Argolicus Mysteries E-Book

Zara Altair

• Herausgeber: Fervent Crux Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: Argolicus Mysteries
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 307

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

Italy, 512 CE. After the Romans before the Middle Ages, one patrician sets out to right wrongs.

This digital box set contains the first four Argolicus mysteries:

The Roman Heir: Argolicus begins a journey home to retire from politics. As a personal favor he delivers a book to a young scholar. But the young man’s father is murdered hours before and Argolicus is tasked to find the killer among the patricians in an unfamiliar town where he knows no one. 

The Used Virgin: The governor holds a family friend prisoner. When Argolicus visits to investigate, he unearths a greedy plot to tarnish a good man’s name. To expose the plot, he must challenge the governor’s venal power to reveal a scheme.

The Vellum Scribe: When Argolicus’ uncle finds a dead body, it starts a chain of treacherous alliances based on greed and envy based on old friendships. But then an ambush attack produces a clue.

The Peach Widow: A simple request from his mother, sends Argolicus to settle a legal question in a family at odds. Perplexed by subterfuge and greed motivating each family member, he finds no clues until the farm dog starts to play. 

What readers are saying:

★★★★★ 'A story well told. A ‘world’ worth settling into!'

★★★★★ 'Transport you to that ancient time, so you can meet their people and see their lives.'

★★★★★ 'Absolutely wonderful.'

★★★★★ 'A rich tapestry of interactions that serve to draw the reader deeper in..'

★★★★★ 'Highlights some of the most basic of emotions: anger, possession, hurt, sympathy, loss and guilt and, of course, greed..'

★★★★★ 'No telephones, no computers, no scientific method as we understand it, no mysterious villains with international organizations - and it works. .'

Leseprobe

Praise for Zara Altair

A cracking yarn that wears its deep research lightly...

— Clarissa Palmer

Leaves you wanting more!

— David Amerland, Author

This series would make an excellent show!

— Joe McGaha, Writer/Producer

If you enjoy mysteries and have a love of history then you have got to check out this book.

— Zain

Argolicus Mysteries

Books 1-4

Zara Altair

Copyright © 2021 by Zara Altair

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Contents

Introduction

The Roman Heir

1. Leaving Rome

2. Family Matters

3. Nothing Revealed

4. Portus

5. Sister In The Night

6. Seduction And Power

7. Not The Man

8. The Price Of Nobility

9. The Caution

10. Every Man Must Make His Own Decision

The Used Virgin

Welcome to Another Time

1. Politics No More

2. The Horse Trade

3. The Search

4. A Bath and A Letter

The Vellum Scribe

1. Arrival

2. The Body and the Soul

3. Family Treasure

4. Strategy Without a Plan

5. Mattheus at the Door

6. The Bishop’s Collection

7. The Maria Quandary

8. At Bartholomaeus’ Door

9. Meadow Crossing

10. Painting a New Picture

11. Palace Order

Afterword

The Peach Widow

1. A Mother’s Wish

2. Bargains and Peaches

3. Meridiatio

4. Slave and Rustica

5. Brotherly Suspicion

6. Uphill and Down

7. Dogbane

Glossary

Author Note

About the Author

Get the Next Book

Introduction

Enter the World of Argolicus

With few exceptions, the western world was at peace in the year 512 after Christ’s birth. Warlords were plotting in the Balkans either for the East or the West, but mainly for their own power. Rumblings in Persian borderlands perhaps threatened the Roman Empire as seated in Constantinople. The most recent disturbances—betrayals, if you will—of the Frankish kingdoms had been settled some five years. Bishops and clergy squabbled over textual interpretations of the Gospel, patristic writings, or Patriarchal proclamations, as usual, some in a huff, others with conciliatory leanings. Vandals had controlled northern Africa for almost 100 years. The Visigoths ruled Spain and traded with avarice. In Italy, affairs of concern were mainly internal—the parallel Roman law and Ostrogoth legal systems ran under the regal Edicts guided by a sense of civility, providing structure for dispute resolution.

The Roman Heir

An Argolicus Mystery

1

Leaving Rome

 The words were not as cold as the Roman winter air, but they stung Argolicus.

