Saturnalia

XXIX

Victor, who acted as the Seventh Cohort's eyes in the Saepta Julia, was older than I had expected. I had thought he would be some snitch from civilian life, a double-dealing waiter or a down-at-heel clerk, not a professional. He was a pensioned-off vigiles member, bent by his early life as a slave and calloused by six hard years of fire-fighting afterwards. Thin and dismal, he was nevertheless sharpened by the training he had received. I felt his evidence would be reliable. Unfortunately, he had little to give.

He surrendered the purse Justinus had dropped when he was arrested. It contained very little money. Possibly Victor himself had raided it; I did not ask. More likely, Pa's price for Claudia's present that morning had cleaned the young man out. The present was still there: a pair of ear-rings, silver, winged figures with hairy goat legs. I would never have bought them for Helena. Almost as soon as I sent Victor packing, Pa turned up. 'Greetings, double-dealing parent! These the baubles you sold to Quintus?' He looked proud. 'Nice?' 'Horrible. ' 'I've got a better pair – bezel-set garnets with pendant gold tassels. Want first refusal?' I liked the sound of those but even though I needed to give Helena something at Saturnalia, I declined. 'First refusal' probably meant several prospective buyers had already said no for some very good reason. 'I won't ask what exorbitant payment you screwed out of Just in us.' 'Ancient figures are at a premium. Very fashionable.' 'Who wants a leering satyr nuzzling his lover's neck? This one has no hook. How is Claudia supposed to wear it?' 'Must have slipped my attention… Justinus can get that fixed, no trouble. '

I wanted my father to co-operate, so I bit back my scorn. Instead I told him about Veleda's jewellery, gave him descriptive notes based on what Ganna said, and asked him to organise his colleagues at the Saepta to keep a lookout. 'If a blonde woman with a nasty attitude offers any of this stuff around, just keep her there and fetch me quick.' 'Will I fancy her?' 'She won't fancy you. Bring this off and there's money in it.' 'I like that!' grinned Pa. He dawdled, gawping, when Clemens brought Zosime in, but as soon as Pa heard she nursed sick slaves on Tiber Island he lost interest. Anyway, the medico was not the kind of bawdy, blowzy barmaid he liked to grapple. She was sixty, serious, and scrutinised my departing parent sadly, as if rascals were a well-known breed to her. But when Pa shamelessly asked about his haemorrhoids, she offered to recommend a doctor. 'You can have them squidged.' 'Sounds good!' 'Inspect the surgical instrument before you decide, Didius Favonius!' Over-confident as ever, Pa looked nonchalant.

