Roscius nodded, though he still failed to speak.
Faustus went back to the beginning. In his work as aedile, he must be used to questioning wrongdoers. He was calm, courteous, almost sympathetic. ‘So, let’s start with getting into the house. Is it right that you burst in past the porter?’
Roscius bridled indignantly. ‘No chance! Am I good or not?’
‘Of course; you’re tops. So tell me.’
‘I got us in. My usual method. Did it sweet and quiet. Got past the lock with my special magic.’
‘A pick in the keyhole?’
‘Not saying. Trade secret. Anyway, no one knew we was in their house.’
I stiffened, realising just how much the scenario I had worked on before was wrong. Faustus showed no reaction.
Roscius was suddenly flying. He could not tell his story fast enough: ‘We got in, there was nobody around, we found the room, the shelves were empty, we started searching. Having made it in, we wasn’t leaving empty-handed. Unprofessional! Well, that was what I thought until we knew what had gone down. I was the one that discovered them. Just opened a bedroom door, quiet like, not knowing what might be inside, who I could be facing up to if I was unlucky. There the two of them was. Stark naked and flung out in agony, horribly staring up at me.’
‘Aviola and his wife?’ insisted Faustus. ‘Dead?’
Roscius nodded.
Being so sure of the details previously, I jumped in: ‘But hadn’t you already come across the door porter? Nicostratus? Beaten insensible and lying in his blood, in the long passage from the front entrance?’
Roscius blinked. ‘Never saw him. Never saw nobody.’
‘What?’
‘This is the true juice.’ Roscius was determined for us to believe him. Though he prided himself on being hard, remembering the deathbed scene had moved him. ‘I let out some yelp, I can tell you.’
‘All right.’ Faustus knew how to imply he believed the story.
‘Flying phalluses, tribune, your honour, that was terrible. Who did it? I see you looking at me, but me and the boys, we don’t do nothing like that. Why would we? My boys came up and had a gawp as well — they wouldn’t have believed it if I didn’t let them have a look to see — then we legged it like runners racing up a stadium. Got out the way we had got in. Went for a bloody big drink, I can tell you.’ He shook his head in disbelief, appalled. ‘The couple must have been going at it and never heard anybody come in the room. What a way to go. The old man had made an effort. He was half off the bed, part way under her. It looked as if she had wanted to save him, threw herself over him, trying to protect him — probably hampered him, getting in his way. She must have been pleading to the one who did it. But they put that bit of rope around her throat and did her too, poor naked cow. Gods in Olympus, it was really terrible.’
36
We were all silent.
When we first arrived here, the helpful curator had folded back the big doors onto the terrace. Now we moved outside slowly, as if needing fresh air in our lungs. The walk across gave us time to adjust to this new story. None of us looked at the view.
Faustus glanced at me, saw I was full of questions, then made a small open-palmed gesture like an orator giving way to a new speaker.
I began tentatively. ‘Roscius, I want to be clear — the way you tell this, it sounds as if you arrived to an apparently empty house. Is that right?’
He nodded. ‘We didn’t see anybody the whole time — except the dead two.’
‘There were supposed to be slaves all over the place, sleeping off drink, or just normally asleep …?’
Roscius shrugged. ‘Can’t help you.’
I pressed him and he told us he and his companions, of whom there had been two, turned left on arrival, went around to the dining rooms.
‘Did you know in advance where to go?’
‘Obviously. I could tell you the layout of most of the big houses — been inside a lot of them.’
I made no comment. ‘So once you realised the silver was not where you had expected?’
‘We split up to search separately. The lads kept going in the same direction, looked in more rooms in case there was any more dining places. I crossed the courtyard on my own. I thought the stuff might have been in the kitchen. It looked as though they had had a party, so they might have used it.’
‘Friendly neighbourhood thieves don’t generally go to kitchens?’
Roscius looked surprised. ‘Oh yes, we often have a bite while we are working. You can get good scran on a job. But I popped into the master bedroom first, and that was enough for me.’
‘And you still saw nobody? There were supposed to be women asleep in one bedroom at the front, others in the slaves’ own quarters at the back, two drunks paralytic in the courtyard; those two would be right by where your accomplices were searching … Didn’t any of you see any of them?’
‘Sorry. Cannot help you.’
‘How did you know the room you went into was the chief bedroom?’
‘Garlands hung around the doors.’
‘Probably been there since the wedding night …’ I mused.
Faustus chipped in: ‘Was the house in darkness?’
‘That doesn’t bother us.’
‘No, but was it?’
‘We like it dark.’
‘I’m sure you do, but please answer my question.’
‘Mostly. The dead pair must have been screwing by lamplight before they was interrupted. They had a little pottery lamp on their bedside table, still flickering away.’
‘That all?’
‘There may have been candelabras in the big place next to where I found the bodies. I never got in there.’
Faustus checked with me. I said, ‘The Corinthian oecus, the fancy saloon. It could have been dressed up, so it could be shown off to the guests that evening. But I can’t imagine why it would still be lit once the feast was over and the guests had gone. Not unless someone forgot about it when they doused all the other lamps.’ I thought Roscius must have been mistaken, and after listening to my comments he did not insist.
Now that he had unburdened himself, Roscius quickly rallied as a gangland heavy. While Faustus and I were considering, he was perfecting his mindless stare. One day it would actually intimidate people.
I asked, ‘Did either you or your companions touch the bodies, Roscius?’
The supposed tough leapt back, gurning in disgust at the thought.
‘Settle down! I just wondered if you could tell me whether those corpses were still warm.’
‘You are joking! None of us went near them.’
‘Assuming you did meet someone in one of the porticos, what would you have done?’ asked Faustus.
‘Put them down. Swift tap,’ explained Roscius, miming one very hard knock on the head.
‘Not set about them with a weapon? Something like a plank, say?’
‘Too messy, tribune. Aedile,’ the crook corrected himself, wanting to sound like an accurate witness.
‘Not your style?’
‘No way.’
‘And excuse me for asking — I have to cover everything — do you ever take rope with you on your excursions?’
‘I don’t have nothing to do with rope, tribune. I have enough to carry, with lock-wagglers and carry-home sacks — assuming I was the kind of fellow to have such stuff in the line of business.’
‘Well, you may as well admit you do,’ Faustus reminded him. ‘You have confessed you went on this burglary, and that you are a practised house-breaker.’
‘I’m saying nothing!’ Roscius sounded panicky.
‘You have told us you were in a house where two murders of citizens and the third of a slave took place.’
‘I was given immunity!’ The crook’s eyes swivelled to me, hoping I would support this claim.