I was looking at it in a very similar vein.
Meanwhile, I was thinking hastily. I had miscalculated, clearly. Whatever had been the reason for my summons it had not been my searching for the phial, and rather than assisting myself I had now given Gaius additional cause for displeasure. I tried a different tack.
‘Excellence,’ I said, in the best imitation of Marcus’s manner that I could muster, ‘this house has been the scene of a most unfortunate event. More unfortunate, perhaps, than you suppose.’ I saw his features change, and I pressed my advantage. ‘I am merely obeying the orders of my patron. If aspects of this reach the Emperor-’ I stopped dramatically and nodded towards the door. ‘Between ourselves, perhaps. .?’
Gaius was not a magistrate for nothing. At the hint of international intrigue his manner altered abruptly. He nodded sharply to the page and gestured to him to leave, so peremptorily that the slave went scuttling from the room like a startled chicken.
The old magistrate sat down on his stool again, and his hound skulked under it to lie at his feet. That at least was a more favourable sign. ‘Well?’ Gaius said sharply. ‘Tell your tale, pavement-maker, and make it plausible, or I shall see that you never lay a tile in this town again.’
That was a threat which worried me more than a beating. I made a rapid calculation. Rumours that Felix had been poisoned could not now be long in starting, at least in this house — the arrest of Octavius had seen to that. Indeed, if Gaius had spoken to Phyllidia, he had presumably heard it already, and my own blurted explanation a moment earlier had mentioned a poison phial.
I took a deep breath. ‘It appears, Excellence, that the death of Felix may not have been quite the accident that it appeared.’
He had been white with fury, but I swear he paled. ‘Nonsense!’ he said shortly. ‘The man choked. I saw it myself.’
‘And your dog?’ I said.
The old man glanced towards his remaining animal with such affection I almost warmed towards them both. ‘Poisoned,’ he said sulkily. ‘I would like to lay my hands on the scoundrel who did it. Felix, I dare swear. He has always hated this household. Unfortunately he is-’ he broke off suddenly. ‘Is this something to do with that poison phial you mentioned?’
‘I believe it is not entirely unconnected.’
‘You cavil like a Greek. Is it, or isn’t it? In any case I cannot believe that Phyllidia is involved. Why should she want to poison my dog? And how? She was not even at the feast.’
‘That was fortunate for her,’ I said carefully. ‘I have reason to believe that the poison was not intended for the dog.’
He thought about that for a moment. ‘You are telling me that there is some connection? Felix was poisoned too?’
‘I believe it is a possibility. And my patron is of the same opinion.’
‘Juno and Mercury!’ the old man cried. ‘No wonder he was urging me to hold my tongue. But surely. . you saw Felix take the nut. That idiot Tommonius cannot have contrived to poison them all. Even if he had planned that Felix should be offered nuts, how could he know which one the man would take?’
I thought again of the scene at the banquet, Felix with his goblet in his hand lurching forward, flushed with drink and lust, to seize a nut, while the young acrobat swayed forward, teasing him, with the nut bowl balanced on his upturned feet. So it was Tommonius who had put the bowl there. That was something I had not realised until that moment.
‘An interesting point,’ I murmured. ‘Perhaps I should tell you that, according to the maid, Phyllidia did have poison in her possession. She had stolen it from Felix himself.’
‘You think that she intended to poison her father?’
‘An interesting question, magistrate. You say “intended”. That suggests that you are certain she didn’t. Is that, perhaps, because you know who did? You yourself had no cause to love him, and you were very defensive, a little earlier, when I asked you about meeting Felix once before in Rome.’
He flashed me a glance. The anger had gone out of him now, and he was clearly frightened. ‘You really believe this? That the man was poisoned? Here, under my roof? Dear gods! But he was an imperial favourite.’ He buried his head in his hands.
I said nothing. Experience has taught me that silence is sometimes a formidable weapon when a man is gripped by terror. I continued saying nothing long enough to allow Gaius to conjure graphic pictures of what might constitute a fitting punishment for a man who had allowed — perhaps had caused — one of Commodus’s favourites to die of poison at his table.
It was enough. Gaius gave a little whimper of despair. I almost moved towards him, but the dog at his feet growled warningly and I thought better of the impulse.
‘It is true,’ he said at last, ‘I did meet the Perennis family once, in Rome — Felix among them. He was an objectionable man, even then, and treated us badly, but I was forced to have dealings with him. His wife, however, was very good to mine.’
‘Indeed?’ I was surprised, remembering Marcus’s scornful dismissal of the lady.
My voice must have betrayed me, for Gaius hurried on, ‘When we arrived in the Imperial City and my young bride was exhausted by the heat and the journey, it was Phyllidia’s mother who befriended her.’ To my embarrassment, his voice was shaking with emotion. ‘Of course, she was much scorned by Roman society — she was no beauty and she had few graces — her father had to dower her well to get her married at all — but she was a kindly woman. Her husband held her in open contempt because she had never given him sons — but she took my wife into her own home, treated her like a sister and was with her when she died.’ He looked me squarely in the eye. ‘For her sake alone, I would have hated Felix. And for her sake I will make Phyllidia my ward.’
‘Felix treated her badly?’
‘Appallingly. There are some in Rome who think he murdered her, though naturally this is not a rumour one would dare repeat. Certainly, he sent her a gift of wine and she died shortly after, but the connection would be hard to prove. She would have watered the wine, and there was a problem with the well. Others died at the same time, who drank from it.’
‘I see.’ I did see; there were often epidemics in Rome. ‘Does Phyllidia know of this rumour?’
He glanced at me sharply. ‘You are persistent in this, citizen. You seriously believe that she murdered her father? How could she have? She had not even arrived in the town. I cannot believe the maid servant. She has a spiteful tongue. No doubt she hopes to implicate her mistress and claim a reward from the Emperor. I wager ten denarii you will find no poison phial in Phyllidia’s possession.’
I could not resist it. ‘You are right, magistrate,’ I said. ‘I will not find it. I have found it already. She gave it to me with her own hands. But the maid’s accusations are in vain. Her poison has not been used. Octavius has confessed to the murder.’
Gaius paled. ‘That is why you have had him locked up in the attic?’
‘Indeed.’ A sudden inspiration came to me. ‘I take it Phyllidia complained of that — and that is why you had your doorkeeper detain me?’
‘Octavius is detained in my attics,’ he said, with some dignity. ‘Naturally I made enquiries. Phyllidia swore that you had had him arrested — for a crime that you knew he had not committed — and that you had locked up her maidservant with him. She came to me in distress.’ He sighed. ‘She did not tell me on what charge Octavius was being held. It seems, citizen, that I owe you an apology.’
‘On the contrary,’ I said. ‘You have been more helpful than you know. And, honoured magistrate, if I might suggest — Phyllidia was rightfully discreet. It is expedient that no one else should hear rumours of poisoning. Better that everyone assumes that Felix choked to death as it appeared.’