I wished I could feel enthusiastic on my own account, but without Marcus here to lend me his authority I could not well interrogate important councillors — or even insist that members of this household talked to me. I had faintly hoped that I might see Pulchra in the hall, in case there was something else that she hoped to say to me, but there was no sign of her or anybody else. From the interior of the house there came the smell of burning herbs, and I realized that purification of the corpse was under way. It would not be long before the body was brought to lie in state and the formal lamenting and homage would begin. Already I could persuade myself that I could hear the steward’s distant voice raised in a faint and ululating wail.
The household was plunging into mourning and I would not learn much more from here — until the corpse was decently disposed of, anyway. I could only hope that Antoninus had some helpful news for me, otherwise there was no chance of earning Gracchus’s fee. It was not enough to argue that Pompeia was innocent, I knew: after that confession she would be arraigned for sure — it only took one witness to bring a formal charge — and I had to discover who the real culprit was.
The lugubrious doorkeeper greeted me with a faint, mocking grin. ‘You have your cloak already, citizen, I see.’ He opened the door and stood by to let me out — adding as he did so, in an undertone, ‘Though your slave need not have been in such a hurry to collect it earlier. You are the very last to leave. And you didn’t have to worry about the rituals, after all.’
This reminder of our earlier conversation made me pause. ‘You know Antoninus, don’t you?’ I said thoughtfully, remembering how he had reacted to the name.
The same result. He stiffened and his friendly tone grew colder than the Sabrina river at Janustide. ‘Perhaps I do. What is it to you, citizen? There is no law that says a slave can’t have acquaintances.’
He had said ‘acquaintances’ not ‘friends’ I noticed, though perhaps I should not place too much importance upon that. Most slaves don’t strike up friendships with aspiring councillors. ‘I wondered,’ I said, ‘if you might know where he lives. I’ve been asked to call on him today, and I know he has an apartment somewhere in the town. Not far from the temple of Jupiter, I think, but that is all I am certain of. I was hoping for directions. I thought that you might help. .?’
He was so relieved that it was almost comical. ‘Oh, is that all, citizen? That’s an easy one. It’s not very far from here. Go to the temple, take the second block along and you’ll find him on the first floor above a cobbler’s shop. There’s a public staircase leading from the street, because there are lots of people living on the top floor overhead, but if you go up there and knock the door his slaves will let you in.’ He grinned again. ‘Got to be careful while you’re waiting, though — the upstairs lodgers throw things down the steps, slops very often. Jealous of people who have braziers and fancy togas, I suppose. It’s pretty cramped and miserable in those attics, I should think, and you can see from the street that the roof is falling in. But the landlord doesn’t bother — they still have to pay the rent.’
‘I shall find it, thank you for your help.’ I slipped him a few coppers and went out into the street. Minimus followed, and we were about to walk away, when a sudden realization made me whirl round to the doorkeeper again. ‘So you have obviously visited the place yourself, my friend?’
It caught him off his guard. There was of course no ‘law’ (as he would have put it) to prevent him visiting, but it was not usual for a doorkeeper to walk around the streets — far less to call on somebody of Antoninus’s rank. And if Honorius, for instance, had visited the place he would generally be accompanied by a page or personal slave — not by the man employed to guard the door.
He stammered and turned pink. ‘I had a business errand to perform. Something from this household that I had to take to him.’
‘Something that Antoninus had left behind?’ I asked.
He shook his head and frowned, but there was a glint of grim amusement in his eyes. ‘Something of the kind. I don’t think I actually saw it at the time. I’m sorry, citizen, I can’t remember now.’
‘Perhaps Antoninus will recall the incident. I’ll ask him when we meet.’
A pause. Then: ‘How well do you know Antoninus, citizen?’
‘I have never met him. He has asked for me. He says that he has important information to impart.’
‘Then I hope you have deep pockets, citizen.’ There it was again, that hint of mockery. ‘Have you discovered why he sent for you, in particular?’
‘Because I have been asked to look into Honori. .’ I began, then trailed into silence. The doorman had a point. I was certainly enquiring into this, but how could Antoninus possibly have known? It was a personal arrangement between Gracchus and myself: true it had been witnessed by his friend Linneus, when we were standing outside the atrium, but Antoninus had not been anywhere near us at the time. Or had Gracchus and his friend been spreading the news around the town?
If so, it was against his interests, I thought. There was no reason why anyone outside the family should think that I had a special interest in investigating this — and that was what I was relying on. I didn’t want people put too much on their guard. No one is ever truly frank and free in what they say if they think their gossip might be used against them later on, or taken as testimony against someone else. And if the murderer was from outside the house, which now seemed possible, better that he — or she — continued to believe that since Pompeia had confessed, no one was looking for anybody else. I wished I had thought to say as much to Gracchus earlier.
‘I wonder how Antoninus heard the news?’ I said aloud.
The doorkeeper raised one eyebrow half an inch. ‘I see that you are learning what kind of man he is.’
I bridled. ‘Indeed. And I intend to learn a little more. My patron, Marcus Septimus asked me to talk to him. Antoninus wishes to become a magistrate and hopes that my patron will support his claim.’
‘I see!’ He was looking sceptically at me. ‘Then visit him by all means, but be on your guard. He can be a difficult man to satisfy. He does not only deal with wealthy and important men, you know.’ And to my astonishment, he leaned forward and gave me a confidential wink as though we were conspirators in some unspoken way.
I was wondering what I should reply to this, when I saw the pageboy coming down the hall. ‘Doorkeeper! You are to come and have the dark bands sewn around your hems. I am sent to keep the door for you till you return. And go and see Helena Domna in the atrium on the way — she has an errand for you when you are relieved. She wants to hire additional musicians for the funeral.’
‘Why me? I’ve already been on duty here since dawn! Isn’t there another slave that she could send?’
The pageboy grinned. ‘She’s got all the other servants running round with herbs and things, ready to put the master’s bier into the atrium, and the steward is standing by to start up the lament. I offered to go for her, but she said you’d know the place, because you went there when the former mistress died. And she is waiting for you, so you’d best be on your way.’
The older man gave me a lugubrious shrug and turned away.
‘I don’t know what he’s looking glum about,’ the pageboy said, watching his colleague walk away. ‘He’ll get a tip, no doubt, from the musicians’ guild, as a reward for bringing trade. Not that he’ll need it now. He’ll get his promised freedom from Livia, I expect, now that she won’t have her husband to convince. Honorius has been half-promising for years, but never found it quite convenient.’
‘Leave the household? What will he do then? He doesn’t have a trade.’ I meant it. It’s no light matter for a man to live without the certainty of food and shelter every night.
The pageboy grinned. ‘Oh, he has money. Quite a lot of it — I saw him counting it the other night. He’s been saving for his slave price for a long time now, and wears it in a little leather bag around his neck.’ He gave a giggle, like the little boy he was. ‘The other servants joke that that’s what makes him stoop! He’ll have enough to rent a room and perhaps set up a stall. Isn’t that what every slave aspires to do?’