The Ides of April (38 page)

So much for festival abstinence.

Outside, Tiberius and I found space by a wall we could lean on. He managed to wipe some blood off himself with one arm. We settled our breathing. I found him a napkin that I kept folded small in my belt purse, which he pressed on his cut eye.

We watched the street slowly clear. The wrecked chariot was towed away by members of the vigiles. Laia Gratiana must have been rescued and taken home. Any other cult women had given up for the evening too.

Zoe and Chloe were looking after the two men in snake costumes; we saw them all go to a bar. The one who had been run over had to be supported by both women, but despite any cracked ribs he was clearly still up for whatever the night ahead might hold. Both men had the innocent seriousness of fellows who think they have picked up a couple of likely prospects. Zoe and Chloe were going to fleece them for drinks. Well, so I presumed. Who knows?

‘Intriguing foursome!’ Tiberius grinned.

‘Gruesome scope for misunderstandings! . . . So,’ I mused, in a thoughtful tone. ‘What about that then – Morellus and Marcia?’

The runner and I looked at one another. We could not help ourselves; we doubled up together and laughed until we were breathless all over again.

Somebody was watching us.

It was me who felt the accusing gaze. It was me who first saw him. We were supposed to be tailing him, but how long had Andronicus been observing us? He could not know the cause of the hysterical mirth that had us clutching our stomachs and laughing until we wept; he was staring at me like a man who had found his new bride in bed with her grandfather.

He had been motionless in front of a shuttered shop. Once he realised I had seen him, he tossed his head scornfully and set off away from us. I straight away ran after him, not waiting to explain to Tiberius, though he was so hard on my heels he could have stepped on my dress hem and tripped me.

We were close to the huge Temple of Juno the Queen – the exotic Aventine Juno, brought here from Veii when Rome conquered the Etruscans, not the grand Greek version who lived on the Capitol. Andronicus ran down the side of the building, then on across the frontage of the tiny Temple of Liberty, which is supposed to be Rome’s oldest library, the place where slaves are freed. There were always a few people about there; he zigzagged through knots of them, perhaps unaware that wherever there was enough light from lanterns, that bright nut-brown head of his was a giveaway. Perhaps he knew and did not care. He enjoyed the chase, believing himself invincible. No one had caught him so far tonight. Why should he fear capture?

He was moving faster than it seemed from his relaxed lope; we were making no headway. He reached the long street that would take him to the Temples of Minerva and Diana. Now he began bounding along, springing up on goods piled outside shops and kicking them over, so our progress was hampered as the outraged owners came rushing out to resecure them. Rolling jugs and scattered buckets tumbled in our path. Unhappy shopkeepers dragged at our tunics, gesticulating in various foreign languages and pleading for justice as we broke away and rushed on.

He plunged into the backstreets. He fled down alleys clogged with years’-old rubbish, where dung paved the road. He dodged around fountains where ragged old drunks were lounging. He vanished into dark narrow entries that could be fatal dead-ends. The whores he pushed aside had collected their wits and were ready to abuse us as we ran up in his wake. Dogs he had disturbed stretched their legs and thought about biting chunks out of us. We were lucky, they were too busy peeing on cornerstones to bother. When I stumbled over litter, Tiberius grabbed my hand. When he slid a yard on slime, upright as a lake-skater in some frozen northern wilderness, I steadied him.

Andronicus crossed Greater Laurel Street. Delivery carts were out and about, now the festival proceedings were over. For a short stretch he confused us by dodging among the carts, then he nipped into a cross street, and was off again, veering past bars and workshops, pushing over a vegetable stall so we were handicapped by streams of rolling cabbages.

He burst out onto the Clivus Publicius, some way ahead of us. We lost sight of him. Suddenly we saw him again, now riding on the back of a startled mule he had unhitched from an unattended cart. He rode the beast full pelt down the hill away from us, looking back with his face alight with glee, one arm aloft as if wielding a triumphal banner, and whooping taunts. Ironically, we were only yards from where the ox-wagon had killed Lucius Bassus.

