At the far end we could hear people cavorting, not all of them women. Like the frogs, they were ignoring the tragic tableau, too lost in their private riot even to be curious. Ione's body lay at the edge of the water. A kneeling figure kept guard alongside: Byrria, with a face that said she was blaming a man for this. She rose at our approach, then she and Helena embraced in tears.
Musa and I walked quietly to the dead girl. Beneath a white covering which I recognised as Helena's stole, Ione lay on her back. Apart from a heavy necklace, she was naked. Musa gasped. He drew back, shamed by the blatant bare flesh. I fetched a lamp for a close look.
She had been beautiful. As beautiful as a woman could wish to be, or a man yearn to possess.
'Oh cover her!' Musa's voice was rough.
I was angry too, but losing my temper would be no help to anyone. 'I mean the woman no disrespect.'
I made my decisions, then covered her again and stood.
The priest turned away. I stared at the water. I had forgotten he was not my friend Petronius Longus, the Roman watch captain with whom I had surveyed so many corpses destroyed by violence. Male or female made no difference. Stripped, clad, or merely rumpled, what you saw was the pointlessness of it. That, and if you were lucky, clues to the criminal.
Still appalled but controlling it, Musa faced me again. 'So what did you find, Falco?'
'Some things I don't find, Musa.' I talked quietly while I thought. 'Heliodorus had been beaten to overpower him; Ione shows no similar marks.' I glanced quickly around the spot where we stood. 'Nothing here implies the taking of drink, either.'
Accepting my motives, he had calmed down. 'It means?'
'If it was the same man, he is from our company and she knew him. So did Heliodorus. But unlike him, Ione was quite off her guard. Her killer had no need to surprise or subdue her. He was a friend of hers – or more than a friend.'
'If her killer was the person she had been prepared to name to you, it was rash to arrange to meet him just before she spoke of it to Helena.'
'Yes. But an element of danger appeals to some -'
'Marcus!'
Helena herself suddenly said my name in a low voice. A reveller with a conscience may after all have reported a disturbance. We were being joined by one of the sanctuary servants. My heart sank, expecting inconvenience.
He was an elderly attendant in a long striped shirt and several days' growth of whiskers. In one dirty claw he carried an oil flagon so he could pretend to replenish lamps. He had arrived silently in thonged slippers, and I knew straight away his chief pleasure in life was creeping about among the fir trees, spying on women frolicking.
When he shuffled into our circle both Musa and I squared up defensively. He whipped aside the stole and had a good look at Ione anyway. 'Another accident!' he commented in Greek that would have sounded low-class even on the Piraeus waterfront. Musa said something curt in Arabic. The curator's home language would be Aramaic, but he would have understood Musa's contemptuous tone.
'Do you suffer many deaths in this place?' My own voice sounded haughty, even to me. I could have been some stiff-necked tribune on foreign service letting the locals know how much he despised them.
'Too much excitement!' cackled the lecherous old water flea. It was obvious he thought there had been dangerous fornication, and he assumed Musa and I, Helena and Byrria, were all part of it. I ceased to regret sounding arrogant. Wherever they are in the world, some types cry out to be despised.
'And what is the procedure?' I asked, as patiently as I could manage.
'Procedure?'
"What do we do with the body?'
He sounded surprised: 'If the girl is a friend of yours, take her away and bury her.'
I should have realised. Finding a girl's naked corpse at the site of a promiscuous festival at the end of the Empire is not like finding a corpse in the well-policed city sectors of Rome.
For a second I was on the verge of demanding an official enquiry. I was so angry, I actually wanted the watch, the local magistrate, an advertisement scrawled in the forum asking witnesses to come forward, our own party to be detained pending the investigation, and a full case in court in half a year's time… Sense prevailed.
I drew the greasy curator to one side, palming across as much small change as I could bear.
'We'll take her,' I promised. 'Just tell me, did you see what happened?'
