There were various outbuildings into which I glanced: stables and plough stores, a wine cellar, a threshing floor, and finally the oil production area. This was roofed, but the wall that faced the yard comprised huge folding doors, presumably to allow access for carts; in summer they were left standing open.

Two rooms were used for oil production, which was normal on most farms. The outer one contained two presses, as well as vats let into the floor. Here there was no sign of Constans' death. The vats would be used for ladling out the pressed oil, allowing it to rest and separate from its other liquid as many as thirty times. Giant ladles were hung on the walls, along with a large quantity of esparto bags. I was examining these when somebody ducked in through the arch from the adjacent room and said at once, "Those are used to hold the pulp as it is pressed."

It was Marius Optatus. Having seen his horse outside I was expecting him, though I wondered what in Hades he was doing here. He went on quietly, "About twenty-five or thirty bags are piled up, with metal plates between them occasionally to hold them firm—" He gestured to the further room from which he had come. "Constans died in there."

Behind me in the yard I could hear Helena and Claudia dismounting slowly from the carriage, Helena trying to delay the girl so I would have time to view the scene alone. Optatus heard them too and looked concerned at their presence. I stepped into the yard and called to Helena to stay outside. Then I followed Optatus into the inner room.

 

Light struggled to infiltrate through slits in the north-facing walls. I stood for a moment, accustoming my eyes to the half-dark of the small room. A faint rich smell remained from last year's olives. The confined space was quiet, though we could hear the remote sounds of voices from the yard. The boy's body had been removed. It looked as if everything else had then been abandoned as it was.

"This is where the first crushing takes place," Optatus explained. "The fruit is picked, and carried in deep baskets to the farm. It is washed, sorted, and stored in heaps on a sloping floor for a couple of days. Then it comes here for malaxation. The olives are crushed in this mill, to form a rough pulp, evenly mixed. After that they go next door for the oil to be pressed out."

The crushing mill consisted of a large circular stone tank, into which whole fruit would be dumped. A central column was supposed to support heavy wooden arms which ran through the centers of two vertical hemispherical stones; these were kept slightly apart from each other by a strong rectangular box into which the wooden arms were fixed. It was plated with metal and formed part of the pivotal machinery which turned and supported the grinding stones.

"Poles are attached through each stone," Optatus explained in his steady unemotional way. "Two men walk around the vat and turn the poles slowly, churning the fruit."

"So it's not quite the same as grinding corn?" No; cornmills have a conical base and cup-shaped upper stone. This is the opposite—a basin into which the stone rollers fit."

"They move quite loosely?"

"Yes. The aim is to bruise the olives and free the oil, to make a slippery paste. But you try to avoid breaking the stones; they taste bitter."

We fell silent.

The old worn grinders were propped against a wall, one flat side out, one convex, both stained dark purple and badly misshapen. Pale new concrete had been used to improve the basin. One new stone stood within it in position, already fixed upright to the central pivot though it was held fast on blocks. Both stones had been supplied with brand-new turning poles, their wood still white from the adze.

"You see, Falco," my companion continued levelly, "the roller fits fairly loosely. In use the pole acts merely as a lever to move the stone around in the vat. The stones revolve almost of their own volition, due to the pressure of the fruit." Although the grinder still had wedges beneath it, he leaned on it to show me there was free play. Leverage on the pole would move the stone and tumble the olives against the sides of the basin, but not so tightly that the kernels were split.

I sighed. I fingered a collar, fitting tightly around the pole. "And this washer—which I presume is adjustable—is fixed here on the outside to keep the stone on?"

"It should be." Optatus was grim.

"Then I suppose I can work out what happened to the boy."

"You will!" Presumably Optatus had already thought through events, and did not like the result.

The second grinding stone lay on the ground. A pole had been partly thrust through it, but then smashed by a fall. Even in the dim light I noticed dark marks on the earth floor next to the stone; they looked like dried blood.

"So what do you reckon?" I asked Marius.

"The new grinders arrived two days ago but Licinius Rufius had not yet made arrangements for fitting them. I asked at the house, and apparently he intended to instruct the stonemasons who have been working on his new portico to do this job."

"Why didn't he?"

"He had had a dispute with them about a column they broke, and they had walked off the site."

"That's probably true. I saw the broken column when I was here before."

"Constans seems to have decided to surprise and please his grandfather. All he had said to anyone, however, was that he was coming over to inspect the new rollers before the bill from the supplier was authorized. Dear gods, Falco, if I had known his mind I would have helped him myself! I do wonder if he came over to ask me—but I had gone into Corduba to escape from Quadratus..."

"So they say he was alone—yet here we have the first new stone, already hauled into position."

"I have talked to the workers, and none of them was involved."

"This was some job to tackle! Rufius looked a sturdy lad, but he cannot possibly have moved the weight on his own."

"No, Falco. That is why I rode over here today; I just cannot believe what is being said about this accident. It would take at least two men to maneuver and fix these grinding stones—preferably four." The concern in our tenant's voice convinced me his motives were genuine. Like me, he was a practical man. The flaws in the story had astonished and dismayed him so much, he had had to see for himself.

So what is the fixing procedure, Marius? Each stone has to be lifted into the basin—I presume you get it upright with a fulcrum, and use ropes to heave it in?" I glanced around. Now my eyes were more used to the light, I could make out discarded equipment.

Optatus confirmed how difficult the task would be: "It's heavy work, but raising the stone in the basin is really the easy part.

Then the grinder has to be held upright, raised off the bottom, and wedged."

"To set it into position? It churns above the base of the tank?"

"Yes. Setting the height takes strength."

"And courage! You would know if a stone like that rolled over your toe."

"Or fell on your chest," growled Marius, thinking of what happened to young Rufius. "First you decide the position. Then somebody has to climb up and straddle the center pivot to aim the pole into its fixing on the column—I have done that, Falco, and unless you get lucky immediately, it leads to some raw cursing. The man who is to guide the end into position soon hates the man who pushes the pole through the stone. Making a fit is very difficult. You have to give clear directions—which your partner naturally gets wrong."

Optatus painted a neat picture of the joys of teamwork. I wished I could see him trying to organize a couple of my brothers-in-law in some simple household task.

"Maybe Rufius and his helper quarreled... Rufius must have been the one on the ground."

"Yes. The stone slipped, and fell out on him," Optatus agreed. "The estate workers told me they found him on his back with his arms outstretched, and the grinding stone right on top of him. It had caved in his chest, and crushed his stomach too."