A Bitter Chill: An Aurelia Marcella Roman Mystery (Aurelia Marcella Roman Series)

by Jane Finnis

  “Never!” There was a crash, as if he banged his fist on the table. “I’ll follow my own road in my own way. One day you’ll be proud of me. Till then, you may like it or lump it, but you can’t change it.” The door from the dining-room flew wide open, and Candidus strode out, red-faced and literally shaking with anger. Behind him Albia followed, calm but very pale. They walked to the main door and out onto the forecourt. Nobody broke the total silence.

  But I wanted to find out what the lovers intended to do, so I followed them. They walked hand in hand across the forecourt to where Candidus’ horse waited patiently by the railings. There they stopped, and he took her in his arms.

  I caught up with them, and said, “Albia! What’s happening? I heard most of that. What will you do now?”

  She disentangled herself, and I saw there were tears in her eyes. “Candidus is going away.”

  “Going away?” Surely he wasn’t giving in to his mother now, after he’d stood up to her so bravely? “Candidus—you’re not leaving Albia?”

  He laughed and put his arm round her shoulders. “Of course not. But I’ve got to be in Eburacum for a couple of days, while I sort out my new premises.”

  “You won’t be at the Oak Bridges house at all?” Albia asked.

  “Only now and then, for flying visits. I’ve such a lot to get ready in Eburacum, starting the new business, furnishing the house. I want everything perfect for you.”

  “Our new home!” Albia was radiant with excitement now. “Won’t it be wonderful?”

  “A friend is helping me move my things. He’s lending me an ox-cart and a couple of slaves, and two trips should do it, as long as the snow doesn’t get any worse. Then I’ll come back for you.” He kissed Albia. “If Mother and Father haven’t gone away, or at least seen sense, there’ll be nothing at all to stop you coming to live with me then and there. After all, if we can’t have a proper marriage, we needn’t delay setting up home together.”

  I didn’t know whether to applaud him for his courage, or blame him for wanting to take my sister away even sooner than I’d anticipated, so I did neither. “There’s one thing, before you go, Candidus. I had a meeting with your father last night, and he wants to see you, to talk to you alone. Alone—he was most particular about that, and I get the feeling he’s more sympathetic to your situation than Lady Sempronia.”

  “Father!” He was scornful. “Don’t you believe it. He’s just a good deal more subtle than my dear mama, that’s all. She could bully a tiger into giving up its meal, whereas he’d talk to it so sweetly that it’d surrender a whole carcass without a growl.”

  “All the same, it couldn’t hurt to have a quick talk with him, could it? If we can manage it without your mother being there?”

  “Not a chance, Aurelia.” He released Albia and turned to lead his horse to the mounting-block. “Sorry, but the answer’s no.”

  “Then have you a message for him?” I don’t know why, I felt it was important. “I promised I’d try and bring you to see him. If that isn’t possible, at least let me take him a message.”

  He paused by the block. “Well, yes, you can tell him this. I’m going to live with Albia whatever he and Mother try to do, and I’m going to set up my business in Eburacum and make my own way and my own life there. Will you tell him that?”

  “All right.” I shook his hand. “Good luck, Candidus. We’ll see you in two or three days?”

  “You can bet your boots on it.” He hugged Albia, mounted his horse, and rode up the track and onto the main road. We stood and watched him out of sight.

  “Come back soon, Candidus,” she murmured. “Oh Relia, I love him so much.”

  “I know.”

  “You should have heard some of the foul things his mother said. About him, and about me. She’s a monster!”

  “She is. But you’ve both stood up to her, and she must realise you won’t give in. Surely she’ll leave and go back home now, won’t she?”

  “I hope so. And meanwhile, I’ll have nothing to do with her. If anyone has to supervise meals, or deal with their silly complaints, I’m afraid it’ll be you. Perhaps I should go and stay with Candidus? Then I could help him move his things.”

  “Don’t even think about it! I need you here, Albia, and Candidus wants to get everything ready for you. We’ll cope, don’t you worry. And talking of meals,” I glanced up at the sun, “it’s nearly time for their next one. How are things in the kitchen?”

