The Accusers Part 6

'WELL, JULIANA looked ill,' said the senator when we met next day.

'You mean, they made her look ill,' his wife scoffed. I had once thought that Julia Justa was a hard woman but, like her daughter Helena, she was merely impatient with hypocrisy. 'You can do so much with white lead!'

'It's a convention,' Helena complained, her feet kicking on her dining couch restlessly. She had removed her sandals or I would have been fretting about the new furnishings (we were at our house tonight, joined only by Helena's parents). 'I don't know why anybody bothers with such farcical procedures, just to attract sympathy -'

She was eager to hear the day's news. Besides, the sooner she could persuade her parents to absorb themselves in the trial details, the sooner she could stop worrying that they were glaring at Albia (whom they thought an unsuitable choice to look after our daughters) and at the meal. We had not owned a cook until recently. The one I had acquired last week from a slave dealer was resold two days after I bought him and the new one had no idea what gravy was for. Still, this was an improvement. The first one had tried to fry lettuce.

'Try these intriguing hens' eggs,' Decimus offered his wife. 'Marcus tells me they are a cla.s.sic Moesian delicacy; the little black specks take days to produce.'

'What happened to that other cook you had?' my unforgiving mother-in-law demanded. After one silent glance at the hens' eggs with their curious jacket of caramelised skillet flakes, she ignored the gla.s.s comport on which they nestled.

'Resold. At a profit, I can proudly say.'

'Oh you managed to find an idiot in the buying queue?'

'I sold him to my father, actually.' I chuckled gamely. 'A double coup - except it means we cannot go and dine with him.' That was no loss, and Julia Justa knew it.

'From what I know of your father, Geminus will already have shed him - with a healthy on-cost added.' The senator had not only met Pa, he had foolishly bought things from him.

'I have this vision,' I said dreamily. 'The cook - whose name was Genius, so you know to refuse at once if you are offered him -'

'Only you could fall for that, Marcus.'

'Agreed! In my vision, Genius is now being pa.s.sed around Rome, constantly gaining in value as successive owners overprice him with false stories about his dishes. Each of us needs to recoup the sales tax when we get rid of him... All the time he is acquiring a set of fake commendations, until he becomes a gourmet's treasure, l.u.s.ted after as if he can whisk up sauces like ambrosia...'

'It's a new kind of investment commodity,' the senator joined in. 'Genius never needs to visit a real kitchen - which is just as well, if I may tactfully mention the after-effects of that pork marinade he made for us last week.'

'This date sauce is very good,' remarked Julia Justa very politely. She had let us know her views on Genius, but if his menu had made her ill, she would never go so far as to say so. 'And tonight's spiced wine excels.'

'Albia made the spiced wine,' replied Helena, not upsetting her parents by mentioning that I did the date sauce; they wanted to ignore how plebeian I was. Albia went red. We made her eat with us as one of the family when the babies were in bed; she hated it. Still, we were libertarians. Everyone was stuck with our high principles. I bought slaves who were obviously useless, because I loathed the idea of owning them and I could not bring myself to bargain as hard as you had to for anyone with real skills.

As for Albia, we had transferred her from Londinium to Rome to give her the life she had been denied by losing her family in the Boudiccan Rebellion - and she was d.a.m.n well going to receive family life, even if she preferred solitude. Albia was becoming a quiet, calm, tolerant teenager. She watched the decadent world into which we had dragged her with those British blue eyes, so full of reserve; they seemed to appreciate our special Roman madness while keeping her own, much more civilised restraint. I had seen her sometimes shake her head over us, very slightly.

Still, Helena had taught her to make excellent spiced wine.

'It was Rubiria Juliana's day in court,' said the senator. I noticed Helena hitch her red dress along her shoulder where a pin was digging in. The glimpse of smooth flesh between the fastenings gave me goose pimples. Helena lay flat on her stomach - not the approved style of dining, as her mother clearly noticed; I would be given the blame for this - the low-cla.s.s, bad influence husband. Helena leaned her chin on her hands, a pose unconsciously copied by Albia, though the fourteen year-old soon stopped paying attention to what Decimus said and tucked into the food bowls again. Helena had lost interest in eating. She longed to hear her father's news.

'I a.s.sume there had been no doc.u.mentary evidence, Papa?'

He shook his head. 'No. And no minor witness statements are to be brought, only what the defendants have to say for themselves. So there's Juliana, properly dressed in mourning and dishevelled - very carefully, I may say. She made us all feel as sorry for her as possible, but still looked neat enough to be respectable.'

'It is difficult for a woman,' his wife argued. 'If she were smart, you would think her a heartless piece. If she looks untidy, you still won't vote for her.'

