The pedlar and the beggar were no more helpful. Marcus had them flogged, on the off-chance, but it did nothing to refresh their memories and in the end he let them go. The soothsayer did claim that he had important information from the omens, but when this turned out to be that ‘the dead man was possessed of secret enemies’ Marcus was so infuriated that he ordered him marched to Glevum and locked up for a week, though not in any expectation of learning anything more to the purpose.
We saw Andretha next. He was anxious and trembling, swearing that the murderer could not possibly be anyone in the villa. I could understand why. Strictly, if a master was murdered by one of his own slaves, the whole household could be put to death, although the last time that sentence had been carried out in Rome there had been a major riot, so the law was not always implemented these days — provided the individual culprit could be identified. The chief slave, however, might still be found guilty of negligence, and he could pay for that with his life in some interestingly excruciating ways.
‘No one in the household,’ he protested again.
‘All the same,’ Marcus said, turning to me, ‘any one of the servants might have done it, and no doubt most of them hated him. I suppose the land-slaves are less likely. They don’t usually come to the house so it would be difficult for any of them to hide the body in the hypocaust.’
‘Impossible, excellence,’ Andretha said, hastily. ‘If one of those roughly dressed fellows came anywhere too near the villa I’d have him caught at once and punished.’
‘Unless,’ I said thoughtfully, ‘the house was empty, as it was during the procession.’ Andretha gave me a poisonous look.
Marcus frowned. ‘But during the procession, Crassus Germanicus was alive. I saw him with my own eyes.’
‘And as soon as it was over,’ Andretha rushed in with relief, ‘all the household slaves came back to the villa together in the farm cart. No one could have come faster. I saw to that. I was in a hurry to make sure everything was properly prepared for Crassus’ return.’
I could believe that. Failure to have the brazier lit and food and drink waiting would have resulted in someone feeling his master’s lash. Crassus was not a tolerant man.
‘I swear to you,’ Andretha said, wringing his fingers, ‘there were servants on watch for his return all night. I don’t believe anyone could have come to the villa without being seen or heard.’
‘And yet,’ Marcus said dryly, ‘someone did come to the villa. Someone brought the body back and put it in the hypocaust. If there was a watch, you’d have thought somebody might have noticed.’
Andretha was so terrified by this suggestion that he had failed in his duty, that he could not have made a sensible answer if he tried. He didn’t try. He simply spread his hands hopelessly, as if there was no sensible answer he could make.
‘All the slaves returned together, you say?’ I put in.
Andretha nodded. ‘Except Daedalus, Crassus’ personal slave. Of course we expected that. He would have stayed with Crassus, to fetch horses or wine, and carry torches. See him home, guard him if necessary. Only, of course, he hasn’t returned either.’
‘So where,’ Marcus wanted to know, ‘is Daedalus now?’
An anguished look spread across Andretha’s face. ‘I don’t know. Nobody knows. He was supposed to stay with Crassus. Do you suppose Daedalus killed him, at the procession?’ He was grasping at straws. If Germanicus was murdered in Glevum, it was not his responsibility. His duty to guard his master against all comers was within the estate.
‘As I remember,’ I said, ‘Daedalus was promised his freedom at the next moon.’ The man had been boasting of the fact when I was at the villa. It had struck me as odd, at the time. Crassus was not the sort of man to manumit a good slave out of kindness of heart.
Andretha nodded eagerly. ‘That is true.’
‘Then surely,’ Marcus said, ‘Daedalus had less to gain than anyone from Crassus’ death? He will be sold on now, or left to the next owner with the rest of the estate.’
‘Or perhaps he saw his master killed, and fled in a panic?’ Andretha babbled on. ‘There are always brigands and cut-throats at these processions. That is more likely, if he failed to guard him. .’ You could almost see hope rising to Andretha’s face. Cowardice from a personal bodyguard was not his responsibility either. ‘Yes, excellence, it must have been that.’
I was thinking aloud. ‘Then why put the body in the hypocaust? Why not just abandon it in the town? Why would Daedalus, of all people, bring it all the way back to the villa, where it was certain to be discovered and bring suspicion on him? Come to that, why would anyone? If a killer wants to dispose of a body, why not just push it into the river or bury it somewhere? Why drag it back to the villa and put it in the furnace? Unless Crassus did manage to come back here, somehow, and the murder took place in the villa after all.’
‘He couldn’t have done.’ Andretha flashed me another venomous glance. ‘There were people looking out for him from the moment the procession was over.’
‘Well,’ Marcus said, ‘let’s talk to them and see if we can throw some light on the matter. Starting with the gatekeeper, I think.’
Andretha went out, and Marcus turned to me. ‘It is just as the aediles told me. You see why I am concerned? It looks like a political murder. It seems impossible for it to be a mere household affair.’
‘Difficult, certainly,’ I said. ‘I'm sure that if Andretha knew anything about it he would probably have told us. If it was a household murder his one hope of clemency would be to turn informer. But why do you think it is political?’
Marcus looked around, as if the plaster walls might be listening, and said, sheepishly, ‘Because Aulus the gatekeeper is an informer of mine. I have never trusted Germanicus — he always had far too much money for a mere auxiliary centurion.’
‘He was a great gambler,’ I said doubtfully, remembering tales of several dice parties which had taken place while I was working at the villa. ‘And doubtless the dice were on his side. Crassus was the sort of man who would ensure that.’
‘He was famous for it,’ Marcus said, ‘or rather for his unexplained good fortune. Or so Aulus tells me. Apparently the Fates took a kindly hand, even in his army career.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes, Crassus remained an optio for a long time. He wanted to be promoted to centurion, he kept grumbling that he was overdue for promotion, but it never happened. They said there was no post available, and then his commanding centurion conveniently died — a little too conveniently, gossip said.’
‘You think he killed a senior officer?’ I said. ‘Surely not! That would be treachery.’ I was not debating a moral point; that sort of crime carried an automatic death penalty, and Crassus had been very much alive, at least until recently.
Marcus laughed. ‘I don’t suppose he did it, in fact. The death was not especially suspicious, the man just suddenly fell ill one night and died. There are always unexpected deaths, through infections or poor food. There were rumours, but Germanicus had witnesses to say he was miles away that night, and he gained his centurion’s baton. But whispers persisted among the company. At least, so Aulus tells me.’
‘So what are you suggesting? That somebody believed the story and killed Crassus for revenge?’
‘No. In that case someone would have stabbed him years ago — and it is probably nothing but rumour, anyway. If there had been any real suspicion he would have been executed then and there. But it gives some indication of the man. People believed it of him. And he may have old enemies, or old confederates, in the army still. Aulus informs me that twice in the last few weeks armed soldiers have come to the villa at night and Germanicus has gone out to meet them — having first ordered his gatekeeper away on an errand.’