brazier, but when he assured her that he was quite warm enough, her husband said, “Our guest’s been here before, woman. Right up on the border. He knows what cold is.”
The wife retreated back into, “Yes, dear.”
“Boy? Go and see if the piglet’s done!” Gallonius gave a sonorous belch, sighed, and explained that he was a slave to his digestion.
“My poor husband has been to all sorts of doctors,” ventured the wife, perhaps feeling this was a safe subject on which to expand, “but they can’t do anything for him.”
Gallonius said, “My father was just the same,” as if eating too much and too fast were passed from father to son like a family heirloom.
Tilla reached up to check that the bluebells were still tucked into her hair and said innocently, “Have they recommended any special diets?”
As the staff began to clear the tables, Gallonius and his wife began to describe the various regimes he had followed in the hope of relief.
Ruso was not listening. Now that Tilla had given him the final name, it was all beginning to make sense. Realizing-perhaps with Grata’s help-that the tax man was on their trail, the forgers had arranged to murder Asper in such a way as to make it look as if he had run off with the tax money. Asper would be lured out of town by a false message to visit Caratius. Rogatus would tell everyone that he had gone to Londinium, but in fact he and Dias would have intercepted him just outside of town.
Things had gone wrong. Perhaps they had not been expecting Bericus to go too. Somehow Asper had escaped. The killers had also underestimated Camma. Instead of going to the local guards, where her testimony would have sunk without a trace, she had traveled twenty miles to appeal to the procurator.
The trouble was, if everybody stuck to their lies, he could not prove any of it.
Ruso was wondering what Dias was up to this evening-the guards currently waiting to escort them home were strangers-when a roasted piglet appeared on the table in front of him, accompanied by the sort of silence that told him his host was waiting for a reply.
The tentative “Er-” was a mistake. It implied that he had heard the question and was considering the answer.
“Have a try,” urged Gallonius, failing to stifle another belch.
It was Tilla who saved him. “It is no good asking my husband to guess what is in there,” she said. “He is from Gaul, where the food is very strange and has different names.”
It was their host’s turn to say, “Really?”
“Oh, yes,” Tilla assured him. “When I cook for him, I have to tell him what he is eating.”
Gallonius threw his head back and guffawed. His wife smiled wistfully, as if she wished she understood the joke. Tilla adjusted the bluebells again and grinned at her husband. Gallonius answered his own question with obvious pride and a servant stepped forward with a carving knife.
Musing while he ate, Ruso wondered how anyone could think that the best way to astonish and delight a visiting official was to see how many items of unrelated food could be crammed inside a deceased piglet before it exploded under the strain.
“Well!” exclaimed Gallonius as the debris of honey cakes dipped in wine was cleared away and Ruso was congratulating himself on having politely managed a taste of everything, “I’d imagine that’s better than you got from old Caratius.”
“Much better,” said Tilla, dabbling her fingers in the bowl of water the servant was holding in front of her. “More food and no bodies.”
Ruso wondered how much wine she had drunk.
“Our guards frightened Caratius’s mother,” she added.
“A very sad case,” put in the wife, seizing on another safe subject. He never brings her into town these days, does he, dear? She wanders off looking for the family silver.”
“She’s been dotty for years,” said Gallonius. “His father only married her because she convinced him the silver was really there. Of course, they never found it. I expect the Iceni had it. If it ever existed.” He turned to Tilla. “Which reminds me, my dear. It’s very good of you to look after that girl, but you should be careful. The Iceni can’t be relied upon.”
The awkward silence that followed was broken by the slaves carrying out the last of the empty tables and Gallonius announcing, “And now…” in a tone that sounded alarmingly as if they were about to reappear with more food on them. To Ruso’s relief he was only announcing that the ladies could withdraw next door while the men talked about things that would not interest them.
Tilla said, “What things?”
“Off you go, wife,” Ruso urged her. “Perhaps you could ask the cook for the piglet recipe.”
Gallonius’s wife dipped her thin fingers in the water bowl, rose from her chair, and began to drift toward the door. Tilla followed, but not before giving her husband a look that said he would be hearing about this later.
As soon as the door had closed behind them, Gallonius sat up straight and said, “I hear you’ve brought in an assistant.”
“He’s taking a look at the finance records,” said Ruso, adding, “I’ve spoken to Nico,” as if the two facts were related and Nico had given his blessing to the audit.
“Is that really necessary?”
“Yes. You need to be careful what you say about Caratius. Some new information has come up.”
Gallonius’s eyes widened. “What sort of information?”
Ruso decided not to name his suspects in case Gallonius tried to interfere. “I can’t explain until I’m certain,” he said, “but Asper’s death may have been nothing to do with Caratius. I think there was something illegal going on and Asper got mixed up in it. As Nico’s off sick I’ll need your permission to go into the strong room.”
Was that a brief hesitation before Gallonius stifled a belch and reached for his wine? “We’ve nothing to hide,” he said. “I’ll take you in there myself tomorrow morning. But don’t be fooled by the amount you find down there. Everything we have is set aside for some purpose or other. Did Nico tell you we have a generous fund to provide bread and schooling for orphans?”
“I did hear you have a fund for the theater.”
“A lot of the money for the theater is still just promises, I’m sorry to say.” The magistrate called for one of his servants to come and adjust his cushions before leaning back and removing his belt. “If you’re right, and Caratius doesn’t have the money, where is it?”
“I’m working on that.”
“We shall struggle if the procurator expects us to make up the missing payment. There will be a lot of dissatisfaction.”
“Yes,” said Ruso, “that’s more or less what Caratius said right back at the start of this.”
Gallonius looked up. “I hope you don’t think, Investigator, that this is some sort of elaborate ruse to defraud the procurator.”
“Oh, no,” said Ruso. “Because if it were, and you were caught, it would be catastrophic for everyone involved, wouldn’t it?”
60
After the warmth of the heated dining room, Tilla was shivering inside her shawl as they walked down the moonlit street past the deserted meat market. Ruso put his arm around her shoulders. There was almost nobody around to see them apart from a slinking cat and the two guards behind them, who could think what they liked.
Albanus answered their knock at Camma’s house, explaining that the ladies had gone to bed. He had two lamps and a short stump of candle burning on the kitchen table, perilously close to the piles of records he seemed to have spent all evening examining.
“Anything interesting?” said Ruso, more out of politeness than hope.
“Just a moment, sir.” Albanus flicked the beads of the abacus with his left hand and scratched a figure on the
