A Pattern of Blood

Chapter Twelve

Rollo’s body was lying in the drainage channel which ran under the latrine. It was a kind of open culvert containing the outflow of the fast-running stream which had been diverted onto the property. The water was forced through a series of cunningly narrowed iron and pottery pipes to feed first the front fountain and then the rear cascade before flowing out through this stone channel, presumably to join the river behind the property. There was a lot of water running in the culvert under the seats, but it was disturbing to think that the boy might have been lying there unnoticed when I visited the latrine earlier on more personal business.

It would have been easy not to see him. The little room which formed the latrine contained only a stone seat with two holes in it, jutting over the open culvert at the rear, and with a small space at the side of each where a man could dip his sponge-stick down into the running stream to perform the necessary ablutions. It was that, in fact, which had caused the discovery. Mutuus, permitted to use the household latrine when no family members were present, had dipped in his sponge-stick and engaged it upon something unexpectedly soft — the running water in the culvert kept the sewer clean of less sanitary obstructions, and the sides of the drainage channel were faced with stone.

Nor could Rollo have fallen in by some freak accident. He was wedged awkwardly against the stones, and his body, when a party of slaves had dragged it out with difficulty and laid it dripping on the flagstones, showed clearly the scuffs and abrasions he had suffered in being forced down into that narrow space. The head, indeed, had never been wholly immersed, and there were patches of skin missing from his cheek and forehead, and something which looked suspiciously like vomit still clung to the cheek and hair. The once exquisite tunic was a sorry sight, the turquoise fabric stained and sodden, and the boy had lost one of his embroidered shoes. The other was still upon his foot, the patterns he had been so proud of soaked and spoiled, soiled with who knows what. The effect was oddly touching and pathetic.

Sollers, who came hurrying in at that moment, seemed to think so too. He looked from me to the lifeless form and turned ashen.

‘Great Hermes!’ he muttered. ‘What tragedy is this?’

There was quite a crush around the little room. The chief slave and I were there, and Junio of course, along with Mutuus, who had discovered the body, and the two slaves who had been summoned to pull it from the sewer. Even Julia and her handmaidens, who had been prevented by decorum from entering the latrine itself, stood outside in the courtyard looking in, and a number of passing slaves forgot their urgent errands and clustered around to stare. At the arrival of the doctor, however, everyone — including myself — had stepped back instinctively to make way for him.

Of course, he was the senior man present. He was a citizen, and as a retired army doctor, would have medical rank. I was a mere pavement-maker, Mutuus had been a bondsman until yesterday and Julia was a woman. All the same, the deference was so instant, so instinctive that I was struck again by the sheer power of the man’s intellect and personality. There was something about that tall grey-haired figure that commanded respect. Even the slaves who had stopped in the courtyard to goggle seemed to recollect themselves in his presence, and disappeared about their business.

He bent over Rollo’s body, his face clouded with concentration, probing with his hands and straining as if to catch the faintest flutter of the heart. Then he stood up and shook his head.

‘Dead?’ I said, foolishly. He did not need to answer. I tried to redeem myself. ‘Before he was pushed into the hole, do you think? I notice there is vomit on him. That might suggest poison.’

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.