A Pattern of Blood (12 page)

‘Marcus is convinced he is the murderer.’

Sollers looked at me, his face shadowed and quizzical in the candlelight. ‘But you are not.’

‘Are you?’

Sollers grinned. ‘I confess I am surprised. He would not have been my first suspect.’ He looked at me, that remarkable face glimmering in the taper-light. ‘But I bow to your judgement. You are no mere pavement-maker, I hear. Julia tells me you are an esteemed solver of mysteries.’

It was my turn to smile. ‘And you are a thinker yourself. Whom would you have suspected, citizen? You know the household better than I do.’

He seemed flattered that I had asked his opinion, although he was embarrassed at the question. ‘It is hardly my place, citizen,’ he said at last, ‘but in your position I would have questioned Maximilian. He seems to have had the greatest opportunity. And a motive. You heard that his father threatened to disinherit him? He told him so this very morning, too.’

I nodded. ‘My thoughts exactly. Except that in that case, one would have expected Maximilian to disguise the fact. Instead, he told me about it himself. And look how he reacted to the body. Almost as if he wanted to be accused.’

Sollers looked at me in surprise. ‘I see your point, pavement-maker. I had not considered that. Although Maximilian is a crass young man. He may not even have seen the danger. Or perhaps his arrogance was all a bluff. Certainly he needed money, and he did not love his father. I should not have put it past him to arrange that attack in the street.’ He smiled doubtfully. ‘But perhaps I am wrong and His Excellence is right. They tell me Lupus had bloodstains on his clothes.’

News travels swiftly in a household of servants. I nodded. ‘As you did yourself, earlier,’ I said, and had the satisfaction of seeing him look startled. ‘Even before you examined the body.’

There was a moment’s shocked silence, and then he threw back his head and laughed. ‘Did I, indeed? From when I bled him earlier, no doubt. You are observant, pavement-maker. But I see your reasoning. In your place, I should be suspicious of me. After all, I profit by his will. He leaves me, I think, a small gratuity. Although I promise you, citizen, if I had wanted to murder Quintus, I should have used some subtlety.’

I smiled. ‘You misunderstand me, medicus,’ I said. ‘I meant to argue that a man does not have to be a killer to have blood on his sleeve. Oh, of course it had occurred to me to wonder if you had stabbed him. But why should you do that? All you had to do was introduce a little poison into the wound, or give him a potion, and he would be dead within a week, still thanking you for your loving care of him. You say he had promised you a gratuity, but if he disinherited his son – as you knew he was threatening to do – your portion would soon have been even greater. As you say, you are not unsubtle. Why would you, of all people, choose this moment to plunge a clumsy dagger in his back?’

I was holding the candle and his hand closed warmly around mine for a moment. ‘I apologise, citizen. I underestimated you. I should have seen that a man of your intelligence would appreciate these things at once.’

I was unreasonably flattered by his praise. ‘I had an unfair advantage,’ I explained. ‘I saw you tending Quintus after he was stabbed in the street. I know that without you he would undoubtedly have died that night.’

He was surprised. ‘You were there?’

‘In a shop nearby. I witnessed it by accident. But you did not look like a would-be murderer to me.’

He laughed. ‘I see. I thought you were merely a good judge of men!’ His face grew serious. ‘Now, I must go to Julia. Maximilian is fading in his lament, and ritual requires that she take his place. Is there anything further that you need from me?’

I would have liked to speak to Julia, but this was not the moment. In the morning, perhaps. I was surprised to find how much I was looking forward to it. After all, I thought suddenly, Julia herself could well have stabbed her husband. She was not in her apartments when Maximilian called.

To Sollers I said, ‘One question, citizen. I want your professional opinion. Did Lupus have the strength to deal that blow?’

He thought for a moment. ‘Perhaps, if he lunged at Ulpius with all his weight. I should like to say “no”, and certainly he would have to be lucky to strike so fatally. But it is possible, yes.’

‘Thank you, citizen.’ I grinned. ‘And if you are making a tonic draught for Julia, perhaps you can offer one to Marcus, too. He is worn out by his exertions and complaining that he will not sleep for Maximilian’s wailing.’

Sollers laughed softly. ‘I will send a sleeping draught on his tray. And one for you too, if you like. But now, here are the slaves coming with the lamps. Excuse me, I must go to Julia. Are you sure there is nothing else you require?’

I was about to say no when a happy thought struck me. ‘Yes,’ I said suddenly, ‘I would like my own attendant. Have Junio sent to me.’

