‘You are perceptive, pavement-maker. Yes, I did leave you to go to my husband. I thought Sollers was still with him, but when I approached the door I heard voices raised. He was arguing with Maximilian. I did not dare disturb him — my husband could be furious when roused. I went into the courtyard to wait.’
‘I am sorry to press you, lady, in your grief,’ I said. ‘But you were not there later. The slaves went to look for you, and could not find you.’
Again she coloured faintly. ‘No,’ she said, ‘you are right again. I went to my quarters, briefly, to repair my looks. He likes — he liked — to see me with a touch of Belgian rouge on my lips. My maids could confirm it, if you doubt me. And then I came into the courtyard and saw Sollers. Maximilian was still with his father, and. . well, the fact is, citizen, we went to my husband’s rooms.’
For a moment I was aghast. It must have been evident from my face, because Julia laughed. ‘There was nothing improper, citizen. Sollers has been treating me for. . for a female condition. But I did not wish my husband to know that, and it is hard to find a private time and place for treatment. One of the slaves almost saw us last time, as it was.’
Had seen them, in fact, I thought. Junio had known that she was consulting Sollers secretly. ‘And this seemed to be an opportunity?’
‘It seemed that Quintus would be busy for some time. I took the herbs and lay down upon the couch in my husband’s apartment. The inner doors were shut and the slaves, of course, would not look for me there — indeed, that was the reason I went there. I was afraid my husband would hear of it, and it is hard to keep a secret among slaves. Though that scarcely matters now. But that is where I was. Ask Sollers — he was with me all the time.’
And what kind of secret treatment, I wondered, had the handsome doctor contrived for the beautiful wife? And what was the ‘female condition’? Barrenness was the most likely cause, despite the household gossip. Infertility in a woman is sufficient grounds for divorce. But that was not something I could decently ask outright. Julia spoke of these things with the frankness of all Romans everywhere, but I came from a different tradition.
‘With your permission, lady. .’ I began, awkwardly, but I was interrupted by the plain maidservant who came scurrying in with the chief slave at her heels.
‘Oh, madam,’ she cried, and her eyes were full of tears. ‘Come quickly. And the pavement-maker too. We have found Rollo.’
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.’