Enemies at Home Read Online Free Page B

his official interest; the freedman readily agreed I could lodge there temporarily.
    He showed Faustus the room. It was in a good position, just to the right of the main entrance area. Over the aedile’s shoulder I could see that it had fancy frescos and a geometric mosaic floor, but was barely furnished. Only a bed with a footstool alongside and an empty cupboard. I don’t ask for flower garlands, but a chamberpot would have been handy.
    ‘Our guests are people of status who tend to bring their own home comforts,’ Polycarpus explained, still addressing all remarks to Faustus. ‘Shall I find a few bits for the lady …?’
    ‘Don’t bother,’ I snapped.
    I was not ready to interview the freedman, well, not while Faustus was lingering. I said I would see Polycarpus first thing next morning, to discuss what precisely had happened and who had been in the apartment when the murder took place. I shooed Faustus away as soon as I could, then set about familiarising myself with my surroundings.
    Even before Faustus took his leave, their apartment seemed extremely quiet. Once he had gone, it was sepulchral.
    Very pleasant.
     
    I settled down on my bed to read a list of the refugee slaves, which had been given me by Faustus. Ink on papyrus. Nice lettering. Only later would I realise that even though he came from a home packed with staff, and could also call on the publicly employed secretaries in the aediles’ office, he wrote this himself. Charming. I do like a man who pays attention to my personal needs.
    He listed those who took sanctuary at the Temple of Ceres by name, age, sex and occupation.
     
    Amethystus, approx. 50, general work in house
    Daphnus, 18, tray carrier/table attendant
    Phaedrus, 24, litter bearer/door porter
    Nicostratus, 28, litter bearer/door porter
    Chrysodorus, approx. 40, philosopher
    Melander, 20, scribe
    Olympe, 15, musician
    Diomedes, 47, gardener
    Amaranta, 29, attendant/adorner to Mucia Lucilia
    Libycus, 36, body slave/dresser to Valerius Aviola
     
    No cup bearer. Still, I prefer the other proverb.
The flute girl did it.
    I wondered if Olympe, 15, wore ankle chains and had wanton eyes? My father reckons castanets are always suspect − but most Roman men get excited when talking about foreign female entertainers. My mother points out that it is not necessary to have a big bosom to play the lyre well; in fact the opposite. Too much anatomy gets in the way.
     
    Polycarpus turned up again while I was still pondering. He was clearly drawn by curiosity though he said he needed to explain arrangements for my meals: there were no kitchen staff, so trays would be brought in for my lunch and dinner from a thermopolium. I told him not to bother about lunch as I could never be sure where I would be; for example, one day I would certainly have to go over to the Temple of Ceres to interrogate the runaway slaves. Polycarpus said I could eat dinner in my room, or in the garden if I preferred.
    Why no staff? Valerius Aviola had sent the chefs and pot-washers to Campania, ready to look after him in the holiday villa; he borrowed slaves from a friend while he and his bride remained in Rome – a normal kind of favour among the property-owning set. The slaves on loan had gone home that night, so I could assume they were not involved in the murders, though they could have passed details of the silverware to thieves.
    ‘You definitely saw the borrowed slaves leave?’
    ‘I counted them out every one. You cannot be too careful.’
    Quite. On the same basis, I took a good look at Polycarpus, letting him see me do it. He was the usual − thought himself special, but he was overestimating. Rome was packed with freedmen, some of whom were genuinely talented. Others, like this one, just had big ideas.
    He was trying to assess me. I had been introduced by Faustus as ‘a professional investigator who regularly assisted him’. I normally stress my independence, but I had accepted this. I needed validity, the right to