The Ides of April (28 page)

This was bizarre. Here I was, sitting in the man’s house without his knowledge, while one of his staff attempted to prove to me that he was a serial murderer. Andronicus seemed almost blasé about it. I was increasingly uncomfortable.

‘We had decided,’ I demurred, ‘the killer must live in the area where the deaths, or at least the attacks on victims, all occurred.’

Andronicus shrugged. ‘Lives nearby – or works?’

He was right. Sited beside the Temple of Ceres, the aediles’ office was right there.

I watched a slave, burdened with a large tray of silverware, including bowls with crisp napkins like the ones we had had, walk along the upper balcony as if taking this to one of the bedrooms. The boy was staggering. He had to steady himself against a column. That was an important tray.

I jumped to my feet. ‘I can’t sit here discussing him. I’m going home.’

Andronicus asked, almost excitedly, ‘Are you frightened of the man?’

‘No.’ Perhaps I should be. Informers have to look tough, however. ‘I don’t want him to pop out from his room and see us analysing what he may have done. It’s premature. We have to assemble evidence that connects him to the crimes. Most of what you have said could equally apply to your old suspect, Tiberius.’

Not the maid, though. The maid destroyed the Faustus marriage. Taking revenge on her gave a motive for murder only to Manlius Faustus.

Andronicus followed up my suggestion. ‘And you are no doubt thinking it’s Tiberius who is regularly out on the streets.’

I had not progressed that far, but I nodded.

‘Think about this. Yes, Tiberius is sent out under cover, but don’t be misled. You know what Faustus is like. He wants to conduct his job better than any aedile ever. The one thing anyone must say for him is that he does not sit on his togate backside in the office, waiting for news. He makes himself familiar with what happens in his area.’

‘Knows his own patch?’

Andronicus clapped his hands. ‘Exactly.’

‘He gets out there? He knows places like the Vicus Altus and Lesser Laurel Street? He regularly walks in the Trigeminal Porticus?’

‘He goes to the Porticus to buy Rutupiae oysters. Thinks them much tastier than Lucrine.’

Andronicus was starting to convince me. All the more reason to vanish from here. I repeated that I was going home, and this time did gather myself to leave.

I was not surprised when Andronicus decided that he would come with me. And, with a lift of the heart, I knew how he intended that to end. Even in public, he made that obvious. When we left the house and walked together, he had us entwined like lovers on their way to bed.

F
rom the Street of the Plane Trees, it was a shorter distance to Fountain Court from the Tullius and Faustus house than from the other side of the hill, and my previous visits to the Temple of Ceres area. Even this stroll gave some reflection time.

I rarely feel triumphal when I may have identified a wrongdoer. More often, it seems such a waste. The cleverer a criminal, the more that applies.

Andronicus and I did not speak much. He had his mind fixed on lovemaking, as if discussing death held an erotic charge. Although pleasure had its attractions for me, which on any other occasion would have been urgent, I was lost in the case temporarily. It was not a moment for collaboration. I was not even sure I wanted that. At a critical juncture, I prefer to mull over enquiries on my own. Although Andronicus and I were close, his method of jumping to immediate conclusions every time there was a twist did not fit mine. I dwell on results. I go back and test all the clues and facts, in case of mistakes or missing links. What’s more, I do it when I am ready. For me that afternoon, being silent only meant I was clearing my brain in readiness for when I
did
ponder. I wanted to sit alone on my own couch in a silent room, a cup of wine untouched beside me, a note tablet in my lap.

Well, that was how I would tackle the enquiry later, after Andronicus and I had fallen into each other’s arms and spent delicious time together . . . I was human.

Two things worked their way to the front of my consciousness right then. I needed to ask Cassiana Clara to confirm if, that night at dinner, Manlius Faustus assaulted her. If he did, it was a clincher.

I wanted to ask Laia Gratiana’s maid Venusia about Faustus too. Specifically: how had she known about his affair and what (if it wasn’t simply her unpleasant character) drove her to say something? Was it really loyalty to Laia? A true friend might have kept the young wife in the dark and tried to preserve her happiness – or, if you are cynical about marriage, preserve it for as long as possible.

