He told me it had been a normal early supper. His master Simplicius had attended, together with the other man Aviola had chosen as an executor.
‘Galla would not have been invited,’ I speculated. ‘Even when couples have been divorced on what they claim are “amicable terms”, that’s fake. It is a rare second marriage where the new bride plays hostess to her predecessor — well, not unless the new one wants to gloat that she is already expecting triplets and has really superb wedding presents to show off … Galla was in Campania anyway, tightening her grip on that splendid villa.’
I was watching Galla’s daughter, Simplicia. She had been indoors and found a box of old toys, with which she was amusing Graecina’s children, kneeling down on the ground with them like a friendly aunt. I heard her say they could play with all the toys now, and choose one thing each to keep. This worked magically. Each child grabbed its favourite at once, though the boy looked as if he might risk trying for two.
Gratus saw me looking. ‘Nice girl. The best of the family.’
‘Close to her father?’ After her brother had prayed at the tomb, I had seen this one touch the urn surreptitiously, as if she could not bear it but wanted to show Aviola her remembrance.
‘More than the other two. She was only a toddler at the time of the divorce; he seemed to want to make up to her, and always favoured her a little.’
‘Gratus, I have the impression Aviola’s children stayed in Campania with their mother. Were they not invited to their father’s wedding?’
‘I believe they were invited, but Galla was difficult. Aviola wanted her out of the villa, so she punished him by withholding his son. Valerius did not come. Aviola kept grumbling about it bitterly. Even the day he died he was still upset. Mucia Lucilia was trying to look understanding, but it had made her twitchy.’
I scoffed. ‘If Galla really was anxious about Aviola changing towards the children, this was surely a bad move on her part. What about the girls?’
‘The daughters, being married women, were in Rome. They did come to the wedding ceremony, bringing their husbands, and also attended the feast immediately afterwards. The farewell party on the second night was a meal for special friends.’
‘Aviola’s friends? What about Mucia’s?’
‘In fact they had most of their friends in common. They were both part of a circle of people who had known each other and socialised for a long time.’
‘I’m guessing Mucia did not invite her own executor, the freedman Hermes?’
‘Oh no.’
‘Because he was a freedman?’ I asked. Gratus gazed at me with unspoken reproach, as if it were bad-mannered of me to raise such an issue of class. ‘Well, Mucia Lucilia must have been close to him,’ I insisted. ‘To put him in charge of her will.’
‘She did not expect to die,’ replied Gratus, a succinct correction.
‘You think she would have changed it later?’
He nodded. I waited. ‘Flavia Albia, there were things going on here, I mean actions being planned, that nobody wanted to speak about openly.’
‘Were you aware of tensions?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Tell me.’
‘Well, even the absence of Galla Simplicia — who was a forceful member of their group — left a gap and made all the guests wonder how things would be in future. Would Galla never be invited now? Had the marriage busted up their group? Talking about friendships,’ Gratus said, ‘you should be aware that Galla Simplicia had for many years been a close friend of Mucia Lucilia.’
‘That is certainly not the impression she gives now!’ I commented.
‘The wedding came as a shock to her,’ Gratus confided.
‘That was why she took it badly? To the point that people accused her of wanting Aviola dead?’
‘Telling Galla Simplicia about the marriage was handled badly. Aviola and Mucia were embarrassed to broach the subject, so Galla only found out by accident.’
I pulled a face. ‘I suppose for Galla, having the news kept secret like that increased her anxiety, and her bad reaction?’
‘I imagine so,’ answered Gratus with the good steward’s long-matured knack of seeming non-committal.
‘And are you saying there were other issues in the household?’
‘I gained that impression.’
Screwing information out of this upright domestic was hard work but this might be my only chance; I was determined to pick his brains as much as I could. ‘So, Gratus, what was causing tension? And who was involved?’ He looked wary. I pleaded, ‘Oh, come on! This is a murder case. Sextus Simplicius is selling you on, despite your immaculate service and loyalty, so you have nothing to lose — why hang back?’
I saw his loyalty fade out at last. Reminded of the unfairness of his situation, Gratus finally overcame his reluctance and let rip. ‘Well, for a start, Polycarpus was grumpy, because his master was going off to be flattered by his rival Onesimus; he was distant with me too, because it was already in the wind that my master had an eye on him for my post. He may have thought I did not know — or if I did, he was afraid how I would treat him. So he was being funny with me. Then some of the slaves were on edge for their own reasons.’
‘The slaves who are now fugitives?’
‘I noticed it all,’ confirmed Gratus, ‘because every time any of them went off into a corner muttering, it left more work for my own people.’
‘What were they muttering about?’
‘Oh …’ Gratus had not quite lost his reticence, though he did not hesitate long. ‘Daphnus was in a right bate. He had his eye on Amaranta, and someone had told him she had been up to no good with Onesimus. Apparently there had been bad feeling before, and even fights. Property was broken. That was partly why Onesimus had been sent away early, after a serious row with the master and mistress. Daphnus thought if Amaranta went down to Campania, anything could happen between her and Onesimus in the fresh country air … He was nagging her and she was giving him the elbow.’
‘This is good — anything else, Gratus?’
‘Plenty! The two porters had never got on-’
‘Phaedrus told me they were best pals!’ I exclaimed.
‘Phaedrus lied through his teeth then. He and Nicostratus couldn’t stand one another. They were exchanging insults all night. I heard Aviola wanted to split them up; he had said he would sell them both unless they patched up their differences. I suspect Phaedrus was actually having it away with Amaranta — he’s hefty, good-looking and blond, and from little signs between them that night, I am pretty sure he had struck lucky.’ So much for Amaranta being a girl who kept aloof. Onesimus, Daphnus, Phaedrus — and Gratus had more on that topic: ‘Amethystus, the horrid old has-been, kept eyeing up Amaranta as well, though she can’t stand him; he cornered her in a mop cupboard on the wedding day, and she gave him a black eye.’
‘With a mop?’ I was laughing.
‘I believe so,’ Gratus replied gravely. ‘You may think Amethystus was giving himself airs, but he was verna, house-born, so he believed that gave him precedence over Daphnus and Phaedrus who came from the slave market.’
‘Even though he’s hideous, while they are both younger and more presentable, they ought to queue up behind him for Amaranta’s favours?’ I chortled. ‘Does this kind of rumpus go on at your house?’
‘It does not,’ stated Gratus coldly. ‘I see to that!’ He let go a little. ‘In my house it is understood the steward has first pickings.’ I was supposed to see this as a joke.
‘Go on — you are not promiscuous!’
‘No, I’m too busy.’
I pulled myself together. ‘What else?’
‘Olympe had tried to run away, but her own people brought her back, frightened they would be arrested for harbouring her. She was supposed to trill a few rounds in the dining room, but after a couple of off-tune flute melodies, Mucia Lucilia reprimanded her, so she burst into tears, threw her instrument at the wall, then ran off weeping. Even the lapdog-’