Rosemary Rowe - A Pattern of Blood

‘Go on,’ I said. So far the account accorded with what I knew. ‘You went to the study then, and did not return to Quintus afterwards?’

‘In fact I did return, but only for a moment. Quintus gave the signal by striking the bowl, and I collected my tablets and writing implements and returned to him. I had no sooner sat down and picked up my stylus at his instruction, ready to recommence, when Maximilian burst in and we were all sent away again. Lupus and Flavius were in the ante-room, and they were ushered back into the front garden, and I returned to the study to kick my heels once more. I had long since written all the letters that Quintus had instructed me to write. I kept walking to the door, attempting to discover if Maximilian had finished with his father, and I could decently go back for further orders. And that was when I saw him.’

‘Saw whom?’ I said, stupidly. Marcus had already told me the answer.

‘Lupus,’ he replied, ‘going back into the ante-room, when he thought he was unobserved. He went in, and disappeared.’

‘You watched him go? And that did not prevent him?’

‘He didn’t know that I had seen him. He glanced up and down the garden to make sure Flavius wasn’t looking, and then he went in. He did not think to look for me. A few minutes later he came furtively out again. At the time I was amused — I thought that he had burst in on the argument between Quintus and his son, and had tried to tiptoe away in embarrassment. That would be like Lupus. Even when I learned that Quintus had been murdered I persuaded myself that Lupus was too weak and frail to be guilty. But when I heard about the bloodstains, I had to recognise the truth. I saw him go into the ante-room with my own eyes. The dagger was there — I noticed it on the table when I came out. And, as I considered the matter this morning, I realised something else. When Lupus came sneaking out again he was not only whiter than a toga but he was pressing his right arm awkwardly to his side. He was not doing that before. That is what compelled me to tell you, citizens. There can be no doubt about it. Lupus killed Quintus. I saw him go in.’

For a moment there was silence, as I digested this news, then Marcus turned to me with a triumphant grin. ‘You see?’ he said. ‘I knew I was right to arrest him. I tell you, I can smell the scent of fear.’ He was looking more cheerful than I had seen him since our arrival in Corinium, and I realised how much the last few days had worried him. For all his apparent confidence in arresting Lupus, he had obviously entertained lingering fears that this might still be a political murder. Now, however, the testimony of Mutuus seemed to have removed his doubts. I was glad I had not mentioned the possibility of deliberate poison on his supper tray. ‘I have sent for the town guard. They will be here shortly to take him away. Though this will be a matter for the governor’s court, of course. I may even hear the case myself.’

I was unwilling to puncture his bubble of confidence, but there were still matters unresolved in my mind. ‘And the wax tablet?’ I enquired. ‘You think now that the message was unrelated to the murder?’

Marcus frowned at me disapprovingly, but Mutuus looked up sharply. ‘Wax tablet?’ he said, rather as I had hoped. As a secretary, he might be expected to take an interest in the household’s writing materials.

Junio was back at his station by the door and I motioned him forward. ‘Show him, Junio,’ I said, and for the second time that day my servant produced Flavius’s carved ivory tablet holder from his pouch. Mutuus looked at it.

I was expecting a reaction, but Mutuus’s face showed nothing but a kind of blank bafflement.

‘Well?’ I demanded, after a moment. ‘Have you seen this writing block before?’

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘of course I have. It belongs to Julia Honoria.’

Whatever answer I had been expecting, it certainly was not that. For the second time in as many minutes, Mutuus’s words produced a startled pause.

It was Marcus who broke it. ‘To Julia? That is impossible. You must be mistaken. Libertus collected this personally from Flavius this morning.’ He took the writing frame from Junio and tapped it with his finger. ‘Julia has not spoken to her former husband alone since he came to the house — indeed she has avoided doing so. You wish us to believe that she has somehow entertained private messages from him?’

Mutuus had turned a sullen red, but he remained adamant. ‘As to that, Excellence, I cannot answer. I only tell you what I know. That writing tablet came from Flavius, certainly, but it was addressed to Julia. And it did not arrive today. It arrived many days ago. I remember it clearly, because it was the morning of the very day that Quintus Ulpius was set on in the street.’

‘Did Quintus know that his wife received gifts from Flavius?’ Marcus obviously felt that, if Julia had been his wife, such practices would not have been allowed to continue for long.

Mutuus shook his head. ‘Julia did not welcome it herself. I have known her many times repudiate his gifts. On this occasion, too, I think, if Julia had known what the packet contained she would not have accepted it. But there was no greeting on the packet, and none from the slave, who merely delivered the parcel and disappeared.’

‘Wait a moment,’ Marcus said, ‘what slave? What packet? And how, if there was no greeting, could you tell who the gift was from? Tell us the story from the beginning. Briefly, if you can.’

It was beyond Mutuus, of course, to tell any story briefly. But, laced about with circumlocutions and couched in the most pedantic terms, this was the gist of his account.

It was the morning before the chariot races. Quintus, in the prime of health, had dealt with the most pressing business, and was now lying in his room with a jug of wine, while Rollo massaged his feet for him. It was a fine day, and Mutuus, since he was not needed by his master, was sitting in one of the arbours in the front garden with Julia.

Marcus interrupted him sharply. ‘Doing what?’

The secretary turned scarlet to his ears. ‘I was reciting cadences to her. She likes to hear the old poets, and I have many verses by heart.’

‘Ovid, I suppose?’ Marcus asked, mockingly — then looked as if he wished he hadn’t asked. Reading amorous poems to one’s lady was a favourite pastime in some Roman circles. If this youth had been reciting erotic verses to Julia under the trees, Marcus might not wish to hear of it.

Mutuus was redder than Samian ware, but he did not deny the charge. ‘Only the Heroides ,’ he answered.

Marcus looked furious. Even Ovid’s heroic love letters are not the kind of ditties one would expect a bondsman to be reciting to his master’s wife. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘so you were “reciting cadences”. What happened then?’

They were interrupted, it seemed, by a message from the gatekeeper. An anonymous package had arrived at the gate for Julia, wrapped in fine silk. Julia had no suspicions. In fact, she was delighted. Quintus sometimes sent her trinkets as a surprise, and she had been dropping hints about some new ivory combs for her hair. Mutuus was sent to fetch the parcel.

‘When she unwrapped it,’ the secretary said, ‘it was a writing block. A pretty thing. Julia still thought it was a present from Quintus. But when she opened it, there was a message inscribed inside the tablet, on the wax itself. “To Julia, a love token to bring you back to me.” I saw the writing myself.

‘Julia was furious. I have never seen her so upset. She scratched out the message with her nails, and flung the tablet on the floor. That put an end to the little recital in the arbour. She’d had enough of poetry, she said, and she made me accompany her inside while she craved an immediate audience with her husband.’