“You see,” Boethius said, leaning toward Argolicus in a confidential manner, “Rome is a closed community. When someone like you whose family lineage is not from one of Rome’s great families and as a newcomer attempts to take on a centuries-old Roman position, you set yourself up for strife. You are wise to retire, go back to your provincial Bruttia, and live as local nobility.”

Argolicus watched from the palatial villa on top of the Caelian Hill gentle snowflakes fall on the city and the forum below. He stood on a balcony where Boethius had led him just minutes before. Behind them loomed a grand study filled with manuscripts and books. Boethius carefully peeled an apple, the skin curling off onto the floor at his feet.  Argolicus knew everything Boethius was saying, and they echoed his reasons for leaving. He also knew Boethius, so he waited for him to get to the point.

“The same talents that make you a good judge,” Boethius continued, “hamper your political power. You read people, you consider all possibilities, you listen carefully to all sides, you weigh outcomes. In politics you must make a decision, move quickly, ignore repercussions, and strike.” 

Argolicus recognized his political failings and felt the sting of being blocked on more than one occasion by Rome’s powerful families and the prelates of the Church. 

“Go back to your home, enjoy your studies.” Boethius said as he cut off a small section of apple. One of the richest men in Rome, Boethius loved books as much as Argolicus, perhaps even more. “I have a parting gift for you.” He bent to the table and lifted a book, handing it to Argolicus.

Argolicus looked down at the small book, almost a pamphlet, but covered in leather.

“I translated it,” Boethius said as he looked down at the book. “Aristotle’s Categories. I know you are one of the few left who read Greek, but I thought you might like it for your collection.”

Truly pleased, Argolicus smiled. “Thank you. I will read it in solitude without the endless sessions of reading Greek aloud.”

“Ah, Nikolaos,” Boethius said, reading Argolicus’ mind, “he is a taskmaster.” Argolicus’ tutor and lifelong companion waited for Argolicus somewhere in the villa. 

“He is,” Argolicus said smiling, “but without him, my Greek would suffer.” The two men stood looking out over a wintry Rome. 

“I’m wondering,” Boethius said, “Are you going by ship? Or by land?”

“Oh, quickly, by sea. Portus to Squillace.”

“Then I’d ask you for a favor.”

“Yes?”

“I have another copy for a young scholar. I’m wondering if you could deliver it for me. Books are so precious, I dislike just sending them. Plus, you would like the lad. He loves to read and think.”

“Why? Where is he?”

“He lives in Ostia in the old family villa, a large domus in the center of the city. His father is a friend of Symmachus, and I thought…”

Ah, here it was politics. Even as he was leaving Rome one last push.

“Of course, I’ll take it. We were leaving in four days, but I could leave tomorrow and stop to deliver the book. What’s his name?”

“Servius Norbanus Philo. He is the son of Pius.”

Argolicus knew this errand tied him to Roman aristocracy, another wealthy and old family. Servius Norbanus Pius had inherited a shipping business that had grown with the stability of King Theoderic’s rule. In Rome, his home was near Boethius on the Caelian Hill, but one of the reasons for his success was his constant presence in Ostia near the huge shipping center Portus to oversee the shipping business personally. “Philo,” he said. “I shall make sure he receives your gift.”

* * *

Servius Norbanus Philo met Argolicus in his father’s study and office. The young man was lost amid a collection of carved ivory, large enameled plaques, colored glass vases, marble figurines, brass figurines, gold figurines, cast bronze sculptures, tiny enamel boxes, gilt boxes set with gems, silver trinkets, and one elephant tusk displayed on a high shelf. He appeared a very young 17. His dark brown eyes were fringed with long, equally dark lashes. His equally dark hair was cut in the Roman style like a cap around his head, and his olive complexion was sallow with grief and shock. He looked at the book Argolicus had handed to him with a blank stare.

“Boethius is kind,” he said in a deep, rich voice belying his slight stature. “I shall write my thanks.” He looked up from the book. His gaze slid over Nikolaos, Argolicus’ tutor slave, who stood waiting near the entry from the atrium next to a large marble statue of Venus. Finally, he focused on Argolicus. “And you are kind to take time to make a delivery in your period of transition.”