The senator winked at me; he did it openly. 'There were pitfalls for the prosecutor too. Attack her too crudely and Silius would look tyrannical. Let her off lightly, and he might seem to be bringing the case out of personal vindictiveness., 'Which of course you don't believe?' I queried drily.

'I think he's a b.l.o.o.d.y tricky b.a.s.t.a.r.d.' Such strong words were rare from Decimus. 'I remember him years ago. He was an accuser in Nero's day - that's a sordid heritage. You could see his past coming out when he was cross-examining this morning. He still has the snide political innuendo: Were you not from such a family, you might not have known what was required... As if coming from a gang of contract traders had made the poor woman a natural dealer in death!'

'I doubt she knew anything about what went on at the aediles' office... Did Silius establish any motive for Juliana to want her father dead?'

'Saving the family fortune. It would be lost if he lived and they were forced to pay their court judgment. That, of course, enabled Silius to go harping on about the corruption.'

'But what is Juliana supposed to be saving the fortune for? Hardly any of it would go to her, you said. She had been given her dowry, and that was her lot.'

'This is the weakness in his case.'

'How does he get over it?' demanded Helena. 'Distractions and irrelevant dirt. Those old court standbys.' 'Lots of fun to listen to!'

Her father took a marinated olive, chewed it gently, and made no comment. He had a good sense of humour, but he could be prudish about unseemly jokes. In fact, I thought Helena had spoken critically. She would listen to scandal, but she disapproved of those who peddled it simply to harm others.

'So what kind of witness did Juliana make?' I asked.

'Pretty good. She stood by her story and stood up to Silius.'

Helena asked suddenly, 'Was her sister there?'

'Yes. Didn't see her yesterday. Today, they were all present: sister, brother, mother, the two girls' husbands. Backing the accused, apparently. The defence made a decent job of things too - establishing that Juliana had always been a good daughter, was a mother, only ever had one husband - who was there in court supporting her - had not been criticised for her actions by her mother - who was ditto in court - had not quarrelled with her brother over their father's death - ditto, ditto - and she was warmly praised by her father for her love and care of him, shortly before he pa.s.sed away.'

'So it was a pointless day?' Helena grumbled.

'Far from it.' Her father sat up slightly. 'There was a sensation. I would not have missed being there. After Juliana, we still had the afternoon session. They had time to start on the apothecary.'

'The man who has to take the blame!' I muttered, the cynical plebeian.

'Or worse, poor fellow,' said Decimus.

He revelled in describing what had happened when Rhoemetalces was brought into the Senate. Silius Italicus questioned him forcefully about the pills he sold to Juliana. They went over the story that I had put in my report: the pills were supposed to contain corn c.o.c.kle seeds, a fast poison. Rhoemetalces said again that on its own it would kill within an hour. Again he said that he believed the layer of gold would survive digestion, leaving the person who swallowed a pill alive. 'Silius used up all the rest of his waterclock declaiming what nonsense that was.' The waterclock was used to time speeches.

'Was Silius good?' asked Helena.

'Convincing. Eventually his time ran out, so Paccius stood up. Paccius had been looking as if he had eaten something indigestible himself.'

'He's a misery. I take it he made the apothecary look small?' I still remembered how scathing Paccius had been about me at the first trial.

'He didn't bother with the expected personal attacks.' Decimus had our whole attention now. He was clearly working up a good tale. 'From the fold in his toga, Paccius produced a sardonyx box. While you were speaking to my colleague over there, I sent someone to the Metellus house. Is this the box the pills were in? Rhoemetalces looked startled but agreed it looked like the same one. Paccius told us it was the one found in Metellus' room when he died; Calpurnia Cara nodded. Paccius asked if Silius wanted to quibble. Silius looked black but said that if the apothecary recognised the box and none of the family objected, he would accept this. Paccius spun around to the apothecary again. How many pills were in the box? Six, said Rhoemetalces. How many people would that kill? Well, none in my opinion, Rhoemetalces insisted; the gold coating should mean the pills would pa.s.s safely through the patient... There were six when you sold it and - With a grand gesture, Paccius pulled off the lid - there are five now!'

The senator paused. He felt the need to ask for more wine in his goblet. We all smiled and pretended not to know he was just doing this for dramatic effect. Helena grabbed a jug, poured, added water, thrust the goblet at her father.

'It was nothing new - we all knew Metellus had taken a pill - but we were leaning forward on the edges of our benches, of course. One ancient ex-consul craned so far forward he fell off and had to be pulled to safety by his toga.' Decimus tilted the goblet to Helena in thanks, then took a sip. All senators learn basic oratory. He had mastered suspense. Mind you, this was no worse than trying to get a sensible story out of my own mischievous father, whose irritable habits were entirely self-taught. 'Everyone could tell Paccius planned some theatrical device. These five pills are the same as the one that Metellus swallowed. And you say, the gold-coated pills are harmless? Yes, said the apothecary. He was under pressure and probably puzzled where the questioning was leading, so he added he would stake his life on it.'

