Free Murder in the Forum by Rosemary Rowe Page B

cannot imagine that my master would want such a piece of coarse Celtic plaid, His Excellence Tigidius Perennis Felix even less so.’
    Marcus was looking impatient, and I stepped in hastily. ‘I agree, Excellence. A most unlikely purchase for either of them. In which case I can only suppose that it is the cloak, and the man himself put it here. It occurs to me that I did not notice him again after Felix died. The doorman did not see him leave, either. I made a point of asking him.’
    Marcus’s frown deepened. ‘Yet Egobarbus would not be easy to miss. Those whiskers and that cloak . . . By Jupiter, greatest and best! Libertus, I see what you are thinking. Somehow he came here and abandoned his cloak in order to escape without being noticed. Though he would have needed something to disguise those whiskers. A hooded cape, perhaps?’
    I nodded, doubtfully. Roman citizens are not as universally clean-shaven as they used to be. Indeed, there has been quite a little fashion for beards since the Emperor Hadrian sported one, and naturally, since Commodus himself is bearded, much of polite society in high places follows the Emperor. But it is not usual in Glevum. Even I have to submit to the expensive horrors of a barber’s shop occasionally – with its dreadful sharpened blades and its spiders-web-and-ashes dressing for nicks and cuts – though I generally prefer the ministrations of Junio with a pair of iron scissors. Most of the guests, and slaves, at the banquet tonight had been as smooth-faced as Vestal virgins, so Egobarbus was as conspicuous as a lighted torch. Even a hooded cape would scarcely have disguised that exuberant moustache.
    ‘There is—’ I began, but Marcus brushed me aside and was scowling down the narrow corridor.
    ‘What is behind those other doors?’
    I hastened to inform him. ‘More store cupboards, Excellence, and the big entrance on the right is to the kitchens. Egobarbus is not there. I searched them not a minute ago when I was looking for Zetso.’
    ‘Nevertheless,’ Marcus said, ‘we will search again.’ He gestured the lamp-bearer forward and suited the action to the words. In vain. There was nothing in the other cupboards but grain and candles and nothing in the smoky candlelit kitchen but a group of startled slaves, who – drawn as they were from different households – were squabbling noisily about what scraps were whose, and who should be expected to clean the greasy salvers and rub the dirty knives with red earth and ashes. My visit earlier had caused consternation enough, but at the sight of a purple-striper in the kitchen they stopped their bickering at once, and dropping their various brooms and implements stood staring at us in mystified terror.
    Marcus made a pretence of looking under the tables, but there was clearly nothing to see and he withdrew, muttering, ‘Very well, get on with your work.’ The slaves’ hands resumed their tasks obediently, but their eyes never left us until we were once more back in the gloom of the corridor.
    ‘Excellence,’ I began again, but Marcus was not listening. His gaze had fallen on the glimmer of light beyond the skimpy curtain which screened the latrine.
    ‘There he is!’ Marcus strode forward and thrust the curtain aside.
    The florid citizen-trader whom I had surprised earlier was standing there, his candle guttering on a shelf while he readjusted his toga. He stared at us for a moment in affronted astonishment, and then he and Marcus spoke as one man.
    ‘You!’
    Marcus recovered first. ‘Tommonius Lunaris! What brings you to this house?’
    The man he had called ‘Tommonius’ smiled faintly. ‘The same occasion as brings you here yourself, Excellence. I was bidden to the feast by Perennis Felix. I had business with him earlier in the town. I was astonished to see you at the banquet – I thought you in Corinium. Was not the lawsuit scheduled for today?’
    ‘Indeed it was. I presided at it before I came here.’
    ‘And how