The Chariots of Calyx

Chapter Twenty-two

Annia Augusta was not impressed. ‘Barricaded herself in?’ she said. ‘We shall see about that! She cannot keep it up; her attendance is required at the funeral. Meantime, I shall have the slaves sent here and the citizen can start on his enquiries. Ah, here is the girl with the cordial I sent for.’ She motioned to the slave-girl to pour me a cup of the poppy-water cordial, which Junio brought to me.

I was cautious, after my experience with Annia’s concoction earlier, but this one looked appetising enough, and I was woefully weak. Even that short walk had taxed my strength. When I took an exploratory sip I found it tasted wonderfully refreshing and I drank the rest gratefully. Annia sipped her own, but when Lydia was offered some she shook her head, and folded her arms like a rebellious child. For the second time, I saw a resemblance to Filius.

But there was little time to think of that. Annia was right. If I was to interview the servants and try to discover what had happened to the nurse, I would need to be quick about it. There was not much time before the funeral.

I had Junio round up the servants and bring them to me in batches, once Annia and Lydia had gone. There were a good many servants in a city household of this size, and they obviously could not all be spared at once, but their duties were limited, and I confined myself to questioning them according to their tasks: kitchen-slaves, handmaidens, pageboys, messengers, gatekeepers, and all the rest.

The borrowed tunic (and my consequent apparent lack of status) had almost prevented Lydia from uttering a word to me, but I hoped that now it would help to loosen tongues, and indeed there was no lack of willingness to talk. However, no one had anything significant to tell me. No one had seen anything suspicious, and all agreed with Annia Augusta’s assertion that she and Filius had been in public view, and Lydia had been lamenting throughout.

One of the little pageboys gave the most helpful account. ‘We were the ones who found the body, citizen. Poor old Prisca. She was just lying there, outside the master’s chamber, her face all screwed up and blue and her eyes protruding, and foaming at the mouth like frogspawn. It gave me quite a shock, and Parvus here’ — he indicated the fellow pageboy at his side — ‘had never seen a poisoned body before. He had to be given water to revive him.’

I was not altogether surprised at his reaction. The last time I had seen Parvus he had been tasting Fulvia’s drink himself.

But the other boy seemed oblivious. ‘Of course, we should have expected something of the kind. Poor Lady Fulvia has been worried for her life ever since she was attacked — insisting on sending us out for bought bread from the market instead of eating anything from the kitchens. Even then, she refused to touch it unless Prisca tried it first. And it was the same with wine and water — hers had to be the second drink poured from any jug, with one of us pageboys standing by to make sure no one tried to poison the cup.’

‘But someone did,’ I said.

He shook his head, perplexed. ‘I don’t know how,’ he said. ‘We were right beside Lady Fulvia while she ate, in the triclinium. I brought the tray of food to her myself, and Prisca tasted everything before she ate it.’

‘And there was no sign of a problem then?’

He shook his head. ‘Everything seemed to be in order, although now I come to think of it the lady Fulvia did say that the water tasted a little bitter, and refused to swallow any more of it. But we thought nothing of it at the time — she has been suspicious of everything for days, and Prisca seemed to be all right. Then our mistress decided to retire, and her nurse went off to prepare the bedchamber.’ He shrugged expressively.

‘And then?’

‘That was the last we saw of her alive. She was gone so long that Lady Fulvia sent us after her — and there she was in the passageway, stretched out, obviously dead. Parvus here let out a screech, and then of course everyone in the household came running to have a look, except Lydia, who was doing her part in the lament. Even Filius and Annia Augusta came.’

‘And the lady Fulvia?’

‘She didn’t come. She was too horrified to move, I think.’

‘So you went back to tell her what you’d found?’

‘We did. I had to break the news — Parvus was still babbling with shock. Poor lady, she was terribly upset. And, of course, more worried for herself than ever. She made us stand beside her bed all night, with lighted lamps. And she has not eaten since. In the morning even Annia Augusta agreed to send for you.’

I nodded, and was about to dismiss the boys when a sudden thought struck me. ‘There was no one else in that part of the building at the time?’