I saw Helena Justina draw a sharp breath.

Her father did not pause. 'If you are wrong, one of these pills would kill within the hour, but you are the expert and you maintain that they are quite harmless. Thank you! exclaimed Paccius, suddenly lowering his voice. The whole court hushed. Then take one now yourself - and show us, please!'

XIII.

'JUNO! THAT'S disgraceful - it was never allowed?' cried Helena.

'Well, everyone was on their feet. There was uproar. It gave Rhoemetalces a moment to think, I dare say.'

'He had no choice!' I was shocked. 'If he refused to co-operate, his entire defence would fall -'

'Exactly! Silius jumped up and tried a few ploys - he maintained that if the accused were to die, he would lose his rights as prosecutor. He knew d.a.m.n well that if the man took a pill and lived, we would all go home, case ended. His protests sounded feeble. Paccius just sat down on the bench, waiting.'

'I bet he looked smug.'

'You could choke on the condescension he exuded. But the consul stopped the racket. He said it would be inhumane to argue over technicalities for long. He gave the apothecary a straight choice: would he do it, here and now, or not? Rhoemetalces asked for the box to be brought over to him, took a pill and gulped it down straight away.

'I am ashamed!' wailed Helena.

'It was his decision, love -'

'No choice! He had no choice, you said so, Marcus.'

'Well, he did it.' I noticed her father was as brisk as me. We had both wasted too many hours while woolly arguments were waffled and decisions were avoided; this was pleasingly clear-cut. 'The consul asked for a new waterclock to be set -'

'And you all waited? You just waited in the Curia for the next hour to pa.s.s?' Helena was still outraged. I patted her arm, trying not to look as if I wished I had thought of the test.

'Rhoemetalces was allowed to sit - he had been standing as he gave evidence of course,' said her father. 'So he stayed on a bench, back very straight, with his arms folded. n.o.body dared go near him. Except Paccius sometimes.'

'To rea.s.sure his client?' Helena scoffed. 'The client who might be dying in front of him? At his suggestion?' Decimus inclined his head, acknowledging the filthy ethics. 'This is not about the defendants at all, is it? This is purely a battle between Silius and Paccius,' Helena scoffed. 'They don't care a quadrans what happens to anybody else.'

The senator spoke levelly. 'They have a long-standing feud, yes. Not personal enmity, but a legal tussle for supremacy. While the man sat there, hoping, they even joked together. You could say they respect each other's professional qualities - or you could say it stinks!' He knew Helena's version. I think we all knew his. 'The rest of us milled about, people rushed to and from the Forum, the news spread, more crowds gathered outside, everyone muttered in small groups and stared over at the apothecary.'

'And what happened to him?' I was busting to know.

'Nothing happened.'

'He was right about the pills: he lived?'

'So far.'

'He may have a slow digestion,' Julia Justa commented, as if some child in her household was being watched after swallowing a denarius.

'Yes. The consul had him taken under guard to his own house, where he will stay, under surveillance, through tonight. He will be allowed neither food nor drink, lest he take an antidote. If he is alive tomorrow morning -' The senator paused. I did not begrudge him. The story was sensational.

'What do we think will happen?' I asked.

'We think - since he lasted an hour in court and still looked nervously confident - we think Rhoemetalces will survive the night.'

'That's all he needs to do.'

'It is indeed, Marcus. Then the case is over.'

That was how it turned out too. It must have been the easiest defence Paccius Africa.n.u.s ever came up with. Well, easy for him. For Rhoemetalces, and even for Juliana, it would have been nerve-racking.

The defendants were freed by the consul next morning. Juliana was taken home in procession by her husband and family, amidst what many thought were unseemly signs of triumph. The apothecary, who was unmarried, returned alone to his medicine booth, where for a very short time he attracted a large queue of customers. Notoriety cast its usual sordid spells. He made a fortune that afternoon. Soon, however, people started to remember how he had owned up that he had made money from selling expensive pills which would not work.

This was no more cynical than most lying lozenge-pushers, but when he thought it mattered, Rhoemetalces had been honest. We cannot have that. Rome is a complex, sophisticated society. Truth is distrusted as much as Greek philosophy. So the customers began to stay away.

His trade diminished until Rhoemetalces could no longer earn a living. The Senate had awarded him the most meagre compensation for the court case, because of his low rank. The struggle became too hard. Eventually he took opium poppy sap and killed himself. Few people heard about it. Why should they? He was just the little man who was dragged into the troubles of the great. I seemed to be the only person who commented on the irony of his suicide.

