A Pattern of Blood

by Rosemary Rowe

  I nodded. The greatest heroes of a civitas, at least to its citizens, are those who have provided the biggest shows and the most lavish public banquets to be celebrated on their account. Better men, who bequeathed less roasted horsemeat and fewer fights, were often swiftly forgotten.

  ‘You do not think that Ulpius had altered his will in any way?’ I found myself asking. When Julia smiled at you like that, you felt that you could ask her anything. ‘I heard he had recently threatened to disinherit his son.’

  She laughed in surprise, tipping back her lovely head. ‘Did he? He was always threatening to reduce Maximilian’s allowance, but I hadn’t heard that he meant to disinherit him altogether. He can’t have done it. It would mean changing the will, and I would have heard of it, I’m sure.’ She stopped and looked at me with sudden seriousness. ‘When did you learn of this? My husband did not say this before witnesses, surely?’

  She was right to be concerned. If he had spoken in front of seven citizens (slaves and other non-citizens did not count, naturally) the will could be questioned and revoked. If that happened, it would go to the courts, and most of the estate was likely to end up in the imperial coffers, whoever won the case.

  ‘Maximilian told me so himself,’ I said. ‘His father was threatening him with it yesterday. But Sollers seemed to know too. I thought it was general knowledge in the household.’

  She smiled again. ‘It was probably just a threat. My husband would have consulted me. Though he might have discussed it with Sollers. He consulted him on everything. And with reason, too. You know that Sollers saved my husband’s sight?’

  ‘He did?’ No wonder Quintus admired Sollers. Eye disease is a constant problem throughout the whole of Britannica, and its effects can be dreadful. When the poor go blind, there is nothing for them but begging, and even for the rich it usually means the loss of high office. It is too easy to defraud a man who cannot see. I murmured something sympathetic.

  Julia was warming to her story. ‘Poor Quintus. He was terrified. It was beginning to be difficult. He could not see to read official scrolls clearly.’

  I nodded. One reason, obviously, why Quintus set such a store on his secretary.

  ‘He tried to keep it secret at first, but in the end he consulted every oculist in Corinium. They tried everything. Charms and salves and amulets and ointments – everything from zinc and copper to frankincense, gentian and myrrh, but it did no good. And of course, very quickly the whole town knew.’

  I nodded. Corinium was famous for its oculists. I had seen several of them when I came before, working from their little booths in the market place, sitting on their consulting stools behind sacking curtains, each with his little blocks of desiccated medicine, collyria, all proudly marked with his distinctive stamp, waiting to be cut up when a patient came and dissolved in water or egg white to make the appropriate salve. Some of these men were highly thought of, but even they could hardly resist boasting of their eminent customer. No wonder gossip spread.

  ‘And then?’

  She sighed. ‘And then he met Sollers. He had been an army surgeon, of course, but he had served in the field, and could turn his hand to anything – oculist, physician, dental surgeon too. He examined Quintus, and said there was a film growing on both his eyes. He could operate, he said. It would be dangerous, but it had to be done quickly. Quintus agreed. Sollers came to the house and took the film off the next day. Tied Quintus to the chair and scraped the film off with a bronze needle, just like that. One eye with each hand.’

  I swallowed. I had heard of operations like this – the patient’s hands were strapped together and his body tied to the chair while one slave held his head steady, and another stood by with oil lamps to give a good light. Good surgeons could operate with either hand to ensure the angle was correct. The thought of undergoing such an experience, with my eyes open, made my own flesh crawl.

  She nodded. ‘A dreadful operation. My husband was no coward, but I heard him moaning with fright. Sollers simply bandaged one eye while he dealt with the other, and operated more quickly than it takes to tell. It was wonderful. Sollers bathed the eyes in egg albumen and bound them with wool for a day or two, but the sight was restored. Quintus invited him to join our household permanently.’

  ‘And he accepted?’

  ‘He did, although of course after that everyone wanted him. He could have commanded any sum he wished. But he chose to stay with us, to advise us on our health and to pursue his studies. He is so loyal he has even made a will, naming myself and Quintus as his legatees. Quintus gave him his own apartments, and arranged for him to have books and writing materials. He brought several medical scrolls of his own with him, and Quintus had a whole new manuscript copied out for him – a huge treatise on herbs and treatments.’

  ‘Who copied it?’ I asked, although I had guessed the answer.

  ‘Why, Mutuus, the noxal clerk. It took him ninety days.’

  Behind me I heard Junio suppress a snigger. I chose my words carefully. ‘Did you know the secretary well?’

  She coloured. A faint flush of pink swept up her face and suffused her cheeks, under the careful perfection of her skin. She lowered her eyes a moment, and then raised them again to meet mine, great limpid pools of brown which would have melted a stone gorgon. I have never cared for the Roman fashion of white-lead-and-lupin face powder and lamp-blacked eyes, but on Julia it looked ravishing.

  ‘I will be frank, pavement-maker,’ she said softly. ‘I know Mutuus perhaps a little better than I should. The truth is, citizen, I think the boy has become fond of me. I did not notice at first, only that I met him so often in the courtyard when his duties were finished, and that he always found the means to speak to me, to ask if I wished to have a letter written or a message sent. I thought him attentive, though of course, I had no need of his services. My father was far-sighted. He had me taught to read and write myself, although I was a girl.’

  ‘And what did your husband think?’

  ‘Of Mutuus? It was he who pointed out that the boy was enamoured of me. I think he was amused, as long as he perceived no threat. Quintus was savagely jealous in some ways, but he was always glad to think that other men admired me – he liked the world to envy what he had.’

  That fitted, certainly, with what I had seen of the man. The pairs of slaves, the elaborate gardens, the glittering reception room – even the insistence on removing Mutuus from Lupus and installing him as a bondsman. Quintus enjoyed flaunting what was his. It might well have afforded him satisfaction to send the secretary on errands to Julia, knowing the helpless passion he was arousing.

  ‘And you?’ I said. ‘What did you think of this?’

  The colour in her cheeks deepened. ‘At first I did not notice, as I say. And then – I suppose I was flattered. It is always flattering to enjoy a man’s attentions. And Mutuus is a good-looking boy.’

  I frowned. This was not altogether what I had hoped to hear. Mutuus was a pleasant enough lad – tall, broad-shouldered, handsome in a supercilious way – but he was angular, moving with the graceless awkwardness of youth. I should have expected Julia to prefer someone more mature.

  ‘And later?’ I asked, more sharply than I intended.

  ‘I did, I suppose, begin to enjoy his attentions. I started to send him on errands, asked him to copy verses for me and read them to me while I sat in the colonnade. I gave him wax notebooks for the purpose. Quintus did not object – I did not thrust it under his attention – and Mutuus liked to do it. When Quintus had finished with him, naturally. And recently, while my husband has been ill, it has been a comfort to me.’

  I’ll wager it has, I thought. Perhaps it was the mention of the wax tablets which reminded me of Rollo and the mission I was engaged upon, but suddenly I had a strong desire to terminate the conversation. But first I had to ask her the question that had disturbed me all the previous day.

  ‘And was it Mutuus you went to see yesterday, lady, when you went to crave an audience with your
husband for Marcus and I?’

  She gave a little gasp and clapped a hand to her lovely face.

  I was inexorable. ‘For certainly you didn’t go to Ulpius. Maximilian was with his father at the time, and he came to us looking for you. So, unless you killed your husband, lady, you did not go to his room.’

  She paled and bit her lower lip till the colour came. I wondered if she knew the effect of that action on a susceptible male. Then she smiled uncertainly.

  ‘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 l
eft-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.’