by Brown, Nick
As they dismounted beside the arch, a young servant opened the gate. ‘Sir, are you from the magistrate’s office?’
‘No,’ Cassius replied, putting on his helmet. ‘My name’s Corbulo. I’m here to see Master Memor. Is he at home?’
The servant chewed his lip and examined both Cassius and Indavara before glancing back at the villa. ‘Would you wait here a moment, sir?’
‘If I must.’
The servant hurried back through the gate, securing the latch before running up the path through the orchard. He suddenly stopped and shouted back at Cassius. ‘Sir, sorry, what was the name again?’
‘Corbulo!’
Cassius looked over at Indavara and shrugged as he retrieved the spearhead from the single saddlebag Simo had attached. Indavara took the horses over to a patch of lush grass to graze.
The lad soon returned in the wake of a much older man wearing a pale blue tunic. As he came closer, Cassius saw that he was at least fifty: short, dark-skinned, with as much white in his beard as black.
‘Officer, please,’ said the man, opening the gate wide. As Cassius came forward, he bowed. ‘My name is Trogus, I am steward of this household.’
‘Corbulo, Imperial Security. Is Master Memor here? Will he see me?’
‘That … will not be possible, sir.’
‘Might I ask why?’
Trogus looked up. His eyes were swollen and red. ‘Master Memor was found dead this morning, sir.’
Cassius took a breath. ‘Great gods. What happened?’
‘They – they got inside the villa.’ Trogus’s eyelids flickered as he spoke. ‘Last night.’
‘They? What do you mean “they”?’
‘Whoever they were. They – they – cut off his head. They cut off his head and they took it.’ Trogus’s voice dropped to a shaky whisper. ‘Why would they take his head?’
II
It took a while for the steward to regain control of himself, during which time the young servant began to weep.
‘You’d better come inside, sir,’ Trogus said eventually. ‘We shall put your mounts in the stable.’
Without being told, the lad trotted over to Indavara and took the reins, then led the horses up the road towards the other gate.
‘What’s going on?’ Indavara asked as they followed Trogus through the orchard.
‘Memor’s dead,’ Cassius replied, rubbing a knuckle against his brow. ‘Murdered.’
‘What? Why?’
‘How in Hades would I know?’
Cassius stared up at the grey sky. How long had he been on the island? Two hours at the most. And already the prospect of a pleasant, uneventful stay had gone up in flames.
But his mind was already working, and there was in fact one unavoidable answer to Indavara’s question. As second in command of the Imperial Security Service, Memor’s list of enemies would be long and varied.
Cassius took off his helmet and cradled it under his left arm, the spearhead still in his right hand. As they approached the open door, he noticed the veins of gold leaf running down the marble columns. Whatever problems Augustus Marius Memor had faced, financial trouble didn’t seem to be one of them.
Trogus stood aside and gestured for Cassius and Indavara to enter, but then came a noise that froze the men where they stood: a terrible, high-pitched wail. For a moment, nothing was said; Cassius was stunned by the desperation and pain he’d heard.
‘Mistress Marta,’ Trogus explained. ‘The surgeon is with her but he’s been unable to calm her down.’
‘Your master’s wife?’ asked Cassius as they stepped inside.
‘No, sir. His youngest daughter.’
The big reception room was well lit by a square glass skylight. Subtle frescoes adorned two of the walls – one an exotic garden, the other the Seven Hills of Rome. There were also half a dozen mounted white busts. Cassius recognised four faces immediately: Caesar, Hadrian, Trajan and Domitian – founder of the Service. Excluding the entrance, doorways led off from the room in three directions. Several servants, male and female, were standing to the right, inspecting the new arrivals.
‘Are there other men in the family?’ Cassius asked Trogus.
‘Unfortunately not, sir. And Mistress Leonita – my master’s wife – is in ill health and confined to her bed. The surgeon has seen her too. I believe she’s sleeping now.’
Indavara caught Cassius’s eye and nodded down at the rug on which they were standing. Close to the doorway was a dark stain.
‘He was killed here?’ Cassius asked.
‘No, sir. The doorman – Ligur.’ Trogus lowered his voice. ‘His throat was cut.’
‘Where’s the body?’ Cassius asked, matching the steward’s hushed tones.
‘I had it taken to an outhouse this morning, sir. Master Memor too.’
‘And what—’
‘You! Who are you?’
The servants parted and a young woman appeared, striding towards Cassius. She was tall and long-limbed, her statuesque frame at odds with the delicate features of her face. Her skin was pale, similar in colour to her modest tunic and long, flowing stola. Her glossy brown hair had been hastily piled up on her head with several vicious-looking pins.
Marching along behind her were two big men, labourers by the looks of them.
‘Mistress Annia,’ Trogus said quietly. ‘My master’s eldest daughter.’
She stopped two yards from Cassius and fixed the steward with an imperious stare. ‘Why have you let these men into the house without consulting me?’
‘My apologies, Mistress,’ said Trogus with a bow. ‘This is Master Corbulo. He’s with the Service. He was coming to fetch some documents.’