'Painful?' I asked hopefully – while noticing that Zosime had a blunt sense of humour and had remembered Pa's name after I briefly introduced him. I had another good witness here – if she was willing to give. 'It's the same tool that vets use to castrate horses, in my opinion.' Pa blenched. When he left in a hurry, Zosime sat down, but kept her cloak folded in her arms as if she did not anticipate a long stay either. Skinny and underweight, she had small hands with elderly fingers. Her face was sharp, inquisitive, patient. Thick and healthy grey hair was centrally parted on top of her head and then pulled into a clump on the back of her neck. She wore a plain gown, cord belt, openwork shoes of a workaday fashion. No jewellery. Like many ex-slaves, particularly women, who subsequently make a life for themselves, she had a contained yet competent manner. She did not push herself forward, but nor did she give way to anyone. I reminded her of her previous interview with Helena Justina. Then I ran through what she had told Helena about visiting Veleda, diagnosing a need for rest, and being dissuaded from further visits to the house. 'I assume you treated her further when she came to the temple?' It was a try-on. Zosime gazed at me. 'Who told you that?' 'Well, you didn't, that's for sure. But I'm right?' With a hint of anger – aimed at me – Zosime sniffed. She looked like my mother poking through a basket of bad cabbages. 'She came. I did what I could for her. She left shortly afterwards.' 'Cured?' The woman considered her answer. 'Her fever had abated. I cannot say whether it was remission or a permanent recovery.' 'If it's just a remission, how long before the trouble returns?' 'Impossible to predict.' 'Would it be serious – or fatal?' 'Again, who knows?' 'So what's wrong with her?' 'Some kind of contracted disease. Very like summer fever – in which case, you know it does kill.' 'Why would she have summer fever in December?' 'Perhaps because she is a stranger to Rome and more vulnerable to our diseases.' 'What about the headaches?' Just one of her symptoms. It was the underlying disease that needed curing.' 'Should I worry?' 'Veleda should worry,' Zosime reproved me. She was helpful – yet she was not helping in real terms. None of this took me forwards. 'Did you like her?' 'Like…?' Zosime looked startled. 'She was a patient.' 'She was a woman, and in trouble.' Zosime brushed aside my suggestion that Veleda had special status. 'I thought her clever and capable.' 'Capable of killing?' I asked, looking at her narrowly. Zosime paused. 'Yes, I heard about the Murder.' 'From Veleda?' 'No, she never mentioned it. Quadrumatus Labeo sent people to ask me if I had seen her, after she fled his house. They told me about it.' 'Do you believe Veleda killed Scaeva?' 'I think she could have done, if she wanted to… But why would she want to?' 'So, when they told you about it, why didn't you ask for her version?' 'She had already moved on.' 'Where to?' 'I cannot say.' Could not say, or would not? I didn't push it; I had other things to ask first. I noted that 'moved on' suggested choice rather than panicked flight. 'So how long was she at your temple? And did anybody visit her?'

'Just a few days. And no one visited, not to my knowledge. But she was never treated as a prisoner while she was with us.'

So anybody could have called on her… Ganna, for instance. Probably not Justinus, but you never know with men who are in love with their romantic past. His parents and wife had been watching him, but any man who reaches twenty-five unscathed has learned how to dodge domestic scrutiny. 'Did she ever mention Scaeva at all?' 'No.' This was as much hard work as moving a very large dung heap with a rather short shovel. I tried a new tack. 'Tell me about what you do at night among the vagrants. I heard you took Veleda around with you?' 'She came with me once. She wanted to see Rome. I thought it was an opportunity to test how well she had recovered.' 'See Rome? Any particular part of the city? An address?' 'Just in general, Falco. She sat on the donkey, and rode behind me while I toured the streets. I look for huddles in doorways. If there are slaves or other vagrants in difficulties I tend them there, if I can, or else take them back to the temple where we can care for them properly.'

"Bringer of death".' 'I beg your pardon?' I was referring to Zoilus, the ghost-man who swooped about on the Via Appia. 'Why would someone call Veleda – or you – a bringer of death?' 'For no reason -' Zosime was indignant. 'Unless he was drunk or demented. ' 'The runaway slaves have seen Veleda with you -' 'Didius Falco, I am known for my charitable work. Respected and trusted. The slaves may not always accept help, but they understand the reason it is offered. I am shocked by your suggestion!'

'The other night,' I recalled, ignoring the rhetoric, 'I saw someone with a donkey approaching a man near the Capena Gate. A vagrant lying in a doorway. A dead man.'

'I go to that area,' Zosime admitted stiffly. She would not acknowledge the incident with the corpse. She had the same build as the hooded person I had seen, however. I wished now that I had waited to see what that person did when they found the body. 'If he was definitely dead, he had passed beyond our temple's help. We do arrange funerals for patients who die while they are with us on the Island, but I am discouraged from bringing home corpses.' The way she said 'discouraged' implied rows with the temple management. I could envisage Zosime as a troublesome employee. I sensed a history of conflict at the temple about her night-time good works. People there, especially her superiors who were trying to balance budgets, might disapprove of actively seeking extra patients – patients who, by definition, had no money themselves and no affectionate family or masters to weigh in with funds for treatment. 'Are you absolutely sure, Falco? Was the man you saw merely motionless, asleep – ' 'Oh I know death, Zosime.' She gave me a level stare. 'I imagine you do.' It was not a compliment.