Fatal Legacy by Lindsey Davis

Author:Lindsey Davis
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

XXIX

I walked slowly to the exit on my own, absorbing how well-appointed the house was. Their atrium was four times as large as ours, floored with black and white marble in a geometric pattern, complete with mosaic borders and floor mats. Its pool looked clean—at least, I joked to myself, until the men came home drunk and fell into it. There were fresh flowers in a large niche lararium. Walls were painted in the eccentric style made fashionable in Nero’s Golden House, with mock marble dados in dull reds and smudgy greys below painted picture galleries. I had no time to admire the illusionistic art with its mythologies and still-lifes, because the chamberlain hobbled up to tick me off his list; he saw to it that I departed.

At some time in the past, money had been thrown at this house. Their decorator had been extremely happy. Thirty years ago? What had happened to the family then to bring an influx of cash and the energy to beautify? Everything I knew about them seemed either to be longer ago or much more recent.

Outside in the quiet street, I stood, thinking.

Suddenly the door through which I had emerged opened again; someone else came out behind me. I was amazed to see a familiar figure. “Philodamus!”

I had the faint impression that if he had known I was there he would have lurked indoors until I moved away. Even so, he greeted me amiably enough. He had smartened his stubble slightly but wore the same beige tunic, had the same wary expression and slow movements. From the ink stains on his fingers, I guessed he was doing the same job as at the Tranquillus apartment, still acting as a bookkeeper. He told me he was on his way to pick up cash from a banker in the Forum, which confirmed it. I suggested he walk along with me and tell me what had been happening to him. He had intended to turn right through the Forum Romanum and I would have been going left around the Circus Maximus, so we compromised by taking a gentle stroll through the gardens of the Temple of Claudius. On the way, we could chat.

I apologised if my enquiries had been responsible for his abrupt relocation, though I was puzzled. Philodamus told me the Caelian was in fact his old location. He had been passed to the Tranquilli seven years ago, and they had now returned him to his previous owners. “I don’t mind at all. To be honest, I never felt happy with the other set. This was like coming home.”

“What debts are you getting handed around for?”

“Can’t tell you. I am just the collateral.”

I was sure he was lying. He had always seemed honest before, but he was a bookkeeper so he ought to be well up on the finances of both families. I made a mental note—but let it go, given what had happened the last time I asked too much of him. There is a well-established Roman custom of yelling at slaves, whether they are yours or not.

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