Argolicus Mysteries: Books 1-4

2. Family Matters

2

Family Matters

“My husband had a certain verve for life,” Aemilia Atia said. She was a striking woman approaching 50, with handsome features echoed by Titiana, sitting next to her. Argolicus could tell she was used to being in charge. “His brother, Sabinus, is more down to earth.”

Aemilia Atia, Philo’s mother, had left her bedroom and gathered everyone in the entertainment room when she learned of the guest. The floor was covered in a dizzying array of black and white mosaics, and the walls were painted with intricate scenes of trees and flowers and young people playing musical instruments in nature. Braziers, next to seats, warmed the room from the winter cold. Slaves brought trays of gustum: small tidbits of fruit, cheese, and salads for nibbling placed on platters and bowls around the seats, but no one was eating.

“He was a collector. You saw his study. There are storage rooms filled with more. He rotated items so he could enjoy it all bit by bit.” She gazed at the wall behind Argolicus. “He had the walls repainted to make them more lively.” She looked down at Titiana’s clasped hands and placed her beringed fingers over her daughter’s. Titiana leaned closer.

Argolicus was about to ask her a question when she continued. “He collected people as well. He worked at developing connections… of all kinds.”

Argolicus asked, “Can you think of anyone who would want to injure him?”

Aemelia Atia gazed into a middle distance. “He wasn’t always loved. He was ruthless in bargains. But, no. I can’t think of anyone who would want to do this.” She waved in the direction of the cubiculum.

Titiana shifted, her eyes opening wide. “He was…” She stopped, looking at Philo, who said nothing. He sat with the glazed look he’d had when Argolicus arrived.

Argolicus waited, but none of them spoke.

Aemilia suddenly broke from her reverie, “Please, eat. You must be hungry after your trip from Rome. This is no time to lose courtesy. Perhaps it is even more important now.” She picked a grape and nibbled off a tiny piece.

Once she had picked up the grape, Philo was the first to reach for a small pastry. Argolicus looked at the array of delicacies on the tray next to his seat: eggs in pine nut sauce, a small dish of asparagus cooked in eggs and herbs, a pastry. He picked up the pastry and took a bite: roasted lamb bits with herbs and pine nuts. As soon as he took a bite, a slave appeared with a light translucent blue glass goblet filled with honeyed wine and placed it on the table next to the tray.

“Father was a busy man,” Philo said. “Every morning, he received people here in his study to conduct business. But in the afternoons and evenings, he was often gone. He was very social.”

Titiana sighed and pulled away from her mother’s shoulder.

Aemilia drew up her shoulders. “He wasn’t a family man.”

Argolicus waited for more.

Aemilia continued, “He was always out visiting. Sometimes he came home with a new acquisition. He kept the newest ones on his desk so he could admire them. When he arranged dinner parties here, the guests often included new people we had not met before. As exotic as his collection items are… were, he never invited anyone who was not a Roman.”

Philo added, “Yes, they had long conversations into the night about Theoderic and his People. He made certain his guests were from old families. They talked about the new appointees from the King. He called them upstarts. They would scheme and plan. But, it was all talk. That’s how he and Boethius became friends.”

Argolicus once again was glad he was leaving the enclave of Romans. “How do you feel about the King?” he asked.

“Me?” Philo said. “I prefer my books to politics. I have no experience of the ‘old ways,’ as my father reverently called them. Maybe I’m young. Going to the Games on my own was an adventure for me.” He paused. “But I see that it won’t happen this year.”

Aemilia said, “There will be other years, Philo. Now you are the man of the house. We must make funeral arrangements. You need to learn from Sabinus. You’ll be busy now. I’m sure the new Consul, Flavius Paulus, won’t miss you at the Games.”

“Sabinus?” Argolicus said. The talk was wandering from Pius’ death. He felt the time constraint before his boat left. If he could get a better picture of the family, he was certain he would find clues to Pius’ violent death.

Aemilia drew up her shoulders and then let them down. “Sabinus is a businessman. An organizer. His life is the port. His daily activities are filled with cargo and the coming and going of ships. He makes certain cargo is distributed to make room for what is contained in the new ships that arrive. He rarely attends social events and even more rarely hosts them. He spends the evenings with his family.” She paused. Argolicus saw a tiny frown develop between her elegant eyebrows.

“He is devoted to his family. He has three boys and two girls. He has a penchant for the ordinary and the pedestrian. I’ve heard him tell the story of Cornelia’s jewels in reference to his own children. What can I say? His home is in Portus; his work is in Portus. Pius thought him boring. But, he did make the shipping business run smoothly.”

Argolicus waited to see if Titiana or Philo had anything to add, but they were both silent, each seemingly lost in their own thoughts.

“And you?” Argolicus asked, looking directly at Aemilia. “How did you get along with Pius?”

“What do you mean ‘get along’?” Aemilia asked. “We were husband and wife. We made things work.”

Argolicus waited without responding.

Aemilia shrugged. “We were amicable. I wouldn’t say we were a loving couple. We’ve been married many years. We made it work.”

