His way of telling me he’d not intrude on a private matter but would be there if I needed his help.
Vibius had already taken advantage of the majordomo’s absence and made his hasty way to the front door. I followed, Vibius’s long legs quickly taking him into the house.
We found Cloelius and Aelia in the peristyle garden. Cloelius lounged on a bench strewn with cushions, languidly waving a flat fan below his chin. The grayish tint to his skin and a tremble at the corner of his mouth showed me that whatever illness had taken him had worn him out. Aelia stood over him, her face flushed, anger in her eyes.
She swung around as Vibius charged toward her, regarding me with surprise when I followed.
“Leonidas,” she greeted me. “My brother has just confessed that he sent one of our servants to your house to steal the ring from you.”
I stopped in my tracks, more pieces falling into place.
“It was gold.” Cloelius shrugged, as though too warm to make any more energetic movement. “Vibius told Aelia of it, and she told me, as though it was an amusing anecdote.” He sighed. “Sadly, I could use the funds such a ring might bring.”
“That is not true,” I stated. “You sent the man because your strange plan for revealing the murdered slave had already gone wrong. Vibius was supposed to find the ring. Maybe you had an idea that he could take the blame for the supposed conspiracy when it was discovered—you could rid yourself of the brother-in-law you don’t like.”
Vibius sucked in a breath, although he betrayed no shock. “Not very good of you,” he said.
Aelia swung to Cloelius again, her anger mounting. “What are you saying?” she demanded of her brother. “Do you mean you have been the perpetrator of this nonsense? To what purpose?”
I answered when Cloelius remained stubbornly silent. “To force someone to investigate the death at the warehouse site. Even if he risked being arrested and tried for treason against Nero.”
“Fool.” Unable to contain herself, Aelia began to pace. “Why not tell the cohorts and let them deal with it? Risking the wrath of the princeps … Which would have come down upon me and Vibius as well. Why? What could be so—”
“He was my son!” Cloelius erupted from the bench, languid no longer. “He was my son, damn you. And damn that vigile who dared lay a hand on him.”
Vibius’s mouth popped open. I said nothing as Cloelius confirmed what Cassia and I had concluded.
Sons were the most important thing a Roman man had, especially a man like Cloelius. He’d lost that son, and then he’d lost everything else—his family’s wealth, his importance, even his pride in being a respected paterfamilias. His clients dwindled away, and Cloelius did little now but wander gardens that had once been opulent. He’d even lost his sister to an awkward Equestrian. The fact that Aelia was happy with Vibius didn’t matter to Cloelius—she’d deserted him, in his eyes.
“Your son?” Aelia repeated, stunned.
“My only son.” The words were raw. “I’ll never have another.”
“He was a slave?” Vibius burst in.
Cloelius turned a look upon him that would have withered most men to ash. The fact that Vibius withstood the glare made Cloelius even more angry.
“His mother was a slave,” Cloelius stated. “That is the law.”
A law that could be overcome. Cloelius could have freed both mother and son at any time.
Maybe he’d meant to. Maybe the young man’s death had robbed Cloelius of that important act.
“Who was she?” Aelia asked in perplexity.
“Her name was Paulina.” Cloelius sank onto the cushioned bench, slumping as though his strength was gone. “Sweet Paulina.”
“Paulina?” Aelia regarded her brother with some sympathy. “I remember her. A lovely woman. She was in charge of our maids, for a while,” she explained to us. “I hadn’t realized—” She broke off. “She had a child, I recall. You sent her away.”
“My child.” Cloelius’s voice was weak. “We called him Titus. She raised him, in a little apartment on the Aventine I rented for her. I gave them what I could.”
I heard a rustle in the shadows. Cassia had emerged from the back of the house after she’d orchestrated of the commotion and now stood under the portico to listen.
“What happened to Paulina?” I asked.
“She died.” Cloelius said the words simply, but I heard the pain in them.
“Why was Titus at the warehouse site?” I asked, gentling my tone.
