Nick Brown - The Far Shore

Cassius kept his gaze on the corridor. ‘He — or they — must have been damned quiet and damned quick to get inside and kill him in his chair. A professional. The taking of the head suggests another party required proof the job had been done.’

‘Strange that he came in through the front door,’ said Indavara.

‘Stranger still that the doorman seems to have let him in.’

‘Might have been known to him. Might have been known to Memor.’

‘Indeed.’

Trogus returned to the room. ‘My apologies.’

‘Was the door shut?’ asked Cassius.

‘I believe it was slightly ajar. The girl knocked, then opened it when there was no answer.’

‘So had he woken early?’

‘No. He was still wearing his tunic. He had stayed up. Nothing unusual. Often he would only sleep for a couple of hours at night then take his rest in the afternoon. As usual he insisted I turn in before him.’

‘And this doorman? I’m assuming he was reliable?’

‘Ligur had been with us for many years.’

‘There’s a viewing hatch in the front door isn’t there?’

‘Yes.’

‘And didn’t I see a lantern? You keep it alight all night?’

‘We do. It was up to Ligur to keep it burning.’

‘So he would have known who he was letting in?’

‘I suppose he must have, yes. Which is odd, because my master didn’t take kindly to unannounced visitations, certainly not at night. He insisted that people always made an appointment in advance. No such arrangement was made.’

‘There’s a knocker on the door too, isn’t there? How loud is it?’

Trogus looked confused.

‘My point is,’ Cassius continued, ‘would anyone else have heard it other than Ligur?’

‘No, sir. No one else even knew there’d been a visitor. The sleeping quarters are towards the rear of the house. There is also a bell but that wasn’t rung. Ligur had a chair next to the door. He would have heard any approach.’

‘The main gate doesn’t have a lock. Presumably you don’t bother because the walls are so low?’

‘That’s right, sir. And the rear of the property backs on to open fields. Only the horse yard is fenced.’

‘But the rest of the house?’

‘Always secured at night, sir. Seven separate locked doors, including the front. I checked every one myself before retiring.’

‘When would that have been?’

‘The second hour of night.’

Cassius glanced at the bloodstained chair. ‘And the maid found him at dawn. So it could have happened at any time in between. Had Memor been involved in any disputes with people on the island? Do you know of anyone with reason to harm him?’

‘No. My master had an excellent reputation here. His work kept him very busy but he contributed funds to the village council, the assemblies in Rhodes and Lindos, and to more temples than I can recall.’

‘And what of his work?’

‘Master Memor generally kept that side of his affairs between himself and his colleagues within the Service, sir.’

‘He hadn’t spoken of any specific or current threats to him?’

‘No, sir.’

‘And his recent behaviour?’

‘He had been worried about his wife’s condition but I can think of nothing else.’

Cassius took a long breath. ‘All right, I think we should see the bodies now. But first you must get together as many of the male staff as you can, then send them out on to the streets of the village. They needn’t mention the murder but they must ask anyone they come across about any sightings of strangers over the last few days — people behaving suspiciously, especially close to the villa or the grounds. They must speak to anyone and everyone: children, slaves, whoever. Tell them to get back here within the hour.’

‘At once, sir.’

Trogus hurried away towards the reception room and was soon shouting orders.

Two serving girls walked across the courtyard, arms over each other’s shoulders, sobbing into handkerchiefs.

‘You’d think it was one of their own family had been killed,’ muttered Indavara.

‘Don’t assume their tears are for their master,’ said Cassius. ‘Who knows what the future holds for a household with only a girl left to run things?’

He looked at the pile of papers on the couch. ‘I wonder if the documents for Abascantius are in there. I shall have to write to him and Chief Pulcher. I hope the weather holds; they must be informed.’

‘Might they know something about what happened here?’

‘Perhaps. But we wouldn’t receive a reply for at least two weeks, probably a lot longer.’ Cassius shook his head. ‘No, yet again the gods have conspired to ensure I am the one left in the shit.’

Indavara wandered off to the left side of the room, moving slowly, eyes trained on the ground.

‘Yes, I suppose we should have a look round,’ said Cassius, walking over to the couch to examine the papers. There were a lot of letters, some of them clearly encoded. If there was time, he would have to go through it all. Perhaps the whole lot could just be sent to Chief Pulcher. How many issues had Memor been dealing with? Scores by the looks of it. Was one in particular connected to his death?

Cassius found nothing of interest on the bare tiled floor between the couch and the shelves that lined the right-hand wall. On the shelves themselves there were more objects than books — mainly candles, ornaments and religious icons. The few tomes were standard reference works — mainly geographical and political.

‘Nothing over here,’ said Indavara.

‘Here neither.’

‘What’s that?’

Indavara pointed at the wall opposite the door, and the only fresco in the room. It looked rather old and had been composed in dark oils. Only when he moved closer did Cassius realise that it depicted a black sky, a huge wave and a ruined strip of coast.

‘Ah. I suspect that’s a representation of a disaster that struck the island about a century ago. An earthquake caused a giant wave that wiped out much of the city.’ Cassius turned to Indavara. ‘A single, sudden event that left utter devastation in its wake. Seems rather apt.’

Most of the space in the outhouse was taken up by firewood and sacks of animal feed, but beyond the largest pile of timber was a big table. Poking out from beneath a blanket were the feet of the two dead men. Ligur, the doorman — by the far the bigger of the two — still had his sandals on. Only one of Memor’s slippers remained.

Trogus stopped just inside the doorway and didn’t seem keen to venture any further. Cassius and Indavara walked past him. There was no smell yet, only the musty odour of the wood. Indavara took hold of the blanket, waited for a nod from Cassius, then pulled it away.

They barely noticed the larger of the two corpses. Their eyes were drawn instantly to the headless body of Augustus Marius Memor. Dark blood and tissues of yellow and pink had congealed around the uneven cut that had severed his neck two inches above his collarbone. Thick maroon streaks lined the throat and chest, colouring most of the white tunic. His arms hung straight by his sides but the fingers were clawed and contorted — his last moments of resistance frozen for ever. Memor had been slim, with pale skin and thick black hair upon his arms and legs.

Indavara walked round the table and looked down at the neck.

‘Not many cuts. Done quickly but done well. Probably slit the throat then worked back from there. Short, strong blade. Wide dagger perhaps.’ He glanced at the sheathed weapon on Cassius’s belt. ‘Like yours.’

Cassius had taken a moment to compose himself. He walked the other way round the table, past Ligur’s head, and looked down at Memor. He was glad he hadn’t known him; he tried to put aside the fact that the butchered form before him had once been a man. He let his eyes run over the body, looking for anything else they might use.