Deadly Election Page 24

  I wondered if Julia Optata had ogled her hunky, handsome brother-in-law too obviously and it had caused squabbling with Sextus. Not that Sextus seemed the jealous type.

  That was just me. I had sex on my mind that morning.

  Julia Optata addressed the subject of our visit. She had read the letter we had brought from her husband. Now her sister’s baby had been safely born, Optata agreed to come back to Rome with us, accepting that the journey should be made that day. She would bring a maid. However, her sister would not be coming.

  ‘She is preparing herself to go abroad, as soon as she is fit to travel.’

  I raised my eyebrows. ‘Isn’t that rather extreme?’ Then I backed down. ‘Of course, it depends how anxious she is about her husband. I understand.’

  ‘Someone we know has offered her a secure place at an estate where she can live,’ Julia explained. ‘The baby can romp among the Baetican olive groves, and if Pomponia should fall for another handsome piece of manhood out there, it won’t matter.’

  Inadvertently, perhaps, Julia Optata had revealed where her sister was going. Luckily, Faustus and I could keep a confidence. He glanced at me, but we made no comment.

  The sister, Julia Pomponia, genuinely was no phantom. After Sextus’s wife left us, saying she must supervise preparing her luggage, I made an excuse to use the facilities. Wandering about ‘lost’ afterwards, I saw the two women together. They were in a side room that opened onto a small courtyard. From my position, I could not see either sister properly or they would have noticed me. But this was another dark-haired woman of the same build, similar also to the third sister, Julia Laurentina, at the Callistus house. I suppose the three of them had some resemblance to their mother, though they were all much more modern in style. Pomponia sounded younger than the other two.

  Heads together, Optata and Pomponia were discussing in low voices whether Julia Optata really should return to Sextus. It sounded like a conversation they had been having last night when she received his letter, and possibly on previous occasions.

  ‘I cannot keep arguing about this. It will be easier if I go home now. I have already told that couple I will, so it’s settled. Nothing will happen.’

  ‘Promise?’ asked her sister, sounding unconvinced.

  ‘I promise.’

  ‘And if I stay here, no one will find out where I am?’ The sister sounded petrified.

  ‘If you must. My going home should draw off attention anyway. I still don’t see why you should be in hiding, when you have done nothing.’

  ‘I will never go back to him! After what he did … And I shall never see or speak to her again.’

  ‘She will work out why. You know I think that’s dangerous.’

  ‘I have the child to think about now.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Julia Optata, in a hollow-sounding voice. ‘You will find that changes many things – although other things never change at all. Well, I want to see my children too; you understand that.’

  ‘Go. Go to them,’ urged the fugitive, Julia Pomponia. Then she added, still in a frightened voice, ‘But please think about what I have said. Try not to see your eldest until everything calms down. Don’t insist. Darling, if you go to their house, there is too much chance that family will see you know something.’

  ‘Oh, not from me!’ For once Julia Optata spoke up with real spirit. ‘Have no fear, Pomponia. Nobody can keep things hidden quite as well as your big sister!’

  They were parting from one another, standing up and embracing. I scampered back to sit on a long chair where Julia had left us, looking innocent, while I wondered when and how on the journey I would find an opportunity to report their cryptic interchange to Faustus.

  46

  Not much was said on our return journey. We took our time setting out and did not hurry: there was no point in arriving back in Rome before the wheeled-vehicle curfew ended. For me, this trip could have been a delightful country idyll. However, it was overcast by a constant sense of strain.

  When we first went to the carpentum, Julia Optata asked about the woodwork lashed to its roof. We told her it came from the litter of Callistus Valens, who had been set upon, and she looked as frightened as her sister had just sounded.

  She wanted little to do with Tiberius and me. Although she had come with us, she still behaved as if she was travelling on sufferance. Sometimes I caught her chewing her lip as she brooded. Was she worried how things would turn out once she was back with Sextus?

