The Chariots of Calyx

Chapter Twenty-three

‘Empty, master?’

‘There were coins in there, Junio,’ I said, clinging to my dignity. ‘I’m sure it was the money owed to Eppaticus. So what has happened to it now? It was there after the murder. If Fortunatus did come here and strangle Monnius, he certainly hasn’t been back to take the money.’

Junio looked at me. ‘Perhaps poor Prisca stumbled on the hiding place. Look at the way those men treated you. And Superbus, too. They wouldn’t hesitate over an ageing nurse.’

I shook my head. ‘This death was different. Poisoning has to be planned.’

‘Then why Prisca?’ Junio said.

I sighed. ‘I wish I knew. Perhaps the poison was designed for Fulvia, as she claimed. In any case, we’d better put the lid back on the hiding place. I don’t want the thief to realise that I know. That way I might startle a confession from the one who took it — if I ever discover who it was!’

The lifting section of mosaic went back more quickly than it had come out, but even so Junio had scarcely time to hang up the gong stick and take his station behind my stool again before Annia Augusta swept into the room, followed by her apologetic maid.

‘Lydia is right,’ she announced, without further ceremony. ‘That wretched Fulvia, may Dis take her, has barricaded herself into her room. Literally barricaded herself. I’ve knocked and shouted, but she refuses to reply, and it seems she has even pushed something behind the door so that it cannot be opened from outside. That heavy storage chest of hers, I imagine.’

She looked like an avenging fury, with her folded arms and dark flowing robes. I said, diffidently, ‘You tried the door from Monnius’ chamber, too?’

She looked at me as though I were a toad, suddenly discovered in her bedchamber. ‘I would have, though it seemed disrespectful to the dead. But she has blocked the door from the corridor into my son’s room as well — put something heavy just where the panels would fold. And she will not even answer when I call. Great Minerva, citizen! They will be beginning the eulogies in an hour or so, and we cannot start the funeral without her. What are we to do?’ She glared at me, as if I were personally responsible for this affront. ‘And you? Have you made any progress here? Perhaps if we can discover who killed her maid, you will be able to persuade her to come out, like a civilised woman!’

I remembered the ladder leaning on the wall. Had Fulvia thrown caution to the winds and run away? Fortunatus had not been alone when he was arrested. I countered with a question of my own. ‘Have you any idea, madam citizen, who might have killed the servant? Or wanted to kill Fulvia, perhaps?’

She drew herself upright. ‘What are you suggesting, citizen? Are you accusing me?’

Of course, that was a possibility. Annia Augusta had made no secret of her animosity to Fulvia — but she must have known that the widow was employing a poison-taster. I tried a little hasty flattery. ‘Not at all, madam citizen. I am simply interested in your perceptions.’

Annia Augusta was not placated. ‘I wonder why? You’ve not been interested in what I thought till now. Besides, I have nothing to suggest. I cannot imagine who would be interested in a worthless slave, so presumably the poisoned draught was meant for Fulvia. Perhaps I should have paid more attention to her claims. I confess I did not believe there was any threat to her, despite her protestations. Even now, I do not understand it — unless that Fortunatus fellow has some other woman in the town, and she somehow managed to smuggle poison in.’

I thought of Pulchrissima. ‘And how would such a person arrange that Fulvia would take it?’ I said.

‘Fulvia did insist on sending out for everything herself. It might have been contrived.’ Annia lost patience suddenly. ‘I don’t know how. You are supposed to be solving this, not me. I am simply attempting to see that my son has a decent funeral, without its being interrupted any more than necessary. By his widow, among others. If he’d listened to his mother, and stuck to Lydia, none of this would ever have happened.’ She broke off as Fulvia’s pageboy, Parvus, came into the room. ‘What has happened, boy? Has your mistress finally consented to come out?’

‘There is a detachment of soldiers outside, mistress, asking to see the citizen. They say he is expecting them.’ He looked at me. ‘Should I let them in?’

Annia Augusta echoed in amazement. ‘Soldiers? Here?’

Parvus nodded. ‘They’ve got two prisoners under escort.’

‘Prisoners!’ Annia rounded on me, furious. ‘You have allowed them to bring prisoners here? In the middle of our mourning, too. This is an indignity — an insult to the dead. Lydia is right, the auguries are frightful. And in front of all those spectators outside, as well. Jupiter alone knows what everyone will think — that these are mourners coming to the funeral, no doubt, and my son has only criminals to weep for him.’

I made a deprecating noise. ‘On the contrary, madam citizen. They are more likely to suppose that Monnius’ killer has been caught. You might think so yourself. One of the prisoners is your charioteer.’

Her indignation vanished like a sneak thief at a fair. ‘So you have taken my opinion seriously at last? I see. In that case have them brought in here by all means. I will stay and listen, citizen. I shall be very interested to hear what Fortunatus has to say for himself.’