“Boethius has a way of getting his way,” Argolicus said, smiling. “But it was no inconvenience.”

“He does,” Philo said. “I wish I had half of his persuasive talent because, right now, I’d like to ask your help.” He looked as though tears were near.

“My help?”

“Yes. Even I know your reputation. You discover things, you know people, you treat all parties fairly…”

“Philo, I’m flattered by your admiration, but I have left my appointment in Rome. I’m here in Ostia to go home without any title. I have the family estate. I am uncomfortable as it is, intruding on your family when your father was found murdered just this morning. I feel I have no place here.”

“There, you see,” Philo said. “What if Boethius were asking you for the same request? How would he ask you? My father’s been killed, and I need your help. Blood. There was so much blood.” He closed his eyes.

Argolicus thought the boy was not as inept at manipulation as he believed he was.

“Why not use the local Promagistrate. Who knows what this investigation will take?”

“He’s on vacation in the south chasing the warm weather. The family’s left with the local militia. They narrow their activities to apprehension, not investigation.”

Argolicus felt the draw of a puzzle, pulled in a breath, and glanced at Nikolaos. “Where did it happen?” 

“Right behind your slave, in the atrium. I was coming to meet him before he got busy. He said I was too young to go to the games in Rome by myself. I wanted to ask him one more time. It’s January, and young people have fun. I wanted to know what it’s like to be free for just a few days.”

Nikolaos was already in the atrium examining the dizzying mosaic pattern on the floor. His middle-aged but lithe body moved as he scanned the expansive floor.  

Philo said, “We moved the body and cleaned the floor. He probably won’t find anything.”

“Where is your father’s body now? May I look at it? We can leave my tutor to discover what he will in the atrium,” Argolicus asked, submitting to the pull of the murder and solving the puzzle. As much as Servius Norbanus Pius was a private citizen, his shipping business kept Rome supplied with goods. Murder was a private family matter under the law, but when it affected the public good, then the Promagistrate instigated public legal investigations. 

The young man came out from behind the large table covered in papers and trinkets and appeared to grow in stature and age, separated from his father’s large collection. His golden-toned voice resonated among the treasures. “He’s in a cubiculum.”

Philo strode out of the large study, across the atrium, and led Argolicus to a small room on the opposite side. Servius Norbanus Pius was laid out on a table, his body was stripped, and slaves were washing with care. 

“Ask them to leave,” Argolicus said. He crossed the room to the body.

“I… I can’t look,” Philo said and rushed from the room.

The body was deep pink on top—face, chest, thighs—and white on the bottom along the back. Blood had settled as Pius lay face down on the ground. Argolicus saw five stab wounds in his chest and a large slash across the man’s neck. Why didn’t Philo mention how brutal this was? Bruises marked his shoulders and arms, spotting purple against the white skin. Argolicus picked up the right hand. The fingers and wrist were stiff, but he saw scrapes and raw patches around the knuckles, and the right palm was slashed. He moved around the table. The left hand was also marked with scrapes but was clutched tight and closed. Argolicus tried opening the fingers to see what was in the grip, but the fingers were too stiff to move. He stood back for an overview, and a sadness at the human condition overwhelmed him as he looked at the evidence of violence.

When he left the room, he found Philo sitting on the edge of the pool in the atrium. Tiny snowflakes glittered in the light as they fell into the pool. The pale winter light from the open roof overhead highlighted the youth’s body hunkered in dejection. Philo looked up as Argolicus crossed to the pool. “I couldn’t bear to see him...like that. White. And the punctures in his skin. The body looked like my father, but it wasn’t my father. It was a thing.” He stood up to face Argolicus. His face was set and grim, seeming to have lost the sorrow when he first met Argolicus.

“The death was violent,” Argolicus said, still in his sorrow for the human condition. “It is hard to see. I’ve seen more than one. Each time I feel sorrow, guilt, shame for our condition. The first dead body I saw was my father. Although he was not murdered, I remember how I felt. I was about your age.”