One idea I now developed was this: while Faustus and Laia were wed, had he dallied with the maid? Plenty of husbands make a grab for the wife’s attendants. Venusia might have enjoyed his covert attentions, even convinced herself she was special; she would then have hated him starting an affair elsewhere, so she snitched to her mistress as an act of spite, a thwarted lover herself.

As I walked with Andronicus, I asked whether Faustus might do that. Andronicus claimed the man was notoriously fresh with female slaves. According to him, when Manlius Faustus visited other houses, people knew he was a risk and took steps to keep their good-looking girls out of his way.

‘He is not the only man in Rome who has that reputation,’ Andronicus concluded.

‘Agreed. But you are making him out to be very different from all I have heard before. Didn’t you yourself once tell me he never even lays a finger on the girl who makes his bed? I hope you are not embroidering!’

‘His bedroom slave is a boy, come to think of it,’ Andronicus replied gravely. ‘I never do sewing. Even when we need to have papyrus lengths stitched together in the archive office, I delegate.’

‘Nothing wrong with needlework,’ I disagreed, smiling. ‘It’s not as dainty as people think. Stabbing the cloth, you have to use a lot of force sometimes.’

‘Really?’

The embroidery nonsense filled time while we moved from the end of the alley to the Eagle Building, where we were so ready to rip our clothes off and fall on each other. Even I had regained my interest. Instead, at the entrance we met an agitated Rodan.

‘Oh thank the gods, Albia – I can’t deal with this! It’s an animal! It’s on the stairs. Nobody can get past. Somebody has to get rid of it.’

The great lump was nearly in tears, he was so upset at having to catch and remove a wild creature that had entered the building. I supposed it was a rat or even a mouse. Even when supplied with mousetraps, our janitor was too squeamish to empty them. He brought them to me.

‘Calm down, Rodan.’

When I came home with a lover, I did not want to find a domestic emergency. It looks bad. It wastes time. It spoils the mood. So, yes, I was furious. Rodan was so used to people being annoyed, he barely noticed.

Andronicus was openly chuckling. ‘What is this thing, an escaped lion?’

‘You’re a gladiator, Rodan,’ I grumbled. ‘Find a spear and deal with it.’ I knew Rodan had never killed anything. Faced with a serious predator, he would expire himself, of cowardice. Fortunately we did not live in the kind of area that was constantly beset with exotic pets escaping from wealthy people’s show-off menageries.

Rodan passed me a broom. Accepting it, I assumed responsibility. He made the broom a baton in some kind of relay race, the wild beast sprint. I had to run with the problem now.

I cursed. With Andronicus excitedly jostling at my shoulder, I shoved past Rodan, who fled into his cubicle, covering his ears until it was over. I entered the lobby. At first I saw and heard nothing. Then came disorderly scrabbling sounds. As I inched up the first stairs, a terrible sight lay ahead. A vixen used in last night’s ritual had survived the Circus and escaped. Horrifically burned in the hindquarters, she had dragged herself partway over the Aventine and into our building. Although she had managed to shed the torch they tied to her, the damage was dire: the exhausted creature had almost no tail, her flesh was charred, her long back legs hung useless.

She lay cowering in a corner of the first landing. Her amber eyes were dull and full of dread. As I approached, she struggled as best she could, too weak even to spit or snarl.

‘Stop. Don’t go near!’ Andronicus made a grab for me.

I could see why Rodan was so upset. It was my turn to become hysterical. ‘What can we do? We must help her!’

‘She cannot be saved, Albia. It’s hopeless.’

‘I must put her out of her misery then. I can’t leave her like this!’

The scene worsened, as the African children who lived on the first floor heard our voices and looked out of their door, where they must have been hiding. Now that there were adults to pay them attention, they started screaming. They were spooking the vixen. They were spooking me. I directed them to go indoors, but they only screamed louder.

‘Right. Stand back.’ Andronicus took control. He was wonderful. I was a jelly. Every time the pathetic fox quivered and jerked, panic swept through me. I hid my face in my hands, hardly able to look, and could hear myself whimpering. While I dithered, Andronicus was assessing the situation. ‘This will not be easy . . .’ He took the broom from me. ‘Go back down to Rodan. Fetch me a decent knife. Find me something – go, Albia!’

