Poseidon_s Gold

Petro and I walked round to the back alley. There was the usual stink of kitchen rubbish; the usual seedy atmosphere. The stable door was locked-the first time I had ever seen that. It was of flimsy construction; the lower portion was weaker and gave way to a hard shove from Petronius. He reached in and fiddled with the bolts on the upper half, eventually giving up and simply ducking underneath. I followed. We emerged inside the kitchen area. Everywhere was completely still.

We stood, trying to see in the dark. We recognised that silence. We knew what we were looking for. Petronius always carried a tinder-box; after several attempts he struck sparks, then managed to find a lamp to light.

As he held up the little lamp he was standing ahead of me, his bulk blocking my view. His shadow, that great head and the raised arm, sprang up to the side of me, flickering alarmingly on the rough caupona wall.

'Oh shit, he's dead!'

I assumed it was another murder. Still locked in my own preoccupations, I thought drably, Geminus must have come here and killed the waiter just before he turned up at Fountain Court so full of concern for us, so full of laughter and fun…

But I was wrong. I had hardly begun to feel angry with my father when Petronius Longus moved aside for me.

I noticed another shadow. By the single flame of the feeble lamp, its slow motion attracted attention as a long, dark, slanted shape turned slightly with some changing air current.

In the well of the stairs was Epimandos. He had hanged himself.

LX

Petronius had the longer reach. He cut the body down, not even needing the stool Epimandos had used. We were far too late; the corpse was cold. We carried him into the deep dark of the interior, and laid him on a counter. I fetched the thin blanket from his bed and covered him. Petronius unlocked and partly pushed open a shutter. He called in the others.

'You were right, Apollonius. The waiter's topped himself. It's all right; don't be afraid to look. He's decent now.'

The old teacher came into the caupona, showing no excitement. He looked at the covered body with compassion. He shook his head. 'Saw it coming. Only a matter of time.'

'I must talk to you,' Petronius said. 'But first we all need a drink-'

We looked around, but then gave up. It seemed tactless to raid Flora's. We all went over to the Valerian. Petronius told the other customers to make themselves scarce, so they wandered across to Flora's and stood outside in huddles. Rumours had spread. A crowd collected, though there was nothing to see. We had locked up after us. Petronius, who had his soft side, even brought away the distressed cat.

The Valerian had a quiet atmosphere and quite good wine. The waiter allowed Petro to feed Stringy, which was sensible because Petronius was looking for an excuse to start a fight over nothing just to ease his feelings. He always hated unnatural death.

'This is a tragedy. What can you tell me?' Petro asked the teacher wearily. He was stroking the cat and sounded as if he was still looking for trouble. Apollonius blanched.

'I know a little about him. I'm at the caupona frequently…' Apollonius left a small, tactful pause. 'His name was Epimandos; he had been a waiter there for five or six years. Your brother,' he said, turning to me, 'arranged the job for him.'

I shrugged. 'I never knew that.'

'There was some secrecy surrounding it.'

'What secrecy?' demanded Petronius. Apollonius looked shy. 'You can speak freely. Was he a runaway?'

'Yes, he had been a slave, I believe,' agreed my old geometrist.

'Where did he come from?'

'Egypt, I think.'

'Egypt?'

Apollonius sighed. 'This was told to me in confidence, but I suppose now the man is dead…'

Tell me what you know!' Petro commanded bluntly. 'That's an order. This is a murder enquiry.'

'What? I thought the waiter had committed suicide?'

'I don't mean the waiter.'

Petro's angry manner was making Apollonius clam up. It was Helena who reassured him, asking gently, 'Please tell us. How did a slave from Egypt end his days serving in a caupona here?'

For once my terrible teacher managed to be concise. 'He had had a bad master. I understand the person was notorious for his cruelty. When Epimandos ran away, Didius Festus found him. He helped him come to Italy, and to obtain work. That was why Epimandos had a special regard, Marcus, for members of your family, and for you.'

I asked, 'And do you know why Epimandos killed himself today?'

'I think so,' Apollonius responded slowly. 'His cruel master was the medical officer in your brother's legion.'

'This all happened when Festus and the Fifteenth Legion were stationed at Alexandria?'

'Yes. Epimandos worked in the infirmary, so everybody knew him. After he escaped and came to Rome he was terrified that one day somebody would walk into Flora's, recognise him, and send him back to that life of torment. I know there was an occasion recently when he thought he had been noticed-he told me so one evening. He was in great distress and had got himself extremely drunk.'

'Was that Censorinus?'

'This he did not actually say,' Apollonius replied carefully.

Petronius had been listening in his fatalistic way. 'Why have you never mentioned this before?'

'Nobody asked.'

Well he was only the beggar.

Petro stared at him, then muttered to me, 'Censorinus was not the only one who noticed the waiter. Epimandos probably killed himself because he guessed he had also been recognised by Laurentius. It happened when we ourselves invited the centurion to Flora's earlier today.'

Remembering how the waiter had shot out of sight when Laurentius looked at him, I believed it and was appalled. 'Do you know this for certain?'

'Afraid so. After we all left the place, Laurentius was puzzling over why the waiter had seemed familiar. He finally remembered where he had seen Epimandos before, then realised its implication regarding the death of Censorinus. He came straight to see me. That was one reason why I was delayed when Apollonius sent his message.'

I had been feeling grey before this news, which was deeply depressing. It did solve some of my problems. For one thing, it showed my brother Festus in a better light (if you approve of helping slaves escape). It also meant I could stop panicking over Geminus. This reprieve for my father had hardly sunk in; I must still have looked dreadful. I was coming to terms with just how relieved I felt.

I suddenly realised that Helena Justina was gripping my hand fiercely. Saving me mattered to her so desperately she could no longer hold back: 'Petronius, are you saying that the waiter must have been the soldier's murderer?'

Petronius nodded. 'I reckon so. You're cleared, Falco. I shall tell Marponius I am no longer looking for a suspect in the Censorinus case.'

Nobody gloated.

Helena had to be certain about all this. 'So what happened the night he died? Censorinus must have recognised the waiter, possibly while he was in the midst of quarrelling with Marcus. Later perhaps he had a confrontation with the waiter. When Epimandos realised the trouble he was in, the poor soul must have been in despair. If Censorinus was spiteful, maybe he threatened Epimandos with returning him to his master, and then-'

She was so unhappy Petro finished it for her. 'Epimandos took him up a drink. Censorinus obviously failed to realise the danger he was in. We can never know if he really did threaten the waiter-and if so, whether the threats were serious. But Epimandos was clearly terrified, with fatal results. Desperate, and more than likely drunk, he stabbed the soldier with a kitchen knife which he snatched on his way upstairs. His terror of being returned to the medical orderly explains the ferocity of the attack.'