Philo’s eyes widened, and he blurted, “He was? The first dead body? Your father?”

“He was. I know how you feel. I will help you until it is time for me to meet the boat. Maybe, by then, the magistrate will arrive.”

Philo looked relieved. “My sister is with my mother. My uncle will be here soon from Portus. My uncle has his own family, but my father was pater familias.” He nodded toward a statue near the back wall of the atrium, a likeness of Pius fully clothed and looking regal. A slave quietly crossed the atrium toward the back bedrooms glancing at Philo.

“I’ll talk to them all later. From the state of his body, it looks as though your father died in the early morning. Did you hear anything?”

“No. My room is upstairs.” Philo nodded toward the back wall of the atrium. “Father’s room is downstairs. There would have to be a lot of noise for me to hear something.”

“Master,” Nikolaos called from the garden. “Master, I have found something.”

Philo and Argolicus hurried to the peristylum. Argolicus saw the main courtyard, the large pool, columns surrounding the pool, and a garden with many bare shrubs and some small plants surrounding the marble courtyard.

“Over here,” called Nikolaos. He stood up in the corner of the room near the other passageway from the atrium. “There’s blood here on the ground and splatters on the marble.”

Philo blurted, “But I found him in the atrium.”

“We’ll look,” Argolicus said as he moved toward Nikolaos. Philo followed with a puzzled frown.

“Here,” Nikolaos said and pointed to the ground.

Argolicus looked down and saw the blood, now mostly dry, splattered on the leaves of a small plant, on the soil in the ground, and splatters on the marble. He looked to the left and saw the hallway to the servant entrance. “Is that locked at night?”

Philo nodded his head. “Yes, the porter locks it and then goes to his room by the vestibule and the front door.” 

Argolicus looked at the blood and saw light smears here and there in the atrium passageway where someone had tried to wipe up the blood. “Where did you find your father?”

Philo looked through the passageway to the atrium and pointed. “Straight ahead, by the atrium pool.”

As Argolicus followed his direction, a young woman entered the passageway. The first image that came to his mind was a lioness. Her hair was lighter than Philos, backlit by the light from the atrium ceiling, it shone in gold highlights. Her skin was honeyed. Her lips and cheeks glowed rose like plump peaches. Her blue tunic, laced with gold cords, revealed inviting curves.

“Philo, are you entertaining a guest, now? Mother wants you.”

“Titiana, this is Gaius Vitellius Argolicus. He’s come from Rome to bring a gift from Boethius.”

Titiana smiled. “Let me guess. A book.”

2

Family Matters

“My husband had a certain verve for life,” Aemilia Atia said. She was a striking woman approaching 50, with handsome features echoed by Titiana, sitting next to her. Argolicus could tell she was used to being in charge. “His brother, Sabinus, is more down to earth.”

Aemilia Atia, Philo’s mother, had left her bedroom and gathered everyone in the entertainment room when she learned of the guest. The floor was covered in a dizzying array of black and white mosaics, and the walls were painted with intricate scenes of trees and flowers and young people playing musical instruments in nature. Braziers, next to seats, warmed the room from the winter cold. Slaves brought trays of gustum: small tidbits of fruit, cheese, and salads for nibbling placed on platters and bowls around the seats, but no one was eating.

“He was a collector. You saw his study. There are storage rooms filled with more. He rotated items so he could enjoy it all bit by bit.” She gazed at the wall behind Argolicus. “He had the walls repainted to make them more lively.” She looked down at Titiana’s clasped hands and placed her beringed fingers over her daughter’s. Titiana leaned closer.

Argolicus was about to ask her a question when she continued. “He collected people as well. He worked at developing connections… of all kinds.” 

Argolicus asked, “Can you think of anyone who would want to injure him?”

Aemelia Atia gazed into a middle distance. “He wasn’t always loved. He was ruthless in bargains. But, no. I can’t think of anyone who would want to do this.” She waved in the direction of the cubiculum. 

Titiana shifted, her eyes opening wide. “He was…” She stopped, looking at Philo, who said nothing. He sat with the glazed look he’d had when Argolicus arrived.

