A Pattern of Blood

by Rosemary Rowe

  Sollers shot me a sharp look. ‘Indeed,’ he said, ‘I do. But this was a gift from Quintus. It is similar to the pouch he wore himself.’

  That was interesting, I thought, remembering how swiftly Maximilian had dropped it, almost as if he had been stung. I recalled Sollers saying that he would not put it past Maximilian to have staged that robbery. I wanted a word with that young man. But not now.

  ‘Thank you, citizen.’ I dropped the coins into my own purse. ‘Rollo would be indebted to you. As the whole household is, Julia especially. She has told me about your work. She has nothing but praise for your skill.’

  He looked at me sharply. ‘Has she, indeed? I am surprised that she should confide so much to you. But yes, I have been treating Julia. I was hopeful, too, that my treatment had worked, but now of course it is no longer important. At least, unless she should choose to marry again. She is still young enough for that.’

  So, I thought to myself, he was treating her for childlessness. Aloud I said, ‘Julia told me that you were treating her, but she did not say why. Her praise was for your operation on her husband’s eyes.’

  For the first time since I had met him, I saw Sollers look less than composed. ‘A thousand pardons, citizen. I thought she must have told you—’

  ‘That you were helping her conceive a child?’ I took a calculated risk. ‘A pity that such a beautiful woman should have problems in that way. But she must have known about it before – she was married to Flavius for several years.’

  Sollers hesitated a moment, and then he said, ‘Citizen, you are a clever man, and I think you are an honest one. What I am about to tell you is a confidence between Julia and myself. I trust you not to abuse the knowledge, but I know that if I do not explain, you will try to deduce the matter for yourself, and perhaps come to worse conclusions.’ He stopped and looked at me expectantly.

  ‘Unless this has some bearing on the killings,’ I said, ‘Julia’s confidence is safe with me. I give you my word as a citizen and a Celt.’

  He smiled, amused at this expression. ‘Then I will tell you. You guess correctly. Julia was desperate to have a child and create a new heir. I cannot blame her. Maximilian lacks both judgement and respect, and Julia feared that if her husband died – he was, after all, many years her senior – his fortune would be left at the mercy of his son. Ulpius has made provision for her, of course, and her dowry will revert to her; but she cannot do business or sign contracts without a legal protector. She feared that Maximilian would fritter everything away and leave her penniless in her old age. If she could provide a second heir, she could secure at least half the estate.’

  ‘I have heard it suggested,’ I interpolated doubtfully, ‘that the infertility might not have been Julia’s.’

  He looked surprised. ‘Julia believed that it was. She was, as you say, married for a long time to Flavius.’

  ‘And did not manage to conceive.’

  Sollers looked at me gravely. ‘And had no children, citizen. That is not necessarily the same thing. On the contrary. Once, after Flavius had forced himself on her, Julia discovered she was expecting a child. She was appalled. A child would give Flavius an emotional hold over her, and besides she had recently met Quintus and was contemplating leaving her husband. To do so, under the circumstances, was to invite trouble. She . . . shall we say . . . took steps.’

  I nodded. It was not unknown. Many women took matters into their own hands if they found themselves carrying an unwanted child. I could see what Julia feared. The world would say the child was Quintus’s, Flavius might even have dragged Quintus through the courts for damages, yet Quintus himself would never have accepted the child – and that would have been the end of marrying Julia. She must have been desperate. All the same, it showed a ruthlessness in her which was not altogether attractive. ‘So, she went to a physician?’

  ‘I wish she had. She went to a wise woman, secretly. And since then she has failed to conceive. These forceful internal applications of brimstone remove the child, but they can endanger the woman too, and prevent her from future births. That was what Julia feared. And she still had pain. That is why she came to me. She wanted to take advantage of her husband’s illness to let me soothe the inflammation, and perhaps effect a cure. She could not guess, of course, that Ulpius would die before she could test the efficacy of the treatment.’

  ‘I see,’ I said. ‘You have been very frank. But there is something else I need to ask. It is a delicate matter, but it is important that I know. What form, exactly, did your treatment take?’