Junio was endearingly pleased to see me. He was not accustomed to endless hours of waiting. Back at the Glevum workshop, he was my only servant. He helped me with everything, and I was additionally teaching him the rudiments of pavement-making. One day, when he gained his freedom, when I was gone or he was old enough to manumit, I intended that he would have a trade to support himself.

Several hours of idleness in the attic had been hard for him to bear, and he threw himself into my service with enthusiasm. A pair of matching slaves had been sent to tend me, but Junio would not allow them near me. He insisted on doing everything himself. He stoked the braziers, trimmed the wicks, fetched water to bathe my hands and feet, combed oils through my hair and beard, plumped up my cushions, extricated me from my outer garments, lighted my way to the latrine and finally tucked me up, cleansed and shining, under the woven blankets on the luxurious Roman bed – wooden frame, webbed base, padded mattress and all. When, after all that, he sat down on the floor beside me and began to fold and brush my toga, I took pity on the waiting pair and sent them away.

Junio, who up until then had been according me unaccustomed respect, and speaking only when spoken to, put down his work as soon as they were gone and grinned at me cheerfully. ‘No spiced mead tonight, master.’ It was my favourite nightcap, but not one I expected to find in a Roman household. ‘How will you ever sleep? And on such an uncomfortable bed, too.’

I found myself grinning back. My bed at home was a humble pile of reeds and rags. ‘Doubtless I shall manage. The physician has promised me a sleeping draught.’ I explained to Junio the events of the day.

He nodded. ‘I heard that Quintus Ulpius was dead, of course. Eventually. We thought something must have happened – Marcus’s slave and I – we were promised bread and cheese in the attic, but no one came near us for hours. We did not worry at first: we had a gaming board, and I was beating him at twelve-stones.’

I sighed. It was no use remonstrating with Junio: he had been raised in the sort of Roman household where even the slaves learned to gamble as soon as they could count. Even if the dice were loaded, as they often were, he could calculate odds faster than I could measure a pavement. ‘I hope he could afford it?’

‘I took four
as
coins from him before he lost interest. Then finally one of the servants brought us word.’

‘And your bread and cheese, I hope?’

Junio chuckled. ‘No, in fact, when the food did come we ate like kings. Pickled beef and fruit. I don’t know who authorised it. The girl who brought it gave us the news, and said that the whole household was in uproar.’

I nodded. ‘What else did she tell you? I should like to know the servants’ gossip.’ A man’s slaves often know more about his household than he knows himself. ‘Did she have anything to say about Julia, for instance? What do her maidservants think of her?’

Junio made a wry face at me. ‘They think she takes an insufficient interest in the household, and devotes herself too much to men’s affairs. She is vain about her looks, too. She surrounds herself with unattractive maidservants on purpose, and is forever taking potions and spending a fortune on powders and perfumes. Though it is doubtful that the male slaves think the same. Julia can charm anything in a toga, and I hear that every man in the household has fallen for it to some degree, from the kitchen boy to the surgeon. The secretary in particular is quite besotted with her.’

I thought of tall, awkward, pedantic Mutuus and laughed. ‘And what did Quintus Ulpius think of that?’

‘His reaction was very much like yours. More amused than anything, from what I hear. This Mutuus is a citizen by birth, taken in noxal surrender. He apparently has ideas above his station and follows Julia about like a pet lamb. He makes himself quite ridiculous. Thinks she values his learning, since she seems to like clever men, though he is simply a slave to her. Quintus thought it was funny, by all accounts, though he could be obsessively jealous if there was any real rival. He hated Julia’s former husband, for instance. Flavius, is that his name?’

I nodded. ‘It was quite mutual.’ I knew that there was no love lost between Quintus and Flavius. ‘So Quintus was fond of his new wife?’

‘Devoted to her. He quarrelled violently with his son about it. Maximilian resents Julia – he must be the only male who does. He has never forgiven his father for marrying again. His own mother died last year, drinking bad water from a well, but Ulpius divorced her many years ago. She was a beauty once, apparently, but she had no dowry, and then she caught the pox.’

Poor creature, I thought. It would not be the first time an illness had stripped a woman of both her looks and her husband. ‘No wonder Julia is so careful of her health and appearance, if her predecessor caught a disfiguring disease.’

‘All this attention to her looks certainly seems to work. Quintus Ulpius is delighted with her – or was. He would have liked another son, they say, and was prepared to work very hard to have one.’ He gave me a wicked smile. ‘But there was no sign of success, and she was consulting Sollers secretly.’ His grin broadened. ‘Not so secretly as she thinks, of course. One of the slaves found out, and now they all know. Though they do say that perhaps the fault is not with Julia.’

