Pylaemenes nodded. 'He bled to death during the surgery. Mastarna admitted afterwards that it was a known risk.' It took me a moment to grasp the nuances. 'It was a throat operation! Unless Mastarna was the most brutal surgeon in history, or so drugged up he was floating on the ceiling, however could he slip with the knife so badly that he lopped offScaeva's entire head?'

This time Pylaemenes just shrugged. 'Unbelievable. That's doctors for you.'

It explained why no weapon had ever been found. After the debacle, Mastarna would have taken it away in his medical bag. Even if we now found a surgical implement drenched with blood, that would prove nothing. We could not say it came from Scaeva. Mastarna probably cleaned up the knife afterwards in any case. Most surgeons are that hygienic. Well, their patients hope they are.

'So who removed the head?' mused Petronius. 'And why, then, did they put the head in the atrium pool?'

'As a cover-up,' I said carefully. 'Drusilla still didn't want her husband to know that his orders had been countermanded. They organised a vindictive little enhancement, to disguise the bungled surgery and place blame on an innocent party.' Petro knew who I meant, of course.

'There was panic,' said the Chaldean. 'Drusilla was distraught at the death of her brother – blamed herself Still blames herself, in fact, and frankly she's going to pieces over it. Her staff were running around in circles, wondering what to do. They all knew this was more than Quadrumatus would take. Drusilla herself found the head before they could warn her.' 'Does Quadrumatus know the truth now?' 'He suspects. His nightmares have been indicative.' 'You could interpret them,' Petronius suggested. 'Might be for the best. Man deserves to know.'

'The mind is a sensitive organ,' murmured Pylaemenes. 'He needs to work it out himself So much more healthy!' The bastard thought that whoever told Quadrumatus the truth of this tawdry episode might end up being dismissed.

Petronius looked at me. His vigiles training had come to the fore. He was working out how to avoid documentation. 'There has been no crime, Falco. What they did with the head was an act of desecration – but that's for Quadrumatus to take up with his wife. Woman sounds troubled enough already. Her brother's death was stupid and avoidable, but that's her punishment. I'll put that death down as an accident. Mastarna's a suicide. Must have hated the thought of losing his reputation.'

'And his business,' I said. 'Who would ever hire him after hearing he lost Scaeva that way? Besides, there might have been a whopping compensation claim. If Quadrumatus employs as many lawyers as doctors, one of them was bound to spot the potential to screw Mastarna for professional negligence.' Petronius whistled, thinking of the possible sums involved. For him, it was neat. I still had one preoccupation. 'Pylaemenes, what was the involvement of Scaeva's boy flautist?' Petro looked at me quickly. Unsure whether he knew yet that I had asked Marcus Rubella to authorise further investigation by the cohort, I told him, 'The flautist must have known something. I think he's been killed to stop him speaking out. I want Scythax to look at him.'

'The flautist was supposed to be there,' interrupted Pylaemenes. 'He knew all about the operation. Scaeva used him for music therapy. So he was meant to be in the room all the time, playing soothing tunes to help relax people. Unfortunately he's a dozy soul- well, maybe he was scared of watching the surgery. I heard that he turned up too late. Mastarna had completed the operation – as far as it went, before the patient haemorrhaged everywhere. Drusilla and her maids were screaming. Scaeva was dead – that must have been obvious – and the child witnessed his master in pools of blood, in the very act of having his head cut off…'

Petronius cursed, brutally. 'Killing the boy was pointless. Accidents happen. If there was no crime, there was no need to silence the little beggar.' 'But since they did kill the flautist,' I barked back at him, 'there is a crime – and we are damn well going to solve it!' Petronius patted my shoulder. He knew about my deadline. 'Y ou've got your own worries. Leave this to us, Fako.'

LIX

I took Petronius Longus at his word.

While I was out and about, I went to see Julia Justa. At the senator's house the door porter consented to say that my mother-inlaw had gone that morning to the Vestals' House, though she had not returned. Typical: Mastarna killed Scaeva and presumably he then decapitated the dead patient. I no longer needed an explanation, but I was obligated to JuliaJusta anyway… I would not have made her beg favours from her Vestal friend unless it was unavoidable; next time we needed the Vestal it was bound to be more difficult, and who knows what emergencies lay in the future?

The senator was out. Gone to the gym. Perhaps to escape the stress at home. He and I were both members of Cassius' gymnasium by the Temple of Castor, so I thought I might drop in and find him there. Unfortunately, someone had reported my presence in the house to Claudia Rufina. She came flying downstairs, green stoles fluttering like yacht pennants, and accosted me. She was a good mother, and her arrival was punctuated by alternate wafts of a very expensive perfume and baby milk. One of her pendant pearl ear-rings was sitting askew; Claudia had a devoted Baetican maid and plenty of polished silver hand mirrors, so it had probably been playfully yanked by ninemonth-old Gaius Camillus Rufius Constantinus. She grabbed at my sleeve. 'Marcus, don't go!' 'Ah Claudia – don't hit me!' She lowered her voice swiftly to a quieter register. 'Don't ever joke about that, Falco.' Teasing was what this higWy anxious young woman needed, in my opinion. She needed to hand it out too. If she had let Justinus think she didn't give a damn, he would have come skipping home weeks ago. Still, not all women were like Helena Justina; that was why Helena had been inescapably my choice. I was still being surprised by her. Whereas this one had had her fiery moments and was generally viewed as temperamental, to me she would always be straightforward and predictable. I knew what she thought of my talents, for instance: 'You are never going to sort it out, are you?' 'Claudia, don't be so pessimistic. Events are moving fast. Have you seen Quintus?' 'I don't care if! never see him again.' 'You do care – and, Claudia, you have to contact him. You and he must talk.'

Claudia fiddled with the bangles on her wrist. 'Well he knows where to find us. He could come home. He could visit the baby, at least. '

'Claudia, he really can't come at the moment. He is generously caring for a young soldier who is terribly wounded. Quintus and 1 are both fond of Lentullus, and he is perilously close to death. He saved your husband's life getting his wounds. Besides, 1 ordered Quintus to stay put. 1 had to. I'm trying to keep him out of Anacrites' clutches.' Claudia stared at the floor. 'That man came to see me.' He was back from Nemi then. 'I hope you didn't tell him anything. ' Claudia's face clouded. She had talked. Rats. At least she was now feeling guilty about it. That meant she was vulnerable to pressure. 'He's a bastard. Poor you. Was it awful?' 'Oh Marcus, 1 told him Quintus was hiding with the vigiles. Was that very wrong of me?' Just very, very stupid.

1 sucked my teeth. 'Well, whatever comes of it, I'm sure Quintus will forgive you.' 1 let it sound doubtful. 'Given how much he loves you, Claudia…'

Claudia Rufina burst into tears. Oh, excellent. Or as Helena scoffed later when 1 told her about it, 'You swine, Falco!'