A Pattern of Blood (16 page)

Sollers regarded me for a moment, the shrewd eyes thoughtful. ‘Indeed,’ he said. ‘That is a possibility. We must not overlook it. Although my first thought was the damage to the body. The same symptoms might be caused by a severe blow to the stomach.’

I looked at him in surprise. ‘You think so?’

‘It is possible. There is a mark here too, on the neck. A swift blow there will kill a man almost instantly.’

‘If the attacker knows where to strike.’

He nodded thoughtfully. ‘Or strikes by accident.’

‘You do not think it might be poisoning?’ I persisted. ‘Some poison which acts swiftly, without causing contortions? Aconite, for example?’ I said. I had had dealings with aconite before.

He seemed to consider this a little, and then he shook his head. ‘I do not think so. Unless, of course, the boy simply ate some food which was poisonous. A bad fish or a piece of harmful fungus can do it. Even an old egg or a piece of pie. I have known that in the army, a whole tentful of six soldiers dying because of something they ate. But how would Rollo acquire such a thing? He has eaten nothing that other people have not had.’

‘Could he have been struck first and poisoned afterwards?’

‘That seems a little unlikely, don’t you think? Though I suppose we cannot altogether rule it out. There may have been some sort of struggle. There is no way of telling after death. But for myself, I believe it was the blow that killed him. And dealt, I think, by a left-handed man.’

That was a telling observation, if it was true. I said quickly, ‘How can you tell?’

He lifted up the pathetic tunic, revealing the linen strap fixed around the loins as an undercloth. ‘You see here? There is a dark patch on his stomach and side – it looks like a bruise. That would suggest a cruel blow. But see,’ he made a feigned blow at the body with his right hand, ‘the angle of it is wrong. But if I strike him so,’ he repeated the action with his left, ‘the mark would fall exactly where it is.’

I had to admit the justice of his demonstration. ‘And who is left-handed in a household of this kind?’

It was Julia who answered. ‘Maximilian favoured his left hand as a child,’ she said doubtfully. ‘My husband told me so. He regarded it as a bad omen for the boy. But he uses his right hand now. I have seen him do so many times.’

‘Maximilian was watching Rollo last night,’ Mutuus put in. ‘He insisted that Rollo and I change places when we were bringing the trays to yourself and His Excellence. Muttered that he thought the boy was up to something, and he wanted to keep him away from Flavius.’

Sollers gave me a significant glance. Julia gave a little gasp.

‘Speaking of His Excellency,’ I said, ‘I think my patron should be informed of this death. He had intended to commit Lupus to the gaol today, but now I think he will want to investigate things further.’

Mutuus stared at me. ‘But what has this to do with my adoptive father?’

‘Perhaps nothing,’ I replied, ‘but one thing is certain. If Rollo was killed by a blow, the one person who could not have done it is Lupus. He was under lock and key all night.’

Sollers was following my train of thought. ‘If it had been poison, of course, then even Lupus might have arranged it. A man can poison by proxy, even if he is locked in the attics.’

‘You think the killer was the same man?’ Julia asked. She had scarcely spoken since her arrival, and her face and voice told of her horror and shock.

I found myself smiling at her. ‘When there are two killings in one house within a few hours, it seems improbable that they are unconnected.’

Sollers nodded. ‘Another argument against poison, don’t you think, citizen? Two killings, both caused by violent attack. Murderers are said to favour the same method, I have heard.’

‘But this is only a slave,’ Julia whispered, in the same strained voice. ‘An expensive slave, but a slave all the same. And not even an important one. Why would anyone murder a slave? How could that be connected to Quintus?’

Sollers moved to her side. ‘Julia, my dear, of course it might be connected,’ he said gently. He took her arm, and she leaned against him gratefully. Sollers gave her arm a squeeze and went on. ‘Suppose the slave had heard something, or seen something, which would prove someone’s guilt? It is easy to see why he might be killed.’

I nodded. That was true – of Rollo in particular. Most slaves learn to keep discreetly silent, but not the little page – his artless prattling had been part of his charm. If he had witnessed something, however apparently innocent, there was always a chance that he would have let it slip to someone.