I nodded to the page, who hurried off, and Annia glared at me. ‘I know you think I am an old fool of a woman, citizen, and you are still not convinced that Fortunatus was behind the murder of my son. But I am sure of it. If he did not do it himself, he contrived to have it done. And the poisoning of the old nurse too, perhaps, though I fail to see how that advantaged him. I would put nothing past him. I told you, I do not trust his face.’

That face, when it arrived a few moments later in the company of the rest of Fortunatus and two hefty guards, was rather as I’d imagined it: young, bronzed, and broodingly attractive, with that expression of petulant vanity that young men sometimes develop when they know that they are irresistible to women. I waited for the other prisoner to appear, wondering if it would be Fulvia after all, but there was no sign of anyone else, and I turned my attention to the charioteer again.

He was a handsome figure. His body was surprisingly slim, but the muscles on the chest and shoulders rippled under the blue tunic he wore, and the legs and arms were strong and taut as whipcord. His dark hair was short and curled, and he wore a cloak of fine cream-coloured wool, clasped at the shoulder by a heavy pin, with a gold medallion hanging round his neck. He looked exactly what he was: fit, wealthy, successful, self-confident and not a little put out to find himself a prisoner, with his hands bound in front of him and a dagger at his back.

He was glowering at Annia Augusta, and if a man ever looked capable of murder, I had to admit that it was the young charioteer at that moment. ‘This is your doing, madam citizen!’ he hissed.

‘On the contrary,’ I told him, from the comfort of my stool. ‘You were brought here on my orders.’

He gazed at me, taking me in for the first time. In the borrowed palace tunic and with parts of my body bandaged as if in the last stages of some terrible disease, I suppose I hardly looked a figure of authority.

‘You?’ He could scarcely conceal his contempt.

‘Allow me to introduce myself. Longinius Flavius Libertus, Roman citizen, at your service — or rather at the service of the governor. This is not my own tunic, as you might deduce — my toga required some attention after an unexpected meeting I had with a certain Glaucus, in a cellar. Your cellar, I believe. I think this Glaucus is a friend of yours?’

The face of the charioteer had turned first white, then red, and now was fast becoming the chalky colour of his cloak. He said nothing.

‘His Excellence the Governor will be interested to hear your answers,’ I said. ‘No doubt he will be prepared to use persuasion, if necessary.’

Fortunatus glanced at Annia, who was smiling with grim satisfaction. ‘Of course I know Glaucus,’ he muttered reluctantly. ‘He is provisions officer for the Blues. As to the cellar, I have no idea. The house is in the process of repair — they are putting in some drains. I have recently bought it but I do not live in it.’

‘So I understand,’ I said. ‘You have been staying at an inn, I think? I am so glad to find you so fully recovered from that dreadful accident at Verulamium.’

He almost stepped backwards in dismay, but the dagger at his kidneys stopped him short. He shrugged helplessly.

‘It must have been a tricky thing to stage,’ I said conversationally. ‘Very dangerous for you. I do hope Glaucus paid you well for it. Or did he just permit you to bet against yourself? I presume the syndicate had money on the Reds?’

Fortunatus could have raced for the Reds himself, without a uniform, at that moment. He muttered, ‘I’m a team driver. I just do as I am told.’

‘And what they told you,’ I said, ‘was to lose that race, and make yourself scarce for the rest of the programme in Verulamium, while they spread rumours about how badly you were hurt. Then, when it comes to Camulodunum, you will appear and win the race — with Glaucus having doped the rival horse, just to make certain of your victory.’

He stared sullenly at the floor. One of the soldiers cuffed him on the ear. ‘Well? Answer the citizen. Or would you prefer us to take you to the prison and have their interrogator talk to you?’

Fortunatus looked at me sourly. ‘There is no need to call the torturers,’ he said. ‘You seem to know all about it already. Though I don’t know why you have arrested me. It was hardly my doing.’

The soldier cuffed him again, harder this time. ‘Don’t speak to the citizen like that.’

The charioteer’s voice became a whine. ‘But it is true. I drive to a contract — all right, I’ve bought my freedom now, but I’m still not much better than a slave. If Calyx and Glaucus command me to take a fall, I take it. What else can I do? I don’t enjoy it; it makes me look a fool in front of all my fans.’

‘But they persuaded you to do it all the same, because they paid you well?’

‘Perhaps they do pay me well, but I don’t earn as much as they do, by a long way.’ He looked at the daggers pointing at his vitals, and seemed to come to a decision. ‘Glaucus not only lays bets himself, he runs a betting booth as well. Illegal, but he has rich backers in the city. High stakes and high returns. The syndicate makes sure that the gamblers win sometimes, of course, but more frequently they lose. That is where the real money comes from. When I fell in Verulamium, for instance, they paid me a bonus equal to the prize, but they themselves made thousands of denarii — both on what they won, and what their clients lost. And I take all the risks. I am tired of it. That is why I bought myself a house — so I can pay off my contract as soon as possible, give up racing and retire.’

