Death at Pompeia

Rosemary Rowe Death at Pompeia's Wedding

One

The wedding of Pompeia Didia was an elaborate affair — not at all the sort of thing I usually attend. Anyone who was anyone in the colonia was likely to be there, and Glevum was founded for wealthy veterans, and was thus one of the richest towns in all Britannia. Not generally an event for humble slaves-turned-pavement-makers then, but His Excellence, my patron, had requested me to go — actually as his personal representative — and when Marcus Aurelius Septimus offers one an honour of that kind, it is not something that a man can readily decline — not if he hopes to live a long and happy life.

Of course, I was not expecting any such request so I was surprised early one morning to get a messenger at my home summoning me to come at once to Marcus’s country house which was only a mile or two from where my roundhouse was. I put on my toga, collected my young slave Minimus — himself on loan from my patron for a while — and set off at once. I was duly ushered into the triclinium, where I found him reclining on a dining couch, languidly nibbling a bowl of sugared figs — most unusual at this time of day.

‘Ah, Libertus, my old friend!’ He waved a hand at me so I could kiss his ring.

I performed the usual obeisance rather cautiously. When Marcus greets me as ‘old friend’ like that, it is usually because there is some favour that he wants to ask. ‘You wanted to see me, Excellence?’ I said.

‘I did.’ He waved the hand again, this time to indicate a stool where I could sit and keep my head politely below his. When I had perched on it, he smiled approvingly. ‘I’m sorry to have to greet you in the dining room like this. The household is in sorry disarray, I fear. As you know, in just a day or two we are setting off for Rome, and the slaves are busy packing everything we need. I am leaving it to Julia to supervise the task, she has strong ideas about the quantity to take. This seems to be the only room where there is any peace.’

I nodded. I had seen the evidence of this as I came into the house. Much of the normal household furniture had been stored away, and there was already a pile of wooden boxes stacked beside the gate, obviously awaiting the arrival of the luggage-cart. ‘She will need a good deal for the child, I expect,’ I said, thinking of the quantity of crates — then rather wished I hadn’t. Marcus was unfashionably devoted to his wife and son, and this might seem a little critical.

I need not have worried. He gave another smile. ‘My old friend Pertinax, who used to be the governor of this very province, is Prefect of Rome now, of course, and he has invited us to visit him, so we shall be seen at the Imperial Court. I believe that Julia would take every robe she owns, and she would take a similar quantity for Marcellinus if he were not likely to grow out of it all.’ He leaned forward and selected another sugared fig. ‘And your own wife and son? They are well, I trust?’

‘Very well, I thank you, Excellence,’ I answered, still more cautious now. Marcus was well aware of my household circumstances. Indeed, he had given me a plot of land to build a roundhouse on, when I was reunited with my wife after years of painful separation when we had both been captured and sold separately as slaves. And he had done the same thing for my adoptive son, who until recently had been my faithful slave. But Marcus did not usually trouble to ask after them like this. Whatever this favour was, I thought, it must be onerous. I sighed. He had used me in tricky situations once or twice before, but I had hoped to escape these duties while he was away. I glanced doubtfully at him.

However, he seemed to be waiting for me to tell him more. ‘Junio is enjoying his new role as freeman and citizen,’ I said. ‘All of which he owes to your advice. And, of course, he is now a husband on his own account. I must thank you once again for your handsome wedding gift.’

‘Ah!’ His expression altered, and he ceased to meet my eyes. ‘Weddings! That reminds me. That is why I called you here. You know the citizen Honorius, I believe? Honorius Didius Fustis, the town councillor?’

I nodded. Honorius was not merely an important figure in the town, he was one of the most wealthy citizens in the area. ‘I recently installed a pavement in his town house,’ I replied.

Marcus grunted. ‘I have visited the place. Rather a vulgar ostentation of wealth and privilege, I thought.’ There was some truth in that. It had been built with the obvious intention to impress, on an enormous site which Honorius had obtained by buying up a number of little businesses and having them pulled down. Town houses on that scale were not common here, though any public officer of any rank is obliged to maintain an establishment within a certain radius of the basilica. Marcus himself kept up only an apartment in the town, which — although it was luxurious enough inside — was nonetheless over a public wine shop and had attic flats above.

I looked at him, surprised. Marcus did not usually stoop to jealousy. Perhaps there was a certain animosity between the pair of them. Honorius set great store by his wealth and rank, and claimed to come from a patrician family, but my patron easily outstripped him on all counts. Marcus is the wealthiest man in all Britannia and — especially now that Pertinax was appointed to the Prefecture of Rome — one of the most influential in the Western Empire. Honorius may pride himself on his patrician blood, but Marcus is said to be related to the Emperor himself.

But Honorius had paid me fairly handsomely. I did not wish to criticise the man. ‘Well, I did the pavement, if you noticed that. I dealt with the steward, I did not meet the man himself.’

Marcus paused in the act of nibbling his fig. ‘Well, now you will have an opportunity.’ He gestured towards a piece of scrolled vellum on the floor beside the couch, which I had not noticed up till now. ‘His daughter’s getting married. He has invited me — but the ceremony will take place after I have gone. But I should make a gesture — he is rewriting his will, and I am to be appointed residuary legatee.’

I nodded. It is not an uncommon thing to do, in fact, to nominate an influential man as heir of last resort. It is a kind of compliment of course — and it does prevent the estate from being forfeit to the Imperial Purse, as it would be otherwise, if any primary legatees should die or be untraceable, and thus cause a ‘querella’ about the provisions of the will. Marcus had been named in this way many times, and more than once had benefited from the inheritance. I saw where this was leading, or I thought I did. ‘You wish me to deliver a gift on your account?’

Marcus bit thoughtfully into his fig before he said, ‘A little more than that. I have written suggesting that you should take my place, and go as my personal representative. Oh, don’t look so reluctant, it won’t be difficult. No temple rituals, or fictional sales before the court — it isn’t to be an old-fashioned manus wedding of that kind. Just a modern wedding in the family home — a simple civil contract exchanged between the bride and groom in front of the proper number of Roman witnesses, and then a small offering to the household gods, followed by a cheerful party afterwards.’ He grinned. ‘You’ll like that, Libertus. You’ll have a good feast there. Tell me all about it, when I get home again. No need even to take a dining knife with you — the family is so wealthy they provide one for their guests, even on a large occasion such as this. Oh, and speaking of the guests, you can keep a watch on one of them for me: one in particular, I’m certain he’ll be there.’

So this was the reason for the summons. I said nothing, and after a moment he went on again.

‘Antoninus Seulonius, he’s a merchant in the town, and he’s clearly aiming to be elected as decurion next year. Wants me to propose him as a candidate. But I’m not sure that he’s honest. He’s risen very quickly — and I’m not sure how. He’s not well-connected so he may be using bribes — or have some secret influence over somebody in power. He’ll be at the wedding, but he won’t be on his guard. Keep an eye on him. See who he consorts with, and write and let me know.’