‘But that would suggest that Lupus was not the guilty man!’ Her voice was full of tears. ‘I thought it had been settled. But no, the nightmare is not over yet. Oh, Great Mercury! But what could Rollo have seen or done? Poor, silly little plaything.’

It was not grief for the slave, of course, which moved her, but the fear that a murderer was still among us. The little company fell silent for a moment, listening to the distant lament. The moment was shattered, however, by a strident voice from the other side of the courtyard.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ It was Maximilian at the entrance to the atrium, his face pale with rage. ‘Am I never to be consulted about events that happen in my own household? A page is dead, one of my own slaves, and I am not even to be informed?’ He strode across the court to join us.

If this was acting, it was an impressive performance. At the sight of Rollo his whole demeanour changed. His confidence evaporated and he began to babble like a woman.

‘Oh, dear Mercury, what a disgusting sight. And in the latrine too. Well, what are we to do with him? We cannot leave him here, there is the burial to be attended to – and now Rollo will need a funeral of his own. Quintus would have wished it. He always paid for his servants to join the funeral guild, to ensure them a decent ritual.’

‘Then we must contact the guild and let them attend to it,’ Sollers said. ‘They can come tonight, after the procession for Ulpius has left. Perhaps in the meantime we should have him taken to the servants’ room, and at least get him washed and dressed decently. Since this is your household, as you say, would you care to give the necessary instructions?’

Maximilian glared at him helplessly, the thin, tousled figure confronting the strong, controlled one. Maximilian was the first to flinch. ‘Let it be done,’ he said at last, as if the words cost him an effort. He had come here asserting his authority, but Sollers had once more wrested it from him.

The two slaves who had rescued Rollo’s body stepped forward to pick it up again, but Maximilian intervened. ‘Fetch a board,’ he said, as if he were relieved to find some sensible command to give. ‘Let the poor page enjoy a little dignity. And bring some water here. Let him be rinsed before he is taken to the house.’ The slaves scuttled off and Maximilian let out a deep breath.

But Sollers did not let him assume control for long. He released Julia’s arm and stepped forward confidently. ‘We should buy some bread and wine, too, as grave meats for him. We cannot decently use the food prepared for Quintus’s feast, but Rollo will need sustenance for the underworld, too, and he will have to bribe Cerberus with food to let him pass the gates of Hades, just as Ulpius will. Whether we are slaves or decurions, that ravening guard dog requires the same tribute from us all.’

‘Well, you cannot expect me to provide it,’ Maximilian cried petulantly. ‘Until the will is read I have no money at all. That is why I came here in the first place.’

Sollers looked at him for a moment, then with a swift movement he produced a purse from within the toga folds at his waist and tossed it to Maximilian. ‘Here then, take this. A few
asses
for the purchases.’

Maximilian caught the purse. It was an instinctive action, but a moment later he seemed to realise the indignity and flung it down again. ‘How dare you!’ he roared. ‘Tossing money to me as if I were a common slave. And you, a paid man in my father’s house. Well I shall pay you too, citizen, for this insult. With interest – see if I do not!’ He turned to Julia. ‘And you too, lady. You two have turned my father’s heart against me between you, and I am scorned in the house where I was born.’

He turned his back and walked away, but Sollers had made his point. He looked at me to ensure that I had understood. I had.

Maximilian had reached out to catch the purse with his left hand.

We were still staring after Maximilian’s departing figure when the two servants returned with a pitcher of water and a rough board covered with a cloth, and we turned our attention to the decent removal of the page. As the slave pair lifted the lifeless body onto its makeshift bier, the rest of the group began to disperse uneasily.

Julia had been standing with her hands clasped to her breast, looking more shaken than ever. Suddenly she seemed to take a decision. She spoke, and her voice trembled with shock and anger.

‘Flavius is not left-handed, citizens, but I suspect his work in this. Though I cannot imagine how he did it. I posted a pair of slaves outside his door all night, in case he tried to approach me while I slept, and they did not see him leave his room. But somehow this must be his handiwork. He has used Rollo as his messenger to me in the past, but recently I have refused to accept his letters. No doubt he blamed Rollo. Poor little page. He meant no harm. And I have lost a good slave, too.’