Argolicus waited, but none of them spoke.

Aemilia suddenly broke from her reverie, “Please, eat. You must be hungry after your trip from Rome. This is no time to lose courtesy. Perhaps it is even more important now.” She picked a grape and nibbled off a tiny piece.

Once she had picked up the grape, Philo was the first to reach for a small pastry. Argolicus looked at the array of delicacies on the tray next to his seat: eggs in pine nut sauce, a small dish of asparagus cooked in eggs and herbs, a pastry. He picked up the pastry and took a bite: roasted lamb bits with herbs and pine nuts. As soon as he took a bite, a slave appeared with a light translucent blue glass goblet filled with honeyed wine and placed it on the table next to the tray.

“Father was a busy man,”  Philo said. “Every morning, he received people here in his study to conduct business. But in the afternoons and evenings, he was often gone. He was very social.”

Titiana sighed and pulled away from her mother’s shoulder.

Aemilia drew up her shoulders. “He wasn’t a family man.” 

Argolicus waited for more.

Aemilia continued, “He was always out visiting. Sometimes he came home with a new acquisition. He kept the newest ones on his desk so he could admire them. When he arranged dinner parties here, the guests often included new people we had not met before. As exotic as his collection items are… were, he never invited anyone who was not a Roman.”

Philo added, “Yes, they had long conversations into the night about Theoderic and his People. He made certain his guests were from old families. They talked about the new appointees from the King. He called them upstarts. They would scheme and plan. But, it was all talk. That’s how he and Boethius became friends.”

Argolicus once again was glad he was leaving the enclave of Romans. “How do you feel about the King?” he asked.

“Me?” Philo said. “I prefer my books to politics. I have no experience of the ‘old ways,’  as my father reverently called them. Maybe I’m young. Going to the Games on my own was an adventure for me.” He paused. “But I see that it won’t happen this year.”

Aemilia said, “There will be other years, Philo. Now you are the man of the house. We must make funeral arrangements. You need to learn from Sabinus. You’ll be busy now. I’m sure the new Consul, Flavius Paulus, won’t miss you at the Games.”

“Sabinus?” Argolicus said. The talk was wandering from Pius’ death. He felt the time constraint before his boat left. If he could get a better picture of the family, he was certain he would find clues to Pius’ violent death.

Aemilia drew up her shoulders and then let them down. “Sabinus is a businessman. An organizer. His life is the port. His daily activities are filled with cargo and the coming and going of ships. He makes certain cargo is distributed to make room for what is contained in the new ships that arrive. He rarely attends social events and even more rarely hosts them. He spends the evenings with his family.” She paused. Argolicus saw a tiny frown develop between her elegant eyebrows. 

“He is devoted to his family. He has three boys and two girls. He has a penchant for the ordinary and the pedestrian. I’ve heard him tell the story of Cornelia’s jewels in reference to his own children. What can I say? His home is in Portus; his work is in Portus. Pius thought him boring. But, he did make the shipping business run smoothly.”

Argolicus waited to see if Titiana or Philo had anything to add, but they were both silent, each seemingly lost in their own thoughts.

“And you?” Argolicus asked, looking directly at Aemilia. “How did you get along with Pius?”

“What do you mean ‘get along’?” Aemilia asked. “We were husband and wife. We made things work.”

Argolicus waited without responding.

Aemilia shrugged. “We were amicable. I wouldn’t say we were a loving couple. We’ve been married many years. We made it work.”

Philo stared blankly. Titiana moved away from her mother and sat primly alone.

“Did you argue?” Argolicus asked.

“Of course, we argued. We were a couple. We had our disagreements, but I can’t recall any arguments of any seriousness. Marital disagreements happen with any couple.” Before Argolicus could speak, she said, “I don’t know who you are trying to ensnare. Philo asked you to look into his death, but I won’t suffer insinuations from anyone, especially just the kind of man my husband could not tolerate.”

She drew up her shoulders again, stood up, and began to leave the room.