  “Surprisingly good. I thought we’d have no end of trouble with Cook, but he’s enjoying himself, amazing everyone with the wonderful food he can conjure up at short notice for such a big party. Timaeus and Margarita have both made a point of complimenting him on the meals so far, which helps.”

  “Good, because if you can manage without me for half an hour, I’m going to take a bath and change. That’s the trouble with fire-fighting, you end up looking as if you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.”

  She giggled. “That’s putting it kindly. You don’t exactly smell like the roses of Damascus either.”

  The water was deliciously hot and relaxing, and I spent longer over my bath than I need have done. I admit I was putting off my next task, which was to give Candidus’ message to Plautius, and tell him in detail what was going on, though he’d probably have heard all about it already. But I didn’t want him to imagine I’d forgotten my promise to bring him news as soon as I could. He’d think less of me if I didn’t keep my word, and I needed as much of his good opinion as I could earn.

  By the time I emerged, Sempronia’s party were midway through their lunch. Good, that meant if I went to see Plautius now, there’d be less chance of interruptions. Certainly the guest wing seemed to be completely empty as I entered it.

  There was no answer when I tapped at the sick-room door. I knocked a second time, and still there was silence. This was ridiculous. I must see him and give him the message. Irritated and anxious, I gave a very loud rap which rattled the door on its hinges. Nothing. I decided to go gently into the bedroom. If he’s sound asleep, I thought, that’s that, but if he’s only dozing, he’ll wake up and at least be aware of me. So I eased open the door and looked in.

  Plautius was lying in his bed, covered in blood. Standing over him, holding a small bloodstained knife, was my sister.

  I strode into the room. “Albia, what’s going on?” I stopped, as she gestured for me to be quiet and close the bedroom door. I saw that she was shaking.

  “Thank the gods it’s you!” she breathed. “I’ve just found him like this. I don’t know what to do. He’s dead, and they’ll think I killed him!”

  “They will.” It was the obvious conclusion. But surely my sister could never be a murderer? Still, I had to be certain. “Albia, I have to ask you—did you kill Plautius?”

  “Of course not.”

  I let out a heartfelt sigh of relief. “Then let’s be practical. For Jupiter’s sake drop that knife. Where did you get it?”

  She pointed to a sheepskin rug beside the bed. There were drops of blood on it.

  “Put it back then. Is there blood on your hand?”

  She dropped the knife and held out her right hand. It was clean. “The blood’s dry on the knife, but it looks sticky on the blankets still.”

  “He was alive when I came before. That was just after Candidus arrived. I wanted to tell him, but when I knocked, he just swore at me and said go away. That was—what, two hours ago?”

  “Yes, about that.”

  “So I thought I’d come and see him now, while the others are safely occupied in the dining-room.”

  “Me too! I wanted to put my side of the story, talk to him about me and Candidus. You said you thought he wasn’t so set against our marriage as Sempronia.”

  I looked down at the bed. “Let’s see what we can find out about how he died, and who killed him. Quintus always says, start with the body.”

  “I wish Quintus were here now.”

  “So do I.” But simp
ly thinking of him made me feel calmer. He was an imperial investigator who’d helped us solve murders at Oak Bridges four years ago. When he was in our part of the world, which was all too rarely, he was my lover. It must be six months since I’d seen him, and I remembered…but there wasn’t time for that sort of memory. I concentrated on what he would do if he were in this room now.

  “Was Plautius like this when you found him?”

  “Yes, I haven’t touched him or the bed. I don’t know what made me pick the knife up, it was a stupid thing to do.”

  “I won’t argue with that.” I looked at the old man lying on his back, bundled in blankets which were pulled up so they covered his face. All you could see of him was the top of his grey head. The bright red stains which coloured the fawn wool of the blankets were about where his neck would be. I walked to the bed and gingerly moved the blankets down a few inches, so I could look underneath. His throat had been cut, and his neck and chest were soaked in blood. But the blankets themselves weren’t torn, so whoever had killed the old man had pulled them up over the body afterwards, to hide his handiwork.