‘With your lady-friend?’ I asked.

Annia Augusta stiffened. ‘Indeed! Your lady-friend. Now we are coming to the truth. That was your plan, was it?’ He was pinioned by the soldiers, and she came close up beside him and poked him violently with her forefinger. ‘A monster, that’s what you are. Abusing Monnius’ friendship in that way! You come here, eat his meat, drink his wine, and then seduce his wife. But not even that was good enough for you. You wanted more — a rich widow to help you buy your freedom and retire. I see it now!’ She punctuated each word with a stab of her finger, and each time I saw Fortunatus flinch.

‘I didn’t mean. .’ he began helplessly

‘Didn’t mean?’ she imitated mockingly. ‘Hardly an accident, was it? You crept in here at night, when everyone supposed you were at Verulamium, stabbed my poor Monnius, and even pretended to attack Fulvia so no one would suspect her part in it. Well, this citizen and I were too sharp for you. Why did you kill the old nurse, though? She would have faced the beasts for Fulvia. I do not underst-’ Her voice broke off.

I followed her gaze. The other prisoner had at last arrived. Not Fulvia. Not even Glaucus, or Calyx, as I’d half expected. The newcomer — bound, bleeding, cursing, dragged between six soldiers and still struggling — was an unmistakable giant of a figure, with a shaved forehead and Celtic pigtail. Eppaticus!

He had not come without a struggle. Several of the soldiers, I noticed, were breathing heavily, and one had a reddening bruise over his left eye. The room was full of people now, but they got their captive in somehow and thrust him roughly to the floor.

‘Not! Not!’ he was still protesting volubly in his inimitable Latin. ‘Nothings I have done deserving this. Only an honest trader — nothing tricks. .’ The tirade ceased as one of the soldiers placed a heavy foot on his neck.

‘Apologies, citizen,’ the senior soldier said. ‘He took us by surprise. He was quiet enough when we arrested him, but as soon as we got outside this house and he saw where we were bringing him, he suddenly tried to make a break for it. It took all six of us to bring him down and get him under control.’

I made no answer. I was looking at Annia Augusta. The arrival had taken her by surprise. For one brief second she had caught her breath, pressed both hands against her face and widened her eyes with a kind of appalled horror. She regained her self-control at once, but I had registered that immediate response — like some kind of allegorical statue representing Guilt.

‘You know this trader, lady citizen?’ I enquired, rather pointlessly.

Before she could utter a word, Eppaticus lifted his head with an effort and began again. ‘Nothings. I know nothings. Just is a business — come here for my money and now happening all this. .’

The soldier moved to silence him again, but caught my eye and instead tugged at his bonds and allowed him to scramble to his feet.

‘Eppaticus,’ I said, when he had struggled upright. ‘What was it that you sold to Monnius?’

The great Celt looked discomfited. He dropped his head and gazed at the floor but did not answer, even when the soldier kicked him savagely.

I repeated the question, in Celtic this time.

Then Eppaticus did raise his head and glanced at Annia. ‘A private matter,’ he replied unwillingly, in his quaint version of the same language. ‘It was a business accommodation, that is all. I have done the same thing for Monnius before.’

‘A business arrangement with those female slaves you had for sale?’ I prompted. ‘Setting up a lupanarium, perhaps?’ Five thousand denarii would have been a high price to pay for a brothel and its inmates, but I was convinced that the arrangement was something that Eppaticus found embarrassing, and the setting up of a whorehouse was a possibility. A potentially lucrative business, but something which the Trinovantine might prefer not to discuss openly in front of his partner’s mother. We Celts do not share the robust Roman acceptance of these things.

Eppaticus shook his head and mumbled. For a moment I thought he might be about to tell me.

But all this conversation in a language that he did not understand had angered Fortunatus. He had lost his earlier shame-faced air, and now began to berate me angrily.

‘Enough of this nonsense! Why have I been brought here? Of what am I accused? Killing Monnius? That’s a monstrous lie. If I am to be charged with deliberately falling at the races, very well — let me go before the council and stand trial. I have admitted it, and I will pay the fine — and take the flogging too, if that’s the penalty. But to be brought here at swordpoint and accused of killing a citizen! There is some mistake. Someone will pay for thi-’

He broke off in surprise. Eppaticus had struggled free and with a furious effort had broken from his guards. Before anyone could stop him, he had launched himself across the study at Fortunatus, raised his bound hands with a snarl and sent him reeling sideways against the wall.

‘You fall deliberate? And all my money lose! And I here risk myself to come to this house two times, even when man is dead — only for find some way of pay my debts. I kill you, son of a pig!’ He raised his hands again as if to bring them down on the charioteer’s head with murderous intent.

It was doomed, of course. There were too many soldiers and he was hampered by his bonds. The nearest soldier solved the problem with professional skill. He raised the heavy baton that he held and hit the Celt neatly and hard behind the ear.

Eppaticus pitched forward with a soft moan and this time he did not get up again.