I flinched. "Let's hope he died at once."

"He could not have lasted long. Even if the stone had been lifted straight off him, he would never have survived."

"The point," I said sourly, "is whether he could have avoided being crushed in the first place."

Optatus nodded. "I inspected the pole, Falco." He bent over it to show me. "Look, the cap has not been fitted. It looks as if very few wedges were being used to position the stone in the basin either; whoever was doing this job must have been a complete amateur—"

"Rufius was very young. He may never have seen rollers installed before."

"It was madness. Unplanned, unthinking incompetence. The grinding stone would have been wobbling around on the lever, very hard to control. Once it started to lean out at an angle, the man on the ground might have jumped out of the way if he was quick, but more likely he found its weight too much to resist."

"Instinct might have made him try to support the stone longer than he should, especially if he was inexperienced. Jupiter, it's ghastly— Wouldn't his friend up above heave on the top rim to pull the stone upright again?"

Optatus was blunt: "Maybe this 'friend' pushed the stone out instead!"

"You're leaping ahead— But that would explain why the 'friend' vanished afterwards."

Optatus became more than blunt; he was angry. "Even if it really was an accident, the friend could have got the stone off Constans afterwards. He would still have died in agony, but he need not have died alone."

"Some friend!"

 

A noise alerted us, too late perhaps, to the fact that Marmarides had just led in Helena and Claudia. Claudia's expression told us she had heard what Marius said.

Optatus straightened up at once and went to the girl. He placed both hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead. The action was brisk and he released her immediately. Claudia gave him a half-smile, and unlike when Quadratus swamped her with condolences she did not burst into tears again.

Optatus explained in a few words what we had been discussing. There is no doubt; Constans cannot have done this work alone. Somebody—as yet unidentified—was here helping him."

Somebody killed him." Claudia's voice was now eerily controlled.

I had to intervene. "It could have been a terrible accident. But whoever was here must have seen your brother badly hurt, and yet they simply abandoned him."

"You mean he need not have died? He could have been saved?" A high note of hysteria showed how Claudia's mind was racing.

"No, no. Please don't torture yourself with that thought. Once the stone slipped and fell on him his wounds would have been too severe." As I spoke to her, Marius put a hand on her arm and shook his head, trying to persuade her to believe it. Now Claudia did begin to cry, but instead of comforting her himself Marius looked embarrassed and steered her to Helena. As a lover he lacked useful instincts.

Helena held the girl close to her, kissed her, and then asked me, "Marcus, who do we think this missing companion was?"

"I'd happily name one person!" Marius snarled.

"We know you would—but Quinctius Quadratus has an unshakable alibi: the bastard couldn't ride. Even if his young pal Constans had gone over to our estate to fetch him, he would still need to get home again after the accident. How are you suggesting he did that?" Optatus was silent, reluctantly conceding the point.

"Call it murder, not an accident!" insisted Claudia, breaking free from Helena's arms.

"I won't do that, Claudia," I said patiently, "until I can either provide evidence, or make somebody confess. But I give you my word, I will do all I can to discover what happened, and if it really was murder, whoever was responsible will be made to pay."

Claudia Rufina made a visible effort to control her emotions. The young girl was brave, but she was close to breaking point. At a signal from Helena I quietly suggested we leave the scene of the tragedy and take her on to her grandparents' house.

FIFTY-SEVEN

 

The great half-finished house lay silent. The builders had been dismissed and the estate workers kept to their quarters. Frightened slaves flitted among the pillars indoors. Time had stopped.

The body of Rufius Constans had been raised on a bier in the atrium. Extravagant branches of cypress decorated the area. A canopy darkened what should have been a space filled with sunlight, while smoking brands caused visitors to choke and rub their streaming eyes. The young man awaited burial swathed in white, smothered with garlands, reeking of sweet preservative oils. Busts of his ancestors watched over him. Laurel wreaths which he had never managed to earn for himself had been placed on tripods to symbolize the honors his family had lost.

Marius and I exchanged glances, wondering if one of us could keep watch while the other climbed up to inspect the body. The possible gains were not worth the risk of discovery. We chose to avoid the howls of outrage.

In an adjacent reception room Licinius Rufius and his wife were seated, completely motionless. Both were clad in black. Both looked as if they had neither slept nor eaten since they learned of their grandson's death. Neither showed much interest in the fact we had brought back their granddaughter, though they seemed to be pleased that the rest of us had come to share their grief. The atmosphere was stultifying. I sympathized with their tragedy, but I was still weary and short-tempered after my long journey to Hispalis. I could feel my patience ebbing fast.

Chairs were produced. Claudia sat down immediately with her hands folded and her eyes downcast, resigned to her duty. Helena, Marius and I took our places more uneasily. There was a good chance we could all imitate statues for the next three hours and not hear a word spoken. I was angry, and I felt such passivity would not help.

"This is the most terrible tragedy. We all realize how deeply you are suffering."

A slight reaction passed over the grandfather's face, though he made no attempt to reply to me.

"Will you come to the funeral?" Claudia Adorata, the old lady, asked me in a hushed voice. She belonged to that group of women who seek their comfort in formal events. Marius and I both agreed to go; I had already decided with Helena that she should excuse herself. Nobody would thank us if she caused a disturbance by giving birth in the middle of the drawn-out obsequies.

I had to speak out: "Licinius Rufius, Claudia Adorata, forgive me for raising unwelcome issues. I speak as a friend. It has been established that somebody who has not come forward must have been with your grandson when he died. The situation needs to be looked into."

"Constans is gone," Licinius dragged out. "There is no point. You mean well," he conceded in his autocratic way.

"I do, sir. I respect your wish for privacy—" I knew it remained possible that the young man's death had been a sad—but avoidable—accident. I kept my voice calm and respectful. "I would like to speak to you in private; it concerns the safety of your granddaughter."

"My granddaughter!" His eyes flew to me, and met a cool reception.

No doubt Claudia Rufina would be smothered with attention after the funeral, but at the moment she was not being granted her due. The old man was sufficiently formal to stop discussing her in what amounted to a public situation, so he stared at me, but then indicated I could follow him to another room. Claudia herself made a swift movement as though she wanted to assert herself and come with us, but Helena Justina shook her head surreptitiously.

 

Licinius sat. I stood. It gave him status; I did not need it.

"I'll be brief. Your grandson may have died because of a bungled task, or it may have been more than an accident. Perhaps that only matters if you want to know for your own peace of mind. But I saw you and Constans at the proconsul's palace; I have drawn my own conclusions about why you took him there. I strongly believe there are people who will not have welcomed Constans speaking out—and they will be feeling relieved now he has been silenced."