"Personal?"
"Professional!"
"Public too… Still few clients actually kill their home makeover man."
The King smiled. "Given how much bad feeling refurbishments can cause, there could well be more who do! Luckily I can say where I was yesterday," he assured me, rather dryly. "Should you ask."
"Well, I like to be thorough, sir." I made it a joke. "I'll put down a formal note: all day at the Marcellinus villa?"
"Yes. Have you been there?"
"No, but I have an invitation."
"A beautiful place," said Britain's foremost connoisseur. "I gave Marcellinus the land, as thanks for his work on this house…" He tailed off slightly. Had the gift gone wrong subsequently? "I feel you would be interested in the property, Falco."
He sounded like a realtor. I was not planning to buy within nine hundred miles of here. Not that that stops them.
"Internal viewing recommended, is it? Must be seen…" Why would the King assume I had a special interest in property, self-build or otherwise? Rome's official brief would have covered my status and talents, not my living arrangements.
Perhaps I had imagined any significance in the comment. The King merely resumed his tale of south-coast society: "The birthday party was due to last all day, concluding with a banquet but I retire early nowadays, so could not undertake the long journey home at night." Surely after their long years of collaboration and friendship, the Marcellinus couple could have provided a royal put-you-up? "I went for lunch only and drove back at dusk after a pleasant afternoon. I stayed overnight in my house in Noviomagus, returning here this morning. I was then told what had happened."
"I thought you were here last night," I mentioned. "I sent someone to ask your permission to close off the baths."
"Verovolcus or others in my household should have dealt with that."
"Yes they did… though it did not deter some labourers this morning, unfortunately." No reaction from the King. "Verovolcus was not invited to the birthday party?"
"No." The King now looked embarrassed.
"Verovolcus is organising the contractors at the bath house," Helena broke back in. "He stayed behind to deal with them."
"You need not be shy about the refurbishment," I reassured the King. "The new palace is your gift from Vespasian, but you are perfectly entitled to make additional improvements. You are a wealthy man," I told him. I wanted to hint that if he added to the approved scheme, he must commit his own funds at least while I was auditing. "Lavish spending is the duty of a wealthy Roman. It demonstrates status, which glorifies the Empire, and it cheers up the plebs to think they belong to a civilised society."
This time nobody asked if I was being sarcastic, though they probably all knew.
"You should ask about the architect's party," Maia put in suddenly. She had a morose expression, fired by a dangerous glint. I tipped up an eyebrow. "There was food and drink all day then in the evening, after the King left, there was to be a grand formal dinner. That was to be accompanied by music and hired entertainment, Marcus." I sensed what was coming. "The highlight was a special dancer," my sister announced.
It came as no surprise. Maia would hardly look so grim over a light poetry recital or a troupe of fire-eaters. "Let me guess. That would be a professional dancer, some exotic import all the way from Rome? Sinuous and expert?"
"Expert in a lot of things," Maia snapped. "Her name is Stupenda."
"Her name is Perella." I now had no doubt. But what would Anacrites' agent want with the retired ex-architect?
Nothing good. Nothing that I could afford to ignore.
XLV
the marcel linus villa was supposed to be about twelve miles away that was probably as the crow flew, and in my experience '
British crows were tipsy old bunches of feathers who could not use maps.
The King realised I would not contemplate breaking off the murder enquiry to make such a journey unless I feared danger. He provided fast horses and a small escort of keen warriors. We were seen leaving by Magnus, who somehow found a mount and attached himself. Verovolcus also tagged along. So did Helena. While I protested, she made me carry her on my horse behind me. This was a fine example of Roman nursing motherhood because yes, we had to have Favonia.
with us too. Helena had quickly run to fetch her, then turned up with the baby secured to her body with her stole. Not many informers go I
about their business accompanied by a madwoman and a four-month old child.
Maia stayed behind, with Nux and a human bodyguard. "I'll look after little Julia. I'm not taking on those other two you fostered. They look nasty blighters." Aelianus and Larius pretended not to hear.
Larius wanted to come. "You're a murder suspect," Aelianus rebuked him. "Just sit tight."
"I've been assisting Uncle Marcus since you were a two-foot-high whiner dribbling over your gold amulet-' Larius scoffed.
"You were brought to Britain to paint sprays of pretty flowers. I am on official attachment '
"Stop arguing, both of you," Maia scowled. Surprisingly they did.
We were offered a boat. It could have been quicker, for all I know. But I wanted to see if we met anybody coming back to Noviomagus from the villa. It did not happen. Still, you have to check. I The Marcellinus spread lay a couple of miles inland. We certainly _
knew when we got there: its size and grandeur compelled attention the same way he did, with his dramatic clothes and haughty bearing.
As soon as we galloped up to the monumental entrance, my tears about last night were confirmed. The great place was in turmoil. The slaves were either running about like startled mice or cowering, all terrified. We soon found the architect's wife, whom I put about twenty years younger than him maybe it was her fiftieth birthday she celebrated yesterday. Scream after scream told us where she was. She must have been screaming helplessly for a long time, because she had grown completely hoarse. None of her staff dared approach to soothe or comfort her.
The hysteria was caused by finding her husband dead. I did not need to ask her whether he died from natural causes. They had a bath house- but unlike Pomponius, Marcellinus had died in his bed.
Helena took charge of the poor woman. Striding through elegant suites full of ornate furniture, I soon came on Marcellinus. He and his wife had separate bedrooms- the sophisticated system that enables couples to ignore each other. He was in his bed, still lying where he had slept, as the wife had said. Somebody had cut his throat. It was expertly done, through both jugular and windpipe, so deeply the knife must have scraped his vertebrae.
The room stank of last night's wine. There was a great deal of blood. I had been half prepared for this; well, I had seen such handiwork before. It still turned my stomach. Magnus, who followed me, failed to make it from the room before he vomited. Some of the Britons who came with me looked queasy, though they all managed to stay upright and nobody fled. Verovolcus came right up and inspected the scene at close quarters. A head half sliced from its body held no terrors for tribesmen whose nation decapitated enemies as war trophies. The young men could never have joined in much action, but Verovolcus gave the impression he had seen sights I would not like to hear about.
It was a ghastly sight. I tried to remain professional. Marcellinus may have been asleep when he was set upon. From the way he lay high against the pillows, with the top portion of his body outside the bedspread, I thought it more likely he had sat up and been slashed from behind. Someone had been allowed to get close enough for that. If a woman did it and I knew who I meant any cynic could speculate as to how she wound herself so far into the man's confidence- on his wife's birthday too.