'Oh no!' He was lying. There was absolutely no doubt about it. And I knew that with all the barriers of language and culture between Rome and this grubby pleasure ground, I would never be able to nail his lies. For a moment I felt overwhelmed. I ought to go home to my own streets. Here, I was no use to anyone.
Musa appeared at my shoulder. He spoke out in his deepest, most sonorous voice. There was no threat, simply a clean-cut authority: Dushara, the grim mountain-god, had entered this place.
They exchanged a few sentences in Aramaic, then the man with the oil flagon slithered away into the trees. He was heading for the noises at the far end of the reservoir. The merrymakers' lamps looked bright enough, but he had his own unsavoury business there.
Musa and I stood. The night's darkness seemed to be growing and as it did the sanctuary felt colder and ever more sordid. The frogs' chorus sounded harsher. At my feet were the ceaseless, restlessly lapping waters of the reservoir. Midges swarmed in my face.
'Thanks, friend! Did you get the tale?'
Musa reported grimly: 'He sweeps up leaves and fir-cones, and is supposed to keep order. He says Ione came alone, then a man joined her. This fool could not describe the man. He was watching the girl.'
'How did you get him to talk?'
'I said you were angry and would cause trouble, then he would be blamed for the accident.'
'Musa! Where did you learn to bully a witness?'
'Watching you.' It was gently said. Even in a situation like this, Musa sustained his teasing streak.
'Lay off! My methods are ethical. So what else did you screw out of the poolside peeper?'
'Ione and the man were acting as lovers, in the water. During their passion the girl seemed to be in trouble, struggling towards the step; then she stopped moving. The man climbed out, looked around quickly, and vanished into the trees. The unpleasant one thought he had run for help.
'The unpleasant one did not offer such help?'
'No.' Musa's voice was equally dry. 'Then Helena arrived and discovered the accident.'
'So it was this gruesome brushman whom Helena sensed was watching her… Musa, Ione's death was no accident.'
'Proven, Falco?'
'If you are willing to look.'
I knelt beside the dead girl one final time, drawing back the cover just as far as necessary. The girl's face was darkly discoloured. I showed Musa where the beaded chains of her necklace seemed to have dragged at her throat, leaving indented marks. Some pairs of the heavy stone beads were still trapping tiny folds of skin. Trickles of kohl and whatever other paint she used disfigured her face. Beneath the necklace burns and charcoal smears, numerous small red flecks showed on her flesh. 'This is why I examined her so closely earlier. The necklace may simply have dragged at her throat as she thrashed in the water, but I think it shows pressure from a man's hands. The tiny red clusters are what appear on the corpse of somebody who has died in particular circumstances.'
'Drowning?'
'No. Her face would be pale. Ione was strangled,' I said.
Chapter XXXI
The rest of that night, and the following day, passed in various struggles that left us exhausted. We wrapped the corpse as best we could. Helena and Byrria then rode together on one animal. Musa and I had to walk, one either side of the donkey that was carrying Ione. Keeping the poor soul decent, and firmly across the donkey's back, was tricky. In the hot climate her corpse was already stiffening fast. On my own, I would have strapped her methodically and disguised her as a bale of straw. In company I was expected to behave with reverence.
We stol
e lamps from the sanctuary to light our way but even before the end of the processional road we knew it would be impossible to recross the entire city with our burden. I have done flamboyant things in my time, but I could not take a dead girl, her hennaed hair still dripping and her bare arms outflung to the dust, down a packed main street while merchants and local inhabitants were all out strolling and looking for somebody else in an interesting predicament to gawp at. The crowds here were the type to form a jostling procession and follow us.
We were saved by the temple outside the city gate which we had passed earlier. Priests had turned up for night duty. Musa appealed to them as a fellow professional with colleagues at the Temple of Dionysus-Dushara, and they agreed to let the body rest in their care until the next day.
Ironically, the place where we left lone was the Temple of Nemesis.
Unencumbered, we were able to travel more quickly. I was now riding with Helena side-saddle in front of me again. Byrria had consented to go with Musa. They both looked embarrassed about it as he sat extremely upright on his shaggy beast while she perched behind him, barely willing to hold on to his belt.
