Marcus seemed momentarily startled at being appealed to in this way. Like the rest of us, he had instinctively deferred to Sollers up to now. However, it did not take him long to recollect himself. He rearranged his toga, casually, but so that the aristocratic stripe was more in evidence, and said, briskly, ‘Yes. Do that please. Then we will have them wash this floor, and after that perhaps his wife would like to see him.’
Sollers smiled. ‘At once, Excellence.’ He bent down again, and with a violence that made me avert my eyes, seized the dagger hilt and jerked it free. When I looked again, he was holding the dripping blade. There was an unreal and macabre theatricality about the scene, as if we were all condemned slaves at the playhouse, forced to play our parts to the death in a bloodthirsty tragedy. I have seen men killed before, of course, and Marcus is a frequent visitor to the amphitheatre, but even he paled.
‘I am sorry, citizens.’ Sollers seemed to feel that some explanatory comment was necessary. ‘The weapon had been driven in with some force. As you see, the blade has chipped on a bone.’ He held it out for our inspection. There were fresh bloodstains on his robe, I noticed.
It occurred to me that the killer must have carried similar tell-tale splashes. In fact, when I came to think of it, there was surprisingly little blood. A stabbing can be a horribly messy affair. I said as much to Sollers.
He looked at me in surprise. ‘You are astute, citizen. Yes, there is often much more blood. But the assailant was lucky. I bled Ulpius myself, not an hour ago, to reduce the fever and help him to rest. If he was stabbed shortly after, he would not bleed so fiercely. There would be no spurting. And leaving the blade in the wound would help to staunch it too. The murderer may have escaped with no more than bloodied hands.’
I turned to Marcus, but he was inspecting the weapon, without removing it from Sollers’s hand. It was a vicious dagger, with a short, sharp metal blade and an elaborately carved hilt in some kind of dark wood. It was very unusual.
‘This belonged to Quintus?’ he asked. It seemed a likely explanation. Murderers do not commonly leave behind weapons of such striking individuality.
Sollers surprised me. ‘No, I do not think so. Most likely it belonged to one of the clientes.’ He shrugged. ‘It is my fault, gentlemen. After that attack. .’ he shot a look at Maximilian, who looked bewildered, ‘I took the precaution of removing all personal weapons and knives from anyone wishing to visit him.’
I nodded. It was unusual, but not unheard of. It is not unknown for people to be asked to leave their blades with a servant. Some dicing dens demand it, for example, and personal visitors to the Emperor are rumoured to be routinely searched at the door for weapons and poisons.
‘You don’t know who owns it?’ Marcus asked.
‘Not for certain. I remember having seen it — it is rather a remarkable object — but I could not swear to the owner.’
‘Well, I could. If anybody deigned to ask me!’ That was Maximilian, more petulant than ever. ‘But no. Here I am, heir presumptive to my father’s estate — so this is my house you are standing in, or it will be very soon — and what happens? Everyone ignores me. Everyone always ignores me, at least while that buffoon is around.’ He gestured savagely at Sollers.
It was an extraordinary outburst. ‘Buffoon’ was the last word I should use to describe Sollers. If anything, it seemed more appropriate to Maximilian himself.
Marcus seemed to think so too. ‘You say you recognise this knife?’
‘Is it yours?’ Sollers sounded genuinely surprised.
Maximilian flushed. ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you? I dare say you’d like to prove that I murdered my father. That would be a nice neat solution for everyone. I came in here, sent the slaves away and stabbed him in the back. Well, I didn’t. And it isn’t my knife either. But I know whose knife it is, and so would you if you had your eyes half open. It belongs to that fool, Flavius. I’ve seen him with it a dozen times. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to the bathhouse. I need to perform the ritual wash and to change my toga. After all, this was my father. I shall be wanted to close his eyes, put the coin in his mouth and begin the lament. And I shall lead the procession, after the musicians, and make the funeral oration, too. You can tell that woman as much, from me.’ He turned away from Sollers and spoke to Marcus and myself, finding a sudden dignity. ‘Citizens, welcome to my father’s house. My house, as it now is. Though this man still thinks he runs it, as you see.’
He turned on his heel and left the room.
There was a stunned silence.
‘He is upset,’ Sollers said. ‘It has been a shock. To all of us. It is bad enough that there was one attack on Quintus Ulpius’s life — but another! And to think that I unsuspectingly seem to have arranged to provide a weapon.’
‘Where did you put the knives?’ Marcus asked.
‘I did not put them anywhere. I asked the clientes to leave them on the table in the ante-room. They were in full view; anyone might have seen them. I explained that Ulpius was. . well, understandably upset. . after the attack, and asked them to leave their blades outside as a courtesy.’ He seemed embarrassed.
I guessed that he had represented Quintus to the waiting clientes as a man obsessed, half crazed with fever and fear. Perhaps he had been. After all, he had sent that letter to Marcus, saying that he feared another attack. And with justification, it seemed.
‘So,’ I said, ‘there was more than one blade on the table?’
‘One or two at a time, no more. The callers collected them as they left.’ Sollers smiled ruefully. ‘I did not imagine there was any danger. The weapons were on public view. Ulpius insisted on seeing his clients privately, one by one, but his secretary was present throughout, sitting on that stool by the wall, and there were always slaves at the door. The clientes simply called into the ante-room as they left, to pick up their knives and summon the next appellant. I even looked in on Ulpius myself from time to time, to make sure he was not overtiring himself. He was never alone — until Maximilian came.’
‘I see.’ I did see, but there was an obvious question I needed to ask. ‘Who is Flavius?’
Sollers looked grave. ‘You do not know? I had thought you had heard the gossip. Flavius is a substantial landowner near the town. He has a large estate, and many interests: wool, dyeing, pottery even. He is a rich man, though not as rich as he was.’
‘And he had come to see Quintus Ulpius about a contract?’
Sollers shook his head. ‘In a manner of speaking. He came to see Ulpius about Julia. He was her previous husband.’
Marcus took a sharp breath. ‘He was here? And he left his knife?’
‘More than that,’ I said, suddenly understanding. ‘He’s here now. Maximilian told us that there were still two visitors waiting to be seen.’
‘Great Hermes!’ Sollers said. ‘I had forgotten that. I sent them away so that Ulpius could rest, before Maximilian came. Presumably they are still waiting, somewhere on the estate. They will not know of Ulpius’s death.’
Unless they were there when it happened, I thought. After all, it was Flavius’s dagger. And he did have a motive — one which I could understand.
‘We must have him found at once,’ Marcus said. ‘And the other client, whoever that is. Maximilian said they both had grudges against Quintus.’