I frowned at him. ‘With Quintus, then? But surely, Maximilian . . .?’

‘Is not much like his father, do you not think? But this is merely rumour. Of course, if Quintus could not sire an heir, no doubt Mutuus would have been very glad to help.’

‘You are not suggesting . . .’ I was horrified.

He grinned. ‘Oh, no, I don’t think so. Quintus would have had his nose cut off if there was any suggestion of that! No, it is just that Mutuus has dreams. The maidservants think it is hilarious.’

‘Who told you this?’

He gave me that impudent look again. ‘Don’t look so startled, master. You’ve taught me how to ask questions. I was told by a bald-headed slave girl.’

I gazed at him in surprise. ‘Bald-headed?’

‘Julia isn’t a bad mistress, but she is heartless in some ways. She sometimes does buy good-looking slaves. She won’t let them attend her, but she gets them for their hair. She has them forcibly shaved and then sold on again when their locks have grown back a little. The girl who brought us our supper was one of them – she was bought and sheared last week and is still balder than a rat’s tail. She is feeling her humiliation deeply – it was not difficult to make her talk about her mistress.’

I nodded. A girl with no hair. This, clearly, was the explanation of that caped female in the garden. She would have been sent to serve the slaves, because she was useless for public duties. The cape was obviously to cover her head while she went to the kitchens for the food. But she would have been punished severely if anyone knew she’d been seen – I was glad I had not confronted her in the grotto. But I could not resist the enquiry. ‘Why did Julia want the hair?’

‘She has several elaborate hairpieces, for different occasions.’

This was an unpleasant idea. I thought of my Gwellia and her lovely hair. Had that, too, been brutally shaved off to serve some mistress’s vanity? Or, worse still, lovingly dressed and brushed to rouse a master’s fancy?

I said sharply, ‘I want to see Julia in the morning. There is something about her that I can’t get out of my mind.’

Junio seized upon my words at once. ‘You have felt her charm too, master? You surprise me. I thought you immune to such things.’

‘That is not what I meant,’ I said severely. ‘There is something I would like her to explain, that’s all. You should be able to work out what it is.’

Junio gazed at me thoughtfully. I encouraged him sometimes to follow my reasoning and make deductions, just as I taught him to lay mosaics. It was another skill I hoped to leave him with, by and by. He shook his head.

‘When she left us . . .’ I prompted, and saw the understanding dawn on his face.

‘Of course,’ he said eagerly, ‘she was going straight to Ulpius. Only she didn’t go. Maximilian came from his father on purpose to look for her.’

‘Exactly,’ I agreed. ‘So if she did not go to her husband, why not? Where did she go instead?’

‘And if she
did
go to him,’ Junio said slowly, ‘she must have been the last to see Ulpius alive. Or . . .’ he looked at me with dawning comprehension, ‘the first to see him dead. I see! No wonder you want to speak to her. I am sorry, master, to have made a jest of it.’

I was just contemplating a magnanimous reply when there was a timid tap on the apartment door. Junio got up to open it, and I saw the turquoise page standing on the threshold, bearing an enormous carrying tray. He came in and set it carefully on the little locking chest beside the bed.

‘I am bidden to bring you this, citizen. His Excellence requested food, and it was thought you would require some too.’ He glanced covertly at the poor, faded under-tunic which I had kept on as a nightshirt, and which I was now attempting, not very successfully, to hide under the blankets. ‘And Sollers has sent you a sleeping draught. I did not realise you had retired for the night.’

I looked at the dishes set out upon the tray, and recognised, not for the first time, the privilege of rank. The kitchens of this house were straining with the preparations for a funeral banquet, which, given Quintus’s position in the town, was clearly to be a sumptuous one. Every slave would already be working most of the night, grinding spices and pounding herbs, skinning beasts and turning spits. Every surface would be crowded with spicy doughs and steeping snails, every pan full of simmering sauces, every salver groaning with gilded meats, every pot of oil that was set in the kitchen floor pillaged twice over to prepare for the feast. Had I requested a hot meal tonight I should have been lucky to receive a bowl of soup from the stockpot and a crust of bread. But Marcus, being Marcus, had only to say the word, and someone had sent him a magnificent light supper of braised pork with fennel, honeyed pheasant with mushrooms and something which looked like pickled quails’ eggs and peppers.