To see the previous installments, click on the following links: #1, #2 , #3, #4, #5, #6, #7, #8, #9, #10, #11, #12, #13

That evening, after my enquiries at the Flavian house, I found myself in front of Decimus Aemilius Rufus, the inseparable friend of Lucius Flavius Crispus. I found him in the vicinity of the Forum, near a tavern, the usual place of his passage after the hours of leisure in the baths or the bustle of the streets. When I called his name, he raised his head and his face lit up with a mixture of surprise and weariness, like that of a man who has had too much to drink and was carrying the weight of an eventful day. He rose with some dishevelment, his sandals kicking up dust from the dry ground.

"Know that I come with questions," I said, as he escorted me to a more discreet corner. I knew it was no place to discuss a murder amidst the tumult of the city. Decimus looked at me curiously, and with a grimace that tried to hide his discomfort, he agreed.

"What happened at the house of Marcus Varius is serious," I began, trying to measure my words cautiously. "What can you tell me about Lucius? And, above all, what happened before the murder?"

Decimus sighed deeply, leaning against the stone wall, his gaze roaming the streets and stalls, perhaps searching for the right words or trying to recall clearly the events of the fateful meal. "Lucius and I... we were inseparable, you know? We both grew up enjoying the life Pompeii had to offer: the baths, the taverns, the dice games... and also the pleasures of the brothels. We were young. Lucius always told me that we should enjoy the present, because tomorrow is uncertain. That evening was no different."

He paused, as if he needed to recapitulate the details of a memory tarnished by wine. "The meal at Marcus Varius's house... was plentiful. We ate the usual: bread dipped in garum, which Marcus boasted of producing with the best recipe, fresh fruit, and fish dishes prepared with care. There was garum in every dish, even in the wine you could taste it, you know? The wine of the region was strong, spicy... too strong, perhaps".

He watched me with a half smile, as if trying to justify what he was about to confess. "I drank more than I should have, as we were wont to do. Lucius and I... we laughed, talked about our days at the baths, the last game at the tavern. And then... well, the next thing I remember clearly is falling asleep."

The story seemed to fragment with every word. His eyes were lost in the recent past. "I woke up to hear the screams. All was confusion. I was alone in the triclinium, the others had left the dining room. I didn't understand what was happening until I saw Lucius' body, there... on the marble."

The echo of his words dissolved into the air, as his face transformed into a mixture of guilt and despair, though his fear seemed sincere. This was a man who, though young and carefree looking, was deeply affected by recent events.

I decided to take the conversation into more personal, intimate territory. "I know that Marcus has a daughter... and that both you and Lucius used to frequent his house. Tell me, Decimus, how did you feel about her?"

For a moment, Decimus was silent. His eyes rested on the cobblestones of the floor, as if the answer weighed too heavily on his conscience. "I'm in love with her," he finally confessed, his voice barely a whisper. "From the first time I saw her. She's beautiful, but... but she only had eyes for Lucius. No matter what I did, to her I was just... the friend of her beloved."

I felt in his words a dull ache, an unrequited love that had perhaps poisoned their relations in that house. "Do you think Lucius shared those feelings for her?," I asked, trying to decipher what role this young woman had played in the tragedy that loomed over us.

Decimus raised his head slowly, his expression bitter. "Lucius never really loved her? Not as I did. To him, she was just a distraction, a slave's daughter. His true interest... was always someone else."

Intrigued, I asked him to continue. "Who, then, occupied Lucius' heart?"

"His mother." The word came out of his mouth with a sharp edge, like a secret revealed too late. "I always knew. I didn't say it out loud, but... I saw it. I saw it in the way he looked at Marcus's wife, and the way she smiled at him. I'm not saying that she... that she did anything, but I know Lucius wanted her."

The air seemed to grow heavier, as if the mere act of saying it had charged it with an unbearable gravity. This new detail, though veiled by Decimus' emotional turmoil, added a dark layer to the story.

He knew that, despite his drunkenness, this young man might not be the killer. But I also knew that, like everyone else in the house, Decimus harboured secrets, desires and frustrations that, in the wrong hands, could have precipitated the bloody outcome of that fateful evening.

Before I finished, I asked him one last question. "Are you sure you didn't see anything else, Decimus? Nothing that could help find the killer?"

The young man shook his head, his eyes misty with sadness and confusion. "Nothing. I already told you. I fell asleep and... when I woke up, Lucius was already dead. I wish I could tell you more."

I was silent for a moment, assessing every gesture and every word, trying to discern if there was something else Decimus was hiding. But if there was, he held it in so painfully that not even wine could wring it out of him.

I let him go, feeling that the pieces of the puzzle were still scattered, but at least one thing was clear: Lucius Flavius’ heart had not been alone in his future with Marcus Varius’ daughter, but in a far more dangerous, far more forbidden obsession.

To be continued

Header Image:

Panorama of the Pompeii forum. Source: Wikipedia