Argolicus stood as well, mentally brushing off her reference to his heritage. “I am sorry I have upset you. Murder is upsetting. I ask questions. The more I know, the better I understand.”

Aemilia said, “I’ll leave you to Philo.” 

Titiana stood, glanced at Philo, and then ran across the room. Both of her fists beat Argolicus on the chest. “You don’t understand anything,” she cried as she hit him over and over.

Philo jumped up from his silent reverie to pull Titiana away. She turned and sobbed into her brother’s shoulder. Then she ran out of the room.

Philo looked at Argolicus. His face was distorted like a young child that is about to cry. “I apologize for my mother and my sister. My father protected them from the world. They feel exposed and defenseless.”

“I’m sure they do,” Argolicus said. “And you?”

Philo seemed to gather himself. “We are a family. We are not a loving family. My father kept the household running. We all bowed to his will. Even Sabinus. He was pater familias, but at a distance. What my mother said was right. They were married like the contractual arrangement that they made from the beginning. She did his bidding and relied on him for protection.”

He stopped. Then he waved his arm at the house before them. “Look at this. Look at all of it. This is a house of things. To my father, people were a means to an end, and the end was things. I was his son, and I was his possession. I must always look good. I’m sure the reason he didn’t want me to go to Rome was not because of anything that would happen, but because young people do wild things, and he did not want me to do anything that would reflect on his name.”

“And your books?” Argolicus asked. “Did he approve of your library?”

“Yes and no. He approved of the collection. My building my own collection was an extension of his image. But my ‘bookishness,’ as he called it, upset him. He wanted me to be more of a man.”

“A man? What does that mean?” Argolicus asked.

“To be like him, of course. To take the family name out in public. To attend events. To go to parties. To accompany him on his searches for the one new thing. That’s what he meant. He cited Boethius as an example of a man who loved books and yet was in the thick of things.”

Argolicus had a picture now of the young man’s emotional turmoil. His father was dead, and he had no one to help. He’d been pushed into a position he couldn’t handle, and that did not suit his nature. “Ah, to be a man in his image.”

“Yes, exactly. My father wanted me to be just like him. I’m not.”

“Philo, do you want me to stay and continue? I don’t want to upset your mother or your sister.”

“Yes, more than ever. You saw how emotional they are. How would they help find who killed my father?” He nodded toward the passageway where Aemilia and Titiana had disappeared. “I need you.” He looked Argolicus in the eye.

Argolicus felt an ache at the bottom of his chest at the remembrance of his own father’s death. He also remembered the comfort he had taken in the male presence of his uncle, not only a book lover but a maker of books. He nodded.

“Oh, I am grateful,” Philo exclaimed like a young child. “I can’t make a fancy speech, but I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

Argolicus felt that pain in his chest dissipate. “I will do as much as I can do.”

“In that case, I know the perfect room for you here in the house. Let me show you.” He led Argolicus out of the entertainment room into the peristylum and turned left toward a set of stairs at the far end. “I know it is old-fashioned, but I have a tutor, too. He’s probably in my library looking for something for us to read this evening. His name is Bion.” 

Nikolaos appeared from somewhere in the peristylum and followed them up the stairs. At the top of the stairs was a long hallway lined with doorways. 

“I like it up here,” Philo said. “The rooms have windows. They are light during the day.” He led them along the corridor to a door and opened it. Inside the door was a small whitewashed room for Nikolaos and beyond that a brightly painted cubiculum set with a bed, a chair, and two small tables. One held a washbasin and small linens; the other was slightly larger to serve as a desk with two oil lamps. A brazier stood near the table against the winter chill. The walls were painted here and there with figures: young women and men singing and cavorting among trees and one lone shepherd playing his pipe.

Argolicus found his travel bag already placed in a corner. “Thank you, Philo. This will do nicely.”

“Oh, there is more I want to show you. My library is next door.” He nodded his head toward the left. “Once you are settled, I’ll show you my collection.” His face shown with pride.

“Perhaps after dinner. We can all read together.”

“I like that idea,” Philo said. “We can read from the new book.” He looked around the room and hesitated.

