A Bitter Chill (34 page)

I looked at the table with the left-over food, counting the stuffed dates: five with cherry pieces, and eight with almond slivers, lying on a big silver tray.

Quintus said, “Some of these were put onto smaller dishes, weren’t they? I saw one on her ladyship’s table, and one on Lord Plautius’.”

“That’s right. Two oval silver dishes. One with almond slivers for the lady, and one with the new batch for the lord. Course, it was all carried through and set out on the central display along with everything else, while the music was going on. I showed the two dishes to Dimitrius and a couple of her slaves, the doctor and that slimy secretary. I said the ones with cherries were special for their master, and it was their job to make sure he got them. All the other guests got the ones with almonds, served off the big dish.”

“I did, certainly,” I agreed. “They were delicious. Weren’t they, Quintus?”

He nodded. “Florus, who gave you the order for the cherry decorations? Surely not Lady Sempronia herself?”

“No sir. Mistress Clarilla told Dimitrius. I don’t know who told her.”

“Right. Please put those last few dates with cherries in them into a small covered dish, and secure the lid on it somehow. We’ll take them away and keep them safe for now. There might still be one or two poisoned ones left, and we can’t take any risks.”

We waited while he carefully transferred the five sweets to a square wooden platter, using a small pair of serving-tongs which he ordered one of the boys to wash immediately. He put an earthenware cover over the board and tied a cord round to hold it in place. We thanked them all for their help, and were glad to leave the sad spectacle of the dead King of the Kitchen.

C
HAPTER
XXIV

When we got back to our makeshift office, someone had brought in a small brazier, and there was a tray of refreshments on the desk. Neither of us felt hungry or thirsty, but Clarus’ hospitality was as impressive as ever.

Quintus carefully placed the covered platter of poisoned dates on the desk. “I’d better find somewhere safe to store these. I wonder how many make up a fatal dose?”

I flopped wearily onto a couch. “More than one, I presume. After all, Timaeus tasted one before Plautius did, and he’s showing no ill effects.”

Clarus’ major-domo knocked and came in, bowing to us in his usual unhurried way. I wondered what, if anything, could ever disturb his composure, if he could remain so calm even after a poisoning at his master’s festive table. “The Chief Councillor sends his compliments, and requests that when you have a little time, you’ll please come to his study. He’s anxious to know how your enquiries are proceeding.”

My heart sank at the thought of having to face Clarus just now, and Quintus must have felt the same. “Please tell him we’ll come very soon,” he answered. “We need a short time to check over our notes.” That sounded professional, and Dimitrius couldn’t know that neither of us had put stylus to tablet all evening. “And perhaps you could do me a service, please, Dimitrius?”

“Of course, sir.”

“I’m sorry to say we’ve just found out that one of your kitchen slaves is dead. Poisoned, we think, in the same way as Lord Plautius.”

He frowned, but it didn’t seriously change his bland expression. “How terrible. You’d like me to inform the master?”

“If you would, please. And tell him we’ll be with him as quickly as we can.”

“Before you go, Dimitrius,” I said, “could you answer a question for us?”

“Certainly, madam, if it’s within my power.”

“Florus mentioned that an extra batch of stuffed dates was prepared, with cherry decorations instead of almonds, and that it was you who took the order to the kitchen.” I smiled a knowing smile. “I bet you were popular, arriving with that sort of request when they were flat out serving the meat course.”

“There was some grumbling, yes,” he admitted, “but I gave them all a piece of my mind, and they settled down and got on with it.”

“Do you know who it was who asked for the special dates? Was it Sempronia?”

“Yes, she sent a message by one of her maids. I don’t know her name. They all look alike in those blue tunics.”

“And she definitely said Lord Plautius preferred cherries to almonds?”

“Yes, she did. Apparently his teeth are—ah—not what they once were.”

“Thank you, Dimitrius, that’s very helpful.”

“Thank you, madam—sir.” He bowed himself out.

I yawned and stretched and told myself I didn’t feel tired. “Considering we’ve talked to so many people, we don’t seem to have got very far.”

Quintus pushed both hands through his fair hair, and rubbed his eyes. “We’ve made a start. We know the poison was in the dates with the cherry decorations, because both Plautius and the kitchen boy died quite soon after eating those.”

