Poetic Justice (The Publius Ovidius Mysteries Book 1) by Forsyth Fiona

Author:Forsyth, Fiona
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sharpe Books
Published: 2023-11-29T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

April 27

Avitius had increased patrols over the days leading up to the full moon, but the night itself passed with no incident. He did not intend to relax yet though. It was almost a month since the murder of the barmaid Antiope, and he had made no progress in finding out who had killed her. He hadn’t been able to trace the origin of the silver moon chain beyond the Getan jeweller’s opinion that it was mass-produced and probably from Rome.

“The one solid thing we have, it should be the key,” he mourned to Ovid at The Lyre of Apollo, just as the evening was falling over Tomis. He took the chain out of the purse hanging at his belt, and once more the two men gazed at that little crescent moon, hanging from the middle of the chain. It should have hung around Antiope’s neck, a present from a lover, something to express tender feelings.

Avitius and Ovid had decided that the connection with the full moon was their biggest clue, though Ovid suggested that given the physical locations of each incident, temples and bars should be warned. Avitius heard this out with admirable patience, and agreed, before telling Ovid that he had in fact already done this. The poet was unabashed. He had fully recovered from his illness and was back to peak confidence.

“He is settling into Tomis and quite enjoying himself,” thought Avitius. “If he forgets how miserable he is, he is good company. I wonder how much he is drinking?”

Aloud he asked Ovid how the writing was going.

“I’m really making progress,” said Ovid with unfeigned enthusiasm. “I’ve started doing a major overhaul of a poem I started years ago, all about the stars and the calendar and the great festivals.” He went on for some time and Avitius knew better than to do anything other than nod.

“He is definitely drinking less,” he thought.

“How are things otherwise?” he asked aloud.

Ovid shrugged. “I’ve given up on the animal killings,” he said far too casually.

Avitius shook his head. “I don’t blame you.”

After a pause, Ovid said, “Maybe a little tension has arisen with some of my neighbours.”

“Oh? What did you do?”

“I have had no trouble that wasn’t completely of my own making,” Ovid admitted. “I’m writing poems and sending them back home, as you know. And the idea is to get some sympathy, persuade a few friends to lobby Augustus, get me pardoned or something. I may have exaggerated my life here for dramatic effect. Unfortunately, one poem got back here and some of my observations did not go down well. Can’t blame people really, but I need to do some serious work to regain ground lost.”

“You mean you need me to find you some more work?”

They both laughed at that.

“I’ve been a bit useless so far,” said the poet. “Couldn’t pinpoint your animal killer, couldn’t help with poor little Antiope. I’ve lost my edge.”

“You never had an edge,” said Avitius.

Ovid shrugged and Avitius wondered if he’d been too brutal.

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