  I suddenly felt sick and turned away, as the enormity of all this overwhelmed me. I’ve seen dead people before, including some who have died violently, and it always makes me queasy. But that was only part of it. I know this will sound callous and unfeeling, but at least half of the appalling panic I felt was because Plautius was not only dead, but was an important man, a relative of the Governor, and he was under our roof. He had even mentioned that he feared secret enemies. Could I have done more to protect him? We had secret enemies too, and this disaster could give them just the excuse they needed to destroy us. As Albia had said already, she would be seen as the most likely person to have killed him, even if she hadn’t been found in his room holding the weapon that had dispatched him to the underworld.

  I stared out of the window till I’d got sufficient control to be sure I wouldn’t throw up all over the bed. When I could bear to look at Plautius again, I was relieved to see that Albia had pulled up the blankets, arranging them so his gruesome wound was hidden from sight, along with most of the blood. “Are you all right, Relia?”

  “Just about. And you?”

  “I’ll survive.” She shuddered, realising it wasn’t the most tasteful expression to use in the circumstances. “Do you think we can find out who’s done this?”

  “I hope so. Because otherwise we’re first in line to be suspected.”

  “Should we tell someone, or leave things as they are and let one of his own people find him?”

  “We can’t just pretend we don’t know about it.” Tempting as it was to walk away, or preferably run, we would risk looking even guiltier, in the eyes of someone wanting a scapegoat for this horrible crime. “No, we’ve got to tell them. And the sooner the better.”

  “Aurelia Marcella!” The voice came from behind us. We both whirled round, to see the door opening slowly, and a man standing there watching us and blocking our way of escape.

  I heard someone cry out, and realised it was me. The man in the doorway was Lord Plautius.

  CHAPTER IX

  “Holy Diana protect us!” I breathed, and I heard Albia mutter a prayer to Juno. We both stood staring, unable to speak, unable to think clearly. Was this Plautius’ poor wandering shade, who could not enter the underworld until it had taken vengeance on whoever had killed him? Did it think we’d killed him?

  “Aurelia Marcella,” the apparition repeated. The soft voice was calm, slightly amused even. “And this is your sister, the housekeeper. I heard people talking, and came to see who was in my room. What are you doing here?”

  Neither of us ventured to answer. He sounded like a mortal man, and he seemed like one, as he began to pace towards us into the room. I tried to stand my ground, but my feet took a step backwards, beyond my control.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  That ordinary, casual expression was what convinced me that I hadn’t seen one. I took a deep breath. “We came to look for you, Lord Plautius. And instead we found….” I gestured towards the bed. “We thought it was you. I don’t understand. Who is he? What’s he doing here?”

  “Don’t be concerned.” Plautius walked calmly towards the bed. “My slave slept here last night instead of me, that’s all. I used one of the other rooms. I suppose he thinks as he’s in the master’s bed, he’s allowed to laze about all day. You can get up now, Idmon, and be quick about it.”

  He began to pull back the blankets, and stopped as he saw what was beneath them. He gazed down for a couple of heartbeats, then he swung round on us. “Who’s done this? You have, I assume! Now I understand why you’re looking at me as if I’m an apparition from a tomb. You thought I was dead! You thought you’d killed me, and have just discovered your mistake! No, you’ve only killed poor Idmon, one of my guards.”

  “We didn’t kill him!” Now that I saw the master and servant together, I realised there was only a moderate resemblance between them. They were both thin and grey-haired, but the dead man’s hair was in fact a grey wig, and his face lacked Plautius’ sick-room pallor.

  The old man frowned. “Then kindly explain how you come to be standing over his corpse.”

  I made an effort to gather my wits. “We found him like this. We thought we’d found you—as presumably whoever murdered him did.” Desperation made me bold. “Last night you said something about secret enemies. That’s why you took the precaution of not sleeping in your own bed?”

  “I had reason to be afraid, it seems.”