The two pages looked at each other and then at me. This time it was Parvus who spoke. ‘No one that we noticed, citizen. Of course the servants’ stairs go up from there, and anyone could have slipped up there for a moment. Or gone out into the garden and the shrine — but certainly we did not see anyone.’

‘And what happened to the body afterwards?’

‘It was taken to the servants’ hall to wait. Fulvia went in this morning to the undertakers and insisted on a proper cleansing. Lydia made quite an uproar about it, but the lady Fulvia got her way. She paid them handsomely to do it, I think — with oils and everything. Quite an honour for a poor old nursemaid, with not a sestertius in the world.’

There were a few more questions, but they could help no further, and this time I did let them go. For form’s sake, I spoke to the undertaker’s man who had prepared the body. He was a big, rough fellow, with hands like corn scoops and a wind-scarred face, but he confirmed the pages’ story.

‘First time I’ve ever been called on to do it for a slave-woman, and an old, ugly one at that. Waste of time of course — the household isn’t paying for a funeral, and the slave guild simply picks the bodies up, throws them all together on one pyre, and sets fire to them. What’s the point of elaborate preparations for a funeral like that, when there’s no public exhibition of the body — not even any mourners to speak of?’

I thought for a moment that he was about to spit for emphasis, but he seemed to recollect himself.

‘Going to put it out the back first, when they found it, out of the way. But the widow-lady, the pretty one, insisted that we took it upstairs. She’d got it into her head that it was her fault or something — and then this morning she came in, offering silver for us to prepare it for burial. Mad as a satyr, of course, but you don’t argue with a bag of coins! So when the mask-makers were here I went upstairs and dealt with the thing — gave it a quick wash and oil, and got it tidied up a bit. Hadn’t been dead long, either, when we took it up there — the body was still warm. You notice that sort of thing in this job.’

I remembered that I had failed to notice something similar myself.

He seemed to take the colour in my cheeks as a sign of personal enthusiasm, and he went on with professional relish. ‘It’s still up there, if you want to see it. Not that there’s very much to see. There were no marks on the body, citizen, if that is what you are thinking. Some pink patches on the skin — I’ve seen them before with people who’ve been poisoned — but no bruises or any sign of force. Ate, or more likely drank, something that was poisoned, and a few minutes later she fell to the floor foaming.’ He shook his head. ‘A nasty way to die, citizen. But we did a nice job on her, if I do say so myself.’

He bent towards me confidentially. He smelled of death — herbs, oils and corruption. I almost found myself leaning backwards to avoid it. I put on my most official manner and briskly asked another question. ‘And the body had not been tampered with overnight?’

He straightened up and shook his head. ‘Just as we left it, citizen. Covered with a cloth and all that, and I’d stake ten denarii that no one had been anywhere near it. The servants were frightened out of their wits, as it was, with having a corpse up there — we put it in an alcove, but I noticed this morning there were prayer plaques nailed to the door, and herbs and salt on the floor as if someone had been doing a purification rite. And they all keep away from us undertaker-slaves as if we are plague-carriers.’

I nodded. I rather sympathised with their position.

‘Believe me, citizen,’ he went on heartily, ‘they wouldn’t tamper with that body willingly. There aren’t even any of the right herbs up there to burn, and the corpse’ll be beginning to stink by this time. Besides, what would be the point of touching her? The poor old soul had nothing to steal.’ He flashed his remaining teeth in a crooked grin, as though we were comrades in complicity. ‘You just say the word, citizen, and I’ll take you up there and explain the whole process, step by step.’

I hastened to tell him that would not be necessary, and his face fell a little.

‘All the same, citizen — anything you want to know about the business, you come to me. Now if you are sure. .?’

I was sure, and at last Junio was able to hustle him out of the door, taking the odour of mortality with him. The pageboy, Parvus, hurried in.

‘A messenger has come for you, citizen, from the governor himself. One of his own bodyguards, I think.’ The boy’s eyes were round as a discus. ‘He says he has important news for you.’

‘Show him in,’ I said, and a moment later one of the giant Nubians was kneeling before me. He was making an obeisance, but at the sight of my palace tunic his black eyes twinkled in his dark face and the lips that murmured courteous greetings were visibly trying not to smile. The hand that pressed mine to his lips was so enormous that it could have crushed me like a walnut in a press, and his strength seemed twice as great in contrast to my current weakness. I felt foolish, and we were both aware of it.

