Helena Domna’s thin nose had turned as scarlet as her face was pale. ‘And is it not possible that one amphora failed, and there was contamination of the wine inside?’
She had a point. Vinerius countered it. ‘That has been known to happen — even with fine wines. Doubtless that’s why he was testing each of them — but there couldn’t be anything that would have this effect. The wine might taste a little peculiar, that’s all. And of course — if that proves to be the case and he sends it back to me, I will replace it instantly and refund the cost. But I’m sure the goods I sent to him were sound.’
Helena Domna gave him a mirthless smile. ‘Then you will do me the favour of testing them yourself, since you are so confident of their quality. Even if Honorius is too ill to appear we shall have to offer something to our invitees, especially if they are denied a wedding and a feast. I should hate to cause illness among our other guests. But you are confident. .?’ There was a painful moment. I saw him hesitate.
‘Wait a minute,’ I said suddenly. ‘This may not be simply a problem with the batch. You spoke of attempted poisoning a little while ago. Vomiting and weakness and numbness of the legs? You don’t suppose it might be. . aconite?’ It was such a bizarre suggestion that I almost hesitated to express it, and they were all staring at me as though I were deranged.
‘Poison?’ Helena Domna was incredulous. ‘In wine intended for a wedding feast? That is nonsensical. Who could possibly want to do a thing like that? And why? One couldn’t know who’d drink it — it might make everybody ill. And, more particularly, how could it occur? The wine was only delivered this morning at the house.’
‘Someone might have tampered with an amphora since, I suppose,’ Vinerius was positively anxious to approve my reasoning. ‘Some sort of enemy of the family, perhaps? There must be lots of strangers in the house today.’
His stout wife nodded. ‘And the citizen is right. Those could be symptoms of wolfsbane poisoning. If so, poor Honorius needs treatment urgently. Salt water to make him vomit and purge the poison out, and mallow and crowsfoot as an antidote. I make a few decoctions, I could go and fetch them now. . there wouldn’t be a charge.’ She caught her husband’s eye. ‘Or Honorius can add it to the wine bill later on. .’
But the warning head shake had not been about the price. Her husband had seen the danger in her babbling and Helena Domna voiced the thought — which had occurred to me as well. ‘So you make decoctions, do you? And the wine was at your store until they brought it here. How remarkable. My son might have some questions to ask you later on, when he has recovered from this unfortunate event. Why, what is it, steward?’
The last words were uttered to an imposing slave who had come the other way, through the side door from the rear — a tall, strong rather handsome man, in a gold-edged tunic and an over-robe which marked him as a servant of some seniority. I recognized the steward that I’d dealt with earlier. I’d thought him impressive, when I’d met him then, but now he was wringing his big hands together in a helpless way, and there was an expression which looked like abject panic on his face. He stood there looking between Minimus and me, as if somehow between us we had let him down, then turned to Helena Domna with a look of pure despair.
‘Mistress, I don’t know how to tell you. It’s a dreadful thing. My master, Honorius — he won’t be asking questions of anyone again. And the wedding must be cancelled. He can’t sign anything. The fact is, mistress. . I’m afraid he’s dead.’
Four
Honorius’s mother had no need of face-chalk now. The skin under the white coating had turned as pale as ice, and the colour with which she’d tinged her lips and cheeks looked even more bizarrely artificial than before.
She was clearly shaken, and for a moment I expected an embarrassing display — a rending of garments and beating of the breast, perhaps, accompanied by a theatrically ululating wail. There is a tradition in Roman families, that the death of a member of the household — particularly an honoured eldest son — calls for some such public outpouring of grief.
But Helena Domna was made of sterner stuff. She was a Roman patrician to the core and — in front of mere tradesman like Vinerius and myself — obviously knew how to impose strict self-control. The only outward sign that she had heard at all was a tiny tightening of the corners of her mouth and an involuntary loosening of her fingers on the fan, which fell with a little clatter on the floor. In the sudden silence it sounded very loud.
It was a long moment before she made a move, but then she motioned in silence to the page to get the fan. Immediately, the wine merchant’s wife began to keen — not a funerary lament, but a high-pitched howl of frightened misery. ‘It wasn’t us. . it wasn’t. . oh, by all the gods-’
‘Maesta, be silent!’ Vinerius began, but the words died on his lips. The screen door from the atrium was pushed impatiently aside and a young woman in pink robes came bustling out. It was the pretty girl I’d noticed on the dais earlier, and she was accompanied by a portly female slave.
‘Helena Domna,’ the young woman said, looking prettier than ever as she came across to us, her rose-coloured stola rustling as she moved. She must, I realized, be Honorius’s much talked-of second wife — and a much-prized individual by the look of it. The gown was clearly made of oriental silk, which was worth its weight in gold — literally worth it, ounce for precious ounce. Her voice was pretty too, low and musical, though tinged now with sharp anxiety.
‘Helena Domna, what are you doing out here in the hall? Our guests are missing you. Have you dealt with the hitch that you were speaking of? Or is there still a problem of some kind? Oh, but I see that there are visitors out here.’ She looked in bewilderment at Vinerius and his wife, and then at the steward and the grovelling page, who was still groping underneath the table for the fan.
Helena Domna stood as if she’d turned to stone, silent as the statue of Juno in the niche nearby.
The young woman’s face burned fiery and there was a tremble of fury in her voice. ‘My mother-in-law, as usual, will not acknowledge me.’ So she was Honorius’s wife, I thought — or rather, poor thing, she was his widow now. She turned to me. ‘You, citizen, can enlighten me perhaps? I think I saw you in the atrium just now, when this red-haired servant came to summon you? What is happening? Didn’t I hear mention of an accident? Have they contrived to burn the wedding food, or is it simply a servant who has hurt himself?’
I glanced at Helena Domna, but she was staring at the wall. I forced myself to voice the awful news. ‘An accident. A fatal accident. But it was not a slave. It was your husband, Honorius, I regret to say.’
‘My husband?’
I nodded.
She pressed her hands against her chest as though to still her heart. ‘But how. .? When. .?’ She shook her head, as if in disbelief and then said angrily, ‘You knew this, Helena Domna, didn’t you? Why did you not come and announce it in the atrium? Or at least send word to me? I would have gone to him at once.’
‘Your pardon, lady,’ I murmured. ‘This must be a shock. But we have only just learned of this event ourselves. When my slave here was sent to summon me, Honorius had been taken ill, but he was still alive. It seems that things have taken a fatal turning since.’
‘So he was ill and conscious? And I wasn’t told? Did he not call my name?’ Her voice was trembling. There was no mistaking, she was shocked and close to tears. Whatever kind of person Honorius had been, I thought, this woman at least was genuinely upset that he was dead. She whirled around to the steward. ‘Where is he now? Take me to him. I must see for myself.’
‘Livia!’ Helena Domna had found her high, cracked voice again. ‘Control yourself. Of course you will be able to see him in due time. Since he leaves no son or near male relatives, it will fall to you and me to perform the obsequies — though that is for later, when the body is laid out. But first we must consider what is best to do at once. The house is full of visitors and Pompeia’s bridegroom is almost at the gates. It is most unfortunate. We will have to postpone the wedding, naturally — a girl can hardly marry with her father lying dead — but we must announce it with a little dignity and try not to create an unseemly spectacle.’