Then he wrenched his head back, creasing his face in disgust. ‘Gods’ breath. What on earth is that?’
‘It is vomit,’ I suggested. ‘And you can see there is another stain on the front of his tunic, but it has been slightly obscured by the blood.’
‘Some last-minute fear?’ Veron wondered.
‘For a man of his reputation?’ I replied. ‘No. I’d suggest that Maxant’s body was attempting to rid itself of poison.’
‘Poisoned?’ Veron said. ‘And then stabbed…’
‘Indeed.’ I opened up Maxant’s mouth and sniffed the rancid contents. There were traces of vomit there, too. ‘What a perfect location to stage a suicide attempt,’ I continued. ‘We have the ideal set-up: one set of footprints with no one else around, and a clear method of death. If we hadn’t arrived here, Maxant’s death would have almost certainly been registered as a suicide. But you see, the general once told me in person and with some conviction that suicide was a “cowardly way out” and that the gods didn’t look kindly on those who took their own lives. I came here with doubts, certainly, but these were confirmed when I realized there was too little blood on the sand for such a wound. Something like this would have created far more of a mess.’
Constable Farrum frowned. ‘How could it ’ve been done? Maxant’s a heavy man. No one could’ve just killed him, dragged his body here. I mean to say, there should be signs of some kind of effort, something of a struggle?’
‘What’s to say they used the beach? The murderer could have sailed here with the body. We’re standing just a fraction on the other side of the high-tide mark.’ I indicated the vegetative detritus. ‘Yes, a small boat could easily have pulled up here some hours ago at high tide with Maxant’s pre-prepared body, dumped it overboard and… Now here’s the interesting thing. The killer could have walked towards the garden, creating the illusion that Maxant came out here himself, knowing there was no one else around and that the beach was private property. That strikes me as a very important point. It’s all very well planned, but whoever had done this hadn’t taken into account Maxant’s vomit.’
‘Vomit,’ Veron chuckled grimly.
‘A common problem with failed poisonings,’ I observed. ‘And, let’s face it, poisoning was really the only way someone was going to get the better of a physically superior warrior.’
Leana said, ‘The person who is doing this – perhaps they were not alone.’
‘Unless they worked alone and let the tide take the boat out to sea. I’d say, though, that whoever did this must have had some level of access to the general to be able to poison him, one of his own men or a rival in the Senate, someone who may have despised his war efforts even.’
Veron scratched his head and took slow steps around the body, his cloak flapping in the breeze. ‘There were several men I know who loathed the attention and favour he was getting from the public, not to mention from Licintius. Generally he was loved though. Some of the republicans secretly wanted him to lead further campaigns. No, surely not a senator. Do you think the servants could have been involved? Whenever I’ve known there to be poisonings, it’s usually involved sneaking something into their food by the cook.’
‘Not improbable,’ I replied. ‘Though he may not have eaten here. Constable, do you think you could question these servants of his? I’d like to know every single movement in this house over the past day.’
‘Absolutely, sir.’ Farrum trudged up the beach, almost following Maxant’s steps until he realized where he was treading, and then he quickly skittered further away, taking the long route to the house.
‘The man’s an idiot,’ Veron grunted.
‘He has potential if you’d let him,’ I snapped, then saw the expression on Veron’s face. ‘I’m sorry, senator. Please accept my apologies. I’m just angry that yet another body has been found – and what a waste of life all of this is proving. Good people, with such a future ahead of them, are no longer with us.’ Not to mention that yet another one of my leads had been killed.
‘Think nothing of it,’ Veron said sincerely.
‘As for Farrum,’ I added, ‘he simply needs to be given an opportunity to make something of himself.’
‘I’ve seen enough to know I should trust your powers of observation. So what are we to do about this poor fellow?’ Veron gestured to the body of the fallen general. ‘Perhaps it was his election rival – Maxant’s speech did cause quite a ruckus. A gang member doing the dirty work?’
‘Those gangs do not strike me as being as cautious as whoever did this,’ I replied. ‘As I said, this is all very well planned. Much, in fact, like Lacanta’s murder also seemed to be very well planned.’
‘You think the two incidents are linked,’ Veron said.
‘I’m not ruling it out,’ I replied, though did not reveal my hunches about General Maxant. If he was involved in Lacanta’s murder – or at the very least knew something – my job was about to get even more difficult.
Henbane
For some time I examined Maxant’s body, before walking further along the shore, scouring the immediate surroundings for any signs of disturbance, or for anything that may have been dropped. Nothing would change my original theory, which seemed to be the least illogical method, of murder. Nothing indicated that this was a suicide.
We made some hasty arrangements to have his body moved back to the house by the servants. According to his staff, this was not Maxant’s main residence. After the war, he had hoped to get the place into shape so he could move in with a larger household of servants. He had no wife – she had died many years ago while he was abroad – and their children had grown up and long moved from the city. Why he had little contact with his family, who could say, but I was hardly one to cast a weighty moral opinion on such matters.
Eventually his corpse was wrapped and carried inside, but I insisted the blade be left in place to be examined further. It seemed to be a standard-issue military blade, though I wondered if this was Maxant’s own, or if he carried something else.
Later, we were shown a much more ornate example. It was still around twenty inches long, double-edged, but this one possessed a wonderful brown and silver pommel, with intricate craftsmanship – a far superior weapon to the one that had been found in his body. This, I felt, enhanced my original suspicions – if Maxant was going to kill himself, he would surely have used his own blade. I guessed that if he had left it here to attend the Stadium of Lentus, which forbade weapons of any kind, then he would have been weaponless at the time the killer struck.
While Veron wanted to examine Farrum’s progress in interviewing the servants, I decided to explore the property with Leana. I was impressed, if not in dumbstruck awe, at the wealth on display here. Maxant had brought back treasures from around the known world: idols, trinkets, vases, bowls, objects whose function seemed beyond my comprehension. Many of them were strewn about the house, piled up seemingly with disregard, as if he no longer knew what he could possibly do with them all.
We wandered into the rear garden, which was not as tidy as the one at the front of the villa, though it was much larger.
Leana eventually stopped me, pointing to my left. There was a smile on her face. ‘Spirits save us. A little yellow flower with the dark heart,’ she said. ‘Henbane.’
‘Let me look at the leaves.’ The nearest plant was a knee-high specimen with identical leaves to the one we had found in Drullus’ hideout. The flowers possessed speckled yellow petals, which merged into something far darker.