  For part of the way I sat in the rear of the carriage with her and her maid, hoping I might glean something useful. But Julia Optata had not exaggerated when she boasted to her sister of being tight-lipped: she never conversed with staff and had placed me in the same excluded category. I knew better than to expect the maid to gossip in front of her mistress, and no opportunities materialised to get her on her own at rest-stops. Julia kept her close, probably on purpose. I gave up on both of them, to allow myself the luxury of travelling up front, next to Manlius Faustus.

  He was not a man who smooched or even held hands in front of his uncle’s driver. That hardly surprised me. Since I knew him, I was not disappointed either.

  Other travellers were fascinated by the pieces of wrecked bodywork lashed to the roof of our own vehicle. People in carts coming the other way actually said hello. At one point a raffish young man overtook us, staring heavily, in a boy-racer chariot that must have cost his father much heartache; he turned round, came back for a second look, then asked Faustus if he would accept anything for the parts. He pressed but Faustus courteously declined.

  It takes a real conniver to flog off evidence. My grandfather, for instance: he would have let it all go, for the right price. ‘Looks like you have a knack. If you want a career,’ I chortled to Faustus, ‘you could well become a scrap-dealer.’

  He thanked me for this careers advice but wondered if it might put off women. I said the kind of women he liked would love it. He then claimed that doing up the house in Lesser Laurel Street had made him think. Instead of closing down the builders’ yard, he might keep it and go into business. I pointed out the previous owners renovated bars. He said, to a plebeian anything was acceptable, so long as it was lucrative. At least he had an insider view now of how much to bribe the district aedile.

  That was the most exciting episode on our journey. We arrived back in Rome too early for our carriage to be allowed in. That gave us an excuse to persuade the driver to go round the city to a more convenient entrance than the Pincian Gate. We made him start a circle, but he lost his nerve at the Praetorians’ Camp even though they were all inside ‘resting’ (on wineskins, by the sound of it). As soon as the gatekeepers opened up, he nipped in through the Tiburtine Gate and flogged down all the way through the Fifth Region gardens. At the base of the Esquiline, where the Fifth joins the Second and Third Regions, we passed the enormous sanctuary of Isis and Serapis. I realised that this, rather than the other Temple of Isis beside the Saepta Julia, must have been where Trebonius Fulvo’s dog first bit the priestess. We could have called in to see how her wounds were but by then we were keen to be home.

  We did see Consul. He was racing about, barking at vehicles’ wheels. ‘Don’t call him! He’ll recognise us and jump in.’

  A sturdy man whistled decisively, at which the huge dog slowed up and tentatively returned to his new trainer. A piece of stick was thrown for him to fetch. Consul seemed pitifully grateful to be praised when he retrieved it.

  At the house on the Clivus Scauri, Faustus and I closely observed Julia Optata’s return to her husband. He heard the carpentum and came to greet us in the atrium. Sextus embraced Julia; she clung to him. Their children then raced out, squealing with joy that their mother was back. His mother appeared, beaming. Even his father hovered, looking gently delighted to see everyone together.

  It was all normal.

  Absolutely normal.

  So normal I would have felt ashamed I had ever doubted them – had I not overheard that telling ex
change between the two sisters.

  I finally managed to tell Faustus about it as we drove towards the Aventine. I could not remember full details of what had been a nebulous, allusive conversation. ‘They knew what they meant, but did not spell it out in case of eavesdroppers.’

  ‘I believe you,’ he reassured me.

  Not long afterwards, we arrived at Fountain Court. There we had one of those tricky moments when I had to decide whether to invite him in, as if something particular might be expected, while he would have to choose what to do about a perhaps unwanted invitation …

  Stalling, I said I was exhausted. Faustus also looked weary; he hesitated but suggested meeting tomorrow for breakfast at the Stargazer. Afterwards we could collect the litter parts from the Vibius house where we had left them for convenience, then take these tragic relics to show to the Callisti. They would not have thanked us if we had brought the heartbreaking evidence of their father’s fate so late in the evening.

