Word of my furious return must have gone round. Quadrumatus and Rutilius appeared in the doorway as I straightened up from examining the lad. I had found nothing to explain his death. It was classic: he looked as if he was asleep.
'He has been back in this house less than three hours – but someone got to him. He was trapped in here; he must have known he was doomed. Whoever came and killed him, it's a certainty they also killed Gratianus Scaeva. Your flautist,' I told Quadrumatus fiercely, 'saw your brother-in-law's killer. I won't ask if you knew that all along – you're a patrician and I'm not stupid. But I tell you this: others in your household did know; they arranged a cover-up. I sensed it when I first came here and if I had been given true information then, this boy would be alive.' He would have been a witness, but that wasn't what was making me so angry. 'He has been murdered to silence him. Don't tell me he is just a slave. He was human; he had a right to life. He was your slave; he was one of your family. You should have defended him. Call this a safe house? I don't think so! You run a house of riot, sir!' Disgusted, I turned on my heel and left. I went back. I cleared the store-room and locked the door. I kept the key. I found Quadrumatus Labeo: 'This house is outside Rome and theoretically beyond the jurisdiction of the vigiles. By the authority conferred on me by Claudius Laeta in the Veleda affair, I am ordering that your flautist's death be referred to the city authorities. We will not have the same appalling mistakes that were allowed when Gratianus Scaeva died. This time the crime scene and the corpse will be meticulously catalogued, and witnesses who fail to co-operate will be taken into custody. You, sir, will be responsible for ensuring that members of your household tell us the truth. Someone will be sent to examine the body professionally. Until then, the room is to remain locked. Take the name of anyone who attempts entry, and detain them for interrogation.'
Petronius Longus would give me that rueful look of his. Still, Marcus Rubella was already collecting for next year's Fourth Cohort drinks party. Given a large cash contribution, which could be suitably disguised on my mission's expense sheet, he would agree to help. I wanted a doctor to look at the dead flautist. This house was full of medical creatures, but I trusted none of them. I wanted Scythax. I was going to find out how the flute-boy died, even if we had to conduct an illegal autopsy.
LVII
I barely made it back in time to be smartened up and hauled out to dinner with my sister Junia. I tried telling Helena I was too tired, too gloomy and too tense to go. I received the response I expected. All over Rome unhappy lads were being forced to attend parties with uninspiring relatives. To avoid it needed very careful prior planning.
It was a perfectly good evening – if you ignored the fine detaiclass="underline" Junia couldn't cook; Gaius Baebius had no nose for wine; their overwrought son Marcus – King for the Day – had no idea what was going on; my precocious little girls knew exactly what they wanted to be princesses who behaved badly; and wonderful Junia had invited Pa. Helena asked him to tell us about his operation, knowing that would cheer me up. It did. Better still, prim Junia was thoroughly offended by the ghastly details. That was even before my father offered to show us all the results.
He drew me aside at one point, and I thought I was to be favoured with distasteful tunic-lifting, but he just wanted to croak that he had brought the ear-rings he was trying to flog me. I bought them. Then I refused to humour his proffered demonstration of his wounds.
He must have found a taker, because soon we were subjected to an hour of three-year-old Marcus Baebius Junillus running around, showing everyone his bare little bottom. 'We can't stop him!' gasped Junia, horrified by her predicament. 'He is our King for the Day!' Little Marcus might be deaf and speechless, but he had a flair for misrule.
Notwithstanding his rights, Helena eventually grabbed the excited child, plonked him on her lap and made him sit quiet for the ghost stories. All the children were far too young for that. Things became tricky. Pa, Gaius and I made the traditional exit to the sun terrace, where we stood around with half-empty wine cups, shivering and discussing chariot teams. I supported the Blues, while Pa supported the Greens (that was precisely why, many years ago, I had chosen the Blues). Gaius never went to the races, but ventured that If he did he thought he might fancy the Reds. At least that gave Pa and me something to talk about, as we massacred the mad idea that anyone would ever support the Reds. 'You two bastards always gang up together,' complained Gaius – which gave us both something else to get annoyed about loudly, while we were angrily denying it.
This was a true family occasion. We walked back indoors for another drink – Pa and I both extremely keen to open up the amphora he had hospitably brought, rather than Gaius' vinegar. Junia's hired ghost had arrived.
'Whoo-hoo?!' he went, spookily gliding around in a white garment with his face hidden. Silent children cowered against their mothers, thrilled. Helena and Junia were equally thrilled, now the children had calmed down. We men stood and applauded, pretending to be brave. Only Gaius Baebius was quaking, since I had just muttered to him to keep a check in case the spook stole something. Pa couldn't care less so long as it was over quickly; he was too busy shifting from foot to foot as the red hot pain flared up in his damaged posterior. I was stunned: I knew this ghost, though he did not remember me. It was Zoilus. He might be crazy, but as Saturnalia entertainment that could only help. I had thought when I met him on the Via Appia that he must have had theatrical training. Actors are often paid too little to lead decent lives, and Zoilus had the air of being too unreliable to obtain steady work. Even so, he was on some good contacts list. Junia had obtained him from the Theatre of Marcellus, a snooty monument built and named for a nephew of Augustus, but not above providing acts for private homes. Intellectual aesthetes employed small teams to give them masterpiece-theatre all to themselves, on rickety stages in their chilly villas. Children's parties in fine mansions had little entertainments where the spoiled brats threw food at the performers. Stage donkeys were popular. And there was always a demand for sexy charades at degenerate banquets. The stage donkeys, and sometimes stage cows, featured in those too – usually having a really good time with some stage virgin. 'They offered me a stage donkey,' saidJunia, unaware of the effect she caused in some of us. 'But I didn't think we had the room.' 'Very wise!' intoned Pa seditiously. When Zoilus had finished his turn, I cornered him. 'That was a good haunting – though not as frightening as when you jumped me on the Via Appia!' I backed him up against Gaius and Junia's petite but decorative Greek urn display stand. Their four alabastra and their kylix (which had one broken handle, but Pa thought it was reproduction anyway) wobbled disconcertingly. 'Now before you get paid, you will answer me some questions.' 'Marcus, mind my precious red figures!' 'Just shut up, Junia. This is men's talk. Talk, being the big word, Zoilus.' 'I am just a restless spirit -' 'I know, I know; drifting about eternity like a dried leaf… Why did you call Zosime a bringer of death? – Don't go all vague on me. My sister's going to give you a big bowl of her deep-fried sesame balls as thanks for this evening, so there's no need to be ethereal. You'll need a strong stomach. Why did you say it, Zoilus?'
'I don't know-ow – Owl' He might be a spirit but he knew when his privates were kneed. This was my first time putting the persuaders on a ghost. His ectoplasm had more substance than he pretended. After a couple of wine cups, I was not gentle; my sudden jerk produced a satisfactory shriek.
'Stop messing about, or you'll really be dead and I won't bother to bury you.' I had no time for finesse. 'Look here – Members of my family, some of whom are young and sensitive, are gathering to see what's going on. I'll have to beat you up fast and very hard…' Zoilus understood. He had roamed among vagrants long enough to know about impatient men and the pain they could inflict.