XXXVI

Most of Abacus Street lay in darkness. A few dim lights showed, but the passage to Severina’s accommodation was pitch-dark; I stubbed my toe on a bucket left outside the cheesemakers. Her house itself looked dead.

It took a quarter of an hour to rouse one of her slaves. I tried to attract attention discreetly, but I could only batter the metal knocker continually. The noise must have carried all over the Caelimontium, though no one threw open their shutters to investigate or protest. How unlike the intolerant types I knew on the Aventine!

The slave recognised me; he made no comment on the time. Perhaps Severina knew other men who called on her during the silent hours. As he admitted me I noticed the house seemed muffled, with few lamps lit, all apparently at rest.

I was left to wait in the room where the girl and I first met. The work on the loom had been changed to a new pattern. I glanced at a library scroll lying on a couch: something about Mauretania. I lost interest. I was listening for movements elsewhere in the house.

The slave put his head round the door curtain. “She’ll come down,” he muttered grudgingly.

“Thanks. Tell me,” I asked, “have Novus and Severina fixed a date for their wedding yet?”

“Ten days’ time.”

“When was that agreed?”

“Earlier this week.”

“So Novus may have announced it to the world at large tonight?”

“She’ll be down,” the slave reiterated, giving me a caustic look. He could tell that I was just firing off ballista bolts in the dark.

*   *   *

I never heard her coming.

She was tricked out as if the slave really had roused her from her bed: unshod feet; bare-armed in a short white undershift; face slightly puffy; the drift of that coppery hair all spread loose down her back. She probably had been in bed: lying awake, waiting for a messenger to bring the news.

“You’ve got some talking to do, Zotica.” She met my bald scrutiny and held my gaze. I expected that. There would be no faltering from this one. “Novus is dead.”

“Novus?” She said it, quickly, then frowned as if confused.

“Did you know?”

“Dead?” she repeated.

“Keep it up, Zotica,” I teased insultingly.

Severina drew an indignant breath. “Do you need to be so brutal?” She came into the room, putting both hands to her face. “What has happened? Tell me properly.”

“I found your intended tonight, face down in a lavatory. Poisoned, Severina. Don’t tell me this is unexpected news.”

She bit her lip when I mentioned the details, but she was angry now. Excellent. She walked over to a couch and sat, apparently shivering. “What time is it, Falco?” I had no idea. “The question people always ask,” she murmured abstractedly, “when time no longer matters anyway…”

The stricken look failed to convince me. “Cut the pathos. What kept you from the dinner party?”

Her face clouded. “I was feeling unwell, Falco. Women’s problems.” Her chin came up defiantly as she hugged her stomach. “You know what I mean!”

“Or I’m supposed to be too embarrassed to ask? Forget it. I grew up with five sisters, Zotica. Victorina was the prize artist—she could make ‘a bad time of the month’ last three weeks, especially if there was some boring religious festival she wanted to miss.”

“I did go up to the house this afternoon,” Severina said shortly. “But in the end I could not face a long evening of strained formality among people who make no secret of their dislike for me—”

“Yes; you would need courage—to recline alongside your victim while he sampled the poisoned sauce!”

“That’s slander, Falco,” she fought back. “I went to reassure the cook. Novus has been fussing ever since he sent out the invitations—” I noticed she used the present tense, the way people continue to do after a genuine bereavement: a delicate touch! “It was a big responsibility for Viridovix—”

“Whatever possessed Novus to buy himself a Gallic cook? If a man must have a chef from the ends of the Empire, surely he turns to Alexandria?”

“You know how they are in that house—their captive ‘prince’ is a novelty.”

“He’s certainly a rarity: he makes the best of things.” I could see this temporary diversion was making no impression, so I abandoned it. “Tell me about tonight’s party. Why the grand performance? Who were the guests?”

“Appius Priscillus.”

For a moment I was at a loss. “Oh, the property tycoon. The beater-up of fruitsellers. What is his link with the Hortensius crew?”

“Same interests. Leasing; property; land use. Relations between their two empires had deteriorated badly. They were all acting against their own interests by prolonging the rivalry, so the dinner party was suggested to resolve their differences.”

“Who suggested it?” I asked, frowning. I already knew.

“I did. But, Falco, bringing them together was your idea originally … Excuse me a moment.” Severina murmured abruptly. She looked as if she was going to be sick.

She slipped from the room. I gave her a few minutes, then set off to look for her.

*   *   *

Intuition led me into an anteroom alongside the gracious triclinium where Novus and I had been given lunch. Severina stood motionless in the darkness. I held up a lamp I had carried in with me. “Are you all right?”

“So much to think about.”

I stepped closer carefully. “Zotica?” Her intense quiet and fixed gaze were signs of true shock. For a moment she stood with one hand to her forehead. Then she started to cry.

Restraining my annoyance, I said, “The first rule of an informer is: women who burst into tears are up to no good.”

“Keep out of their way then!” Severina snapped. I put two fingers under her elbow and moved her to a couch. She sat down, without arguing, then turned away and sobbed. I perched alongside and let her get on with it. “Sorry about that,” she murmured finally, bending forwards to mop her face on the skirt of her shift. I had a glimpse of knee, which I found oddly distracting.

She breathed slowly, as if coming to terms with some unexpected trouble. She was obviously acting. She had to be. I remembered the Praetor’s clerk Lusius saying that Severina was naturally undemonstrative under stress, and friend Lusius had seemed observant enough. Yet I still felt that the need to release all this emotion had been partly genuine.

“I hope you’ve got your story composed for the enquiring magistrate.” She stared ahead, still in a kind of trance. “Better still,” I suggested, “why not tell your nice Uncle Marcus exactly what happened, and let him take charge?”

Severina sighed, stretching her minute feet in front of her. Her feet, and what I could see of her legs (more than usual), were freckled; so were her bare arms. “Oh leave it alone, Falco.”

“You are not going to talk to me?”

“If I did poison Novus, certainly not!”

“Did you?”

“No. Juno and Minerva—if all I wanted was his money, what would be the point?”

“I had thought of that.”

“Brilliant! So what twisted explanation have you come up with instead?”

“I feel certain that you killed him—but I have no idea why.”

She had jumped to her feet. “Didius Falco, you have no reason to be here. Either arrest me, or go away—”

“What are you doing, Zotica?”

“I’m fetching a wine jug from the dining room—then I intend getting drunk!”

My heart was pounding out a warning—but I told myself this might be the only chance I ever had of persuading Severina to say something indiscreet. “Oh sit down, woman. I’ll get the jug. Take some advice from an expert: getting drunk is quicker, as well as much more cheerful, if you have a friend to help.”