"Expert in a lot of things," Maia snapped. "Her name is Stupenda."

"Her name is Perella." I now had no doubt. But what would Anacrites' agent want with the retired ex-architect?

Nothing good. Nothing that I could afford to ignore.

XLV

the marcel linus villa was supposed to be about twelve miles away that was probably as the crow flew, and in my experience '

British crows were tipsy old bunches of feathers who could not use maps.

The King realised I would not contemplate breaking off the murder enquiry to make such a journey unless I feared danger. He provided fast horses and a small escort of keen warriors. We were seen leaving by Magnus, who somehow found a mount and attached himself. Verovolcus also tagged along. So did Helena. While I protested, she made me carry her on my horse behind me. This was a fine example of Roman nursing motherhood because yes, we had to have Favonia.

with us too. Helena had quickly run to fetch her, then turned up with the baby secured to her body with her stole. Not many informers go I

about their business accompanied by a madwoman and a four-month old child.

Maia stayed behind, with Nux and a human bodyguard. "I'll look after little Julia. I'm not taking on those other two you fostered. They look nasty blighters." Aelianus and Larius pretended not to hear.

Larius wanted to come. "You're a murder suspect," Aelianus rebuked him. "Just sit tight."

"I've been assisting Uncle Marcus since you were a two-foot-high whiner dribbling over your gold amulet-' Larius scoffed.

"You were brought to Britain to paint sprays of pretty flowers. I am on official attachment '

"Stop arguing, both of you," Maia scowled. Surprisingly they did.

We were offered a boat. It could have been quicker, for all I know. But I wanted to see if we met anybody coming back to Noviomagus from the villa. It did not happen. Still, you have to check. I The Marcellinus spread lay a couple of miles inland. We certainly _

knew when we got there: its size and grandeur compelled attention the same way he did, with his dramatic clothes and haughty bearing.

As soon as we galloped up to the monumental entrance, my tears about last night were confirmed. The great place was in turmoil. The slaves were either running about like startled mice or cowering, all terrified. We soon found the architect's wife, whom I put about twenty years younger than him maybe it was her fiftieth birthday she celebrated yesterday. Scream after scream told us where she was. She must have been screaming helplessly for a long time, because she had grown completely hoarse. None of her staff dared approach to soothe or comfort her.

The hysteria was caused by finding her husband dead. I did not need to ask her whether he died from natural causes. They had a bath house- but unlike Pomponius, Marcellinus had died in his bed.

Helena took charge of the poor woman. Striding through elegant suites full of ornate furniture, I soon came on Marcellinus. He and his wife had separate bedrooms- the sophisticated system that enables couples to ignore each other. He was in his bed, still lying where he had slept, as the wife had said. Somebody had cut his throat. It was expertly done, through both jugular and windpipe, so deeply the knife must have scraped his vertebrae.

The room stank of last night's wine. There was a great deal of blood. I had been half prepared for this; well, I had seen such handiwork before. It still turned my stomach. Magnus, who followed me, failed to make it from the room before he vomited. Some of the Britons who came with me looked queasy, though they all managed to stay upright and nobody fled. Verovolcus came right up and inspected the scene at close quarters. A head half sliced from its body held no terrors for tribesmen whose nation decapitated enemies as war trophies. The young men could never have joined in much action, but Verovolcus gave the impression he had seen sights I would not like to hear about.

It was a ghastly sight. I tried to remain professional. Marcellinus may have been asleep when he was set upon. From the way he lay high against the pillows, with the top portion of his body outside the bedspread, I thought it more likely he had sat up and been slashed from behind. Someone had been allowed to get close enough for that. If a woman did it and I knew who I meant any cynic could speculate as to how she wound herself so far into the man's confidence- on his wife's birthday too.

Most of the blood was on the bed. There were no footprints. The door handle was clean. The perpetrator cannot have escaped the gore entirely, but had left no trail. A professional job. Little could spoil it except that my presence in the locality was real bad luck. I had seen enough handiwork like this to name Perella outright as the killer.

There was no weapon at the bedside, but we could tell it had been a highly sharpened, thin-bladed dagger. Sharp enough to fillet fish, bone meat or for any other butchery. It would be well cleaned by now, pushed tidily back in its sheath, and tucked into the belt of the quiet, dowdy-seeming woman whom I had once seen pare an apple probably with that very knife. A cloak would cover any blood splashes.

"Man from Rome, what do you think?" croaked Verovolcus. I thought he showed far too much eager curiosity, for one thing.

"If people continue to die at this rate, nobody will be left as suspects…"

Verovolcus laughed. I did not join him. "Two great architects in the same night!" he marvelled.

"Intriguing coincidence." Or was it? "Pomponius and Marcellinus had a professional rivalry. Since they were killed the same evening, all this distance apart, neither killed the other. Mind you, we could still find the same motive- and the killers could have been organised by the same person."

"A jealous wife?" Magnus suggested.

"You knew the couple," I told Verovolcus. "Did she have a reason to be upset with her husband?"

Verovolcus shrugged. "If she did, she never showed it. She always appeared content."

"She is upset now!" I commented.

We searched the house, discovering nothing significant. The slaves said that after prolonged festivities, everyone had slept in late. That included some guests who had stayed overnight; we found them huddled together in a dining room. Local dignitaries, not particularly dignified in this crisis, they had nothing to tell us. People had risen late, came to breakfast- which was by then at lunchtime- and were planning their departure. Marcellinus' wife decided to check on him, as he would normally bid farewell to any guests in person. After the screams started, the guests felt they should remain here, though nobody knew what form their assistance should take.

I asked about last night. They all said the party was a huge success; the dancer had been splendid. The musicians were provided by Marcellinus, not brought by Stupenda, as she called herself. This morning, both musicians and dancer left- and were seen leaving by a gateman one responsible citizen had thought to check this. The strummers and tambourinists went first. The dancer emerged a little after them; by prior arrangement she had been fetched from Noviomagus and was to be returned there in MarceUinus' own carriage.

The carriage was still out. I asked Verovolcus if the warriors could ride around and scour the countryside at least in the near vicinity. They ought to find the conveyance. They would not to trace "Stupenda', I was sure.

I went to talk to the wife.

No luck. Helena had calmed her down, but it had been necessary to sedate her. A woman in the kitchen had produced medicinal herbs for this purpose. Helena had wrapped the widow in a blanket. Now she simply sat weeping slowly as shock really set in. She was incoherent and oblivious to our presence.