Squeezing back through the town was an experience I would have paid a lot to miss. We reached our camp in darkness, though the streets were still busy. Merchants play hard and late. Grumio was still standing on his barrel. With nightfall the humour had grown more obscene and he was slightly hoarse but gamely calling out endless cries of 'Anyone here from Damascus or Dium?'
We signalled to him. He sent around his collection cap one last time, then knotted the top on the money and joined us; we told him the news. Visibly shocked, he wandered off to tell the rest. In an ideal world I ought to have gone with him to observe their reactions, but in an ideal world heroes never get tired or depressed; what's more, heroes are paid more than, me – in nectar and ambrosia, willing virgins, golden apples, golden fleeces, and fame.
I was worried about Byrria. She had hardly spoken since we found her at the sacred pools. Despite her original bravery, she now looked chilled, horrified and deeply shocked. Musa said he would escort her safely to her tent; I advised him to try and find one of the other women to stay with her that night.
Not being entirely hopeless, I did have something urgent to attend to. Once I had seen Helena back to our own quarters, I forayed among the orchestra girls to try and learn who Ione's fatal lover was. It was a hopeless quest. Afrania and a couple of other dancers were easy to find from the noise. They were expressing their relief that it was Ione who had ended in trouble and not themselves. Their hysterical wailing only varied as they opted to shriek with feigned terror when I, a man, who might be slightly dangerous, tried to talk to them. I mentioned the well-known medical cure for hysteria, saying that it would be smacks all round if they didn't stop screaming, so then one of the panpipe-players jumped up and offered to ram me in the guts with a cart axle.
It seemed best to retire.
Back at my tent, another crisis: Musa had failed to reappear. I had a look round, but apart from the distant rumpus from the orchestra (and even the girls were tiring), the whole camp now lay quiet. A light shone dimly in Byrria's tent, but the side flaps were rolled firmly down. Neither Helena nor I could imagine that Musa had managed close relations with Byrria, but neither of us wanted to look stupid by interrupting if he had. Both Helena and I lay awake worrying about him most of the night.
'He's a grown man,' I muttered.
'That's what I'm worried about!' she said.
He didn't come back until morning. Even then he looked perfectly normal and made no attempt to explain himself.
'Well!' I scoffed when Helena went outside to tend the fire and we were free to indulge in men's talk. 'Couldn't find a woman to sit up with her?'
'No, Falco.'
'Sat up with her yourself then?' This time he made no answer to my dig. He was definitely not going to tell me the story. Well that made him fair game for ribbing. 'Jupiter! This doesn't look like a fellow who spent all last night consoling a beautiful young woman.'
'What should such a man look like?' he challenged quietly.
'Exhausted, sunshine! No, I'm teasing. I assume if you had asked her, the famously chaste Byrria would have pitched you out into the night.'
'Very probably,' said Musa. 'Best not to ask.' You could take that two ways. A woman who was used to being asked might find reticence strangely alluring.
'Do I gather Byrria was so impressed, that she asked you? Sounds a good plan!'
'Oh yes,' agreed Musa, smiling at last like a normal male. 'It's a good plan, Falco!' Only in theory, apparently.
'Excuse me, Musa, but you seem to lead your life in the wrong order. Most men would seduce the beauty and then get shoved off an embankment by a jealous rival. You get the painful part over with first!'
'Of course you're the expert on women, Marcus Didius!' Helena had popped back without us noticing. 'Don't underestimate our guest.'
I thought a faint smile crossed the Nabataean's face.
Helena, who always knew when to change the subject, then soothed Musa adroitly. 'Your host carries out intrusive work; he forgets to stop when he comes home. There are plenty of other aspects to investigate. Marcus spent some time last night trying to ask Ione's friends about her life.'
Musa ducked his head rather, but said, 'I have found some information.'
He sounded shy about his source, so I demanded cheerfully, 'Was this while you were sitting up all night comforting Byrria?' Helena threw a cushion at me.
