‘We were having our dinner-’
‘That was in the handsome room, the oecus?’
‘Yes. Cosmus must have come downstairs, like he often did, and he’d gone to see Myla. She was in the kitchen.’
‘Did Nicostratus let him in?’
‘Yes, Nicostratus was always getting into trouble with Polycarpus over it. Cosmus was supposed to stay in their apartment, except when he was collecting water, which he did in the mornings.’
‘But he kept coming back?’
‘He kept coming to see Myla. And of course she let him.’
‘That was because …’ I answered it myself: ‘Myla was his mother.’
‘Yes,’ breathed Olympe in her sweet way. ‘I didn’t want to say that, Flavia Albia. I wasn’t sure if you knew.’
I leaned back in my seat and gazed up at the ceiling. As a magistrate’s room, this was decently done. When Manlius Faustus grew bleary-eyed from counting street-cleaning fines, he could look up at a complicated coffered roof, picked out in several rich tints by a master decorator. Judging by her summer dining room, Mucia Lucilia would have liked to see the designer’s pattern book, though she might not have been able to afford him.
Cosmus was one of Myla’s children.
‘So Cosmus is Myla’s boy, the only one of her family she was ever able to keep near her. This was achieved through Polycarpus taking pity, when Cosmus was put up for sale. The kind act didn’t work too well though, did it? Cosmus kept coming downstairs and hanging about, near his mother. He failed to settle down with Polycarpus and Graecina. Whenever he was unhappy, he came moping to mother. Later, when he heard Myla was to be sold, I suppose Cosmus thought he would lose her altogether … Did that make him very upset?’
‘Yes, Albia, he was,’ said Olympe, solemnly. ‘Isn’t it awful?’
‘Indeed. Myla was in anguish too, of course, trying to blank what was happening to her after all those years living in the same family, everything made worse by her pregnancy, everything made desperate because her master had now married. Cosmus was upset, an angry boy, about to lose the only person with whom he had any close relationship, any relationship at all, perhaps.’
‘Nobody would have much to do with him,’ Olympe confided, twisting her small child-like hands. ‘Nobody liked him or Myla, really.’
‘Let me work it out — so it’s the last night at the apartment. The last time anyone can appeal to Aviola and Mucia not to sell their slaves, including Myla.’
‘She was absolutely top of the list to go,’ said Olympe, not vindictively but full of simple excitement at seeing me set all this out.
‘Cosmus is down in the apartment, with his mother, both of them tormented and hysterical. He rushes into the main bedroom and starts shouting. Your master and mistress wake up, to find him pleading with them not to sell his mother. Perhaps, because he doesn’t have much idea of life, he is even ordering them, not to make her go. I guess at first — because they know Cosmus — they simply try to reason with him. That is why nobody heard them call for help. They never did. They were not expecting what happened next. Cosmus may have already said to Myla he intended to do something drastic if they would not change their minds. Myla is hiding in terror of what he will in fact do, dreading it no doubt, because she needs Aviola alive to protect her interests. Cosmus is overcome by his frustration. In his terrible anger, he strangles your master and mistress … then what, Olympe?’
‘We had heard him shouting, so we went out and saw Cosmus run into the kitchen, crying. Myla was there, sobbing wildly too. They were both in a tremendous state. Amaranta rushed into the bedroom, as soon as she saw the doors open. So she found the bodies.’
Well, it was good to know I had been told one sorry fact correctly.
‘Amaranta finds them. So now Cosmus and Myla are both in the kitchen − weeping and clinging to each other? Or did his mother denounce what he had done?’
‘Weeping and clinging,’ confirmed Olympe, sadly. ‘Myla never told him off; she was the only person who never yelled or beat him … Then they just went very quiet together.’
‘Polycarpus came down from his own house. Why did he? Was it really just a feeling of unease, or had he missed Cosmus at home, so was worried about the troubled boy?’
‘He was worried. Scared what Cosmus meant to do.’
‘So! Polycarpus sees what has happened; he knows it looks bad for the rest of you. He takes charge. He gathers you in the oecus, to decide what can be done … Was that everyone, including Nicostratus?’
‘Yes.’ Olympe had withdrawn into herself now.
‘Myla and Cosmus?’
‘No. Myla had run out of the kitchen and into one of our rooms in the back corridor; she was hiding her head under a pillow. Cosmus was made to stay by himself in the kitchen. Polycarpus locked him in. Polycarpus said it was to keep him out of the way while we decided his future.’
‘When was he let out?’
‘After.’
‘After what?’
‘After we heard the burglars. Daphnus was on guard by the oecus door, in case Cosmus broke out or anything. He saw the burglars, so he hushed us. I was frightened; I thought those men would come in where we were … but they went away. Not long after that, Polycarpus let Cosmus out. When we had a plan.’
‘You had a plan, part of which was to inform the vigiles,’ I said. ‘You had to tell them, of course. Aviola and Mucia were too important and well known for you to hide what had happened to them. Too many people would have missed them and asked questions.’
‘It’s wonderful how you can work everything out!’ exclaimed Olympe; it was genuine praise.
‘Long practice. So, Cosmus was sent to the vigiles, to inform them of the crimes he had committed. That puzzles me. Why him?’
‘To get him out of the way. Polycarpus didn’t trust him.’
‘I wouldn’t trust a double strangler myself! But he didn’t trust him over what?’
‘Over us making arrangements. Also, Cosmus was bound to dawdle like always, so we had time to get ready.’
‘Ready with the plan you devised? Hiding the silver wine set, so it looked as though it had been stolen? … And what else, Olympe?’
Olympe finally played dumb. Even this too-simple, ridiculously innocent young girl had reached the point where she realised she must clam up.
I asked the direct question then: ‘Olympe, what happened to the door porter, Nicostratus?’
She would not tell me.
56
Some people might think Nicostratus did not matter. He was a slave. I had never met him. But that man’s death had always niggled me.
Cosmus did not kill him. Ironically, in his case Cosmus had been given an alibi. He was sent to report his own crimes to the vigiles, while Nicostratus was still alive. Nicostratus must then have been attacked as part of the ‘arrangements’. I wondered whether going so far as to kill him was an accident.
I led Olympe to the door, letting the others see me smiling and looking pleased with her.
‘I just want to be happy and play my music!’ she burbled as we parted company.
I had her led off separately. I went back into the office, trying to decide which of this shameless crew to interview next. Obviously as part of their plan, the slaves had taken a vow of silence for mutual protection. Olympe had only talked because she thought I already knew all about Cosmus. As soon as I strayed into other subjects, even she grew mute. I had been unable to budge her, whatever promises I floated. Being ‘happy’ was never a reward I could offer anyone.
I called for Chrysodorus, the sardonic philosopher. He brought the dog in with him, a bunch of scrawny bones on a wretched string. The creature immediately looked for a rug to pee on. Fortunately the floor was mosaic.
Our talk was brief. I told Chrysodorus what I already knew, then asked directly for help. ‘Chrysodorus, Fortune favours the commercial. How about you sell me the facts I need, in exchange for your freedom? Manlius Faustus might even throw in a small cash incentive to set you up in a new life. Isn’t it a kind of syllogism? — I need your information; you need your life saved; therefore your information is going to save your life.’