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

were.’ There, I thought, that should include Antoninus – since I was certain that he’d preceded me into the house – and would also help determine who might have had the opportunity to put something in the wine.
    Over the general hubbub I raised my voice again. ‘Then we must ask you to go quietly to your homes – except any actual relatives, of course, who may be wanted to arrange the funeral. The rest of you may wish to offer your respects, but that will be appropriate at another time, and you will be notified of that, when the body has been properly laid out and members of the household have recovered from the shock.’
    I had meant to be discreet in asking for information ‘before Honorius left the room’ but one of the guests, at least, was far too quick for me. No sooner had I finished than I heard a booming voice. ‘So he didn’t die naturally. I thought as much – I was sure I heard that servant talking about an accident. And, my friend Antoninus, don’t go skulking off.’
    At the mention of that name I looked around, of course, and picked out the speaker instantly. It was the stout young town councillor that Minimus had jostled on his way to me, and he was accosting a hawk-nosed citizen at the atrium door. The fellow was squirming to get away from him, but the councillor persisted. ‘That fellow says he wants to question us. You had a lot of dealings with Honorius, I believe? And you were the last person to speak to him today.’
    If so, that was very interesting, I thought. So this was Antoninus – the very man that I was looking for. I looked at him, to make a mental picture of the face, but apart from the nose, he was unremarkable: a man of middle age, medium height and average size, with mousy coloured hair cut in a common style. The sort of man it would be easy to overlook, I thought. I strained my ears to hear his sharp reply.
    ‘It wasn’t me who was the last to talk to him. It was that decurion over there. If anyone, Redux, they will want to talk to you. You were related by marriage to Honorius after all – and you made no secret that you bore a grudge.’
    Others were turning round to stare at this bad-tempered loud exchange, but the steward stepped forward and put an end to it. ‘This way, citizens and honoured guests! The slaves will wait on you.’ And he shooed the invited guests back to the atrium, though the bridegroom and his retinue stood by, irresolute, filling up the hall and obviously uncertain if they should stay or not.
    People were milling in the passageway making in the direction of the door, when all at once there was a high, unearthly shriek and in the screen doorway the would-be bride appeared. She had snatched off her wedding wreath and was using it like a carpet-beater’s flail to force a path into the hall. I was still on the table. She looked up at me. Her eyes were wild and a spot of bright colour blazed in either cheek
    ‘Is it true? My father, Honorius, is dead?’ Her voice was shaking and unnaturally high.
    ‘I fear so, lady—’ I began, but she interrupted me.
    ‘Then it is my doing. I admit it, citizens. No, slaves, do not attempt to silence me again. I do not care who hears. I did not want to marry anyone. I told my father so, but he would not listen, so I took other means – though I did not expect it to turn out like this.’
    She gave a racking sob, followed by peals of wild laughter that were halfway to tears. The crowd fell back, as if instinctively, and two of her handmaidens led her hurriedly away into the private apartments at the rear.
    If there had been shock and disbelief before, this unexpected appearance of the stricken bride, and her amazing outburst, produced still more effect and more horror than the news about her father’s death had done.
    Suddenly, everyone wanted to be gone. Most of the bridegroom’s attendants backed away at once, and I heard them muttering excuses at the door. They, of course, were not included in my request to