“Yes, and several people were aware that Plautius would be getting his own special sweets, different from the others, several people who maybe hated the old man enough to want him dead…. So what do we say to Clarus? That the murderer could be any one of half-a-dozen people, including the Governor’s aunt?”

Quintus laughed wearily and stood up. “We do what investigators always do when they’re not sure. We tell everyone we’re close to a solution, they’ll see justice done very soon, but we can’t go into details at this time. Come on, let’s get it over.”

We found our host and hostess sitting glumly together. Glasses of wine and plates of fruit lay untouched on a citrus-wood table, and Clarilla courteously offered us refreshments as we sat down, but neither of us had any appetite.

“Lady Sempronia has gone to her bed,” Clarilla told us. “She was more shaken by what happened tonight than she wanted us to see. Though I don’t know why she should try to hide away her grief, it’s only natural.”

“Horatius is in bed too,” Clarus added. “He’d become rather—ah—emotional, which of course is understandable.”

“Drunk, in plain Latin,” I said.

Clarus nodded. “But Priscus is still about, with Fabia. I believe they’re in the library. Shall I fetch them?”

“Not yet, I think,” Quintus answered. “I’d rather we told you privately what we’ve found out. Then you can help us decide what we should do next.”

Clarus, for all his pomposity, was no fool. “Do I gather that you fear one of the family might be implicated?”

“It’s a possibility,” Quintus said cautiously. “But we’re still not absolutely certain, and we don’t want to name any names until we are.”

“Of course, I understand. I suppose you’re aware that Lord Plautius added a codicil to his will this afternoon? I was one of the witnesses.”

“Did he?” I glanced at Quintus, but he made no move to join in. “Plautius’ health must have improved under your roof, Clarus. Horatius was insistent that he wouldn’t allow any alterations to the will unless he was sure Plautius was thoroughly alert and able to understand what he was doing.”

“Indeed yes. But I can assure you he was thoroughly alert, and surprisingly cheerful, considering that changing one’s testamentary arrangements is—ah—a somewhat solemn business.”

And considering that he was cutting off his elder son without a copper coin, I added to myself. Or was he? I thought he’d said to me earlier that he hadn’t finally made his mind up about the will, but either I’d misunderstood him, or he’d lied for some reason. Yes, that must be it: he was letting it be thought he hadn’t come to a decision, because he feared someone might kill him once he had. Well, we’d all know tomorrow, when the will was read.

Quintus and I reported what we’d concluded so far: that the poison was in an extra batch of stuffed dates, prepared part-way through the banquet in response to an order which the kitchen staff thought came from Clarilla.

She said she remembered giving the instruction. “Dimitrius came and told me that Sempronia had requested a different garnish for the dates,” she said. “He was a little reluctant to ask the kitchen staff at a time when he knew they’d be at their busiest, especially with their silly Saturnalia foolishness going on. But I told him it was his job to crack the whip and get the staff under control, and provide whatever the guests wanted.”

There was a loud knock at the door, which opened abruptly before anyone had time to answer. Rufus stood there, with a white coating of snow on his head and shoulders, and an expression of suppressed anger on his face.

He bowed quickly to Silvanius, then saluted Quintus. “Excuse me, sir, but it’s urgent. Two people have escaped from the house. At least two, maybe more.”

Quintus swore. “And what were you doing, Rufio? Having an after-dinner nap?”

“No, but somebody was, for sure. There were six of us covering the outside of the house and slave quarters. I was by the kitchen. Hector, that big fellow in charge of Plautius’ guard, was by the main front door, and I thought I heard a noise coming from there, and went to see. I found him just now, flat on the ground with his head bashed in.”

“Dead?” Quintus asked.

“No, just knocked senseless, or even more senseless than he was already, stupid bastard.”

“Did any of you spot anyone suspicious?”

He shook his head. “Nobody as far as we could see, which wasn’t far, because it’s snowing quite hard. I made out some footprints on the ground, coming out of the main door and then leading off down the drive—looked like more than one set of boots. There didn’t seem much point trying to follow, because the way it’s coming down, the tracks will soon be gone. So I came to you. I’m sorry, sir. I don’t understand it. Hector seemed one of the better trained ones. How could he let himself get caught like that?”