  Sollers hesitated a moment, but then he answered. ‘I gave her herbs to drink, and a soothing douche of olive oil and milk. And, before you ask, it was the latter which I administered yesterday. Quintus was engaged with Maximilian, so we took advantage of the moment. So, if you are suspecting that Julia might have killed her husband, I can tell you otherwise. She needed to lie down to have the treatment, and for a little afterwards, and I was with her all the time. She may be embarrassed to tell you this, but it is the case.’ The medicus looked at me soberly. ‘Is there anything else, citizen, which you need to know?’

  It was my turn, suddenly, to feel embarrassed. I was aware of having intruded upon a very private professional relationship, and of having forced the man into disconcerting candour. ‘Not at all,’ I said hurriedly, ‘you have been most helpful. I apologise for having felt the need to ask. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I will go and warn my patron. If I intend to visit the town I should do so before the morning is quite over.’

  I turned back into the house and made my way to Marcus, with Junio again at my heels.

  Marcus was in the blackest of moods. He had been given the best guest apartments, and had been provided with a pair of braziers, as requested. All the same, he had felt the cold. The house was draughty after his first-floor apartment in Glevum, and clearly the hypocaust was not as effective as the one in his country villa. He had scarcely slept a wink, he said; the couch was lumpy and the room was cold.

  ‘The sleeping draught which Sollers provided for you made no difference, Excellence?’ I asked solicitously. ‘I didn’t drink mine until it was almost light, but afterwards I slept like Morpheus.’

  My enquiry did nothing to improve my patron’s temper. ‘It tasted foul,’ he replied testily. I guessed that he had hardly tasted it and that my testimony now added to his discontent. He was irritable with cold and fatigue and the provision of a bought pie for breakfast had not helped matters, despite the exquisite tray and silver platter on which it had been served. Unlike Flavius, Marcus preferred more delicate flavours in the morning.

  It was not, perhaps, the most propitious moment for making my announcements, but I could see no help for it.

  I took a deep breath. ‘Excellence, something has happened that I think you would wish to know.’ I outlined everything that had happened since we spoke, beginning with Rollo’s visit to me the night before, up to the gruesome discovery in the latrine that morning.

  Marcus heard me out in silence. He hadn’t been to the latrine himself. A glance beneath the bed told me that he had been given a more personal utensil. A latrine is a sign of status, certainly, but important visitors like Marcus cannot be expected to get up at night and walk all the way across the courtyard in the rain.

  ‘So,’ he said, when I had finished my tale, ‘you think that I have made an error? I shouldn’t have arrested Lupus. That is the gist of what you are telling me?’

  It was not altogether the response I had been expecting. ‘I mean that since Lupus was locked into the attics, on your orders, Excellence, it is impossible that he could have done this. And it would take a stronger man than Lupus to force Rollo into that latrine.’

  He looked at me with more interest. ‘So you think our killer is still abroad?’ He glanced around the frieze of the chamber as though there might be someone lurking among the painted acanthus leaves.

  ‘I think, Excellence, that you should be careful. There is, for instance,
one dreadful possibility that occurs to me. Suppose that the boy was poisoned after all? Sollers agrees that it is possible. There may be something unwholesome in the kitchen. Or, possibly, a poisoner abroad.’ I did not wish to alarm him unduly, but to my relief he took the bait at once.

  He nodded. ‘I’ll have my slave down from the attic, to act as a food-taster. You can use Junio. One cannot be too careful.’

  ‘And make sure everyone knows you’ve done it,’ I said. ‘By the by, Excellence, you have not, I suppose, received a message of any kind?’

  ‘A message?’

  ‘It occurs to me that since there has been another death, someone might have received another message. Mentioning Pertinax, perhaps. Sollers was right, in one respect at least. Murderers often do repeat themselves.’

  Marcus smiled. ‘No, I have received no warning. We can take that, perhaps, as a sign that there was no deliberate attempt to poison you?’

