‘We’ll have to call the bloody police,’ Polybius groaned. ‘There’ll be questions and more questions.’
Claudia told her uncle to take the shrieking Agrippina downstairs, and asked Murranus to send in Narcissus then guard the passageway and let no one through. She could feel the anger boiling within her. She felt like screaming, not only at the danger which threatened her beloved, but at the way this horrid death had upset all her plans. As soon as she had arrived at the She-Asses, she had asked Polybius to send one of the kitchen boys to fetch Sallust the Searcher. She realised that, in the case of the Holy Sword, she only had a little time to prove her suspicions and get the relic back. She stared at the corpse, felt guilty at her angry thoughts, slumped down on the edge of the bed and clasped Spicerius’s hand, brushing his cold, hard fingers with her thumb.
‘It’s not your fault,’ she whispered, ‘and if your shade lingers nearby, I wish you well in whatever journey you take.’
She tried to forget her own troubles, experiencing a deep sadness at the brutal death of this young man, once so full of pride, vigour and courage.
‘You deserved a better death,’ Claudia gripped the fingers, ‘than dying alone in a tavern chamber with no glory or praise ringing in your ears.’
She became aware of Narcissus standing in the doorway, so she moved to hide her face. She must remember the deep comradeship which existed between gladiators. Murranus had regarded this man as his friend. She must do everything to help.
Claudia scrutinised the corpse carefully. Spicerius’s face was full of the ugliness of a violent, sudden death: the muscles of his cheeks and chin were hardening, his eyes rolled back, his mouth was gaping, the lips forward as if Spicerius still wished to retch and vomit. The gladiator was dressed in a simple tunic; his belt and sandals lay on the floor. She pulled these close, picked up the cup and once again sniffed that bittersweet smell. What was it? She stuck her nose in again and offered it to Narcissus, gesturing at him to keep it.
Outside, Murranus was pacing up and down like a sentry on duty. In the eating hall below, Agrippina was still shrieking and wailing. Claudia cocked her head and listened intently. The tenor of that spoilt, rich hussy was beginning to change. Was grief giving way to anger? Was she shouting curses? Making allegations? Would Murranus or Polybius be accused?
Claudia stared round the tawdry chamber, so different from the Villa Pulchra. It now seemed an age since she and Narcissus had left. Claudia had obtained permission from the Augusta, pointing out that she could do more good in Rome, where the court was about to return, than by staying at the villa. She had also begged Helena to keep the rest of the philosophers close and not allow them to return home until this mystery had been resolved. The Augusta’s reply had been ugly, ungracious and hard. She’d dismissed Claudia with a flick of her fingers, telling her to get back to her slum and, as she withdrew, followed her to the chamber door bellowing how it was a pity that some of her servants did not serve her as well as she served them. Once she was out of sight, Claudia had made a rude gesture in the direction of the imperial apartments before scurrying off to her own chamber to hastily pack her belongings. Narcissus had followed her like a shadow, only too eager to flee the villa and reach Rome, but now, he was not so sure, uncertain and frightened of the future. Claudia closed her eyes. It was important to keep Narcissus near to her.
‘Almonds!’
Claudia let go of the dead man’s hand.
‘Almonds!’ Narcissus repeated. He thrust the cup at her. ‘Bittersweet,’ he explained. ‘The juice from certain seeds can be the deadliest poison; it has an almond taste.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Because I’ve cut more corpses than you have pieces of meat, mistress.’ Narcissus gabbled on. ‘But where will I stay, what will I do, how will I-’
‘Almonds,’ Claudia retorted, lifting her hand. ‘Forget about the rest, Narcissus. You’re going to sleep here and get a good meal, so don’t worry, just tell me about almonds.’
‘Milk of almonds.’ Narcissus pulled a face. ‘That’s what we call it in Syria. It’s not really milk, more a juice; they gather it from certain seeds, I mean the poison, and distil it. It’s got many strengths.’ He leaned down, face all solemn. ‘I can’t tell you, mistress, how many times I’ve cut open the corpses of men and women and smelt that bittersweet odour! Oh, I don’t say much, but I know! Go down to the slums, ask the locust men, the warlocks, the poison boys, they’ll tell you all about it. You take a sip of that, a really good sip, and all your troubles are over. Do you know, mistress, there are poisons which will stop your heart in the blink of an eye.’ Narcissus went round the bed. ‘But you don’t need me to tell you that; just look at the poor bastard’s face. The skin’s all mottled, with a slightly blueish tinge, the throat muscles are constricted, the skin’s hard to the touch as if he’s been dead for hours. But you just wait,’ he warned, ‘in a few hours the blotches will appear.’ Narcissus felt the back of the gladiator’s head. ‘Ah, I thought as much. Slightly bruised; it’s where he banged his head in his death throes.’
‘Would death have been swift?’
‘Like an arrow to the heart, mistress. Some jerking, some convulsions, the pain would have been hideous, but don’t let’s leave him like this.’
Claudia helped pull the corpse down by its feet so it lay straight. She started as a gasp of air escaped from the dead man’s lungs.
‘He’s not been dead long.’ Narcissus pointed to the cup. ‘A nice goblet of sweet wine, fruity and tangy. I heard Polybius say he had served the stuff. Now, mistress, before you ask, that’s just the drink to hide the taste. But never mind the dead, what about the living? Your Murranus, he’s the one you told me about on the way here? Well, gladiator or not, champion or not, he’s in deep trouble. Wasn’t he supposed to face-’
Claudia got to her feet and, snapping at Narcissus to keep quiet, began a thorough search of the chamber. She scrutinised the corpse and Spicerius’s purse and clothing, but apart from some coins, a dagger, personal jewellery and a good-luck amulet she could find nothing. She knew there were no secrets to this chamber, whilst it was ridiculous to imagine anyone climbing through the window. So what had really happened? Suicide or murder? The only thing she had found was that love charm written on a piece of parchment. She picked this up and looked at it again. It displayed a crudely drawn heart with, above and beneath it, the words ‘Amor vincit Agrippinam’ and ‘Amor vincit Spicerium’. ‘Love conquers Agrippina’, ‘Love conquers Spicerius’. She felt the parchment with her thumb, sniffed it, but the only smell was Agrippina’s heavy perfume. Exasperated, Claudia sat down on a stool.
‘Nothing!’ she snapped. ‘Narcissus, go and get Polybius and Murranus. Tell Oceanus — you’ve met him, the big fat one — to guard the stairs. Just ask my uncle and Murranus to join me here.’
A short while later both men entered the room. Claudia tried to close the door but it was useless. She noticed the bolts at top and bottom were heavy and stout.
‘Tell me what happened,’ she urged, going back to sit on the bed.
Polybius and Murranus explained how they had entertained Spicerius in the orchard. They had eaten and drunk. Spicerius had seemed a little withdrawn but was looking forward to seeing Agrippina. He had taken his wine and come up to the Venus Chamber to have a little sleep before his girlfriend arrived.
‘And no one came up,’ Polybius warned. ‘Before you start, Claudia, no servant, no member of this tavern climbed those stairs. If Spicerius wanted something, he could send for it. I did get concerned he had gone so quiet, but there again, it is not for me to disturb someone.’