He knew he was safe. Just as we rallied ourselves to follow, a grim troop of Praetorian Guards marched past. The tall togate brutes were unmistakable, with soldiers’ boots showing below their tunics and their swords under their clothes. They never wear full armour inside Rome, but they don’t need to. They had probably been sent to execute some philosopher Domitian objected to for campaigning for a better world, but we would do for starters, just to get them in the mood before the bloody business in their orders.

Unable to pull up in a timely fashion and with no pillar to hide behind, we had run right in among this noble death squad. The big bored men were automatically unhappy about us. Breathless people running must be running away from a crime. People who give feeble explanations are people who ought to spend time in a cell, getting their story straight on a starvation diet in between visits from the torturer. As for women on the streets in opaque dresses, they need a good seeing to and these were the heroes to do it – one after the other, or several at once if there was no time for orderly queuing. If and when Tiberius argued about my treatment, he would be given similar attention. At the Praetorian Camp there was a scale of reparations, where people with complaints of harassment generally found they would not in fact receive compensation, but would be charged for those old military myths, ‘insult to a Roman officer’ and ‘damaged uniforms’.

We were in trouble. I assumed any quick thinking would be up to me, though my tired brain refused to cooperate. I was surprised, therefore, when Tiberius straightened up, hauled aside the centurion, a slow beast with ringworm, spoke a few words, showed his signet ring, and signalled to me to come and stand safely beside him. I was being taught new rude words and pawed heavily. One of the men had that clever knack of removing clothes from women without them noticing what he was up to.

Coins chinked. The centurion demurely uttered, ‘Have a good night then, sir!’, glancing at me as if he assumed I was some blowsy piece Tiberius had paid for by the hour from a ‘manicure parlour’. Neither of us had the energy to set him straight. I was too preoccupied, garment-wise. I had to retrieve one of my shoulder brooches from the gutter.

The Guards marched on to carry out their important work for the emperor. They left us like two misdelivered sacks, standing alone on the dark pavement.

O
nly much later, after I had been taken home and had flung myself on my bed in complete collapse, did it strike me how peculiar we must have looked there on the Clivus Publicius, so what a lucky escape we had had. Tiberius was not just coughing with exertion, but his face was bruised and cut as if he had been in a professional boxing bout. I had such a sore windpipe I could hardly breathe, while the sweat in my eyes from so much running must have made my cosmetics run. He had lost his cloak early in the proceedings; I never had one. We must have seemed incoherent and agitated even to Praetorians, who are used to meeting all kinds of bad characters, offering them all kinds of lame excuses.

Using his mysterious influence, Tiberius extricated us. We fell in with some vigiles. I was put in a chair and escorted to Fountain Court. A guard was posted. My brain was alive with wild images of the night. Despite that, I must have fallen into a deep sleep.

Next day I awoke knowing we had no plans. The situation seemed impossible. Yesterday the cult women had given us a physical focus for our hunt, but today’s rites would all take place in the Circus Maximus. Even if our quarry bothered to go, among two hundred thousand people he would be invisible. He surely would not be so stupid as to attack the
ceremonies. Otherwise, Andronicus had shown he had no fear of a vigiles’ search – rightly. Even with no funds he was resourceful. If he lay low in the city, he could escape detection indefinitely. He might even flee from Rome. We had somehow to flush him out, and fast. As I struggled to rise, wash and change into normal day clothes, I had no ideas how to do that.

I went to the Stargazer. Seating myself stiffly at one of the inside tables, I signalled to Junillus for bread rolls and hot mulsum. Of his own accord he brought over the remains of the main cold meat platter; he shook out the ends of various olive bowls among the last slices of Lucanian sausage and shreds of smoked ham on the big dish from which he made takeouts and counter snacks for early workers. My vigiles minder stood upright, having something basic. Eating automatically, I fell into a vacant dream.

It was a warm day with a breeze, not chilly. Mid-morning, for I had slept in late. No other customers.

Life seemed bad. No hope, no solution, no point.