  I wished that I could be so certain. The message which Quintus had received was not exactly a warning either, unless you knew how to interpret it. In fact, when I came to think of it, Quintus had not actually ‘received the message’ at all. It had simply been discovered in the colonnade. The identity of that wax tablet troubled me. Was it the same one that Flavius had shown me, the one which Junio now had hidden in his tunic?

  ‘You did not see that earlier tablet yourself, Excellence? The one which Ulpius spoke of in his letter?’ I asked the question without any real hope. After all, Marcus had discussed the matter with me at length.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Marcus said, as if it were the most natural revelation in the world. ‘He sent it to me with the messenger. It was rather a distinctive thing. I have it with me somewhere.’ He gestured helplessly towards the iron-bound wooden box which had accompanied him from Glevum, and which now stood at the foot of his couch. ‘If I hadn’t sent those wretched slaves away, I could have shown you.’

  He could not be expected to rummage in the box himself, he meant. I could only smile wryly. First, because it was so typical of Marcus that he should tell me the details of the story without ever deigning to show me the evidence; and second, because my own bundle of possessions, wrapped up in a piece of cloth, would not have required a pair of slaves to search it: a strigil, a comb, a clean tunic and a fresh pair of under-breeches was all the baggage I possessed.

  ‘Perhaps,’ I suggested helpfully, ‘if Junio . . .?’

  Marcus assented with a nod. ‘Why not?’ He produced the ring key from his finger and Junio lifted the heavy chest while he opened the lock. ‘You will find it in there, somewhere. It is wrapped in a leather pouch, since it is a delicate thing.’

  Junio put the chest down gratefully, and fell to his knees beside it. It was full to bursting. Marcus had equipped himself for a visit to Corinium like an imperial general crossing the Alps: toga, cloak, sandals, underlinen, woollen foot socks, oils, combs, nose tweezers, ear scoops, even a travelling shrine and a box of ointments. And underneath, the leather pouch of which Marcus had spoken.

  Junio pulled it out and handed it to Marcus. My patron opened it to reveal a fine wax writing tablet set in a carved ivory frame. Junio had just such another object hidden inside his tunic.

  I nodded to him and he pulled that out in his turn.

  Marcus looked from one to the other in dismay. ‘But these are identical. Where did you get the second one from?’

  I told him about my interview with Flavius.

  My patron frowned. ‘So we are back to Flavius again. I should have guessed that he was involved in this. After all, it was his dagger. You said from the outset that Flavius had a motive for hating Quintus. And yet he was so quick to point out the stains on the old man’s toga . . . no doubt to deflect suspicion from himself. And he had arranged that Rollo should visit him last night.’ He shook his head ruefully. ‘Ah, yes, it all fits. Once again, Libertus, I should have listened to your counsel. I was too hasty in forming my judgements.’

  He sounded so despondent that I was moved to say, ‘Nevertheless, Excellence, one cannot dismiss Lupus entirely. Those bloodstains require explanation.’

  He brightened. ‘Yes, they do. Perhaps the two men were conspiring? They arrived at the house together, and they spent a long time alone in the front garden. They were whispering to each other in the arbour when you found them, I recall. Oh, Mercury! Nothing is ever as simple as it seems. What do you advise, old friend?’

  I considered for a moment. I was not convinced that Lupus and Flavius were totally innocent, but I did think the matter was much more complex than Marcus seemed to believe. I said carefully, ‘I think, Excellence, you might leave matters as they are at present. After all, there is no direct proof against Flavius, and one cannot have the whole household locked in the attics. A pair of stout slaves are already posted at his door, and he cannot leave the house, so he is effectively under guard already. As for Lupus, I should leave him where he is. He still has those bloodstains to explain, and even if you are wrong, the old man cannot be more offended than he already is.’

  Marcus eyed me doubtfully. He has the Roman dislike of inaction. He would always prefer to be doing something, even if that something was wrong.

  I gave Flavius’s writing tablet back to Junio, who put it back in his pouch and returned the other to the travelling chest. ‘Excellence, I hope you will excuse me. I wish to leave you. There are some questions I would like to ask in the town. The answers may help us to decide what to do with our prisoners.’

