‘Can I go out for my breakfast?’
‘For one happy moment, Dromo, I thought you were bringing me some.’
‘I’m a messenger, that’s not my job.’
‘What happens normally about your breakfast?’
‘I get it in our kitchen of course. Our house is proper. That’s if I don’t have to drag out after my master and get thrown an old crust at that horrible place he hangs around with you.’
‘It’s the Stargazer. And your master does not “hang around”, he drops in for business occasionally.’
‘I thought the pair of you were smooching.’
‘I do not smooch magistrates; I have more class. And you ought to know the aedile better.’ I wondered if Dromo had ever seen Faustus dally with women. I couldn’t imagine it, but men who seem moral can be a disappointment. In fact, from experience I would say they generally are. ‘Go on then. Use the bar directly opposite the house; don’t wander off.’
‘I haven’t got any money.’
What a whiner. Still, it was not his fault. Slaves have to be trusted first; I could see why Faustus would avoid giving this back-chatting boy any petty cash. I answered mildly, though won no thanks for it. I told Dromo to go ahead and I would come to fix up a daily tab for him.
Faustus could pay. I would eat separately at a better-looking bar further down the street, then Faustus could pay for that too.
Service was slow on the Clivus Suburanus. Eating was slow too, since even the apparently superior bar served very hard bread. Lucky for them that I had grown up in the hopeless backstreets of Londinium. I had known far worse.
By the time I returned to the apartment, the freedman Polycarpus was tapping his foot, delighted to look down on me because I had kept him waiting.
Whatever he thought, I know my job. I became impressively businesslike. I marched him to a pair of seats that I had already put out in the courtyard. I had clean waxed tablets ready. I had planned my questions. I drew out the background information I wanted, giving Polycarpus no chance to bluster that he had to keep confidences.
Valerius Aviola had been in his early forties. His money came from land; he owned productive country villas, which either brought in rent from tenants or he ran them himself and took all the profits. Mucia Lucilia, the new trophy wife, was fifteen years younger; she came with attractive inherited wealth. They had known one another socially, an acquaintance that matured naturally into a convenient marriage. They shared friends, who were delighted for them.
I nearly asked if they had previously been lovers, but it seemed irrelevant and I chose a different question. ‘Did you think they would be happy?’
‘Yes,’ said Polycarpus.
The wedding ceremony took place where Mucia had lived on the Quirinal Hill, then Aviola brought his bride home for their first night. A feast for friends was held here the following evening. It ended at a reasonable hour, because the couple were planning to travel to Campania early next morning. They retired to bed. Polycarpus saw the borrowed kitchen staff off the premises, then checked everything was in order before going home. The slaves were well behaved, he told me, and not given to rioting; so he assumed the household would settle down quietly when he left.
The intruders battered their way in through the front doors. They surprised and severely beat the duty night porter, who was Nicostratus (now at the Temple of Ceres); he was discovered lying bloody and unconscious by his colleague Phaedrus (ditto). Phaedrus raised the alarm. At first it was thought only that a display of fine silver had gone missing. Then Amaranta, Mucia’s attendant, went in to wake her mistress and tell her what had happened. She discovered the bodies.
The stolen silver, a wine service, was itemised for me by Polycarpus at my request. He dictated a list, which I wrote down, wondering if he was illiterate. I had expected him to bring a written inventory.
He described four sets of double-handled drinking goblets, two to each set, in different sizes; four patterned beakers in two sizes; two trays; eight small round drinks coasters with little tripod goats’ feet; assorted jugs, two with hinged lids; a large and a small strainer, pointed and pierced; two ladles; a very large wine-mixing bowl.
The items had been collected over time, but were all of high quality and fine design. This bullion had stood on a display cabinet in the summer dining room; it had remained here to be used in the wedding feast, or it would have been safely parcelled up and sent away for the couple’s intended summer in Campania.
‘Were any other valuables in the house?’
‘Not really. All the sculpture and vases had been sent to the villa. Our mistress had her jewellery in the bedroom. That was not taken.’
‘Did they even look at it?’
‘No, the casket appeared untouched.’
‘What have you done with it?’
‘Given for safe keeping to the executors.’
‘I shall need to be introduced to them.’
It seemed the robbers knew exactly what they were looking for — the silver − and where it would be. They may also have gone to the bedroom in order to find the jewellery, only giving up that idea in panic after the murders. ‘So, let me just get this straight,’ I said, not looking up from my note tablet. ‘You were intending to send the silverware to the summer villa after your master and mistress left? First the cups and jugs were used at the feast, after which things were presumably washed up in the kitchen … so, Polycarpus, why was this silverware replaced on the display shelf, rather than packed up ready to go?’
‘The hour was too late. I felt whacked; we were all exhausted after the wedding.’ Polycarpus spoke defensively, looking as if he was unused to having his actions queried. ‘I had it taken out of the kitchen because the staff were on loan and I wasn’t prepared to trust them. Then the most discreet thing to do at that time of night was quietly store it as normal. The master and mistress were to go by litter to the city gates at first light and pick up wheeled transport there. I myself would come in to pack any final items, then we had a cart ordered for drive time.’
In Rome, apart from some exceptions, carts are banned in the day in order to ease congestion. What Polycarpus said sounded reasonable.
‘Were you going to Campania?’
‘Er, no. There is another steward at the villa. I would have the summer to myself.’ Was there a flicker of feeling when he said that?
‘And the slaves who had stayed here after the wedding — were they meant to travel south?’
‘They were expecting to go with the last baggage cart.’ Polycarpus seemed to hesitate, though he carried on. ‘Then I was to close up the house.’
‘What about Myla, who was on the verge of producing?’
‘Not her. Arrangements had been made.’
‘So the house would be locked up during the summer. And if these thieves knew about the silver, they may have realised that night was their last chance to grab it for a long time?’
Polycarpus sighed. ‘Presumably … And before you ask, no, I was never aware of any of our staff talking to outsiders about our valuables. Nor had I seen anyone suspicious watching the house.’
‘The vigiles asked you those questions?’ It was their usual approach. As an approach it often works, though as any vigiles enquirer would know, the weaknesses are that none of the staff would admit to Polycarpus that they had loose tongues, and most professional burglars are unobtrusive when they case a joint. ‘The vigiles like to believe items like this stolen silver may reappear and help identify the thieves,’ I mused. ‘But I am not hopeful.’
The steward continued, ‘The man who came to investigate, Titianus, said the collection must have been stolen to order. He thought it was taken for someone who had been here as a guest, saw it and liked it. But surely, the point of owning treasure is to display it? This supposed guest would never be able to show it off or people would know he stole it. So why bother?’