Cassius held up the spearhead, turning it so that the young lady could see the badge.
She glanced at it, then at him. Unlike Trogus and many of the servants, there was no sign she had been crying. She looked past Cassius at Indavara, who was still standing in the doorway. ‘And him?’
‘My bodyguard,’ replied Cassius. ‘May I offer my condolences. This is—’
Annia wasn’t listening; she too had noted the bloodstained rug. Cassius was astonished by what happened next. She grabbed Trogus by the collar with one hand and pointed down at the rug with the other.
‘Look at that!’ she shrieked. ‘Look at it, you old fool. Do you intend to just leave that there for my sister to see every time she walks past? Take it away! Take it away and burn it.’
‘At once, Mistress.’
Annia let go of the steward. Before he could move away, she reached out and flattened the ruffled front of his tunic. Then she just stood there, shoulders hunched, head bowed.
Trogus waved the servants forward to help him with the rug.
‘Young lady, if I may.’
Annia shut her eyes for a moment, then turned to Cassius.
‘Yes?’ she said softly.
‘I would be very surprised indeed if the local magistrate wouldn’t be interested in seeing that.’ He pointed at the rug. ‘And anything else pertaining to what occurred here.’
‘Well we don’t know what the magistrate wants because he isn’t here, is he? Why don’t you make yourself useful and go and fetch him?’
Cassius bit his tongue and reminded himself that the girl had just lost her father. He took a breath before answering. ‘Where is he?’
‘We don’t know,’ Annia said bitterly.
‘I sent a messenger to the city this morning, sir,’ added Trogus. ‘Apparently he was in Lindos overnight. His office said he would come as soon as possible.’
Annia cast a despairing look out of the door. ‘The sun will be down soon. Will you help?’
‘I will do what I can, of course,’ Cassius replied. ‘Clearly we don’t have much time left today, but if Trogus here can tell me exactly what happened, I can perhaps consult with the magistrate in the morning. We might at least get the investigation moving.’
One of the female servants anxiously approached Anni
a.
‘What is it?’ she snapped.
‘Your mother, Mistress. She’s awake. She’s calling for you.’
Annia squeezed her eyes shut again, then looked up at Cassius.
‘What do you do with the Service?’
‘Generally whatever is required of me. I work for Aulus Celatus Abascantius. I am assigned to the office of the Governor—’
‘Of Syria. I know. I can read. I know that name – Abascantius. My father mentioned him.’
Annia came closer. ‘I want to know who did this. I want to know who did this and why and I want them found and I want them killed.’
Cassius held up his hands. ‘As I said, miss, I will do what I can.’
Annia examined Cassius’s face once more, then addressed Trogus.
‘Give him whatever he needs.’
As she left, Cassius put his helmet and the spearhead down on a nearby table.
‘Get rid of these people,’ he told Trogus.
With a couple of gestures, the steward cleared the room.
‘It is not sensible to have a woman in charge of a household at a time like this,’ Cassius told him. ‘They are not by nature suited to such demands. Are there no relatives or friends who can take over here?’
‘There is a cousin of Mistress Leonita but he lives in Ixia at the other end of the island. I’ve despatched a message but it will take him at least two days to get here. I’m afraid Mistress Annia has always been rather wilful, sir.’
‘Evidently.’
‘Without a male heir and with his wife so ill, Master Memor has treated her more like a son in some ways. He had so much work to occupy him and was often away. In practice Mistress Annia has run the household for several years.’
‘I see. How old is she?’
‘Nineteen.’
Cassius was surprised. She was old to still be living at home; had Memor married her off at a good young age there might at least have been a man around to help the family.
‘Well, she needs to calm herself down. Now, tell me what happened, Trogus.’
‘Yes, sir. Perhaps we should start in the study. That’s where … where Master Memor was killed.’
‘Very well.’
Trogus led them across the reception room and out through a portico with rooms to the left and a courtyard to the right. Several servants were gathered on the other side of the courtyard, outside what looked like the kitchen. A few barked orders from Trogus scattered them.
He stopped at the third room along. Unlike the other two, it was fitted with a wooden door and a lock. The steward pushed the door open and hesitantly entered, Cassius and Indavara behind him. In the middle of the little room was a hardwood desk facing a couch to the right. Next to the desk was a chair, the seat of which was dark with blood, as was the tasselled rug beneath. The desk had been cleared and cleaned. A stack of paper sheets and waxed tablets had been moved to the couch.
‘He was found here,’ said Trogus. ‘By one of the serving girls – just after dawn. Those screams. I thought the world was about to end.’
‘He was killed sitting down?’ Cassius asked.
‘Yes. The … the body was still … upright. But … without the head. Please excuse—’
The steward rushed past them and out into the courtyard, sucking in air.
Cassius kept his gaze on the corridor. ‘He – or they – must have been damned quiet and damned quick to get inside and kill him in his chair. A professional. The taking of the head suggests another party required proof the job had been done.’
‘Strange that he came in through the front door,’ said Indavara.
‘Stranger still that the doorman seems to have let him in.’
‘Might have been known to him. Might have been known to Memor.’
