To see the previous installments, click on the following links: #1, #2 , #3, #4, #5, #6, #7, #8, #9

In the relentless light of midday, I crossed the threshold of the villa of Marcus Varius Tiberianus, a prosperous-looking house decorated with the good taste that the nouveau riche often acquire. I knew I would not find the setting intact. Everything had been carefully cleaned. The corpse of Lucius Flavius Crispus, removed, and with it, the few clues that might have spoken louder than words. The peristyle, which until recently had been marked by the chaos of murder, now glowed in an almost unnatural calm. The fountains murmured softly of ancient forgotten messages and the mosaics glistened again in the glow of light filtered between the columns.

Everything was in order. Too much in order.

Marcus Varius, who was waiting for me in the tablinum, the house office, stood up when he saw me enter. He was a man with a stern face, marked by years and work. I knew who he was, and more to the point, what he stood for by command of the Duoviri. I could not simply trust his words, even if they were coherent. As he sat, eyes lowered, fingers interlocked, I tried to decipher the truth behind his tired eyes.

"My life is simple, Hispanus," he began, his voice calm, but seeming to contain a hidden bitterness. "I was a slave, like so many others. I accompanied Titus on his Judean campaign, and served him with the loyalty that a man in my situation could offer. I was his assistant, his invaluable help, and so, after the victory and the quelling of the rebellion, Titus granted me my freedom. Not only that, he provided me with a new life, here in Pompeii, where I was able to start my garum business. As you know, garum is a sauce that accompanies all our meals."

Varius paused, watching my reactions. He was trying to guess my thoughts, as I was trying to guess his. His account, though detailed, left me with an uncomfortable feeling of emptiness. There were no emotions in his words, only facts laid out, almost coldly.

"Trade with Iudæa has been profitable for me," he continued. "My knowledge of administration in those lands, acquired during the war, enabled me to establish myself quickly. Success in business opened doors for me to Pompeii's patrician elite. It was only a matter of time before my family rose socially. And so what we were celebrating that fateful evening was just that: my rise.”

I looked out of the nearby window at the peristyle. It was now a neat space, ornamented with flowers and plants that barely hinted at the recent tragedy. Nothing remained of the bloodshed, of the chaos of murder. Only the heavy air of an incomplete story.

"What happened during lunch?" I asked, steering the conversation towards the inevitable.

"There were my two sons, my wife, and two of my sons’ friends and among them, Lucius Flavius Crispus," Marcus said in a lower tone. "I don't understand what could have happened, Hispanus. We were celebrating, everything seemed in order. Lucius was there as a courtesy, as a guest. And suddenly, when I stepped aside for a moment to deal with a customer, I heard a scream. When I returned, I found him dead.”

"Where was the rest of your family?"

"My children were there, her friends, my daughter... she... she screamed when she saw him. My wife tried to stay calm, but it was too late."

The bewilderment on his face made me wonder what he wasn't saying. Why, then, were there no clues? Why was the house so clean?

"Everything has been changed," I reproached him gently. "The traces of blood, the gun, everything has disappeared. Who ordered it?”

Marcus Varius looked at me with a mixture of shame and some fear. "I couldn't let... the scene remain in that state. It was dishonourable. Besides, the important thing is to find the culprit, not to let the stains speak for us."

He knew he wouldn't find clear answers in a place where the evidence had been deliberately erased. But what remained, what could not be wiped away, was the anguish contained in Marcus' every word. A patrician had been murdered under his roof, a relative of the emperor, no less. And behind the composure, I sensed his mind struggling to contain the coming storm.

I knew I would have to probe beyond words, beyond what was visible.

To be continued

Header Image:

Atrium of Sallust's house in Pompeii used as backdrop for Giovanni Pacini's opera