Fighting sobs, I obeyed. I would have fetched one of my own knives, but could not pass the wounded animal to reach either my apartment or the office. Behind me I heard Andronicus sternly ordering the children back indoors; this time the subsiding noise indicated the little ones obeyed.

Part of me was prepared to tackle the wounded vixen myself, part was relieved that although he clearly did not like it, Andronicus was willing to take over.

It took a long time to make Rodan come up with a suitable knife. He was unhappy about me going inside his smelly cubicle, and when I shouldered my way past him, he seemed unable to remember where he kept things. He had so few possessions it was easy to see most of them. Some had started out belonging to other people, by the looks of it. The rest was junk. Cracked pots and flywhisks with no feathers. A lumpy mattress. A loincloth hung on an old spear – lacking its head or I would have taken it. Finally, the porter produced a vicious dagger that must pass for dainty dinner-cutlery on rare days when he did not eat with his fingers.

I stumbled back up the stairs. To my huge relief, I found that everything was over.

The vixen lay motionless. Andronicus was leaning against the wall, looking pale and breathing fast. He had dropped the broom on the steps. Everything was silent and still.

‘Don’t ask.’ His eyes turned to me with a tired expression. ‘Don’t be upset. She’s gone. She passed away, dear tender-hearted one, that’s all you need to think about.’ He stopped me questioning, then held me back from going closer. ‘She just ran out of strength and stopped breathing, without fear or suffering.’

He would not tell me. Perhaps he was right and she simply collapsed from exhaustion and blood loss, or perhaps he had somehow helped her. I suspected he had sent me down to Rodan to get rid of me while he ended her pain.

I felt convinced Andronicus took some action, though could not imagine what. I saw no new marks on the dead animal. He was unarmed. If he had hit her with the broom, it would not have worked and I would have heard the commotion. Besides, my friend lacked that kind of cruelty.

As I hugged him, Rodan came up with a sack to remove the tragic corpse, playing the big man now somebody else had completed the hard task. He bent down to gather the vixen’s mangled body, gasping with effort as he doubled up. I looked away. Andronicus shielded me, holding me against his shoulder.

I was still shaking when the porter straightened up, sack in hand. His knees cracked loudly. In a prim voice, he said, ‘I don’t know if you are expecting it, Albia – but your father has sent a carrying-chair to fetch you.’

Hades. I
should
have been expecting it. I had quite forgotten. Today was the Ides of April. My compulsory birthday.

I
was in shock over the dead vixen. Otherwise, I might have handled the situation better.

I could have invited Andronicus to come home with me. Why didn’t I? Mainly because I had not known him long enough. I still wanted to keep him to myself. As soon as you introduce any friend to your family, they take over. My parents would interrogate him in their separate ways, discreet but determined; my sisters would ask inane questions about us in front of him; even my little brother, a difficult child at the best of times, would stare disconcertingly. We were not ready for that.

Mentioning that it was my birthday seemed unnecessary. I would feel embarrassed. So, looking back, I must have given Andronicus an unfortunate impression that this was a pre-arranged occasion of no great significance, from which I might escape at an early hour. It was only lunchtime now.

‘Will you be all right?’ he murmured lovingly. I was in a tizzy, which he must have thought was still the fox’s fault.

‘I shall be with my own folk, don’t worry.’

‘Oh, they will look after her!’ Rodan put in, though nobody had asked him. ‘That Falco is a nasty piece of work, but the rest are quite a nice family in their funny way.’

‘Thank you, Rodan!’ Andronicus seemed more amused by the mixed commendation than annoyed at losing me.

I reassured him that he could dutifully attend the aedile’s festival that evening, under no obligation to me. We were no longer in the mood to go to bed together, even if I had been free. The dying vixen had drained our desire. I was distressed and he was disturbed by whatever happened when he was on his own with the fox. It would take a while for either of us to recover.

I apologised for rushing off; he mentioned he might come along to Fountain Court to see me again later. The half-promise was not serious enough for me to mention that my return could be in the early hours.

I was too numb to think clearly. I could still hardly speak.

Andronicus exchanged sweet-talk with me, then sauntered off. He would have seen the chair, with its patient bearers, stood outside waiting. He probably thought if I was summoned in the morning, it would be for a light luncheon and perhaps an afternoon of gossip. I remained shy about explaining that today was my anniversary.