He did not wait for a reply, but dived under the table to retrieve the drinking cup, which had rolled there when Lyra let it fall. Gwellia sat down upon the bed to let him pass.
I watched his retreating posterior and smiled. The poor cook had a surprise in store. Junio had been born a slave into a Roman home, where he learned to gamble almost as soon as he could breathe. It was a rare man who could beat him at any game of chance, despite his air of youthful innocence. ‘I only hope the cook won’t stake more than he can afford to lose,’ I teased, as he came back into view. ‘What do you propose to do with all your- What is it, Junio?’
He was sitting on his haunches, with the recovered goblet in his hand, and he was looking doubtfully from me to it. All trace of laughter had vanished from his face. ‘You did say, master, that the prostitute was ill before she drank the wine you gave to her? You are sure it wasn’t that which made her faint?’
‘I’m absolutely sure,’ I said. ‘I did suspect it for a moment, but when I thought it through, I realised she was feeling ill before. Why, what’s the matter? Why did you ask that?’
‘It is just that when I was wiping the splashes behind the table leg, I found some bits of glass. It looks like part of a little phial to me — the sort they use for poisons — though it is hard to know. It has been broken into tiny fragments, see, as if someone had deliberately crushed it underfoot. The pieces were sticking to my cloth — I almost cut my hand. I’ve shaken them into the cup, so you can see.’
He held out the goblet in which he had collected the tiny shards of broken coloured glass. The largest of them was no bigger than the nail on my little finger. It was circular, with a small loop attached, and had obviously once contained a cork. Exactly like the neck of a small phial of the kind used for potions and decoctions, just as Junio had said. It was an alarming find.
Most of the contents of these things are curative, of course — or are alleged to be. However, in any street market or town it is possible to find someone skilled with herbs who will supply you with some lethal draught, provided that you pay them handsomely and swear that you intend to poison rats. Just as they will sell you love-philtres, baldness cures and sleeping draughts — though these are less effective on the whole.
From the shattered fragments in the cup it was impossible to tell what this little phial had once contained, or even how long it had been there — the rooms in a busy mansio are not always scrupulously swept. However, it would be foolish to deny the possibility that Junio was right, and that whatever had been in that phial was added to my wine.
I leaned forward gingerly and sniffed at them and then at the water in the washing bowl, in which Junio had been rinsing out the cloth. I fancied I detected a slightly almond scent. It was so faint that I could not be sure at first, and it was in any case obscured by the wine, but all the same I felt my skin go cold. If I was not imagining the smell — and a second sniff persuaded me that I was not — then someone had intended me to die.
It must have been a hefty dose, as well. Lyra had scarcely tasted it, and it had made her faint. Had she taken a little of my wine to dye her lips, while I was talking to the optio’s slave outside? Could that be what had made her feel unwell? After all, most drugs take a little while to work. But who would have put it there, and why?
The optio had ordered me the wine, but why should he want to kill me? I had done nothing to offend or startle him. And anyway why bother with a phial? Why not just put poison in the goblet?
The serving-boy, perhaps? He had the opportunity, but I could think of no motive for the deed — and why bring the poison to the room, instead of adding it before he came? In fact, though I was reluctant to acknowledge it, there was only one candidate that I could see. One person who had been alone in here when the wine was on the tray, and who had the chance to slip in anything she chose.
‘Lyra!’ I said aloud. It was clear enough when I looked back on it. Lyra, who had panicked when I refused the wine and seemed to be about to send it back — no wonder she suddenly turned pale and asked for it herself. Clearly she had not sipped it, as she’d pretended to — I remembered how she’d hugged it to her chest, and how artistically she’d let it fall and spill by manufacturing a sudden faint. She had feared it would kill the optio or the slave — and then too many questions would be asked. I wondered how she had intended to deal with my own demise: claim that I’d had a seizure of the heart, as a result of my exertions in her arms? She was quite capable of inventing something of the kind: she had shown a remarkable ability for thinking quickly when the need arose. Grudgingly, I had to admire her ingenuity and intelligence.
‘But why ever should she want to murder me?’ I found that I had spoken the last words aloud. ‘Just because I saw her following Plautus in the marketplace? I do have my suspicions about other things, but how could she possibly know about those? I’ll try to find out when I question her. What do you think, Gwellia?’
I turned towards my wife, surprised that she’d said nothing on the subject up to now, and saw that she’d rested her head against the wall, and was drifting into sleep.
Chapter Twenty-four
As I spoke she shook herself awake and of course I was instantly contrite. My wife and slave had travelled day and night to come to me, and I had been so exercised about the problems here that I had not even given a thought to how weary they must be. I had a thousand questions still, but they could wait till morning, if necessary.
‘You must rest, the pair of you,’ I said. ‘Junio, go to the kitchens and bring fresh water and another bowl. Your mistress needs to wash her hands and feet. And,’ I added, as a plan occurred to me, ‘get me another goblet — as like this as you can — and another pitcher of the mansio’s wine. Never mind the quality, any wine will do. Then send a message to Marcus and the optio and tell them I am ready to begin. I will arrange another palliasse when I return.’
‘No need to tell us anything, old friend. I heard that your wife and slave were here, and thought I’d come to greet them. Gwellia, my dear. .’ Marcus, in his laundered synthesis, had deigned to come in person to my room, and had entered unannounced, with the optio and his servant in his wake. He strode towards us, stretching out both hands to my wife, so that she was obliged to rise and make obeisances.
‘I trust the journey was not too severe,’ he went on solicitously as she scrambled to her feet. ‘Libertus shall have that palliasse he was talking of, and doubtless the mansio could find some stew for you — I would not recommend the sow’s udders that we have just been served!’
So the feast had been the disappointment that I had foreseen, and the optio was clearly in disgrace. I saw him skulking at the doorway, looking glum, and I hit on a little strategy.
‘It’s kind of you to think of it, Excellence,’ I said. ‘But the optio has already offered our visitor a meal, and it has been declined. Isn’t that so, optio?’ I saw the look of puzzlement flit across his face, followed by a look of disbelief. The offer had been intended for Lyra, not my wife — that much was now evident — but he could not publicly confess the fact. He was disconcerted and I seized on that. ‘Optio, allow me to present my wife.’ I waved him forward. ‘Gwellia, this is Commander Optimus, who is in charge here at the mansio.’
He gulped, and then recovered visibly. ‘Delighted to welcome you, madam citizen. If there is anything at all you want, just let me know.’ He smiled, so anxious to pass the moment off that he hadn’t seen the trap. Marcus, however, was alert to it.
‘Optimus? But isn’t that the name. .?’