XXXV

He looked older than Novus, though similar: the same skin tones and well-fed solidity. A fleshy body with a heavy head, and a bushy black moustache which hid the movements of his mouth.

He exhibited a strange lack of curiosity about who I was or what I might be talking about here in their family dining room, with the family cook. Instead, he crossed in front of us and seized the fluted blue flagon from which Viridovix and I had helped ourselves. Luckily I had previously put down my cup on the floor where it was hidden behind my feet. Viridovix somehow let his winecup burrow invisibly into the folds of our couch’s coverlet. The freedman glanced at the flask, spotting that some of the liquor was missing.

“Novus couldn’t wait,” he grumbled.

I detached myself from Viridovix. “Excuse me, sir. Are you Crepito?”

“Felix.” The one married to Pollia. He was still scowling at the flask as if accusing Hortensius Novus of starting it. Neither Viridovix nor I disillusioned him.

“I’m Marcus Didius Falco. Here on an assignment for your wife…” Impossible to tell if he knew anything about it. “If Hortensius Crepito is anywhere around can I request an urgent interview?”

He lifted the flask. “Special vintage. Crepito and Novus are both about to join me—”

“Not Novus, sir. Something has happened. May we talk—with Crepito as well, if possible?”

Still more concerned with the flask than this mystery, Hortensius Felix shrugged and led me out.

*   *   *

The three freedmen had meant to marshal and sample their Falernian in a small room on the other side of their main hall. Another which was new to me. It was exuberantly foreign—Nilotic paintings, fans, statuettes of ibis-headed gods, vibrantly striped cushions, and ivory couches with sphinxes for arms.

“Our Egyptian salon.” Felix noticed me step back a pace. “Like it?”

“Every home should have one.” Like a wasps’ nest, or a door that will never stay closed.

Another gust of garlic billowed in after us: Crepito—who must have been searching for Novus. “I can’t find the fool; what’s he playing at?”

Although Pollia had assured me these freedmen had no direct blood relationship, now that I had seen all three they definitely sprang from the same eastern tribe. Crepito had a smaller moustache than Felix, less flesh than Novus, and a louder, bluffer voice than either, yet the same jowls, swarthiness, and irritable temperament. Novus must have been the youngest of the three.

I introduced myself a second time. “Hortensius Crepito? I’m Didius Falco, on hire to your wives.” Crepito grunted, so I proceeded on the assumption that I was a known quantity. “I’m sorry to be the one who breaks this; Hortensius Novus has had a sudden accident—a fatal one.”

Both showed proper evidence of surprise. “Impossible! We were with him no time ago—” That came from Crepito.

“I found him myself,” I declared quietly. “He must have had some kind of seizure, immediately after your meal tonight.”

The two freedmen exchanged glances. “You mean—”

“Yes; it looks like deliberate poisoning.”

“How?” demanded Felix, with the urgency of a man who realised all too keenly that he had just eaten the same meal as the murdered man.

I reassured them sympathetically. “What happened to Hortensius Novus seems to have struck with great rapidity. If anyone else was affected, I’m sure they would know by now.”

Despite this, Felix put down the fluted blue flask on a side table, and stepped away hastily.

I was wishing I had met Crepito and Felix earlier. Breaking news to strangers is always unsatisfactory. It’s harder to judge which of their reactions are due to shock—and how much of the shock is genuine.

Hortensius Felix had grown sombre and uncommunicative. Crepito requested details, so I described how I had found Novus dead on the floor of the lavatory, which was where he remained. “You may feel,” I suggested, “you ought to call in a magistrate before you have him moved.”

“Is that normal?” demanded Felix abruptly. “Normal to call in the authorities?” Under stress he had revealed for the first time signs that the freedmen had come to Rome from some different culture.

“Best to act responsibly, sir. Most householders report a suspected murder to the Praetor of their own accord, rather than have him sending his aedile round after tip-offs from their neighbours.”

“People don’t—”

“People do,” I said grimly. “Don’t expect solidarity from the folks you used to dine with, once the nasty rumours start to fly.” Once again the two of them exchanged glances. “I know Hortensius Novus was like a brother to you both,” I said, more gently. They received this with a distinct air of reserve. My sense of dealing with foreigners increased. I thought I needed to reassure them again: “I’m trying to advise you. If the murderer were fleeing from the scene, you should send for the vigiles to dash in pursuit. But poisoners normally hope they will remain undetected; so they stay put, looking innocent. You can rely on the magistrate’s office to investigate tomorrow. Then the matter will be handled with greater sensitivity—” I meant, polite incompetence.

“Where do you fit in?” Felix asked brusquely.

“I can continue to act for you privately. I’m so angry about this, I may beat the Praetor to the truth.” As businessmen I hoped Crepito and Felix might contribute the local Praetor’s name; no luck. “There was no way I could prevent this,” I told them levelly. “But I shall not rest until I have exposed the poisoner. Severina has to be the prime suspect. My next move is to interrogate her. I’m intrigued to hear she was an absent guest tonight?”

“She gave some excuse to Novus,” Felix said.

“But she was here earlier?” Both Felix and Crepito shrugged. “Well, if she thinks being off the scene is enough to clear her, I’ll have news for that young lady.” Once again the two freedmen made eye contact.

A silence fell, which warned me to disappear. “I’ll be on my way … Ought I to see Sabina Pollia and Hortensia Atilia first?” I hoped to witness the ladies’ first reactions to the tragedy.

“Not necessary,” Felix replied, with a curtness which just fell short of hostility. He rang a bell to reinforce the message.

“Fine. Well, I will call again tomorrow of course. I want to pay my condolences in person … By the way,” I asked in a neutral tone, just as I was leaving. “Were relations between you and Novus fairly friendly this evening?”

For once, they avoided looking at each other; in fact the rigidity with which they kept their eyes fixed ahead was suspicious in itself. Both solemnly assured me the party had been relaxed and harmonious.

Thanks to Viridovix I knew they were lying. Which raised an interesting question: why?

*   *   *

I guessed there would be some vivid debate later that night in the Hortensius house. I wished I could overhear it. I wondered what part the two women who employed me would play.

But in the meantime I was speculating on something else: how I would face Severina with news of this crime.

It was only then, as I walked south through the streets full of delivery wagons, trying to avoid having my toes crushed under a cartwheel, that a thought I had been too busy to frame consciously finally found space to present itself: what was the point of it?

Hortensius Novus had died too soon. Severina had no hope of inheriting his fortune, except as his wife. At this stage in their affairs she would be lucky to get a sack of apples and his kind regards. Whatever was the woman playing at?