‘Indeed.’
Trogus returned to the room. ‘My apologies.’
‘Was the door shut?’ asked Cassius.
‘I believe it was slightly ajar. The girl knocked, then opened it when there was no answer.’
‘So had he woken early?’
‘No. He was still wearing his tunic. He had stayed up. Nothing unusual. Often he would only sleep for a couple of hours at night then take his rest in the afternoon. As usual he insisted I turn in before him.’
‘And this doorman? I’m assuming he was reliable?’
‘Ligur had been with us for many years.’
‘There’s a viewing hatch in the front door isn’t there?’
‘Yes.’
‘And didn’t I see a lantern? You keep it alight all night?’
‘We do. It was up to Ligur to keep it burning.’
‘So he would have known who he was letting in?’
‘I suppose he must have, yes. Which is odd, because my master didn’t take kindly to unannounced visitations, certainly not at night. He insisted that people always made an appointment in advance. No such arrangement was made.’
‘There’s a knocker on the door too, isn’t there? How loud is it?’
Trogus looked confused.
‘My point is,’ Cassius continued, ‘would anyone else have heard it other than Ligur?’
‘No, sir. No one else even knew there’d been a visitor. The sleeping quarters are towards the rear of the house. There is also a bell but that wasn’t rung. Ligur had a chair next to the door. He would have heard any approach.’
‘The main gate doesn’t have a lock. Presumably you don’t bother because the walls are so low?’
‘That’s right, sir. And the rear of the property backs on to open fields. Only the horse yard is fenced.’
‘But the rest of the house?’
‘Always secured at night, sir. Seven separate locked doors, including the front. I checked every one myself before retiring.’
‘When would that have been?’
‘The second hour of night.’
Cassius glanced at the bloodstained chair. ‘And the maid found him at dawn. So it could have happened at any time in between. Had Memor been involved in any disputes with people on the island? Do you know of anyone with reason to harm him?’
‘No. My master had an excellent reputation here. His work kept him very busy but he contributed funds to the village council, the assemblies in Rhodes and Lindos, and to more temples than I can recall.’
‘And what of his work?’
‘Master Memor generally kept that side of his affairs between himself and his colleagues within the Service, sir.’
‘He hadn’t spoken of any specific or current threats to him?’
‘No, sir.’
‘And his recent behaviour?’
‘He had been worried about his wife’s condition but I can think of nothing else.’
Cassius took a long breath. ‘All right, I think we should see the bodies now. But first you must get together as many of the male staff as you can, then send them out on to the streets of the village. They needn’t mention the murder but they must ask anyone they come across about any sightings of strangers over the last few days – people behaving suspiciously, especially close to the villa or the grounds. They must speak to anyone and everyone: children, slaves, whoever. Tell them to get back here within the hour.’
‘At once, sir.’
Trogus hurried away towards the reception room and was soon shouting orders.
Two serving girls walked across the courtyard, arms over each other’s shoulders, sobbing into handkerchiefs.
‘You’d think it was one of their own family had been killed,’ muttered Indavara.
‘Don’t assume their tears are for their master,’ said Cassius. ‘Who knows what the future holds for a household with only a girl left to run things?’
He looked at the pile of papers on the couch. ‘I wonder if the documents for Abascantius are in there. I shall have to write to him and Chief Pulcher. I hope the weather holds; they must be informed.’
‘Might they know something about what happened here?’
‘Perhaps. But we wouldn’t re
ceive a reply for at least two weeks, probably a lot longer.’ Cassius shook his head. ‘No, yet again the gods have conspired to ensure I am the one left in the shit.’
Indavara wandered off to the left side of the room, moving slowly, eyes trained on the ground.
‘Yes, I suppose we should have a look round,’ said Cassius, walking over to the couch to examine the papers. There were a lot of letters, some of them clearly encoded. If there was time, he would have to go through it all. Perhaps the whole lot could just be sent to Chief Pulcher. How many issues had Memor been dealing with? Scores by the looks of it. Was one in particular connected to his death?
Cassius found nothing of interest on the bare tiled floor between the couch and the shelves that lined the right-hand wall. On the shelves themselves there were more objects than books – mainly candles, ornaments and religious icons. The few tomes were standard reference works – mainly geographical and political.
‘Nothing over here,’ said Indavara.
‘Here neither.’
‘What’s that?’
Indavara pointed at the wall opposite the door, and the only fresco in the room. It looked rather old and had been composed in dark oils. Only when he moved closer did Cassius realise that it depicted a black sky, a huge wave and a ruined strip of coast.
‘Ah. I suspect that’s a representation of a disaster that struck the island about a century ago. An earthquake caused a giant wave that wiped out much of the city.’ Cassius turned to Indavara. ‘A single, sudden event that left utter devastation in its wake. Seems rather apt.’
Most of the space in the outhouse was taken up by firewood and sacks of animal feed, but beyond the largest pile of timber was a big table. Poking out from beneath a blanket were the feet of the two dead men. Ligur, the doorman – by the far the bigger of the two – still had his sandals on. Only one of Memor’s slippers remained.
