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Authors: Lindsey Davis
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stay because of obligations at home. So she did not, as I had assumed, live alone, but had a close relative she must care for; who, was unclear. I could guess. Either a drooling husband, too demented nowadays to know her, or some great lummock of a son or daughter who had been damaged in the birth canal. A daily burden and a responsibility, for whom the exhausted old body had to stay alive because they would be helpless without her. This half-sighting of a hard life made me melancholy.
With nothing to do but think during another hour or so of chilly pyre-watching, I ended up considering yet again what she obviously believed about Salvidia’s death.
I walked over to the undertaker. His previous contribution when asked for an opinion had just not been good enough; I asked him again about that comment he had made when he came to view the corpse.
‘You said, “There’s a lot of it about”. Did you mean people keeling over, for no reason? I have to admit it has stayed in my mind. Would you mind telling me what made you say that?’
He was a big-bellied pompous type, who was accustomed to patronising bereaved people. He must be a particular trial to defenceless new widows. All the man could come up with for me was that he ‘had a vague feeling’. He still believed it might be nothing more than coincidence.
‘Were these people all women?’ I asked, pushing him.
‘No, all sorts. Just a few more sudden deaths than usual − possibly. I haven’t been counting. Don’t ask me for names.’
‘Any rumours?’ I wondered. The public can be good at picking up illegal activity.
The funeral director gave me a swift glance. He did not look nervous or hunted. He did not brush me aside like a silly young thing. Instead, he appeared to consider my question fairly and to honestly say no, there were not. If he was hushing up a scandal, he was good. I had to believe him.
I was to develop more doubts about Metellus Nepos. In a quiet moment while he waited to do his duty gathering the ashes into a ceramic urn, he approached and thanked me for coming. I took the opportunity to mention that I knew he had visited the aedile. He confirmed that he went to say he was paying compensation for the child’s death, and make it plain that the family were satisfied with what he offered them. He made no mention of the wall poster; Nepos seemed too decent to demand its removal, or even to think of doing so.
Nepos volunteered that he told the magistrate about his suspicions regarding his stepmother’s death. He had discussed hiring me. (I wished my friend the archivist had thought to warn me about this.) ‘I discussed with Faustus all the aspects you had checked so carefully, Albia, and admitted that you found no evidence.’ Nepos seemed concerned that I might be annoyed. Certainly, if the case had been live, I would have wanted any client to consult me before he involved the authorities. ‘The aedile is not the same as the vigiles, but he does have responsibility for aspects of law and order. It seemed right to let him know my concerns.’
I reassured him. ‘That is perfectly reasonable. I would not have stopped you . . . So what did you think of him? According to my contacts, Manlius Faustus sounds – let’s say, unsympathetic.’
Nepos stared at me for a moment, seeming surprised. ‘No, I found him very straightforward. He doesn’t say much, but he listens. A good, intelligent choice for the job.’
‘That’s rare.’
‘Exactly!’ replied Nepos. He sounded annoyed, as if I had insulted a friend of his.
I did not let this alter the picture of the aedile I had previously from Andronicus. Plenty of men behave quite differently with a one-time business visitor from how they treat members of their household. In that case, how they are at home tends to be their true character. Manlius Faustus must have social skills; he needed votes to win election to his office. In short, he must know how to schmooze. It was quite possible for
With nothing to do but think during another hour or so of chilly pyre-watching, I ended up considering yet again what she obviously believed about Salvidia’s death.
I walked over to the undertaker. His previous contribution when asked for an opinion had just not been good enough; I asked him again about that comment he had made when he came to view the corpse.
‘You said, “There’s a lot of it about”. Did you mean people keeling over, for no reason? I have to admit it has stayed in my mind. Would you mind telling me what made you say that?’
He was a big-bellied pompous type, who was accustomed to patronising bereaved people. He must be a particular trial to defenceless new widows. All the man could come up with for me was that he ‘had a vague feeling’. He still believed it might be nothing more than coincidence.
‘Were these people all women?’ I asked, pushing him.
‘No, all sorts. Just a few more sudden deaths than usual − possibly. I haven’t been counting. Don’t ask me for names.’
‘Any rumours?’ I wondered. The public can be good at picking up illegal activity.
The funeral director gave me a swift glance. He did not look nervous or hunted. He did not brush me aside like a silly young thing. Instead, he appeared to consider my question fairly and to honestly say no, there were not. If he was hushing up a scandal, he was good. I had to believe him.
I was to develop more doubts about Metellus Nepos. In a quiet moment while he waited to do his duty gathering the ashes into a ceramic urn, he approached and thanked me for coming. I took the opportunity to mention that I knew he had visited the aedile. He confirmed that he went to say he was paying compensation for the child’s death, and make it plain that the family were satisfied with what he offered them. He made no mention of the wall poster; Nepos seemed too decent to demand its removal, or even to think of doing so.
Nepos volunteered that he told the magistrate about his suspicions regarding his stepmother’s death. He had discussed hiring me. (I wished my friend the archivist had thought to warn me about this.) ‘I discussed with Faustus all the aspects you had checked so carefully, Albia, and admitted that you found no evidence.’ Nepos seemed concerned that I might be annoyed. Certainly, if the case had been live, I would have wanted any client to consult me before he involved the authorities. ‘The aedile is not the same as the vigiles, but he does have responsibility for aspects of law and order. It seemed right to let him know my concerns.’
I reassured him. ‘That is perfectly reasonable. I would not have stopped you . . . So what did you think of him? According to my contacts, Manlius Faustus sounds – let’s say, unsympathetic.’
Nepos stared at me for a moment, seeming surprised. ‘No, I found him very straightforward. He doesn’t say much, but he listens. A good, intelligent choice for the job.’
‘That’s rare.’
‘Exactly!’ replied Nepos. He sounded annoyed, as if I had insulted a friend of his.
I did not let this alter the picture of the aedile I had previously from Andronicus. Plenty of men behave quite differently with a one-time business visitor from how they treat members of their household. In that case, how they are at home tends to be their true character. Manlius Faustus must have social skills; he needed votes to win election to his office. In short, he must know how to schmooze. It was quite possible for
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