I signalled to the man to rise — a mistake in itself since he now towered over my chair like a basilica. ‘You have news?’ I enquired, with such remnants of dignity as I could muster.

‘His Excellence the Governor, Publius Helvius Pertinax, instructs me to inform you that two people whom you were seeking have been taken under arrest.’ The Latin was perfect, cultured, and spoken with a clarity and accent which would have made many students of oratory seem only half civilised.

I gawped. Could that be Glaucus and his corrupt team manager Calyx, I wondered. ‘Two people?’

The Nubian giant inclined his head in assent — to say that he nodded would be to understate the gravity of the gesture. ‘One of them is unknown to me, although I understand it is someone well known in the city. The other is one Lividius Fortunatus, a gifted pilot of the chariots. I have myself been known to venture a denarius or two on his abilities. You wish to speak to him, I believe? His Excellence, as supreme governor of the province under His Imperial Mightiness the Divine Emperor Commodus, enquires what you wish him to do with these two persons.’

‘Do with them?’ I said foolishly.

‘Would you prefer him to imprison them — neither, I think, is a Roman citizen, so they could be interrogated by the state, if you wish — or would you rather he should send them here, so that you can question them yourself? Under guard, naturally.’

I found myself smiling childishly. I confess to a sudden and unworthy desire to see Glaucus — if this was indeed Glaucus — brought in under arrest and finding himself answering to me. An opportunity to speak to Fortunatus — and in Fulvia’s company — would be interesting too. Perhaps even Filius would emerge from his annexe to see his hero and I would have the chance to learn something there. And — some inner demon asked me — what would Annia Augusta say if she saw the charioteer?

I smiled more broadly. ‘My thanks and greetings to the governor. Have them brought here,’ I said, and he bowed himself out, while I returned to my enquiries.

There was little left to do. I questioned the last remaining servants — a couple of garden-slaves who tended the plants, cleaned the pool and swept the paving stones. They had little to add. They had not been working in the peristyle, they told me, since their master’s death, apart from cutting a few plants for the undertakers. Their services had been required elsewhere, strewing aromatics in the street outside, and fetching extra water for the kitchens. In any case it would have been difficult to see into the house — the shutters in their master’s cubiculum had been kept closed since his death, and the ones in Fulvia’s bedchamber had been shut and bolted by the pages.

I dismissed the gardeners, feeling very little wiser, and heaved a dispirited sigh.

‘You are tiring yourself, master,’ Junio said anxiously. ‘Should I send for the litter for you, or a mattress so that you can stretch out on the floor?’

I shook my head. ‘But since you mention the floor,’ I said, ‘there is something that I’d like you to investigate. You will do it more easily than I will, and I think that there is time before we are interrupted again. There, underneath the table — you see where the square in the design has a deep space around the border?’

Junio was on his knees in a flash. ‘You think. .?’

‘It lifts,’ I said. ‘I know. I moved it once before — and I think that you will find underneath it the solution to Eppaticus’ missing money.’

He flashed me a cheerful grin. ‘We’ll see.’ He inserted his fingers in the crack as I had done, and once again the central section moved. ‘It’s too big and heavy,’ he said. ‘I can’t grip it. I could get it up at one end, but I need something to prop it with.’ He looked around as if for inspiration.

‘That gong stick on the wall outside?’ I said, suddenly remembering.

He nodded eagerly, and soon came back with it. It was a strange shape, almost triangular, but when Junio lifted one end of the floor panel, and inserted it, the gong stick acted as a perfect wedge. It was exactly the right weight and width to slide under the aperture — almost as if it had been designed for that very purpose. With one end now propped open it was easier to lift the other, and a moment later the cavity was revealed. It was cleverly made: lined with wood and a stone floor set into it, it would have been a dry and certain hiding place for anything. And it was spacious too — just as I had remembered it.

Except that this time the cavity was empty. It was so surprising that I staggered from my gilded stool to look. There was no mistake. The coins had gone.