In Verulamium probably half the town would have turned out, as Fulvia said. I could imagine it: scuffles for seats and fist-fights for the best vantage points in the standing spaces, while the visiting charioteers — with their whole retinue of stable boys, managers, guards and medical attendants — became the idols of the entire community, followed and cheered at wherever they went.
So how could Fortunatus simply have disappeared for the night? It was impossible. He would have been guarded to the hilt for one thing — people stake whole fortunes on the outcome of a chariot race, and there have been too many attempts in recent years to interfere with drivers and horses. Even in Glevum last year we had someone trying to dope the favourite, and stick a dagger between the driver’s ribs. Fortunatus, the most famous charioteer of all, could no more have slipped off for an evening unobserved than the Emperor could have done so himself.
Besides, Verulamium is several hours away even on a good horse in broad daylight. Not even Fortunatus could possibly have raced all day — and it would have been all day, the organisers like to get value for their money — galloped to Londinium in the dark to strangle Monnius and then popped back to Verulamium again in time to start all over first thing in the morning.
So if it was not Fortunatus, who was it? He could have paid someone else to do it, of course — and invited blackmail for the rest of his days. The charioteer was a rich man and the penalties for conspiracy were fearful.
‘In any case,’ Fulvia was saying, breaking into my thoughts, ‘I saw the man. The figure I saw at my bedside was taller and broader than Fortunatus. I assure you, citizen, I would have recognised him.’ She gave me one of those sideways looks again, and sighed. She was delectable. No wonder they nicknamed the charioteer ‘fortunatus’.
A renewed waft of smoke and incense from the next room reminded me of my duty. The undertakers had clearly lit the remaining candles. I said, ‘Then I must thank you, lady, for your help, and apologise for having taken up your time. You must be anxious to prepare the lament.’ To make the ritual washing of her hands and put the ashes on her head, I meant, but the words sounded unintentionally ironic.
She looked at me gravely. ‘I will lament my husband, citizen, and sincerely too. Monnius was an uncouth bedfellow — I will not pretend otherwise — but he was good to me in his way. If he was suspicious about Fortunatus — and I’m sure his mother saw to that! — he was content to ignore it, provided that I was discreet in public and never showed a lack of compliance when he came to me. In fact, I think the notion sometimes excited him.’
I was on the point of leaving, but that stopped me. I tried to imagine feeling ‘excited’, when I was young, had someone made advances to my beloved wife. I failed. I forced the thought aside, and said, ‘How so?’
She laughed, gaily. ‘Fortunatus is young, rich, strong and famous. He could have any woman he wanted — and he wanted me. I think that made me seem more desirable to my husband.’
‘Because you belonged to him?’ I said slowly. It might be true. Jealousy, and a frenzied imagination, can lead to a kind of furious possession. Most Roman men would have their wives executed, or at least divorced and exiled to some barren island, if even a hint of infidelity had attached to them. Yet as Annia herself had told me, Monnius had brushed aside all his mother’s warnings, and become even more fiercely besotted with his wife. And, I reminded myself, he permitted his first wife to live in the annexe.
‘Exactly, citizen. You understand me, I think.’ She smiled at me again, stirring a little on the bed and showing those uneven teeth. The effect was oddly provocative — like her words. No wonder Monnius and Fortunatus had fallen captive to her charms. I glanced uneasily at the two pageboys, but they just went on wafting the smoke away from under the door, their faces blank as stone.
‘Well, I will leave you, lady,’ I said again. ‘If Fortunatus did not kill your husband, then I must discover who did. And who it was who drugged the slaves last night. If it was not you yourself?’
She laughed. ‘I assure you, citizen, my expertise with herbs does not extend so far. A simple remedy for croup I might manage, or an ointment for bruising, but not a potent sleeping draught! I would never be certain it would work. Indeed, when I want one for my own use — on those occasions which Prisca was telling you of — I have Lydia make me one.’
‘Lydia?’ Monnius’ former wife had not impressed me as a woman of many talents.
‘Oh, indeed, citizen. It is one of the womanly skills in which Annia Augusta continues to encourage her — one of the wifely virtues in which she outdoes me. Annia has taught her everything she knows — only, of course, I could scarcely ask Annia herself. You can imagine what she would say if I requested a sleeping draught.’
I could imagine. ‘And did you ever use one on your husband? To ensure that he slept when Fortunatus came?’ If Monnius had been drugged the night before, I thought, it would explain much about the manner of his death.
‘I never entertained Fortunatus when my husband was in the house, citizen. I have some notion of duty. I used the sleeping potion for myself — when Monnius had been to my bed I sometimes found it difficult to sleep.’
‘And yet,’ I said, struck by a sudden thought, ‘you did not take it last night?’
The playful smile vanished and she frowned. ‘But I did, citizen. I always do. Dear Jupiter, I had not thought of that. The death of Monnius drove it from my mind. I took the potion, yet I did not sleep. You think. .?’
‘That someone used your sleeping draught to drug the servants? It seems a likely explanation. Could Monnius have drunk any of it?’
‘I don’t think so. Why would he drink the watered dregs left out for the servants?’
‘There would not be sufficient in your draught, surely, to drug a whole container full of that?’
She shook her head. ‘There might well be, citizen. It is only days since I took possession of a whole large jar of sleeping potion. I have Lydia make a large amount, once a month when Annia is not in the house, and I refill my little phial every night. But how would anyone find it? I keep it carefully hidden.’ She clapped her hands, and the two lads sprang instantly to life. ‘In the large chest there, under the clothing, you will find the container. Show it to the citizen, boy.’
One of the pages scurried over and was already opening the great carved box for me, removing the garments which Prisca had so neatly stacked there. There it was: a glazed jar, about the size of a small water pitcher, neatly stoppered with a wooden insert. It was wedged firmly into place with folded underlinen, and a small drinking vessel had been packed beside it.
I motioned to the boy and he removed the jar from the chest. From the way he handled it and carried it carefully to me, I could see that it was heavy. I took it from him, and with difficulty removed the stopper. The jug was almost full.
I dipped an exploratory finger into the liquid, and sniffed. I could detect nothing. The faintest smell of herbs perhaps, but that was all.
I turned to Fulvia, who was frowning at me, perplexed. ‘I think,’ I said slowly, ‘that someone has refilled the flask with water. If you drank only this, it would explain why you did not sleep last night.’ I handed the container back to the page, and had him pour me some. I was about to take a very cautious sip — not without a certain trepidation — when Fulvia forestalled me.
‘Drink that potion for him, boy. It may not be as harmless as he thinks.’
This was a brutally Roman way of resolving uncertainty. I had no time to protest, however. By the time I had exclaimed ‘No, wait!’ the page, with the dreadful resigned obedience of slave-boys everywhere, had already raised the drinking cup and emptied most of it down his throat.