Philo stared blankly. Titiana moved away from her mother and sat primly alone.

“Did you argue?” Argolicus asked.

“Of course, we argued. We were a couple. We had our disagreements, but I can’t recall any arguments of any seriousness. Marital disagreements happen with any couple.” Before Argolicus could speak, she said, “I don’t know who you are trying to ensnare. Philo asked you to look into his death, but I won’t suffer insinuations from anyone, especially just the kind of man my husband could not tolerate.”

She drew up her shoulders again, stood up, and began to leave the room.

Argolicus stood as well, mentally brushing off her reference to his heritage. “I am sorry I have upset you. Murder is upsetting. I ask questions. The more I know, the better I understand.”

Aemilia said, “I’ll leave you to Philo.”

Titiana stood, glanced at Philo, and then ran across the room. Both of her fists beat Argolicus on the chest. “You don’t understand anything,” she cried as she hit him over and over.

Philo jumped up from his silent reverie to pull Titiana away. She turned and sobbed into her brother’s shoulder. Then she ran out of the room.

Philo looked at Argolicus. His face was distorted like a young child that is about to cry. “I apologize for my mother and my sister. My father protected them from the world. They feel exposed and defenseless.”

“I’m sure they do,” Argolicus said. “And you?”

Philo seemed to gather himself. “We are a family. We are not a loving family. My father kept the household running. We all bowed to his will. Even Sabinus. He was pater familias, but at a distance. What my mother said was right. They were married like the contractual arrangement that they made from the beginning. She did his bidding and relied on him for protection.”

He stopped. Then he waved his arm at the house before them. “Look at this. Look at all of it. This is a house of things. To my father, people were a means to an end, and the end was things. I was his son, and I was his possession. I must always look good. I’m sure the reason he didn’t want me to go to Rome was not because of anything that would happen, but because young people do wild things, and he did not want me to do anything that would reflect on his name.”

“And your books?” Argolicus asked. “Did he approve of your library?”

“Yes and no. He approved of the collection. My building my own collection was an extension of his image. But my ‘bookishness,’ as he called it, upset him. He wanted me to be more of a man.”

“A man? What does that mean?” Argolicus asked.

“To be like him, of course. To take the family name out in public. To attend events. To go to parties. To accompany him on his searches for the one new thing. That’s what he meant. He cited Boethius as an example of a man who loved books and yet was in the thick of things.”

Argolicus had a picture now of the young man’s emotional turmoil. His father was dead, and he had no one to help. He’d been pushed into a position he couldn’t handle, and that did not suit his nature. “Ah, to be a man in his image.”

“Yes, exactly. My father wanted me to be just like him. I’m not.”

“Philo, do you want me to stay and continue? I don’t want to upset your mother or your sister.”

“Yes, more than ever. You saw how emotional they are. How would they help find who killed my father?” He nodded toward the passageway where Aemilia and Titiana had disappeared. “I need you.” He looked Argolicus in the eye.

Argolicus felt an ache at the bottom of his chest at the remembrance of his own father’s death. He also remembered the comfort he had taken in the male presence of his uncle, not only a book lover but a maker of books. He nodded.

“Oh, I am grateful,” Philo exclaimed like a young child. “I can’t make a fancy speech, but I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

Argolicus felt that pain in his chest dissipate. “I will do as much as I can do.”

“In that case, I know the perfect room for you here in the house. Let me show you.” He led Argolicus out of the entertainment room into the peristylum and turned left toward a set of stairs at the far end. “I know it is old-fashioned, but I have a tutor, too. He’s probably in my library looking for something for us to read this evening. His name is Bion.”

Nikolaos appeared from somewhere in the peristylum and followed them up the stairs. At the top of the stairs was a long hallway lined with doorways.

“I like it up here,” Philo said. “The rooms have windows. They are light during the day.” He led them along the corridor to a door and opened it. Inside the door was a small whitewashed room for Nikolaos and beyond that a brightly painted cubiculum set with a bed, a chair, and two small tables. One held a washbasin and small linens; the other was slightly larger to serve as a desk with two oil lamps. A brazier stood near the table against the winter chill. The walls were painted here and there with figures: young women and men singing and cavorting among trees and one lone shepherd playing his pipe.

Argolicus found his travel bag already placed in a corner. “Thank you, Philo. This will do nicely.”

“Oh, there is more I want to show you. My library is next door.” He nodded his head toward the left. “Once you are settled, I’ll show you my collection.” His face shown with pride.

“Perhaps after dinner. We can all read together.”

“I like that idea,” Philo said. “We can read from the new book.” He looked around the room and hesitated.

“We’ll be fine. I’ll arrange my things. Then I’ll take a walk and do some thinking. Where will you be in a couple of hours?”

“I’m sure I’ll be in my father’s study. Uncle Sabinus is due in the next hour. We’ll have many things to discuss.”

“I’ll join you there. I want to speak with your uncle.” He watched the young man leave. Was I ever that vulnerable?

He must have said it aloud because Nikolaos said, “Yes, Master.”