Most of the blood was on the bed. There were no footprints. The door handle was clean. The perpetrator cannot have escaped the gore entirely, but had left no trail. A professional job. Little could spoil it except that my presence in the locality was real bad luck. I had seen enough handiwork like this to name Perella outright as the killer.
There was no weapon at the bedside, but we could tell it had been a highly sharpened, thin-bladed dagger. Sharp enough to fillet fish, bone meat or for any other butchery. It would be well cleaned by now, pushed tidily back in its sheath, and tucked into the belt of the quiet, dowdy-seeming woman whom I had once seen pare an apple probably with that very knife. A cloak would cover any blood splashes.
"Man from Rome, what do you think?" croaked Verovolcus. I thought he showed far too much eager curiosity, for one thing.
"If people continue to die at this rate, nobody will be left as suspects…"
Verovolcus laughed. I did not join him. "Two great architects in the same night!" he marvelled.
"Intriguing coincidence." Or was it? "Pomponius and Marcellinus had a professional rivalry. Since they were killed the same evening, all this distance apart, neither killed the other. Mind you, we could still find the same motive- and the killers could have been organised by the same person."
"A jealous wife?" Magnus suggested.
"You knew the couple," I told Verovolcus. "Did she have a reason to be upset with her husband?"
Verovolcus shrugged. "If she did, she never showed it. She always appeared content."
"She is upset now!" I commented.
We searched the house, discovering nothing significant. The slaves said that after prolonged festivities, everyone had slept in late. That included some guests who had stayed overnight; we found them huddled together in a dining room. Local dignitaries, not particularly dignified in this crisis, they had nothing to tell us. People had risen late, came to breakfast- which was by then at lunchtime- and were planning their departure. Marcellinus' wife decided to check on him, as he would normally bid farewell to any guests in person. After the screams started, the guests felt they should remain here, though nobody knew what form their assistance should take.
I asked about last night. They all said the party was a huge success; the dancer had been splendid. The musicians were provided by Marcellinus, not brought by Stupenda, as she called herself. This morning, both musicians and dancer left- and were seen leaving by a gateman one responsible citizen had thought to check this. The strummers and tambourinists went first. The dancer emerged a little after them; by prior arrangement she had been fetched from Noviomagus and was to be returned there in MarceUinus' own carriage.
The carriage was still out. I asked Verovolcus if the warriors could ride around and scour the countryside at least in the near vicinity. They ought to find the conveyance. They would not to trace "Stupenda', I was sure.
I went to talk to the wife.
No luck. Helena had calmed her down, but it had been necessary to sedate her. A woman in the kitchen had produced medicinal herbs for this purpose. Helena had wrapped the widow in a blanket. Now she simply sat weeping slowly as shock really set in. She was incoherent and oblivious to our presence.
Helena drew me aside and spoke in a low voice. "I found out what I could. The party ended very late. People were exhausted, and most of them tipsy. Beds were found. Marcellinus and his wife slept in separate quarters…" I did not comment. Helena and I shared strong views about that. Still, this was an elderly couple and he was an artistic type. "This morning the servants were all drowsy so the wife herself investigated his non-appearance. She just walked in, and came upon the horror." Helena was shaken. Maybe she imagined how she would feel if she found me like that.
"What is she like?"
"Decent. Respectable if not cultured. Not his freed woman there would have been rank and a dowry, I'd say."
"He would want a wife who brought him money- expensive tastes."
"She has not yet absorbed what this means." Helena herself in a crisis always saw instantly what it would involve. Helena conquered bereavement, fear, or any other tragedy by fiercely planning how to deal with it. "I told her we think the killer will be long gone and there is no threat to others. She could not take it in. She is not even calling for justice yet."
My voice rasped harshly. "If the killer comes from Anacrites, he is justice- imperial justice executed sneakily and summarily."
"Don't blame the Emperor." Helena sounded tired.
"Oh let's pretend Vespasian does not know what his Chief Spy fixes- or his filthy methods. No. Be realistic: Vespasian does not want to know."
I knew Helena would resist. "Inform Vespasian if you want to, Marcus- but he won't thank you!"
Helena supported the Flavian regime, yet she was a realist. Vespasian maintained a pretence that he hated spies and informers- yet the imperial intelligence service still flourished. Titus Caesar had made himself commander of the Praetorian Guard, who ran the spies network (on the rationale that they were using it to protect the safety of the Emperor). From what I heard, rather than disbanding it, Titus was planning to restructure and expand the team.
Even my own work for Vespasian was part of this system. Being freelance rather than on the palace payroll did not absolve me from the ordure of undercover work. I had approached this mission openly- yet in the preparatory stages even I had considered whether I could accomplish more on site disguised as a fountain expert.
Any casualties in my work were unavoidable. I never sought to cover up my actions with executions. When tragedies happened, I hoped the dead deserved their fate. But Anacrites would say the same. Perella slitting throats in far-flung provinces was only a means to liquidate offenders with maximum efficiency and minimum public outcry- using cost-effective means.
"But why Marcellinus?" I had spoken out loud.
Helena and I moved to an anteroom together so she was able to speculate with me, unheard. "For Anacrites to go this far seems very strange. Marcus, surely Marcellinus' only sin was being too cosy with the client? A cold letter from Vespasian should have dealt with that."
"That was my reaction. I had intended to recommend recalling Marcellinus to Italy, whether he wanted to go or not."
Helena was frowning. "Perhaps it isn't Anacrites. Could Claudius Lacta be at the back of this?" She could be as suspicious as I was. Lacta was a senior bureaucrat who meddled in major initiatives of all kinds. He was a keen enemy of Anacrites and no friend to me. Whenever he could, he set the two of us against one another.
I could not reconcile myself to that suggestion. "Lacta briefed me for this trip. While it's true I had suggested Anacrites to Vespasian as an alternative, I've never seen Anacrites working with Lacta -well, not since they started jostling each other for position- and I've never known Perella to work with anyone other than Anacrites either."
"So this is just the Chief Spy and his overseas agent. Every time we come abroad, we have the same problem of Anacrites dogging our footsteps," Helena grumbled.
"If he's done this, I'm assuming it's his personal initiative. Anacrites
is not supposed to know that I am here."
"Did you ask Lacta to keep it confidential?"
"Yes because I thought Lacta would enjoy deceiving Anacrites."
"Ha! Perhaps Anacrites found out?"
"That would make him a good spy! Don't wind my ratchet, lady."
We sat quiet, perusing the decor while the situation sank in.