Without me being aware of it, Junillus had gone into the back kitchen, taking crockery to wash. In any caupona it was daily routine. He would be there for a while, starting preparations for the lunchtime rush. The vigilis must have gone out to use the lavatory, then being a man who could never stay quiet, he started talking to, or at least, at Junillus. He had been getting no joy out of me. I could hear him maundering on about the races or another tedious subject, with occasional grunts or short phrases from my cousin, among chopping and scooping sounds as he worked on food. I could not see them. I was alone. As a relative, I would be in charge of the bar if any customers came and I was accustomed to serving myself if I wanted anything, so Junillus would not bother to pop out to check. Junillus and the other man were out of sight and separated from me by several yards, when someone leaned over one of the counters from the street, a mere four feet from me.

It was Andronicus.

O
ddly enough, even in this confined space, I felt little fear being alone with him. It was easier to be face to face than menaced by an unseen presence. Anyway, I knew him. Even with a killer, you feel that it matters. You have been friends, so he will not harm you. He will believe you can help him. You loved him once, so he cannot kill you. Alone among the people he threatens, you will be safe.

‘Well there you are!’ he exclaimed.

He had his weight on one elbow, leaning on the irregularly shaped, pastel-coloured pieces of marble that form the crazy patterns of most bar counters. He was giving me the old look, that flash of innocent, open eyes, the wrinkled forehead, the bright, shared, conspiratorial gaze. The past few days might never have happened. He was boyish and mercurial again, acting the man I fell for. This time the attraction failed.

I kept my voice level. ‘I am surprised you show your face, Andronicus!’

‘Why? I have done nothing wrong.’ He would always believe that. It was at the heart of his madness, a disease of his soul. He had no remorse.

‘You know what you did. You killed five people – five we know about. Viator, the boy, Salvidia, the old lady, the maid. Were there more?’

He shrugged. He seemed indifferent.

‘Do you admit you killed those people?’

‘Why not? None of them is a loss. Don’t grieve. The stiffs deserved it.’

‘Were there others beforehand? Or when you heard about the needle killings at the aediles’ meeting did you start then? Did that first give you the idea?’ When he made no answer, I insisted, ‘Andronicus, were there others?’

He shrugged again. ‘That was all.’ I would never know whether I could believe him.

‘So you confess to me, Andronicus? Five people offended you, so you murdered them? You knew poisoned needles were being used in an outbreak all across Rome. You reasoned you could do something similar, concealing your crimes?’

‘It was not me, I’m just fooling you.’

‘It was you.’

‘Why do you care?’

‘Because I hate injustice!’ I railed at him. His lack of empathy exasperated me. There was no reasoning with him. ‘All of those people were taken from life before their time and for petty motivation. All because you are an emotionless, irresponsible, utterly cold-hearted bastard. Superficially charming – but in truth you are dishonest, arrogant and completely callous.’

Finally, my agitation shook him. My failure of composure forced him to say, ‘If you are right, then I am sorry for it all.’

I could see his thoughts already, finding excuses for himself, working up some new story to try out on me. ‘I had a hard life, Albia. You have no idea.’

‘Rubbish. I know about hard lives. You were never
abandoned, starved, beaten, abused. What do you know of
isolation and hopelessness? Bitter cold, curses, constant fear and misery? You never endured any of that. You have always had a roof and food, you never knew insecurity. Compared to me, Andronicus, as a freedman brought up in a comfortable home and given every opportunity, you were damned fortunate.’

He would never accept my comparison. He was totally self-centred.

I was trying not to let him spot me watching for a chance of assistance. For the only time ever, it seemed, nobody at all came walking down either of the streets on whose corner the Stargazer sat. If I tried to attract attention from Junillus and the vigilis, Andronicus could easily reach me before they understood what I wanted. Nothing on my table would make a satisfactory weapon.

‘I am trying to understand why, Andronicus. Why are you so resentful, why so unhappy? You are amiable and talented, well thought of as an archivist, with a good post in a prestigious temple.’ A thought struck me. ‘It sounds as if it all went sour for you when Manlius Faustus became aedile. You and he had already had a set-to over the position as secretary that he refused you – you see him as idle and worthless, favoured by his uncle and in high position simply because of who he is. Am I right?’