That would raise a few eyebrows. A citizen in a toga is conspicuous without slaves, but in other respects this arrangement suited me very well. Before I went to meet my patron I hoped to make some enquiries about that missing poison phial, and I could do that most effectively without a clutch of slaves at my elbow. Something told me that if I did not locate it soon, then I would never find it at all. Phyllidia was a determined woman.
I walked quietly back across the house towards the wooden steps which led upstairs. No one paid the least attention to me. From the atrium the wailing continued unabated, and as I passed I glimpsed the man Tommonius taking his turn beside the bier while the funeral attendants wafted him with burning herbs. He glanced towards me, and I saw his face as I hurried away. He looked consolable at the loss of Felix, I thought.
I walked upstairs, unattended by any slave and — as far as I could see — unobserved by any member of the household. It was a strange sensation. One becomes accustomed, in big Roman houses, to the constant presence of slaves. It was slightly unnerving to find oneself so unexpectedly alone. Yet presumably Egobarbus had contrived to do the same, last night, in order to divest himself of his cloak and — somehow — his whiskers. And yet it was a rare event. Not for the first time, it puzzled me.
I was up the stairs by this time. I was not actually creeping about, but naturally I was taking reasonable care that my footsteps were as quiet as possible. I paused for a moment outside the bedroom from which I had seen Phyllidia emerge. There was no sound from within and no answer to my tentative knock.
I lifted my hand to the catch, and very gently lifted it. The door swung open at my touch.
I had been half prepared to find Phyllidia there, but the room was empty. Not a woman’s room, despite the little row of ointment pots and powders lying on the wooden travelling chest. The covering on the slatted bed was of coarse wool, although a pair of thick fox skins had been thrown carelessly over the stool, as though the occupant of the room might find the British night chilly and damp after the warmth of Rome. A stained and crumpled stola had been gathered into a pile under the window space, presumably awaiting the ministrations of the fuller, and a belt-ring — oil spoon, scissors, ear-scraper and tweezers — lay on the floor beside the bed. There was a tiny travelling altar set up in a niche, with figurines of the goddess of the moon, but otherwise the room was bare.
I hesitated. I am not by nature a spy, and the idea of searching the room uninvited in the absence of the occupier was not a comfortable one. But the opportunity was too good to miss. I went over to the travelling chest and, setting aside the little containers of cosmetics, gently lifted the lid.
There was not much in the chest. A few tunics, stolae and linen shifts, a change of woven stockings and a pair of leather slippers, and — to my embarrassment — a hefty corset and a pair of sturdy open-work briefs with frilling at the legs and fancy lacing at the side. There was also a fitted wooden box containing a selection of brooches and decorative hairpins, and another of carved ivory which clearly was intended to contain cosmetics, but of the famous phial of poison there was no sign whatever.
I was returning the contents to the chest, ready to transfer my search activities to the bedding, when the door opened abruptly and Phyllidia came in.
I froze.
Slowly she took off her mourning veil and stood regarding me. She did not look upset as I half expected, but she was clearly furiously angry. Her voice was biting as she said, ‘What are you doing here? Searching my things?’
Since she had caught me halfway down her luggage it was difficult to deny this. I said, ‘Your pardon, lady. I was looking for the poison phial your servant spoke of.’ It sounded feeble. It is hard for a man to appear dignified when he is clutching a bust-binder in one hand and a woman’s underslip in the other.
She shut the door behind her with a bang. ‘My father is lying dead downstairs,’ she said, ‘but it seems I am not to be free of his methods. Who paid you to do this? Or are you simply thieving?’
I flushed. Unhappy enough to be caught spying, but a charge of stealing could bring the might of the law against me. I said hastily, ‘My patron Marcus has asked me to investigate. However, I have exceeded my instructions. He did not ask me to search here. I hoped to find the phial, that is all.’
Phyllidia’s plain face darkened. ‘Indeed? Then perhaps you should have had the courtesy to ask me. There is no mystery. I have strapped it under my garments, as my servant told you. You wish me to produce it?’ She flung the mourning veil onto the bed.
‘If possible, lady.’ I tried to sound as humble as I could, in the hope of allaying her anger. Phyllidia in this mood would tell me nothing. But she was not to be pacified. To my horror, instead of asking me to go outside, she turned away, hoisted up her outer tunic and — with her back to me — began to fumble among her inner garments.
It was a protest, I understood that, designed to make me feel how much I had intruded on her privacy. I was agonised by the impropriety of it — as no doubt she had intended. I said, ‘Lady, I will wait outside the door. .’ but it was too late.
Phyllidia let drop her skirts and whirled round, a small blue glass flagon in her hand. ‘Why should you do that, citizen? It is clear how I am regarded here — a worthless female, with no more rights than a slave. I hoped my subjugation had perished with my father, but I see that I was wrong. Better I had drunk this, as I intended.’
‘Lady, no!’
She withered me with a glance. ‘No? Dragged here unwillingly by land and sea to marry a man I do not even know? Refused permission to see my friends, spied on and restricted at every turn? And even now, I cannot leave my room an instant without a stranger searching my intimate belongings. I should be grateful, perhaps, for your restraint. In your place my father would have had my woman strip me while he searched.’
I was genuinely horrified, and it must have shown in my face.
She raised her chin defiantly. ‘Well, soon it will be so no longer. I shall have a powerful protector. Gaius the magistrate has agreed to approach the praetor and offer himself to be my legal guardian. We shall see who treats me as a servant then.’
I was astonished. It seemed that Marcus had lost no time in persuading Gaius to adopt the duty. But some apology was necessary. I had already alienated Gaius and if he heard of this latest outrage it could easily cost me my liberty, Marcus or not. I said sincerely, ‘Lady, you have my most abject apology. I had no thought of treating you so ill — it was merely that I hoped to find the phial. Octavius-’
‘Ah yes, Octavius.’ The tone softened and for a moment the stolid face looked almost tender. ‘Where have they taken him?’
I saw an advantage and I took it shamelessly. ‘I believe they are holding him in the house. I advised my patron not to send him to the jail. I do not believe that he poisoned your father.’ I took the phial from her unprotesting fingers as I spoke. ‘This may help to prove his innocence.’
This time there was a thaw in her manner. ‘It may?’
I held the bottle to me. ‘Of course. He knew there was a phial, but since it is full it could scarcely have been used to poison anyone, not even the dog.’
Phyllidia frowned. ‘So, there is a possibility that my father was poisoned?’
‘Not by Octavius,’ I said. ‘At least not personally. I was with him at the banquet and he would have had no opportunity.’
The frown lifted a little. ‘You do not see him as a murderer?’
‘On the contrary, I think he would do anything for you,’ I said. ‘Another reason why I think I should take away that phial of poison which you stole from your father. You did steal it, I assume? The maidservant was right?’
Phyllidia coloured. ‘I told you the truth,’ she said. ‘My father ordered me to follow him to this province and meet him in Glevum. He had some business to see to in the north and then he intended to arrange a marriage for me. A political marriage — he had planned it with the Emperor. That alone would be enough to make me fear it. I tried to protest, wrote to him begging him to change his mind, but he would not listen. I intended to confront him here — threaten to take the poison, in public if necessary. I would have done it, too. I am not a chattel to be sold to the highest bidder.’