the commotion in the study. Ruso could find only one additional sighting of the live Severus, but the laundrymaid had paid little attention as she passed through the hall and noticed him sitting on a stool. In reply to ‘How did he look?’ she said, ‘I think he was wearing a brown — ’
‘I mean, did he look well?’
The girl thought about this for some time before venturing the opinion that the visitor had been looking hot and cross.
‘But he didn’t look ill?’
‘No, sir. Just hot and cross, like you.’
The only person he had not yet questioned was Cass, who had arrived home late with the children, organized the farm slaves’ supper, dealt with a tantrum from Little Gaius and invited Tilla to join her in a late retreat to the bath-house. He would talk to her tomorrow.
The bitch has poisoned me.
At the time he had assumed that Severus was accusing either his wife or his sister, but now he realized those words could equally well have been directed at Cass. Of course, it was ridiculous to imagine that Cassiana would poison anybody, but …
‘I know you are not asleep,’ came a voice from the other side of the bed. ‘Are you angry with me about your sisters?’
‘Uh? No. It was obvious they were lying.’
‘You are thinking about the man who is dead,’ she guessed. ‘How everyone will think you killed him because you owe him money and he married your old wife.’
‘Everyone would be wrong.’
‘I know this.’
‘Good. Go to sleep, Tilla.’
‘I know, because killing him here would be very stupid.’
‘Killing him anywhere would be very stupid.’ He sighed, rolled over and reached a hand around her. ‘I’m glad someone married my old wife,’ he murmured in her ear. ‘Go to sleep.’
She shifted to get comfortable against him. ‘What sort of poison he is dead from?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Did you catch his last breath? What did he say?’
When he did not answer she said, ‘You are still not asleep. Are you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell me what he said.’
‘Did Cass say anything about it while you were in the baths?’
‘We talked about her brother. She does not know what to do. Her husband says she must make her mind up.’
He said, ‘I promised her I’d try to help, but I haven’t had time.’
‘She understands. What will happen about the money you owe, now the man is dead?’
He said, ‘While you were over at the baths I went through the chest in the study. There’s a stack of bills from traders in town that haven’t even been opened. And a tax assessment. None of them’s big enough to prompt a bankruptcy, but word gets round. Some of the bigger creditors might start calling their loans in.’
He felt the tremor of a giggle. ‘Not if they think you will poison them.’
‘It’s not funny, Tilla. Yesterday I was just threatened with disgrace. Now if the Gabinii turn nasty they could have me tried for murder.’
‘That is not funny,’ she agreed. ‘So, what did he say?’
‘Go to sleep, Tilla. It’s the middle of the night. I have to go and see Claudia tomorrow.’
‘Claudia, the old wife.’ Tilla kicked away a tangle of sheet and pulled it straight. ‘Will you tell her what he said?’
‘Yes. It’s only fair that she knows first.’
She fell silent.
He was drifting away from the worries of the day when he heard: ‘Cass says the rich widow next door is very pretty.’
‘Yes, she is. Go to sleep.’
‘If all those people want their money back, and you are not accused of murder, will you try to marry her?’
‘Go to sleep.’
A cool draught forced him back into consciousness as she flung back the bedding. ‘I will go to my own bed.’
‘No!’ He grabbed her arm and pulled her back against him.
Far beyond the open window, some small night creature shrieked as it fell prey to a larger one.
He said, ‘I need you.’
28
Tilla had once seen a picture of grape-treaders painted on the side of a fancy wine jug. It had seemed a delightful job: a jolly group of slaves dancing in a sunlit trough to the music of a flute. There were mountains behind and, in the foreground, shining juice pouring from the trough into a vat.
The reality was not jolly at all. They were working in the shade of the winery, it was true, but even at this hour of the morning it was hot in here with the sun baking the roof-tiles and the walls holding back the breeze. It was surprising how quickly the thighs began to ache from trampling up and down in the shallow basin. Nor was it kind to the arms. To stop herself losing her footing in the warm slop, Tilla was having to change her grip ever more frequently on the rope that dangled from the rafters.
They could get a donkey to do this, she thought, pausing as a shadow fell across the rows of fat jars set in the floor and one of the vineyard workers strode in with another basketload to upend all over her feet. They could attach a donkey to a pole and make it walk round and round. And round. And round. Although she supposed a donkey might relieve itself all over the grapes. She was tempted to wee in that horrible woman’s grape juice herself, except that it would not be fair on Galla, who would also have to stand in it.
At least the other workers had left them alone. The men were convinced that having women’s feet crushing the grapes this morning would bring bad luck on the precious vintage. Instead of telling them not to be so silly, the Medicus’ brother had said he would find them something else to do.
‘He is being kind, miss,’ explained Galla after he had gone. ‘All the other jobs he could give us are out in the sun.’
Privately Tilla thought he was being cowardly. Surely the stepmother could not tell him who should work on his own farm?
Galla’s face was still red on one side where Arria had slapped it. Tilla suspected she herself had only escaped being struck because Arria was afraid of what the Medicus would say about it when he came back from consoling the old wife.
She had expected that yesterday’s fuss over the runaway sisters would be forgotten this morning, eclipsed by the mysterious death of the man in the study. She was wrong. The girls, finally released from their room, had emerged to offer Tilla a sulky apology for getting lost. Immediately the apology was accepted, they proceeded to blame her for their woes. Why had she made such a great fuss about nothing, running off all over the town ‘instead of waiting for us like Galla does’?
At this moment Arria, who must have been listening inside the hall, marched out on to the porch and demanded, ‘What do you mean, “like Galla does”?’
Summoned, the terrified slave had finally confessed that, yes, when she chaperoned the girls into town they did sometimes go off on their own.
‘Where do they go? Who with? You stupid girl! How long has this been going on? Why didn’t you tell me straight away?’