She shook her head, and, accepting Mutuus’s arm, glided gracefully back in the direction of the atrium with her maids. Sollers, I noticed, was watching them grimly.

The two bearers of the makeshift litter adjusted their burden, and carried the page out to the rear enclosure to be arranged for burial. Junio and I found ourselves alone with Sollers.

‘A remarkable woman, medicus,’ I said. ‘Determined, too, posting guards at the door. But what do you make of that? Do you suspect Flavius?’

He dragged his attention away from the door through which Julia and Mutuus had disappeared, and turned courteously back to us. He shook his head. ‘Julia is distraught. Flavius frightens her with his insistence, and she sees his hand in everything. Besides . . .’ He did not finish the sentence, but looked at me meaningfully.

Flavius was right-handed, he meant. Neither Julia nor Mutuus, I realised, had noticed the trick with the purse, and Sollers did not mention it now. The little demonstration had been intended for me alone, and I felt oddly flattered at having been singled out as an intellect worthy of the distinction.

‘So, citizen,’ he said, ‘what do you intend to do now?’

‘I should like to look at the kitchens, if I could do so without arousing suspicion. I would like to see exactly how the food is prepared.’

He raised his eyebrows at me; his striking face was wry. ‘You still think Rollo was poisoned? You may be right. It is impossible to tell after death, and we have no samples of food to test. But why, in that case, were there bruises on his body, and why should Rollo alone have been affected? One would have expected all the slaves to die.’

Perhaps I
should
have paid attention, then, to the significance of those marks. But I was following my own train of thought. I looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Because,’ I said, ‘I know something that you may not. Rollo had something which was not shared with the other slaves. He ate the contents of my supper tray.’ I didn’t mention the fish sauce to Sollers. He had served it to me himself the night before.

‘Then you think there was something rotten in your supper? One of those quails’ eggs or a piece of fungus?’

I chose my words carefully. ‘I did not say that, exactly.’ Behind me I felt Junio stiffen with alarm.

Sollers, too, was suddenly all sympathetic alertness. ‘Great Jupiter! You think the tray was deliberately poisoned?’

‘His Excellence was served from the same dishes. It seems suggestive, don’t you think, that he suffered no ill effects?’

Sollers whistled. ‘No wonder that you want to visit the kitchens. I will take you there, of course; I have to go there myself to see how preparations are progressing. The grave meats must be offered on the household altars before they are interred with Quintus, and Maximilian will not have thought of it.’ He led the way towards the kitchen door where a servant, with a basket of wood for the ovens, stood back to let us pass. ‘I hope they have prepared the foods as I instructed. Even in death, Quintus would want to keep his regimen.’

The kitchens were abustle with industry and steam. Pots bubbled on charcoal stoves, breads cooked on a rack, while a great pig was roasting over the open fire under the eye of the little lad turning the spit. A dozen servants ceased their stirring, basting, chopping and grinding and stared at us in surprise.

Sollers took a knife from a slave who was chopping herbs, and strode to the spit. ‘Seeing a pig like this always reminds me of Galen. I was privileged to see him do a dissection once.’

‘Galen?’ I was impressed. The great physician had tended Emperor Marcus Aurelius himself.

‘Oh, yes, it was fascinating. He cut the nerves of a live pig here,’ he pointed to the throat, ‘and proved to everyone that the voice is controlled by the brain, not the heart. I was lucky to have witnessed it. My father did not approve of live dissections, and Galen has given up public demonstrations since.’ He plunged the blade into the roasting beast and tasted the juices. ‘No problem here,’ he said, returning the knife to the startled slave, who continued chopping as though his life depended on it.

The gesture was not lost on me. Sollers was surreptitiously testing the food as we passed it. It was a brave gesture, if there was a poisoner abroad. He saw that I had seen, and caught my eye, signalling me not to comment. I pushed aside a dog at my feet who was scavenging scraps from the kitchen floor. ‘Your father was a doctor, too?’ I said.

Sollers made a disdainful face. ‘He called himself a doctor. He even treated patients, but he had no training at all.’ He sampled the liquid from a sauce that was bubbling on the coals and motioned to the slave who was stirring it to offer some to me.