps it would be unwise to commit him to the jail. He may appeal to the Emperor.’

‘Then why did you agree to his arrest? I have enough problems with Commodus, without risking further rebukes.’ Marcus’s youthful face was flushed.

I considered my reply with care. ‘I thought he should be locked up here, Excellence, before he caused any further problems for you. If you had not imprisoned those two, rumour that Felix was murdered would have been all over Glevum before nightfall. Now, even if any rumours do get out, it will seem that you have the murderer under lock and key.’

Marcus looked doubtful. ‘That is all very well, but I am not Felix, to enjoy imprisoning the innocent.’ It was true. My patron dislikes injustice, and he was tapping his baton dangerously.

I said, ‘Besides, Excellence, I presume the woman is right. There is a phial of stolen poison somewhere, and Octavius knows that there is. Why else would he have concluded that I had found it?’