“Perhaps the attacker was someone known to him,” Silvanius suggested. “Someone he would not suspect until too late.”

“That must be it,” Quintus agreed grudgingly. “Well, it can’t be helped, Rufio. You may as well bring the men in now. Get the doctor to have a look at Hector if his wound’s bad. We’d better start checking to see who’s missing. Clarus, would you please come with me while I search the house? We have to assume that anyone who’s run away has had something to do with the tragedy tonight, and we must find out who’s gone even if we can’t get after them till daylight. Aurelia, could you and Clarilla make sure all the women are here?”

Clarilla looked scandalised. “Is that absolutely necessary, Antonius?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. Poison is said to be a woman’s weapon, after all.”

“But I’m sure none of the women here are involved!”

“We can’t be sure, Clarilla,” I cut her short. “That’s the point.”

Ours was the quicker search, because there were fewer women at the villa than men. They were all present and correct: Clarilla’s personal maids and kitchen girls, Sempronia’s two remaining female slaves, and Fabia and her maid. Sempronia too, of course, though I confess that neither of us ventured into her bedroom to check that she was there in person. Her maid Ebrel, Margarita’s replacement, assured us that she was in her bed, and we could hear loud snores from outside her door.

Before I left Sempronia’s suite of rooms, I took the chance to ask Ebrel whether she’d been the girl who carried the message from her mistress to Dimitrius, asking for extra stuffed dates.

“Why, yes, I did,” she said at once. “Stuffed dates with cherries in then. My lord’s favourite.”

“When did Lady Sempronia ask you to order them?”

“At the beginning of the banquet, only I was too busy serving till we’d got the first course dished out. But it wasn’t my lady as asked me, not personally. It was Master Priscus.”

“Priscus? The major-domo said it was Sempronia.”

She nodded. “I told that haughty Dimitrius it was her ladyship, cos she scares him out of his—that’s to say, she’s so well respected.”

“Indeed she is.” I suppressed a smile. “By the way, I hear one of my lads’ dogs has bitten one of Sempronia’s servants. Do you happen to know who it was? The boy wants to give them a little Saturnalia gift to say sorry.”

She shook her head. “Not one of us girls, for sure. We all bathe together, I’d have noticed any bites. Dog bites or otherwise,” she smirked. “And if the dog belongs to that red-headed horse-boy, tell him from me—no, the gods forgive me, I shouldn’t joke. Not with poor Leander having killed hisself. He was sweet on me, did you know that? He got me a lovely present, and wrote ever such a pretty little letter with it. I felt awful when he died. I’d no idea he’d even looked at me twice.”

“Get on with you,” I smiled. “I bet you have a line of lads a mile long queuing up to keep you warm these winter nights.”

She laughed. “A girl’s got to keep the cold out somehow. And I’m only following in Margarita’s footsteps, when all’s said and done.”

“I thought she was keen on young Master Priscus.”

“She is, and he’s crazy about her. But she’s got a past, has our Margarita, so they say. And she’s not short of offers, even now. The Weasel would like to get her into his den—well, he’d like to get all of us, so that’s not saying much. But I wouldn’t be too surprised to see her fall for a smooth bedside manner, if you catch my meaning.”

I steered her back to our present investigation. “Is there anything else you can think of that might help us find out who killed Lord Plautius?”

“No, nothing. But if I were the gambling sort, I’d put my money on Diogenes.”

“Why?”

“It’s obvious! He’s such a scum-bag! If you’ve got a bad man and a bad deed, they usually go together, don’t they?”

I only wish life were that simple, I thought, as we went back to wait for Quintus and Clarus.

“I haven’t your experience of investigating,” Clarilla said diffidently, “but if that maid is telling the truth, it seems to me that Priscus could have had a hand in poisoning Lord Plautius, or Sempronia could.”

“Perhaps. Unless Priscus was simply passing on a message from someone else—someone other than his mother, I mean, who intended to poison Plautius, but was clever enough not to make it obvious.”

“That sounds very complicated!” She twisted a fold of her tunic between her fingers. “But for a son to kill his father, it’s so dreadful, so unnatural. And so unlike him, from what I’ve seen of him. He seems gentle, rather shy. Not the kind to resort to violence.”