The Metellus troubles, which were deemed so much more exciting, still continued to bubble like an unwatched pot that will thicken and splutter and slowly increase in volume until it boils over. There was bound to be more yet. The praetor had ruled that on the evidence, he could not say the death of Metellus was murder - nor could he decide that it had been an accident. Silius Italicus, an unforgiving informer, still wanted to be paid for the corruption case he won. Now he had been punched in the purse again - having to pay compensation at a senatorial level to Rubiria Juliana for the failed prosecution. Paccius Africa.n.u.s would benefit from this, but even he wanted to screw yet more fame and money out of the events.

Occasionally someone would remember that if the corn c.o.c.kle pills had not killed Metellus senior, then something else must have done.

XIV.

I NEVER CARED for January and February. You might as well be in northern Europe. At least there people have fires in their huts to keep them warm and they don't even try to go out on the streets, pretending to enjoy life.

In Rome it is a period of dark festivals. Their origins are lost in history, their purpose is deeply agricultural or to do with death. I tend to dodge rituals involving seeds and I d.a.m.n well hate being smeared with blood from sacrificial animals. This unhappy stuff continues until the Caristia - also hideously named the Festival of the Dear Relative. People are supposed to renew family ties and resolve quarrels. Whatever deity thought that up should be locked in a cell with a ghastly brother he hates, while close kin who have offended his most cherished beliefs and stolen his chickens gather round to smile at him lovingly until he runs screaming mad.

Fortunately my family never knows what festival is what, so we don't patch up our tiffs. Much healthier. Our grudges have the historical grandeur most families so sadly lack. Rome is a traditional city; what better way to pursue our national character than by maintaining age-old bitterness and storming out like royalty whenever too many have collected in the same room?

Amongst the offspring of the late Rubirius Metellus, there cannot have been much time for observing festivals. They were always too busy wondering who was being charged with a capital offence that week. If they visited temples, their prayers may well have been fervent, but I bet they went there heavily veiled. Even the ones who were not personally making a sacrifice that day would want to cover their faces to avoid being recognised. In particular, they needed to avoid Silius and Paccius, who must both now be owed money on a flamboyant scale.

Paccius Africa.n.u.s, it was now rumoured in the Forum, had made a killing with side bets on whether Rhoemetalces would die in the Curia. Yes, gambling is illegal in Rome. There must be a special dispensation for dispensers of the law. (Think of all those gaming boards scratched openly on the steps of the Basilica Julia.) No, I don't know how Paccius got away with it. Shocking. I blame the authorities for turning a blind eye. (In fact, I blame the authorities for receiving hot tips from him.) Cheered by his winnings, Paccius Africa.n.u.s took up where Silius Italicus had left off. He charged Metellus Negrinus with bringing about his father's death.

It was not yet public knowledge. I knew. I had been favoured with an urgent request to visit Paccius to talk about the charge.

Unlike Silius, Paccius saw me at his own house. They were opposites in several ways. Silius had ordered me to see him, then did his arrogant best to be invisible. In contrast, Paccius treated me with every courtesy. He even sent a chair with livened bearers. I was bringing the Camilli, but we decided against trying to squeeze in all three of us; they trudged behind. When we arrived, Paccius rushed out at once to greet us in the atrium. The atrium was grand. Black marble and a superb bronze nymph in the pool. He owned a smart home. Well, of course he would.

'Thank you so much for coming.' He was tidy, fastidious, looked older than his forty-odd years. His voice had a scratch in it, as if it had been overused. Close to, he had one of those lop-sided faces that look as if two heads have been glued together down the middle by an inept sculptor; even his ears were different in size. 'Ah, you have brought your a.s.sistants - I am so sorry; I failed to antic.i.p.ate that. You must have walked - I would have sent directions - did you find us fairly easily? Can I offer refreshments? Do come in and make yourselves comfortable -'

This was the mean-eyed grouch who had implied I came from the gutter when he wanted to make an effect in court. I let his empty etiquette wash over me. But I noted the implication that in today's enterprise, whatever that was, we were on the same side.

I shot the lads a warning glance. Justinus a.s.sessed a tapestry as if he had seen better. Aelia.n.u.s sneered directly at Paccius; truly patrician, he loved an excuse to be boorish. Both had unsmiling faces. None of us wore togas, so Paccius, who had arrived formally dressed for some reason, felt obliged swiftly to shed his. We refused food and drink, so he had to wave away a clutch of slaves with silver trays who gathered in the room he took us to.

I was still wondering about the toga. He was at home. n.o.body wears a toga at home. He must have come back from some formal event. What, and who with?

'I need your help, Falco.'

I let one corner of my mouth twitch into a surly smile. 'An appeal for my skills always has charm, Paccius.'