"That's what doesn't fit. From the day you went to Corduba to now, there are twice as many miles as I expect."

"You allowed for the return journey?"

"Oh yes. The miles the carriage has traveled since Corduba," Marmarides told me with a beaming smile, "are enough for a journey to the Rufius house, there and back—then there and back a second time!"

I was impressed. It was immediately apparent what Marmarides meant. "This is your big chance to solve something for me," I said.

He beamed. "You talked about how the man with the bad back could have gone to help the young one fix the grinding wheel. He could have gone in your carriage, Falco."

 

I was keeping calm. "In agenting you have to work out everything, and make sure there can be no mistake. I thought Helena was out in the carriage that day? I thought she went with Aelia Annaea to her house?"

"No," he said. "Aelia Annaea came to visit in her own carriage, and Helena Justina left with her." Marmarides had really thought this through. "Marius Optatus went into Corduba, but he used an ox-wagon."

"So our carriage was in the stable?" He nodded. "The slaves were all in the fields and wouldn't see much, Marmarides. The farm is near the road, so anyone could drive off without drawing attention... Did you happen to notice whether the mules had been out? Were they sweating at all?"

Marmarides looked sheepish. "I never looked, Falco." Then he cheered up, able to exonerate himself. "I was not here. After Helena Justina left, I hitched a ride with Optatus to Corduba."

"What did you want in Corduba?"

He just grinned. There was a woman in this somewhere, and I decided not to explore it. Since neither Helena nor I had been here there could be no objection. It also gave Optatus an alibi. "All right. You observed Quinctius Quadratus with his bad back during the time that he was here. If he couldn't ride, do you think he would have been able to drive a two-mule carriage a short way?

"Probably. He would not have been much use as a partner in a heavy lifting job though, Falco."

"Whoever was partnering Constans was certainly no good, we know that."

If it was Quadratus, maybe he did not let the stone fall deliberately. Maybe his back just gave out. Maybe the boy's death was a genuine accident—one that should never have happened, caused by bungling incompetence. It was cowardly of Quadratus not to own up to his part in the stupidity, but it was not a criminal act.

So perhaps the worst that had happened that day was that Quadratus got bored—or maybe Constans, panicking about Selia, had appealed for his advice. For one reason or another Quadratus went to see his dear friend Constans. Then two young men who should have known better got together and decided to do a job for which they were poorly qualified. The work was too hard for them. Quadratus was unfit; the grinding stone fell on poor Constans. Quadratus was the elder and should have behaved more responsibly. That would make him the more reluctant to admit he had been there. Besides, he must have been badly shocked by what happened.

"We have to be sure," Marmarides decided firmly. He had picked up a few phrases from me, apparently. "You must come with me to the stables and we will recount the pebbles that are left in the hodometer. Then you will have firm evidence."

He was in charge. So we walked over to the stables, crouched down at the back of the carriage and inspected the Archimedes hodometer. Marmarides counted the pebbles that remained on the upper gear wheel. Sure enough, there were several less than there should have been according to his notes: a rough count of the missing mileage confirmed that it would equal two trips to the Rufius estate: there and back for Quinctius Quadratus, plus our own drive out and back today.

Solemnly we made a note on the tablet, explained our deductions, and both signed as witnesses.

FIFTY-NINE

 

The funeral took place next day. There were no distant relatives to summon, and Baetica is a hot locality.

The necropolis which the wealthy Cordubans used lay nearest to us on the south of the city, this side of the bridge. Naturally it presented the best aspect. The wealthy did not inter their smart relations among the middle class or paupers, least of all with the gladiators in their multiple columbarium outside the western gate. Across the river from the noise of the town each family possessed a gracious mausoleum, lining the important road that passed through to the fertile plain and the sun-drenched slopes of their rolling olive groves.

I did wonder why they didn't build their tombs in complete privacy on their own land instead of crowding into a necropolis which was passed daily by carriages and carts. Maybe people who socialize madly in life know their dead will still want friends to mingle with in the afterlife.

The Rufii had not yet become so extravagant as the family who had constructed a miniature temple complete with Ionic columns around a little portico. Grandeur would come, no doubt. For the moment theirs was a simple brick-built, tiled roof edifice with a low doorway. Within the small chamber was a series of niches containing ceramic urns. Wall plaques already commemorated the parents, son and daughter-in-law of Licinius Rufius. These were somber enough, though nothing to the new panel planned for the grandson. We were shown a maquette, though the real thing would provide half a year's work for the stonemason. The text began, "O woe! O lamentation! Whither shall we turn?" and ran on for about six grim lines: longer than I could force myself to read. Sloths like me were soon provided with assistance, for Licinius gave an oration on a similar basis which lasted so long my feet went numb.

Everyone was there. Well, everyone who owned half a million upwards, plus Marius Optatus and myself. For the rich, it was just an extra social occasion. They were arranging dinner-party dates in undertones.

Only one notable person was missing: the new quaestor Quinctius Quadratus. His sprained back must be still inconveniencing him. Absenting himself looked amiss, however, since he had been the dead young man's close friend.

The proconsul had deigned to be brought over in a litter from his praetorium. As we all stumped around trying to fill in time while the corpse heated up in the cemetery oven, his honor found time for a muttered word with me. I had been looking for someone to share a joke about whether they used the embers in the oven to warm hot pies for the mourners afterwards—but with him I confined myself to a reverent salute.

"What do you make of this, Falco?"

"Officially—a young lad who foolishly attempted a job for which he was unqualified while trying to please his grandfather." And between ourselves?"

What was the point of condemning Constans now? Oh... just a regrettable accident." The proconsul surveyed me. "I believe he tried to see me, when I had gone out to Astigi... This was not an invitation to speculate on the reason. "A statue is to be erected in the civic forum, I believe."

"It's all work for the stonemasons, sir."

We did not discuss my mission; well, I never expected to.

The women had clustered in a huddle. I was in a mood for avoiding them. I expressed my formal sympathy to Licinius in the routine handshake line. Optatus made himself more agreeable; I saw him among the Annaei at one point. Then he came back and whispered, "Aelia Annaea asked me to tell you that Claudia wishes to speak to you privately. Licinius must not know."

"Maybe her friend can arrange something—"

I might have given more precise instructions but just at that moment a hurried messenger came from Helena, asking me to return to her at once.

SIXTY