Trullius took it from me and moved away into the centre of the courtyard where there was stronger light, and he carefully examined the wording on the disc. ‘Poison hemlock, clearly. You are quite right, citizen. You think it was the Druids?’
I was about to tell him about my theory — that the poison had been brought here in the drawstring purse and decanted later to the flask, from a different phial which was doubtless somewhere in a rubbish-heap by now — when an uncomfortable suspicion flashed into my head. There was something odd about the way that Trullius had made a point of taking the label to the light. He’d done the same with Publius’s letter when I gave that to him. Yet both things were clearly written and Trullius showed no other symptoms of short-sightedness. A wild hypothesis was forming in my mind.
I gestured to the label. ‘I wonder if we’re right. Have a look again. The third word, Trullius. Can you make it out?’
He looked disconcerted but he lifted up the flask and repeated the performance of examining the words. I watched him as he frowned at the inscription for a time, balancing the jug against his withered arm and holding the chained label close up to his eyes. After a long pause he turned to me again. I was still crouching on the cobbles by the wall. ‘Oh hemlock, hemlock. It’s hard to make it out, but I am quite sure you’re right.’
I took the flagon from him and laid it on the ground. ‘Trullius,’ I said gently. ‘The inscription’s very clear. It says “Poppy-juice for sleeping — take no more than half a phial”. It doesn’t mention hemlock anywhere. You can’t read it, can you? Are you having some sort of problem with your eyes?’
A silence, and then he shook his head at me and muttered sheepishly, ‘The truth is, citizen, I never learned to read. There’s a few words I recognize. I can read my name. And I can tell all the numbers, for the bills and things.’
The enormity of this revelation had just begun to dawn. ‘But you said Audelia wrote to you, asking if Paulinus and his wife could have a room. How did you know that, if you couldn’t read the words?’
No answer.
‘Your wife, perhaps?’ I asked.
He shook his head again. ‘Priscilla can’t read either. Not as much as me. When we were dealing with the pots, it didn’t matter much. Mostly people came and simply picked one out. And even now it doesn’t often create a hindrance. Most people send a slave to see the place — just as Cyra and Lavinius did — or if they’ve stayed before, they send a messenger to book a bed with us, usually with a down-payment to secure the room. So almost all the arrangements are made verbally.’
‘But if you do get a letter, as you sometimes must?’
He shrugged. ‘The same as we have always done. We take it to an amanuensis in the forum, and have it read to us. If it needs a written answer, he’ll do that for us as well. He makes a charge, of course, but if it means another client it is well worth the expense.’
‘So how do you keep a record of who is coming when?’ I was trying to imagine running a lodging-house without the written word.
I think it was the first time I saw Trullius smile. ‘My wife worked out a system,’ he said. ‘She’s good at things like that. I’ve got a special board that shows the phases of the moon, and we mark it so that we can see what day our guests are coming and how many to expect. I can manage numbers, as I said before. I’ll show you if you like.’ He gestured to the house. ‘It works out very well. Though we don’t tell the customers — there’s no need for them to know, and when they are coming to a private place like this, people like to think they have an educated host.’
I scrambled to my feet, narrowly avoiding treading on the flask. ‘Trullius,’ I said. ‘Can’t you see the implications of what you’re telling me? You say you took Audelia’s letter to the town to have it read aloud. So whoever read it knew, not only that she would come herself, but also that she had asked you for a second room for her humble relatives as well.’
Trullius looked flustered ‘Well, now you mention it, I suppose that’s true. It was a new amanuensis, too, not the one I’ve used before. You mean he might have given information to the Druids?’
‘Worse than that,’ I said. ‘He might be one himself. Or anyone in the forum might have overheard. Think, Trullius, when he’d written out the answer saying they could come, how did you send it to Paulinus and his wife? Did you use the same messenger who brought Audelia’s note to you?’
He shook his head. ‘He had already gone. He’d told us that Audelia was expecting a reply as to whether or not we could make the arrangements she required, and Priscilla — like an idiot — assured him that we could, and that he could take that verbal message back to her at once.’
‘Though you didn’t at that stage know what you’d agreed to do?’
He shrugged. ‘We thought it would be something about arrangements for her stay — fresh water or special food or something of that kind: she was a retiring Vestal Virgin after all and priestesses are liable to have peculiar needs. But we would have provided anything she wished. It was good for business to have her here — or so my wife believed.’
‘Of course it was good business,’ a sharp voice put in, and I turned to see Priscilla standing by the door. She was dressed in a full-length day-tunic by now, and holding an empty cooking-vessel in her hand, but she made no move towards the kitchen-block or the store-jars next to it. I wondered how long she had been standing there behind us listening in. ‘What have you told him, Trullius? I warned you to beware.’
Her husband rounded on her. ‘I haven’t told him anything. He’s worked it out himself. And don’t start imagining that he’s involved with Druids. That nursemaid was poisoned in her sleeping draught. He’s found the little flask, it must have been thrown down through the window-space, I suppose.’ He gestured to where it had been lying on the ground.
I frowned at him. Once again there was something in his words I couldn’t place — some deduction that I knew I should have made, and which had escaped me. I must be getting old.
Trullius had misinterpreted my frown. ‘I’m afraid he’s also worked out that we cannot read, and now he is worried about Audelia’s note: whether someone in the forum might have overheard, and learned that there was likely to be a Vestal Virgin here.’
‘Do you still have that letter, by the way?’ I said. ‘I’d like to look at it, if only to make sure it did say what the amanuensis said it did.’
‘Of course we haven’t got it!’ The woman gave me a look, quite as poisonous as the sleeping draught had been. ‘It was Audelia’s writing-block. We gave it back to her while she was here.’ She crossed to one of the amphorae set into the ground, raised the lid and began to ladle olive oil into the cooking-bowl. ‘Anyway,’ she added, straightening up again, ‘it didn’t have her message on it any more. We let the amanuensis scratch it out and use the wax again, to write the letter to Paulinus — who of course returned it when he confirmed that he would come. So we gave it to its owner when we had the chance. What else would you expect?’ She moved as if to go back into the dwelling-rooms.
I stood between her and the doorway so that she couldn’t pass. She had come back of her own volition, but now that she was here I wanted her to help. ‘So how was it delivered to Paulinus and his wife? If you didn’t use Audelia’s mounted messenger?’
Priscilla shrugged. ‘A boy with a donkey in the forum who was looking for a job. We had the directions to the house, Audelia gave us those…’
‘Or rather, the amanuensis told you that she had?’ I corrected.
She ignored the interruption. ‘And the boy rode out with it. What else could we do? We don’t have a private messenger, and with such important people coming there was no house-slave to spare. Anyway, what difference did it make? Paulinus obviously got it — since he not only replied, but came the day that we had settled on.’