The Ides of April

XXII

I saw no reason to hide my ridicule: "So let's be clear, Tiberius: one moment your aedile is determined to sour my relationships with clients and prevent me working, yet suddenly he wants to hire me himself?"

"Not 'hire.' It implies too much permanence." Tiberius flashed teeth irritatingly. "One interview. It is in your interests to help."

"Yet more threats! Why doesn't he question this woman himself? He is her rank. He could have her husband, who is no doubt a crony of his, duly sitting in-"

"He believes a woman's approach could be beneficial; now that he is satisfied you are professional-" He could see I was raging at that. Tiberius held up his unbandaged hand in an almost, though not quite, pacifying gesture. "Don't dig your heels in." I remained hostile. "It is marginally tricky, Albia."

"Oh? What's his game?"

"The issue is not about Faustus-"

"Why not? The man is trying to choreograph this investigation in a very odd way. Justify his motives."

"We already discussed what Faustus is attempting in his role as a magistrate. Just conduct the interview, Albia, and see what you think. Then, if necessary, I will explain the rest."

Since I had wanted to do the interview anyway, I caved in. May as well be paid for it. I could have asked for a higher fee than normal, but I kept my integrity.

Marcia Balbilla was another member of wealthy plebeian society. She and her husband lived in a big two-storey mansion on the Street of the Plane Trees. She enjoyed river views and the nearby amenity of the old grove of planes. Yesterday evening I had been turned away. Though it was now late afternoon, I thought it was worth trying again for an interview today.

The introductory letter worked, so this time I was admitted. Once in, they kept me waiting. I expected that.

The matron who had lost her maid was in her early thirties, beautifully dressed and bejewelled. Under this flash, she was ordinary. Possibly she knew it. Two surviving maids, undoubtedly part of a much larger complement, accompanied her when she saw me. They were dressed much more plainly and wore no decorations. There was no indication that Balbilla beat them, but they were too subdued for me to tell if they had any character. I was interested in them, because the dead young woman must have been a colleague.

I assumed she had been young, though in fact the two others were no longer girls. As slaves, they were probably starting to hope for their release at thirty.

Marcia Balbilla thought she was conducting the interview, but I had more practice so I managed to steer it my way. While we conversed, she lay gracefully on a couch laden with cushions, while I was stuck on a backless divan. Still, I have no problems with posture and note-taking is easier when you perch on a hard seat.

Marcia had been out with a friend, not previously mentioned in the story as I knew it. Each woman had a maid as chaperone, though they had not taken bodyguards. The party was marching along the Vicus Altus, with the maids behind, where they would not overhear what their mistresses said. All four were well shrouded in stoles to be respectable, which I came to believe was significant.

Ino had let out a scream. Marcia Balbilla and her friend spun around, probably intending to chastise her, only to see the girl floundering. She would have tumbled to the ground had not the other maid grabbed hold of her and kept her upright. Both girls thought someone had banged into Ino from behind, hard, and they were sure it was deliberate. Although there were other people in the street, it was not particularly crowded. All the women decided it must have been a malicious lower-class person's prank.

Feeling vulnerable, they hurried home. Ino was crying and upset, but there was no reason to expect that she would then be found dead in her cubicle.

Marcia Balbilla had had a stone plaque made as a sweet memento of Ino. She insisted someone fetch it down from the wall (it was quite small) so she could show it to me. I commented on how beautiful the maid had been. Apparently not so beautiful, nor so young, as the portrait on the plaque, but Marcia Balbilla had thought it would be more pleasant to remember her looking soulful and artistic.

"Tell me, did Ino have a male follower you are aware of?"

"Certainly not! I never allow anything like that!"

I did persuade the mistress to let me have a few quick words with the other maids, who admitted without much pressure that Ino did have a boyfriend. He was a slave in the same household, the husband's wardrobe keeper, but he had a clear alibi; everyone was able to say he was at home when the street incident happened, and he had done nothing but sob since Ino died.

There had been much mention of Marcia Balbilla's friend. Both women were senior members of the cult at the Temple of Ceres, Marcia told me; a much older woman was chief priestess though I could tell these two had their eyes on the position. The friend was a wonderful woman. The friend came from an important family of plebeian nobility, very wealthy; a leading figure in the ladies' cult, she was religiously devoted, and a model of self-sacrificing service to the community. The friend was called Laia Gratiana. I had already met her, the first time I went to the Temple of Ceres. I had thought her a right menace.

I would have to visit the woman, nonetheless. Marcia Balbilla told me her dear cultured religious friend had thought at the time that she glimpsed the person who had bumped into Ino.

"Did you report this to the vigiles?"

"Oh no. People like us never have contact with them. Laia Gratiana said she would pass a note to the aediles' office."

Great.

So Manlius Faustus had already known everything about this.

I met up with Tiberius at a prearranged rendezvous next day. I had promised to report back at the Stargazer. When I arrived, the runner was ordering a drink from Junillus. I prepared to interpret, but he seemed to be managing. I was not ready to approve of him just because he could communicate calmly with my deaf cousin.

Junillus must have seen that I was frazzled, because he gave me a hug and then brought me a bowl of pistachios. I kept them on my side of the table, so Tiberius could not reach them.

"I'm bloody annoyed with you, Tiberius. Would it have hurt you to mention that there was a second high-and-mighty mistress and a second downtrodden maid, and that I would end up having to endure a second interview-with Laia Gratiana?"

He looked surprised. "You know her?"

"We met. I am not going to enjoy this."

"Why?"

Although I was gobbling nuts furiously, I screwed up my mouth as if they tasted of aloes. But until I learned the situation here, I held back on too many insults. "Not my type."

I spotted that the runner's surprise changed to a faint gleam of humour. However, he said nothing.

"Explain!" I commanded. As his expression became positively whimsical, I kept nagging: "This is ridiculous. Laia Gratiana has enough connections with the aediles to notify them directly of her experience. So why not? What held her back and why doesn't Faustus simply trot along in person to ask questions? Why involve me?"

"It is nothing untoward."

"So?"

"He prefers not to interview Laia Gratiana himself." Tiberius then owned up, watching my reaction: "They have not spoken for years. Laia Gratiana is his ex-wife."

I admit I laughed.