  Rodan for once was on the threshold, gawping. Tiberius passed me over into the cold porch of the Eagle Building, almost forgetting to say goodbye. I turned back, leaned in and kissed his cheek. ‘Ugh, stubble!’ he mumbled apologetically, rubbing a hand over his chin. In his tired state he seemed unsure of himself; with anyone else I would have thought he had regrets.

  ‘That stiff down from the Palatine came back again,’ grumbled Rodan.

  ‘Next time tell him I shall come to see him.’

  The mules wanted their stable. Their driver had had enough of us. While I stood talking to Rodan, Faustus was driven off.

  I walked upstairs. Entering my apartment, I was glad to be alone. I needed to think. I wanted to dwell undisturbed on what had happened in the mansio, whether it was significant in our lives or would prove to be a one-night wonder. I felt I knew the answers – but that was dangerous. My heart had been broken once, many years ago, when I had believed I knew what a man intended.

  My sisters would have cheered me on. ‘Make him wait, Albia! Make him nervous …’ Julia and Favonia had never been in love themselves, so they were full of theories. Ridiculous girls.

  So I had finally lured Manlius Faustus into bed, and what a terrible bed we had chosen. The bedbugs’ bites bothered me, just thinking about it. My bed, as I lay back on it, was a beautiful, expensive piece of furniture that had turned up at an auction long ago and been retrieved for private sale, especially for me. I had shared it with a husband. There were occasionally lovers, none who mattered. I could not pretend: a lover mattered now. My heart and body longed for him.

  This is what you miss most as a widow. Not even the intercourse, really, because you can always arrange that somehow, but having someone solid and tolerant to loll against. Someone who drops an arm over you, during the night or early morning, wanting to make sure for himself that you are still there.

  Everything about this bed was comfortable – except that I wished Tiberius was in it with me.

  47

  Double olives were waiting for me at the Stargazer.

  As Apollonius, today’s waiter, jerked a thumb at the place already set for me, the man opposite kicked a stool further out so I could sit down more easily. His grey eyes were calmly welcoming. He had already watched me coming down the street. For once, I enjoyed being stared at.

  I wore a blue gown I liked, intending to feel comfortable, and minimal ornament. When meeting a new lover you do not want to appear expensive. They get frightened off so easily.

  Despite the very early hour, Tiberius looked newly shaved. He had chosen the neat approach. His tunic was centrally belted. His hair was unnaturally combed down. He was equipped today; I had passed his slave, sitting on the kerb outside, doggedly munching.

  ‘Why didn’t we take Dromo to Fidenae?’

  ‘He was sound asleep when I set off. I hadn’t the heart to wake him.’

  ‘You sweetie!’

  Apollonius dropped my bread roll. He picked it up and brushed it off before he served it decorously in a napkin. Tiberius reached and swapped rolls with me. He blew on the one that had been dropped, shifting dust and most of the cat-hairs it had picked up from the napkin.

  I smiled. He smiled back at me. We both kept smiling as we ate.

  After we paid Apollonius, Tiberius stopped in the street outside and kissed me, making it lingering.

  We walked together to the Caelian, seeing Rome in the early morning, new-washed and full of marvels, like a foreign city when you are fresh off an ocean-going ship. In that first rapture, when you may notice the dead rat in the gutter but do not remark upon it to your bright-eyed companions.

  We made our way to the Clivus Scauri where we reclaimed our evidence. The children were going off to school with their pedagogue. Julia Optata was questioning them about it, showing more animation than she had let us see at Fidenae or on the journey. Sextus appeared. ‘You know I said I didn’t want that school!’ Even in front of Tiberius and me, the catch in her voice was embarrassing. She tripped off towards the stairs up to their apartment. Sextus gave us a silent shrug, then went after her.

  We knew they were about to have a fight. Clearly they had argued about education before. I felt a chill, wondering how far this would go. I could see Tiberius also now felt doubtful about us bringing Julia home. If we were wrong, and Sextus was prone to violence, anything that happened to Julia Optata was our responsibility. Still, he had looked resigned, rather than angry.

  We left with the Callistus evidence, perhaps faster than we originally meant to. We ourselves were too newly happy to want to witness other people squabbling.