  “But not of Relia and me!” Albia exclaimed.

  “No?” He said coldly, and studied us for a while. “I’ve felt for some time that I had an enemy, someone who wanted me dead.”

  “That proves it can’t be us,” she said. “We’ve known you less than a day.”

  “True. But my enemy is manifestly clever enough to persuade or bribe another person, or persons, to do the killing. I assume you were well paid. Not that money will help you now.” He swayed a little on his feet, and I went to support him, but he waved me away.

  “We didn’t do this dreadful thing,” I repeated, as calmly and firmly as I could.

  He steadied himself against the side of the bed. “Let us go next door into the sitting-room. We can talk there. I’ll get one of my people to see to poor Idmon.”

  He picked up a little silver hand-bell from the bedside table, and rang it loudly. Its sweet note made a disturbing contrast to the bed’s gruesome inhabitant. Then, still holding the bell, he led us into the sitting-room, and we all sat down. He looked from one to the other of us with those unnervingly bright grey eyes. I gazed back at him, scared and shaken and yet impressed by his coolness. If he seriously thought we had tried to murder him, then staying calmly here in a room with us was extremely brave.

  Nobody came in answer to the bell, but it would only be a matter of time before a slave showed up, or even one of the family. We hadn’t long to convince the old man that we were innocent, and I decided that attack was the best form of defence. “My lord Plautius, you said just now that you heard us talking. If we’d really come to do you harm, do you think we’d have stood about at the scene of the crime, drawing attention to ourselves by talking? Do you think we’d have spoken at all? We’d have crept into your room, done what we had to do, and got out again in a dozen heartbeats.”

  “You thought this part of the mansio was deserted. Which it seems to be,” he added irritably, and shook the bell again. “Ah, here comes someone at last!”

  We heard the sound of footsteps in the corridor outside. “Guard! Here!” Plautius called out. “And where in Hades have you been?”

  But it was Horatius who appeared at the door. “Oh, you’re out of bed, Gnaeus. That’s good.” He stared round at us. Even from a distance I could smell the wine on his breath. “Why are you all looking so serious? What’s wrong?”

  “Go next door to my room, and see for yo
urself.”

  “Eh? Your room? Oh, all right.” Horatius wasn’t gone long, and when he came back his red face had gone pale. “Poor Idmon. So you were right about someone wanting to kill you.” He looked at Albia and me, with a surprised expression that would have been laughable if it hadn’t been followed by the question, “Did these two kill him?”

  “No, we did not…” I began, but Plautius cut me short.

  “Be quiet! Yes, Horatius, it looks as if they did. I found them in the room there, standing by the bed, with Idmon covered in blood, and a bloodstained knife on the floor.”

  “There’s no blood on us though.” I’d suddenly seen where our best hope lay. “Look—we haven’t a spot of blood on our clothing or our hands, either of us. You two gentlemen surely both have military experience. We ourselves are from an army family. So we all know that if a person stabs someone and spills that much blood, some of it is bound to get onto him, or his clothes.” I held out my hands, and Albia did the same. “See? Not a trace of blood anywhere.”

  Plautius surveyed each of us in turn, then looked at the lawyer. “She may have a point there, I suppose. What do you think, Horatius? And neither of them has a reason to kill me. Unless they were being paid by someone else, of course.”

  “Ah, but you haven’t heard the latest developments! They might have a good reason, especially the housekeeper.” Horatius nodded towards Albia. “Decimus has turned up, here at the mansio. He and Sempronia had the mother and father of all rows.” He glanced round the room and spotted a tray with a wine-jug and half-a-dozen mugs. “I could do with a drink. Like one, Gnaeus?”

  “No, thank you. Decimus is found, you say?”

  I seized my chance. “Why do you think we came to see you? I promised to bring you news of him, and….”

  “I told you to be quiet. Have you seen him yourself, Horatius?”

  “I have, and that isn’t the half of it.” The lawyer chuckled and sat down with his beaker of wine. “I’ve also seen the woman he wants to marry.” He gestured towards Albia.