  I said ‘our prisoners’ to ally myself deliberately with Marcus’s decision. That swayed him. ‘Oh, very well,’ he said, ‘go into the town if you must. I shall do nothing until you return. But do not be too long about it. And remember, I shall expect results.’

  I bowed myself out, taking Junio with me. We crossed the courtyard, passing Julia and Mutuus in furious conversation in the colonnade, and went to the kitchens, where Junio returned Marcus’s breakfast tray and collected a jug for the wine we were to buy.

  Even then, I failed to see what had been right in front of my eyes.

  Chapter Fifteen

  We went out through the back gate to avoid the press of visitors at the front. Even so, as soon as we were outside the walls of the enclosure, we were swept up in the activity and bustle of the town. A press of urchins surrounded us at once, offering to sell me everything from knick-knacks and copper pans to love potions and amulets, or simply volunteering to lead us to the best wineshops and dancing girls in town. One disreputable-looking fellow even approached us with a leer to ask if Maximilian had sent us to him. If this was the sort of company he kept, I thought, it was no wonder Quintus disapproved of his son.

  We brushed them all aside and made our way down the side streets towards the centre of the town.

  Corinium, it seemed, was in a constant state of rebuilding. Everywhere the old thatched timber shops and apartments were being pulled down, and finer ones were going up in their place, mostly built of limestone and roofed with tiles. The narrow streets were made still narrower by creaking carts laden with laths and plaster, or by the presence of lashed wooden ladders, where builders scuttled up and down with baskets of roof tiles or buckets of lime and mortar, while we picked our way along in constant apprehension of their rickety wooden pulleys swinging stone blocks overhead.

  Amid this confusion, other stalls were doing a brisk trade, and all the way to the central square we were constantly hailed by shopkeepers hoping to entice us to buy their wares. Bone dealers vaunted their combs and pins, drapers held out lengths of woollen cloth and a draggled woman begged us to examine her ‘best spindles, made from antler horn – cheapest in the Empire’. A shoemaker, straddling his bench, paused in his hammering of hobnails to wave a hopeful hand at shelves of ready-made boots and sandals, and when I declined to purchase, offered to measure me for a new pair on the spot.

  I might indeed have been tempted by a new hammer from the blacksmith’s, but what I had said to the medicus was true. I was not ca
rrying a lot of money. Not, truth to tell, that I had a great deal of money to carry, at least until I had been paid for one or two commissions in Glevum. So it was no use gazing at buckled belts on the leather stall, or the fine bowls and beakers of the glass and pottery vendors. I limited myself to the necessary purchases with a sigh.

  We did not go into the forum proper: not being market day, it would be given over to politicians, peddlers and moneylenders, so we confined our attentions to the arcaded shops on the outside of the square. I sent Junio with a jug to buy a measure of sour wine, while I stopped at a baker’s shop and bought a cheap loaf of day-old barley bread. Poor Rollo would hardly need a fresh one, served hot on the long-handled iron bread slice straight from the great domed oven. I turned my face against the temptations of the other food stalls, although Junio, who had by then returned, was looking longingly at the honey cakes, and even the wares of the hot pie sellers smelled appetising now.

  ‘What now, master?’ Junio asked, tearing himself away from the sugared cakes reluctantly.

  ‘I want to know exactly what Maximilian did yesterday. It occurs to me that he arrived back at the house with clean garments after he had attended the baths.’

  Junio shot me a look. ‘Direct from the fuller’s, you think?’

  ‘It seems unlikely, since he came dressed in mourning colours. More likely he sent a slave to fetch some from his apartment, or even to buy him new ones. But I would be interested, all the same, to see the toga Maximilian took off. I noticed it was stained when I saw him – though I had no reason, then, to ask what the stains might be.’

  Junio whistled. ‘I see! Lupus may not be the only one with tell-tale marks on his sleeves. Then we should hurry, before the clothes are cleaned so much that it is impossible to tell.’