I speared up another knife-load of duck. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It was all in the wax tablet. “We are too late. The man is dead. Send word to Glevum.” I should have seen the force of that at once. Who in Glevum would not have known that Felix was dead? And if Felix was dead, to whom was this “word” to be sent? Zetso knew no one in the city. He had been there even less time than his master, since he spent the day before the feast transporting me to Corinium.’
‘So “the man” was the Emperor himself?’ Pertinax waited patiently while a slave carved him a single slice through duck, partridge and quail.
‘I wondered why Zetso had been so discreet,’ I said. ‘Avoiding using his master’s name, even in a sealed letter. But of course, he meant Commodus — he dared not write that name openly.’
‘So that is why Zetso sent to my house?’ Gaius put in, in his precise old woman’s voice. ‘He meant to send to Felix. He did not realise that his master was dead. But surely you must have mentioned that to Zetso? I cannot imagine how he failed to hear it.’
‘He told me he had been “out of the public eye”, hiding with that ex-centurion in his villa. And I did tell him, or I thought I did. He was boasting of his warrant. Commodus had named him as Felix’s agent, so he claimed. I said, “And now that he is dead” and Zetso was amazed. It was genuine surprise — I felt it at the time — but he was applying my words to Commodus. He became very agitated I remember, and asked what he was being accused of. He even asked if we had found the “killers”. Plural, you note.’
Junio, standing behind the diners opposite, caught my eye and gave me a most impertinent wink. He had been permitted, as a special treat, to wait on me at Marcus’s table and he was enjoying himself hugely.
Pertinax looked grave. ‘A man hears what he expects to hear, no doubt. If he was expecting the death of the Emperor, he would jump to such a conclusion.’
‘He was astonished when I told him that the death appeared to have been caused by choking on a nut. That was when he wrote his letter and rushed off to “warn the rest”. Of course, he sealed it with Felix’s seal, which he believed was still legitimate. And when they caught up with him in Letocetum he kept referring to his “seal”. He meant Felix’s, of course. I wondered why he never mentioned his warrant, but of course if Commodus were dead that might not have been honoured by the new incumbent.’
‘We have sent to Letocetum,’ Marcus said, picking at an olive with his pointed spoon. ‘We have found the letters. They were in wax. Zetso tried to erase them, but Felix had written so hard that there are marks in the casing. Enough to prove the matter, we believe. We hope to round up the others who were with him.’
‘Officers from the northern legions, I believe,’ I said, with a sideways look at Pertinax. These were, after all, his soldiers.
The governor sighed. ‘Indeed, and I believe that I could name them, too. The same men who tried to persuade me to take the purple, not so long ago. I imagine we can find them — they will have gone back to their legions. They will have learned by now that the Emperor still lives, but they have no special cause for alarm. When Zetso was arrested, the guard was told he was wanted for murdering some unknown Celt.’
‘He did that all right,’ I said. ‘On Felix’s orders. Felix took a house and invited Egobarbus to it, with promises that he should be paid what Felix owed him. Then he sent Zetso to say he was delayed, and sent a jug of wine as an apology. Only, of course, Zetso had poisoned it. He told me himself that Egobarbus was “poisoned”, though I had never mentioned how he died. We found the phial further down the road. He had not even bothered to disguise it.’
‘We have found the Egobarbus party now,’ Marcus said, thoughtfully. ‘They were discovered yesterday, just where you said they would be, on the road south to Aquae Sulis. A courier brought me word this afternoon. They have been arrested, and are being held awaiting word from me.’
‘And was their story as I suggested?’
He picked up his goblet. ‘Very largely so. After Zetso called at the hired house they were banished upstairs. Their master was waiting for the Roman, he said, and there was secret business. They heard no more, and when they dared to come downstairs next day they found him dead. But there had been no one there, and they thought they would be blamed. That would have meant instant death for them. They panicked and pushed the body down the well. The senior slave among them appears to have masterminded it. He claims to be a cousin of the Celt, and therefore the heir now Egobarbus is dead. He was a barber, by the way. I do not know how you discovered that?’
‘I guessed,’ I said. ‘It is impossible to keep a moustache like that without constant trimming and the application of wax. Egobarbus was vain. He would not travel far without his hairdresser. The man may well be a cousin. All those red-haired men are children of the same father. I imagine he cut off the moustache and fixed it with wax to his own face?’
‘He has admitted it. He knew the carriage was arriving and he saw a chance to escape. He dressed himself in Egobarbus’s cloak, and assumed his place.’ Marcus took a sip of his wine. ‘The intention, I think, was merely to come to Glevum and disappear, but there was a confrontation with the carriage-driver. He had been promised extra fare, and the slaves had no money. They had to appeal to Felix.’
I nodded. ‘I was extremely stupid there. Of course, that proved that Felix had not met their master. They would hardly have appealed for money to a man who would betray them. Felix must have been appalled — he thought the Celt was dead. But he could hardly say so, and he issued an invitation to the feast. The slaves could scarcely refuse. It must have been a dreadful evening for them — the pretended Egobarbus had poor Latin, hated wine, and his moustache was in constant danger of slipping off. I saw him dab at it a hundred times. He must have lived a night of agony.’
‘And then,’ Phyllidia said suddenly, ‘my father choked and died. The poor slave must have almost done the same. Two deaths at his side in as many days. He would never survive a questioning — so he threw off his disguise and became a slave again?’
‘Exactly.’ I speared another piece of duck. Unfortunately, it was covered in fish pickle. ‘And of course, being a slave, it was easy for him to slip past the guards as part of the funeral procession. He was the one who claimed to be going back to find his father, of course. Meanwhile, the others stayed in the town just long enough to sell Egobarbus’s sample trinkets which he had probably hoped to tempt Felix with. Enough to finance their journey home. No doubt some citizens got an unexpected bargain — that was the finest bronze. The slaves could hardly ask the real value, they would have called attention to themselves. They must have been terrified of discovery, and I must have frightened them terribly when I found the piece of discarded moustache. No wonder they attacked me.’ I swallowed the pickle with difficulty. ‘I thought at first it was Zetso who had joined the funeral, but of course it wasn’t. In that fringed military hood he could not have passed for a slave. The keeper of the bawdy-house reminded me of that.’
‘Then how did Zetso get past the gates?’ Marcus snapped.
‘I imagine he just drove through them in that carriage. There was no search afoot at that time, and with that blazon no one would have challenged him. I suspect one soldier noticed him, but he’d been flirting with Zetso earlier, and may have thought to save him trouble. He said nothing.’