Chapter Twenty-three
He had been strangled. As I bent over him with my taper that much was clear, not only from his mottled face and bulging eyes but from the dark bruises visible around his throat. I turned back the folds of his elaborate gown to examine him better. Poor young priest. Something swift and terrible had caught him from behind, and tightened inexorably around his neck until his swollen tongue was forced between his lips. There was a mark under the left ear where the ligature had been looped into a knot.
I shivered, and not only because the night was cold.
‘As I thought, master,’ Junio said, at my elbow. ‘There was no blood on him.’
Junio had not known Trinunculus. To him this was just another body on the ground, but I remembered only too well the earnest, affable manner, the almost-too-great willingness to talk.
I nodded. ‘I think Marcus should see this,’ I said. ‘Go and tell him, Junio. I don’t know what’s delayed him; he should be here by now.’
The centurion, who had been standing restlessly behind me watching all this, saw an opportunity to take control. ‘No need for that, citizen. I’ve got soldiers here. Third rank, escort duty-’ He stopped. There was a commotion at the inner gate, a group of moving figures and a whole galaxy of lights. ‘Perhaps there is no necessity.’ The officer seemed almost disappointed as he motioned his soldiers to stand down. ‘That seems to be His Excellence now. And the high priest with him, by the look of it.’
I nodded. Even at this distance and through the trees, I could make out a large embroidered canopy supported by the slaves, the torchlight dancing on the goldwork of its threads, and two figures sheltering under it. The canopy did not surprise me. It was obviously designed for use in the procession (such things were not unusual) and would be convenient if the threatened rain began. But the appearance of the pontifex brought problems of its own.
‘Very well,’ I said to the centurion. Experience has taught me that a confident manner is best in such situations, however uncertain one might feel inwardly. ‘Have your soldiers carry this body to the robing room. It can be laid there and prepared for decent burial. I believe you have a bed there, Meritus?’
The sevir nodded, without enthusiasm. I could sympathise. The presence of a corpse in the room, even briefly, would require expensive and extensive ritual to purify it again. ‘But. .’ he began, looking to Scribonius for support.
The sub-sevir gave it instantly. ‘The temple is no place for death,’ he said. ‘The body should be taken to its home and made ready for the funeral pyre. Anointers, and professional mourners, if there is no family to lament, with proper candles, grave-goods and a feast.’
‘Trinunculus was lodging in the high priest’s house,’ I pointed out. ‘We can hardly take the body there without permission — the pontifex must not look on violent death. When it is properly prepared and cleansed, perhaps. It’s possible the pontifex will even choose to read the rites himself. But in the meantime, we can’t leave it here. For one thing it isn’t fitting for a priest, and for another, the pontifex is coming. It’s no less unfortunate to him to see it here.’
There was a certain amount of muttering, but four soldiers formed a platform with their shields, and the remains of Trinunculus were lifted reverently on to it.
‘Go with him, Scribonius,’ Meritus said softly and his balding assistant, who had been watching whey-faced, began an incantation as they lurched away.
The centurion looked at me.
‘And get rid of that abomination in the shrine,’ I said.
‘But, citizen, the gods-’
‘Are more offended by its presence there than they will be by its removal.’ I spoke with conviction. ‘Anyway, the responsibility is mine.’
He looked at once helpless and repelled. ‘What shall we do with it?’
I thought a moment. ‘Have them take it to the paupers’ pit. I think that may be where our killer got it from.’
Meritus shot me a piercing glance. ‘You think so, citizen?’
I nodded. ‘An explanation has occurred to me. That body of a beggar that was found, which Marcus ordered should be taken to the pit — it was scarcely more than bones, from what he said. Everyone here must have known of that — and where else could such a thing be found? It would not be difficult to get it back; those places are not guarded carefully. One body more or less would not be missed.’
‘But how did it get back here?’ That was the centurion.
‘Somebody must have carried it,’ I said. ‘Someone, obviously, who knew that it was there.’
‘All of us knew that, citizen,’ Meritus put in. ‘I gave orders for the burial myself. But who could have gone out to bring it here? And when? With all the rituals, we have been occupied — and there were mobs of people at the gate — somebody would have seen!’
The centurion snorted. ‘Of course they would. The whole idea’s impossible. No one could carry a thing like that through the streets without attracting interest from the watch.’
Meritus looked thoughtful. ‘Hirsus and Scribonius did go into the market, briefly, to purchase sacrificial doves — the pontifex had used the only ones we had in the temple. But there was no time for them to do anything like this. I was preparing to read the auguries, overseeing the cleansing of the shrine — you remember it had been desecrated again? — and by the time I’d finished they were back again. Besides, how could they have got through the gates with that?’
I had no answer, and I shook my head.
Hirsus began to wail. ‘I did not bring it, citizen. By all the gods I swear. I would not dare touch such an appalling thing-’
I cut him off. ‘It is appalling, and a sacrilege. That’s why it must be moved, and quickly before the pontifex arrives. He and his party are already on their way. Do it — on the authority I hold. There is no time to lose.’
The centurion made off, still grumbling, and I heard him giving orders to the guard.
Meritus looked at me. ‘The pontifex is not quite on his way. Something has delayed him. Look — they’ve stopped.’
They had. When I looked more closely through the trees I could see that the whole little procession opposite had halted. There seemed some sort of disturbance at the gate, though there was little noise. I looked at Junio, took my torch, and hurried over to investigate, with Meritus and Hirsus at my heels.
Once clear of the sacred grove it was easier to see the scene, though as I skirted round the shrine of Jupiter the shadows were so deep I almost lost my footing on a stone. By contrast with the torchlit scene ahead, the night elsewhere seemed blacker and more ominous than ever.
I could see them clearly now: the high priest, wearing a ceremonial stole and with the little diadem round his brow shining against the whiteness of that ridiculous white cap, gesticulating feebly with his hand; my patron, holding himself aloof under the shelter of the canopy; and at least a dozen household slaves, some carrying the canopy, the others equipped with torches. And a struggling figure in a cloak and tunic — now being dragged forward into the light by another group of baton-wielding slaves.
I stopped at a respectful distance, out of the range of flying batons — I had no wish to find myself caught up in the scuffle. It would not take long. The prisoner was resisting fiercely, but he was no match for a retinue of slaves. Behind me, I heard Hirsus catch his breath.
At the same moment, I saw who it was. I turned to Junio, who was standing at my side. ‘Lithputh!’ we whispered, almost in unison.
The steward was struggling bravely but they had him now. He stood there, breathing heavily, his cloak ripped from him and his tunic torn. Then one of them hit him savagely across the back and head, and suddenly he slumped, all opposition gone. Two slaves took him by the armpits and dragged him like a sack towards the house, his feet trailing uselessly behind him on the path. A trickle of blood ran down his face and his eyes were closed, but even though his head lolled forward he was breathing still.