“We’ll be fine. I’ll arrange my things. Then I’ll take a walk and do some thinking. Where will you be in a couple of hours?”

“I’m sure I’ll be in my father’s study. Uncle Sabinus is due in the next hour. We’ll have many things to discuss.”

“I’ll join you there. I want to speak with your uncle.”  He watched the young man leave. Was I ever that vulnerable? 

He must have said it aloud because Nikolaos said, “Yes, Master.”

3

Nothing Revealed

Argolicus sighed. “I thought I was leaving all this.” 

Nikolaos looked toward the end of the street. “Just two more days.”

They were walking toward the edge of Ostia and the ocean. The streets were lined with empty shops and vacant apartment buildings. For the past 200 years, Ostia had ceased to be a thriving port, the harbor silted in, and what remained was country retreats for rich Romans. Buildings in disuse showed signs of crumbling from neglect. The snow had melted, but a wind from the ocean blew cold, carrying the scent of the sea. Argolicus pulled his cloak tighter. 

“I think I would not have liked Pius. Demanding and supercilious. It seems his collection was all he cared about. He didn’t seem to care for his family except as an obligation. And the mother, Aemilia, is so cold. I’m sure Pius was a difficult man. But, she paints a picture of a model Roman family. The daughter is right. I don’t understand. The boy is the best of the lot.”

They reached the end of the street. What used to be the harbor was a silted marsh. Reeds bent in waves as the wind rushed in from the water. They turned and walked along the edge of the marsh. 

Nikolaos said, “The daughter, Titiana, seemed overwrought. Hitting you is not a typical Roman action. She’s not a child. She looks close to twenty. Old enough to know that what she did is not acceptable.”

Argolicus breathed on his cold fingers. “I can’t tell if she is upset at the loss of her father or terrified of the murder. Her words ‘you don’t understand’ could mean anything. Did she love her father? Was Pius more strict with her than with Philo? It all seems as muddy as this marsh.” 

He watched the reeds blowing, lost in his thoughts of the family. He heard Nikolaos turn.

Nikolaos cried, “Hup.” 

Argolicus turned and began to raise his arms from his cape, but the blow landed just above his solar plexus. Air whooshed out, and he couldn’t breathe. He found he was sitting on the ground. His diminutive tutor stood over him, shaking his graying hair.

“Master, you must learn to quicken your response. Even though Romans cannot carry arms under King Theodoric, knowing defense is important.”

Argolicus looked up from his sitting position on the ground, took in a couple of breaths, and said, “I don’t know which is worse; your endless Greek conjugations or your fight training. Right now, I think it’s the training.”  He took in a few more breaths, then got up. “Time to go back and meet this Sabinus.

* * *

Sabinus and Philo were in the study. Philo looked up when Argolicus entered. Nikolaos took his position alongside Venus.

“Argolicus, I was just telling my uncle how Titiana struck you. Uncle, this is Gaius Vitellius Argolicus, ex praefect of Rome.”

“Numerius Norbanus Sabinus, Your Sublimity.” Sabinus gave a brief nod tending toward a bow. A short man, in his mid-forties with a gleaming bald dome surrounded by dark curls, Sabinus had the air of a man of business. His tunic was plain but made of finely woven wool. Argolicus saw no jewelry. The man’s direct gaze emphasized his erect posture.  A man of facts and transactions from head to toe.

Philo continued, “My sister has been distraught lately. I don’t know why. For the past couple of weeks, she’s been on edge, bursting into tears or blinking back anger for no reason. Father’s death has exacerbated her reactions.” 

Argolicus said, “Everyone reacts differently to death. And murder compounds the feelings. Your sister is young.” He decided to lead the conversation somewhere else. He glanced at the desk. “Are you planning the funeral?”

Sabinus answered, “Yes, small. The family only. The priest here will conduct the liturgy. I’ve arranged for the burial in Rome.”

“Sabinus,” Argolicus said. “Would you be willing to look at your brother’s body with me? To tell me if you notice anything. You saw him regularly.”

Sabinus looked uneasy but said, “Yes, I can look. But what do you think I will see? Pius is dead.”

