The Chariots of Calyx

by Rosemary Rowe

I picked this up at the local library, and have since been startled to find it's the fourth in what is now a 13-book series set in Roman Britain in the second century A.D.

The series features a talented but unofficial sleuth: Longinius Flavius Libertus, whose surname is significant: he was a Celtic noble who, two decades earlier, was captured and sold into slavery. 

Ten years before this story begins, his Roman master died and bequeathed to him his freedom -- and his three names, which was standard for Roman citizens. Libertus is now a pavement-maker who lives in Londinium, and who has spent what spare time he can find in searching for his wife, Gwellia. She was captured at the same time as he was, but she was sold elsewhere.

Chariots of Calyx opens with the governor of Britannia, Publius Helvius Pertinax, calling on Libertus to investigate the brutal murder of a senior official of the city. Caius Monnius Loveinius (yes, the names can drive you nuts) was a frumentarius: the person in each province who was responsible for the collection, storage and distribution of grain (in the novel Rowe uses the word 'corn,' which was a casual term for grains in general). Not surprisingly, the position also offers almost unlimited opportunities for graft and corruption -- and few of these officials turned down those opportunities. So when Libertus asks who might have wanted Monnius dead … well, it's not exactly a short list. Included in this list is the man's young wife, whom he treats deplorably.

Libertus' investigations take him from the world of rich merchants into the world of racing, once it becomes known Monnius' wife was having an affair with a charioteer (the equivalent of rock stars in ancient Rome). But then another body crops up … and Libertus himself is captured and tortured for information … and the case starts to develop nasty undertones that suggest there's more to it than anybody initially suspected.

Overall, I enjoyed the book. I'd like to read more of the series, but have to admit that it didn't enthral me enough to make me want to run out and get another book right this minute.

My biggest complaint was … the last page was just one sentence too long.

A Tapestry of Murders

by Paul Doherty

Paul Doherty is a phenomenally prolific writer. And what's more amazing — whatever he writes, he writes well.
A Tapestry of Murders is part of his series involving the pilgrims in Geoffrey Chaucer's Canterbury Tales (Chaucer himself is there as well, but only on the sidelines, at least in the books I've read to date). Each book is a tale told by one of the pilgrims. Tapestry is told by the Man of Law.
It begins with the death of the Dowager Queen Isabella — widow of Edward II and mother of Edward III — of the pestilence. She died in the castle where she had been, basically, imprisoned by her son.
Some historical background: Isabella was nobody's idea of a saint, although one could argue today that she'd had some provocation … at least for some of her actions. She had a lengthy adulterous affair with Roger Mortimer, but then, her husband was at the time involved in a longstanding affair with Hugh de Spencer. Ultimately Isabella and Mortimer overthrew Edward II and arranged for his murder in a spectacularly grisly fashion. She and Mortimer ruled until Edward III came of age and put an abrupt end to both their rule and their affair: he had Mortimer tried (and gagged throughout the trial) and executed and Isabella sent to Castle Rising under very heavy guard.
In Doherty's story, Isabella's death seems to spawn even more murder and mayhem than she managed in her life. Nicholas Chirke, just starting out on a law career, is brought in to investigate the strange events. His investigations take him into the centre of a scandal that could topple the monarchy — no small matter in an age in which civil war would likely be used to find a new king.
Doherty excels at keeping the reader off-balance; you are never entirely sure who the good guys really are, although you can identify some of the bad guys fairly quickly (the professional assassin Nightshade in this book was pretty obvious in subsequent chapters to anybody who was paying attention to the initial description).
Doherty is also top-notch at blending historical fact with fiction, and at building "might-have-been" stories around his historical facts.
Nor does it hurt that he hints, in each of the books, that there are relationships between various of the pilgrims, without explaining what those relationships are — or were. Some appear to be neutral while others are distinctly hostile. The reader gets the impressions of these through the eyes of other characters, who observe a glance here, a movement there. It's very subtly done. I haven't finished the series — I'm not sure whether Doherty has finished the series, although I hope not — and I am curious to see whether there will be explanations forthcoming about this.