  We walked in silence, back down the street and round the corner to the Callistus house. Dromo dragged along behind us; he was laden with the litter parts and moaning.

  I was amazed to see, sitting on the stone bench outside and waiting for admittance, Fundanus, the funeral director.

  ‘Fundanus! I don’t reckon to find you at a house where you have already conducted the funeral.’

  As soon as we pulled up outside the door, Dromo let the litter pieces drop with a clatter. Indicating the pile, Faustus asked Fundanus, ‘Does word fly so fast? You know Callistus Valens is the corpse? Even though we have not yet formally checked our evidence with his poor survivors?’

  ‘I don’t care what horrible clues you’ve dug up,’ retorted Fundanus. ‘I brought my own. Mind you step back and let me go in first, just in case they show any gratitude. I devoted a lot of time to this, and I don’t want you stealing my thunder.’

  ‘All yours.’

  ‘What have you found, Fundanus?’ I demanded. ‘What’s so special?’

  Fundanus could not resist gloating. ‘Only the boots! I bet you never noticed the boots, Flavia Albia? It takes someone clever to realise their significance.’ We could see a pair of boot soles poking out of a cloth parcel he was clutching.

  I disabused him coolly. ‘I spotted the boots. I suppose you are going to tell us these boots were custom-made. The deceased had a walking impediment. His footwear was built up specially, to counteract a rollover?’

  ‘Pronate!’ cried Fundanus, a man who used technical terms like weapons.

  ‘I expect you are very familiar with feet – you’ve bent enough of them, you cheapskate, squashing them onto short biers. Of course I noticed his boots, Fundanus. Your pyre slave had pinched them and I could see he found it almost impossible to walk in them. I imagine his hobbling eventually alerted even you.’

  ‘I’ve dragged these boots around half the shoemakers in Rome, trying to find who made them and who for!’

  ‘You could have just asked the people who believe the dead man is their relative. Take the easy route.’ I smirked. ‘As I shall.’

  ‘You told me nobody knew who he was!’

  ‘No one did – then. You have to keep up with the investigation, Fundanus. If I had known you cared, I would have sent over daily bulletins.’ Faustus, aided by Dromo, who liked banging knockers, had successfully roused a door porter. ‘Shall we go in?�
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  I had undoubtedly confirmed the undertaker’s view that women were uncontrollable harpies. I flexed my fingers at him, like soul-snatching claws, but he failed to get it. He must have noticed I was with Faustus, at whom he shot a corrosive look to indicate the aedile was not punishing me hard enough. In which ‘punish’ was a verb where the meaning was both corrective and sexual.

  ‘After you!’ offered the aedile, smiling politely. Fundanus was impossible to crush with good manners, though Manlius Faustus had a good try.

  We were early enough to find Primus, Secundus and Firmus all at home. Two of the wives were hastily made presentable (one in two shades of turquoise, one in amber and saffron); after delaying us while they chose outfits, they wafted in to listen amidst a delicate tinkling of bracelets, though not Julia Laurentina, who had morning sickness.

  As we expected by then, the family all straight away recognised the damaged parts of the litter when we led them to the sorry pile on the floor of their atrium. Dromo moved pieces around and turned them, as if demonstrating goods at an auction; he must have noticed how it was done at the Porticus of Pompey.

  There were cries of alarm, then tears. Once the family had comforted each other, wept some more, then dried their eyes, we moved elsewhere to talk. It was a squash in their reception salon. The room was full of wide-shouldered heavy men. Manlius Faustus was no stripling but the three Callisti and Fundanus made him look svelte.

  The boots were gently unwrapped. As expected, Callistus Primus confirmed that his father had his footwear made with special insoles. He identified the boots and held them on his lap like precious treasures, but surprisingly he did not break down. Knowing the truth, meagre and tragic though it was, gave him more comfort than knowing nothing.

  Faustus quietly related all we had been told about the ambush. The sons and nephew were full of questions: who carried off their father? Where did they take him? What happened to cause his death? Was that intended all along? Why put his body in the strongbox?