“That’s just the point. If you could tell me anything, you might notice that is different.”

Sabinus nodded. They headed across the atrium to look at Pius.

In the cubiculum, Sabinus gasped. “He’s so pink.”

“Yes,” Argolicus said. “A disturbing manifestation of death.” 

Sabinus walked to the edge of the table. “Who would do this? Five stab wounds.” He touched each one. “And his neck. Did someone try to cut his throat? This is hard to see.”

“Are you alright? It was a vicious killing. ”

“Yes, yes,” Sabinus answered. “It’s upsetting. It looks like Pius and it doesn’t. My brother.” He bent over Pius’ body and sobbed. 

Argolicus watched in silence, sensing the man’s grief.

Sabinus straightened, touched Pius’ face, and turned to Argolicus. “No, I don’t see anything that looks different to me.” 

They turned toward the door and entered the atrium.

* * *

The doorman, N’Golo, was dark, powerful, and compact as a draft horse, and imposing as though the heavy air of the jungle was wrapped around his being.

“I’m here all night,” he said, gesturing to his room off the entry. “No one could get past me. The sound of them pounding in the door would wake the entire household. Look at that thick beam. The doors are heavy. Someone knocks, I open the door. That’s how people get in.”

“I am not questioning your trustworthiness,” Argolicus said. “I’m wondering how someone, not part of this household, could get access to Pius.”

N’Golo relaxed his glare. “Why don’t you ask the cook, Vasilios? Now there’s someone who enjoys being in charge. He lords it over the cooks. He seeks a perfect world unattainable by the rest of us. Ask him because he and his slaves go in and out the posticum at all hours of the day and night, bringing in goods and taking out waste. If you are looking for someone who could have left a door open giving access into the house, look no further than the kitchen.” He crossed his arms over his massive chest.

Argolicus was soon in the kitchen, where the overwhelming heat of the cooking fires contrasted with the cool winter air in the atrium. Dinner preparations were well underway. Vasilios, although not tall, was recognizable from his constant stream of commands as he paced around the work tables. “Don’t stop stirring. Small bits, small bits, we’re not feeding lions. Stop! Don’t put that on until the coals are just right.” He noticed the invader, Argolicus, enter the door.“Yes?”

“Vasilios? Could we speak for a few minutes?” Argolicus asked.

“I can’t leave. Not even for a moment. Not yet! Wait until the egg has thickened the sauce completely.” 

Argolicus walked into the kitchen.

“On second thought,” Vasilios said, visibly upset. “Let’s talk in the corner there by the pantry.”

Argolicus joined him at the arched entry to the pantry, where shelves full of urns and herbs towered toward the ceiling. “I’m wondering if any of your staff went out the posticum in the early morning.”

“Of course,” Vasilios answered. “Magda goes out to the fish market when the boats come in. Little Rufus takes the waste to the barges. Gently, gently, Magda. The white fish is delicate. Ali is at the meat market before the butchers. I get the best of everything there is in Ostia.”

“Early this morning, who, specifically, went out?”

Vasilios cast his eyes over Argolicus’ shoulder.“No, no, no. The pasty must sit quietly before it is filled. This morning? Well, Magada for certain. She’s preparing the fish now” He grimaced and called. “Demetrius and the martyrs!  Rufus, the grapes go on top, not first.” He shook his head in a dramatic suffering effect. “You see? I can’t leave them for a moment.”

Argolicus wondered who had suffered most for the light meal he’d eaten earlier with the family. “Anyone else?”

Vasilios pondered for a moment, his eyes never leaving his industrious workers. “Junia,” he called. A young woman left off chopping beets into tiny cubes. “Did you go out with Magda this morning? Ali, prepare another dove, that glutton Sabinus is here.”

Junia nodded her head and went back to chopping.

“Just you and Magda?”

Junia nodded again. 

Argolicus said, “I’ll speak with Magda for a moment. Thank you, Vasilios.”

Vasilios nodded as he returned to the work tables. “Peak under the cloth, Rufus. Those pastries must be ready now. Magda, talk to His Sublimity.”

Magda did not remember anything unusual from the morning.