'The girl who played the tambourine,' said Musa patiently, as reluctant to name the corpse he had seen naked as he was to specify his informant, 'had probably been connected with Chremes the manager and with Philocrates the handsome one.'
'I expected it,' I commented. 'Chremes exacted a routine dalliance, probably as the price of her job. Philocrates just thought it was his duty as a seducer to go through the orchestra the way a hot knife skims a dripping pan.'
'Even Davos probably liked her, I am told.'
'She was a likeable girl,' Helena said. There was a trace of rebuke in her tone.
'True,' Musa answered gravely. He knew how to handle disapproval. Somebody somewhere had taught him when to look submissive. I wondered if by chance the sister he lived with in Petra was like any of mine. 'It is suggested that Ione was most friendly on a regular basis with the Twins.'
Helena glanced at me. We both knew that it must be Byrria who had made these suggestions. I reckoned we could rely on her information. Byrria struck me as observant. She might not like men herself, but she could still watch the behaviour of other girls curiously. The others may even have talked freely to her about their relationships, though they were more likely to avoid a woman with Byrria's reputation, thinking her stuck-up and sanctimonious.
'It would fit,' I answered thoughtfully. 'The Twins were both at Petra. Both of them are already on our suspects list for killing Heliodorus. And it looks as if we can straight away narrow the focus to one, because Grumio was making the Gerasenes crack up with laughter by insulting their neighbours all night.'
'Oh no!' Helena sounded regretful. 'So it seems to be Tranio!' Like me, she had always found Tranio's wit appealing.
'Looks like it,' I conceded. Somehow I never trust solutions that appear so readily.
Instead of breakfast, which I could not fancy, I went out for an early prod at the personnel. First I cleared the ground by eliminating those who were least likely to be involved. I soon established that Chremes and Phrygia had been dining together; Phrygia had invited their old friend Davos, and for most of the evening they had also been joined by Philocrates. (It was unclear whether Chremes had deliberately brought in the arrogant actor, or whether Philocrates had invited himself.) I remembered seeing this group sitting quietly outside the manager's tent the night before, which confirmed their alibis.
Philocrates had had a later appointment too, one he readily mentioned. He was proud to tell me he had been chalking up a success with a
female cheeseseller.
'What's her name?'
'No idea.'
'Know where to find her?'
'Ask a sheep.'
However, he did produce a couple of ewe's milk cheeses -one half-eaten – which I accepted at least temporarily as proof.
I was ready to tackle Tranio. I found him emerging from the flute-girl Afrania's tent. He seemed to expect my questions, and struck a truculent attitude. His story was that he had spent the evening drinking and doing other pleasant things with Afrania. He called her out from her tent, and of course she backed him up.
The girl looked as if she were lying, but I was unable to shake her. Tranio had an odd appearance too – but a strange expression won't convict. If he was guilty, he knew how to cover himself. When a winsome flautist declares that a man with all his faculties has been bedding her, any jury tends to believe it's true.
I looked Tranio straight in the face, knowing these defiantly flashing dark eyes might be the eyes of a man who had killed twice, and who had attempted to drown Musa too. An odd sensation. He stared straight back tauntingly. He dared me to accuse him. But I was not ready to do that.
When I left them I was certain that Tranio and Afrania were turning back to each other as if to argue about what they had told me. If it had been the truth, of course, there should have been nothing to argue about.
I felt my morning's investigations were unsatisfactory. More pressing business loomed. We had to give Ione a funeral, and I was needed to arrange it. All I could add to my enquiries was a rapid chat with Grumio.
I found Grumio alone in the clowns' tent. He was exhausted and had the grandfather of hangovers. I decided to put the situation to him directly: 'Ione was killed by a man she was close to. I'll be straight. I hear that you and Tranio were her most frequent contacts.'
'Probably correct.' Gloomily, he made no attempt to dodge the issue. 'Tranio and I are on free-and-easy terms with the musicians.'
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