to be wrong.”
The youth looked as if Valens had just addressed him in a foreign language.
“Try the injuries are consistent with…” suggested Ruso. “I find that’s usually a good way to start.”
“Yes, sir,” said the youth, not obviously reassured. Apparently Asper’s injuries were consistent with his having been hit with a “-what did you call it, master?”
“A blunt instrument,” Valens prompted.
“We thought it might have been an accident,” put in the tall one before anyone could ask. “But then we looked at the bruising across the shoulder here. It’s the same shape as the head injury but a different angle. Do you see, sir?”
“Somebody’s taken a couple of swipes at him,” agreed Ruso, walking around the table and bringing an imaginary weapon down across a long streak of purple flesh with his right hand. Then he tried again with his left.
“Can you tell which hand it was, sir?” asked the tall one.
“No,” admitted Ruso.
“The bruising on the forearm would be where he’s tried to defend himself,” put in Valens. “It’s all about the same age.”
Ruso tried to picture the way the man and his assailant had moved around each other. The tall apprentice evidently had the same idea. He grabbed his companion, turned him around to face the wall, and said, “Imagine I’m coming at you with a stick.” Before the shorter lad could complain, his companion began to wield his imaginary stick with such enthusiasm that the short apprentice dodged and crashed into the table, nearly ending up on top of the victim.
“Not in here!” snapped Valens, grabbing the lad and hauling him to his feet.
“Sorry, sir,” put in the tall one cheerfully. “I forgot how clumsy he is.”
For a brief moment, Ruso saw an image of Valens as an apprentice.
“Fetch a comb and tell the kitchen boy to find a clean tunic to lay him out in,” ordered Valens. “Something respectable. And not one of my new ones.”
When they had gone, he sighed. “It’s hard work having apprentices, Ruso. They’re either fighting like two year olds or drooping around the place like a pair of maiden aunts. You can’t tell them to get lost or dump them on somebody else like you can in the army. You have to keep finding things that they can do without killing anybody.”
Ruso pulled the illegible letter out of his belt. “Try giving them this to decipher,” he suggested. “Tell them it might help us catch a murderer.”
“Really?”
“Or it might be deranged gibberish.” Ruso bent to examine the injury to the skull. “I’m relieved about the cause of death,” he admitted. “I did wonder if his landlord had done away with him because I’d been around offering a reward.”
“That would be awkward.”
“But this corroborates the story I’ve been told. And it fits with the seepage stain on his pillow.” He straightened up and pulled the sheet back over the body. “If you tell the visitors, I’ll explain to the wife.”
“With pleasure.” Valens plunged his hands into the washbowl and reached for a towel. “By the way, I hope I’m getting a decent fee for this? I’m assuming you can claim it back?”
“I wouldn’t assume anything,” said Ruso, confident that he needed the remains of the ten denarii more than Valens did. “We’re working for the finance office now.”
14
The wine had not softened Caratius’s mood. His response to Valens’s explanation of the cause of death was, “That makes no sense.”
Valens was unruffled. “Let me show you how we know about the times, sirs,” he offered. “If we pop across to my consulting room you can take a closer look at the-”
Firmus wrinkled his nose and announced that they did not have time for that sort of thing.
“It makes no sense,” repeated Caratius. “If he was hit hard enough to kill him two or three days ago, how can he have been walking around yesterday morning?”
“Oh, you’d be amazed,” said Valens, apparently delighted to be asked. “I’ve shown Ruso this sort of thing several times in the army, haven’t I, Ruso? The man has a head injury and seems to recover, but there’s some sort of damage inside that’s gradually spreading. He complains of headaches, he gets confused… sometimes there’s paralysis down one side. Anyway, once the brain gets inflamed, there’s not a lot you can do. Eventually he passes out and dies. You can try bleeding him, or-”
“Thank you, Doctor,” put in Ruso, before Valens could start to explain the difficulties of choosing the right place to bore a hole in the skull.
Valens was undeterred. “If you like, we could open up the brain and see where the-.”
“No thanks,” said Firmus.
“Absolutely not,” said Ruso, wondering where Valens’s enthusiasm led him when there was nobody around to keep him under control.
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” put in Caratius. “Asper and his brother deliberately left town with no guards. It’s obvious that they planned to disappear with the money. Perhaps the brother decided to take it all for himself. That’s who you need to go after now.”
“It’s equally possible that somebody else saw them unguarded and stole it from both of them,” put in Ruso, determined to establish who was the investigator here. “If we find the brother alive, he may be able to explain the lack of security.”
“Hmph! If he was robbed, why hasn’t he come forward?”
“Perhaps he’s dead too,” said Ruso. “If he isn’t, the road patrols already have his description, and so does half the town. I’ll have that letter looked at, and I’ll talk to the boatman who picked Asper up. When we see where that gets us, the assistant procurator will decide how we proceed.”
Caratius did not look impressed.
Ruso said, “It would help, sir, if you could tell me where you yourself were three days ago?”
Caratius scowled. “I was at home, and at a Council meeting in Verulamium, and going about my own business.”
“What sort of business?”
“The business of a loyal, law-abiding, tax-paying citizen of Rome, a senior magistrate and Elder of the Catuvellauni who breeds the best horses north of the Tamesis.”
When this did not shame Ruso into apologizing, he turned to Firmus. “The woman is a known liar, sir. Anyone in the town will tell you.”
Aware of how irritating it sounded, Ruso said, “It’s my job to consider all the possibilities.”
“While he’s considering, sirs,” chipped in Valens, “my staff will have the body dressed and ready to be taken away in a few minutes.”
Everyone turned to look at Firmus, who said, “We can’t have a body polluting the Official Residence!”
“I can’t take him,” said Caratius quickly. “I can lend you my guard and a couple of slaves, but I’m staying with a friend who’s a priest of Jupiter. He can’t be polluted by having a body in the house, either. Besides, the man’s a common thief.”
“How about the fort?” Firmus suggested.
“You might be able to order it, sir,” explained Ruso, “but they won’t take any notice of us.”
Firmus did not look confident that they would take any notice of him, either. He turned to Valens, who insisted that he would be happy to help, “… but we don’t have the facilities, sir. I’m afraid the other patients-”
“One night won’t hurt, surely?” put in Ruso. “His wife can see to the funeral in the morning.”
“Hah!” Caratius seemed to find this particularly irritating. “That’s what she calls herself now, is it?”
Ruso’s patience was wearing thin. “For all we know, the man could have been killed trying to defend your
