Caveat emptor

41

Ruso strode through the cemetery with his fists clenched, ignoring Dias and Gavo, who were hurrying to keep pace with him. Tilla had just flouted all his instructions. Thanks to that bizarre-not to mention illegal-public prayer, the whole town would soon know that the wife of the procurator’s man was taking Camma’s side in the dispute. She had more or less accused Caratius of murder.

She had undermined the credibility of his investigation. She had put him in an impossible position. She had… he was running out of words to describe what she had done. What was more, he knew that when he objected, she would come up with some irrational way of justifying it.

Get out of town as fast as you can.

He would like nothing better than to get out of town, but he had accepted the job, and, besides, if he abandoned the investigation, what would Metellus do?

He didn’t want to find out.

Word must have spread about the discovery of Bericus’s body: At the far end of the cemetery a gaggle of adults, youths, and even half a dozen scruffy children were gathered just beyond the reach of the guards. There was a murmur of interest as he passed between them on his way to the cart that had been parked well away from the pyres. When he turned they were craning to see what he would do next. He restrained an impulse to tell them that the dead man had not been brought here for their entertainment.

A pot-bellied man with straggly gray hair and a tunic spattered with old blood was crouching in the back of the cart. He was reaching forward with one hand and clutching a cloth over his nose with the other. Ruso paused to tie his neckerchief over his own nose and mouth before swinging up to sit backward on the worn wooden seat, tuck his feet well out of the way, and observe what was happening.

The pot-bellied man was the local doctor, and he was not happy in his work. Yes, he agreed as he put away the bronze probe with which he had been investigating the corpse, the deceased could have been dead for five or six days. Any fool could see that he hadn’t died yesterday. Probably being severely battered around the head would have killed him. It tended to do that. Now if that was all, there were live patients waiting back in town.

Having made a courtesy gesture to the local man, Ruso was about to finish the job himself when there was a disturbance among the gawpers. A small dark woman was being manhandled away by one of the guards. Instead of admitting defeat she was shouting, “Let me through!”

Ruso recognized the person Tilla had been talking to by the water fountain yesterday. “Isn’t that Asper’s housekeeper?”

The doctor ordered Dias to keep her back. “This is no sight for a woman.”

“I’d like to talk to her,” said Ruso.

“Absolutely not!” said the doctor. “We know who this is. You can still just about make out the damage to the ear. I don’t need a fainting female on my hands as well.”

Ruso leaned out and beckoned to a cemetery slave who was passing with a basket load of kindling. “Hand me up that sheet over there, will you?”

“I won’t allow this!” insisted the doctor. “I am the doctor here, and that woman is one of my patients.”

“And I’m the investigator,” said Ruso, his respect for the doctor rising. If the roles had been reversed, he would have been just as indignant. He turned to Dias. “Give me a minute and then have her brought over.”

“I protest!”

“I’m not enjoying this, either,” conceded Ruso, standing up and shaking the folds out of the rough linen sheet. “But I once knew somebody who went to her husband’s funeral only to have him turn up alive and well three weeks later.” It was an exaggeration: He had never met the apocryphal woman, but it had been one of his uncle’s favorite stories. “Let’s have her make sure, shall we?”

The doctor clambered down from the cart, still complaining as he left. Ruso flung the sheet over the body. Then he retrieved one of the sandals that had been placed in the corner of the cart, loosened his neckerchief, and jumped down.

Grata wrenched her arm out of Dias’s grasp as Ruso approached. Dias said something but if she heard it, she did not reply. Ruso dismissed him and said quietly, “I’m the investigator. We think this is your master.”

In a small voice, as if she was not sure it was true, Grata said, “I want to see.”

“He is not how you remember him.” He produced the sandal from behind his back. One of the thongs had snapped and been retied, the sole needed restitching at the toes, and the whole thing was swollen with damp. “If you can identify this, there’s no need for any more.”

She put one hand over her mouth.

He had to be certain. “Did this belong to Julius Bericus?”

She nodded.

“I am sorry.”

She nodded again, as if she did not know what else to do.

“If there’s anything you can tell me that might help me find out-”

“No! No, I know nothing.”

She had lived in the same house as the dead man. Perhaps they had been fond of each other. He said, “I heard there was a message from someone inviting the brothers to visit.”

“A message for Asper,” she said. “From Caratius.”

“Who brought that message, Grata?”

She gathered up her skirts. “One of his servants.”

“Which one?”

She did not answer. He thought she was about to walk away. Instead she moved toward the cart. The doctor in Ruso wanted to go after her: to head her off with a warning about the dangers of bad air and the news that she could pay her respects at the pyre in a few minutes and

… and anything that would stop her from seeing what she was about to see.

There was a murmur from the gawpers as she reached the cart and lifted the sheet. The investigator in Ruso left her there-alone, one hand clamped over her mouth and nose, taking in what man and nature had done.

The doctor in him told the investigator he should have stopped her.

Grata turned and walked straight back the way she had come, arms tightly folded, battered boots kicking her skirts out of the way. Her face was set like a wax model.

As she passed him Ruso murmured, “If you think of anything, speak to Tilla. Nobody will know who told me.”

His gaze followed her lonely progress between the graves to the road. The investigator in him had done rather well. The doctor in him warned the investigator that he couldn’t stand much more of this.

He turned to find Dias at his shoulder. He took a breath and said brightly, “Right. I’ve finished here.”

“You bastard,” Dias said, so softly so that no one but Ruso could hear. “You didn’t need to do that to her. You evil bastard.”