Death at Pompeia's Wedding by Rosemary Rowe Read Free Book Online

she said. ‘Your former master, Honorius, is dead?’ She did not turn towards him as she spoke, but raised her head and looked directly into Helena Domna’s eyes. ‘In that case, tell me, who is mistress here?’
    ‘I suppose that you are, lady.’ He looked abjectly terrified, but he let me go.
    ‘You see, Helena Domna? This is my house now. Even the servants are aware of that, and – as I apprehend it – the same is true in law. Honorius bought it with my dowry and it reverts to me – quite apart from any other provision in his will. So understand me, madam, things are different from now on. If there are arrangements to be made, I shall be making them.’
    Helena Domna tried to interpose, but this time it was Livia who refused to pause. ‘Steward, go to the anteroom at once, and prevent poor Vinerius from poisoning himself, in an attempt to prove his innocence. I don’t wish to bring more trouble on this house. If we are to test the wines, we’ll do it properly and get the court to send us a condemned criminal or two to see which ones are poisoned, if any of them are. Go quickly, steward, while there is still time.’
    The man looked at Helena Domna doubtfully, but all the same he went, leaving the two women alone with me and Minimus.
    Livia flashed me a smile. ‘I’m sorry, citizen. I must leave you now and go back to our guests. I think—’
    But what she thought I never had the chance to hear, because there was a sudden commotion at the outer door: a babble of voices, distant cheers and shouts, followed by the banging of a tambour and a tootling of flutes, over which the doorkeeper’s voice could still be heard, ‘Don’t come bursting in. Let me announce you . . .’ But it was far too late.
    The passage to the atrium was already full of shouting, laughing, jostling young men – all in fine togas which proved them citizens – some carrying boughs and instruments and already bursting into raucous bawdy song. ‘Where is the bride who is shortly to be wed?’ they carolled, crowding from behind. These were clearly the bridegroom’s friends and relatives, and they nudged ahead of them a large, plump older man, with a bald head and fleshy red-veined face, who seemed embarrassed by his entourage, but whose incongruous festive wreaths of fresh flowers identified him clearly as the would-be groom himself.
    He tried to stop the whole procession as he saw us in the hall, but his attempt to call for order was drowned out by the noise. The singers were oblivious, they were wrapped up in the song, detailing with some relish – and great vulgarity – the more salacious attractions of a wife, and the jostling of the crowd behind him forced the bridegroom forward. The pressure of people in that narrow passageway was such that both the ladies had to step aside and move towards the kitchen quarters at the back, while Minimus and I were pressed against the little table by the wall.
    We might have moved backwards into the atrium, but the noisy arrival of the bridegroom’s party had clearly reached the guests – and even Roman patience and good manners has limits when there is a wedding imminent. The screen was pushed open, and the guests came thronging out – laughing and clapping and giving the usual suggestive whistles to welcome the groom and his attendant group.
    Someone shouted, ‘Where’s Honorius?’ and the chant was taken up. ‘We want Honorius, the father of the bride.’
    ‘Do something!’ I saw Helena Domna mouth the words, although her voice was lost in the tumultuous din. I looked at Livia and she nodded back at me.
    There seemed to be only one thing I could do. I was pressing up against the table all this time, and with Minimus’s help, I scrambled on to it, seizing a drum from one of the revellers as I went. I stood and thumped on it, but without much effect, until I glimpsed the doorkeeper hovering uncertainly at the entrance way as if appalled that they’d escaped him and burst into the