quickly afterwards. I was sitting alone in the garden, trying to shape my thoughts into some sort of order, when Marmarides coughed.
'Something is not right with the carriage, Falco.'
'That seems fairly typical of Baetica! Do you need a part fixed?' My heart sank. As I remembered his employer, the ex-legionary Stertius, his invention and prowess with machinery had far excelled mine.
'There is a difficulty with the hodometer,' Marmarides confessed.
Well that was no more than I expected. Overelaborate gadgets always go wrong. In fact if I come anywhere near them, even simple ones, their rivets snap. 'Do you want me to have a look at it?'
'Later, perhaps.'
To my surprise Marmarides deposited his slight figure on my bench then produced a bundle of note-tablets from a pouch at his belt. He opened one or two; they were covered with slanting figures in a big, careful hand. Every line began with the name of a place. Some were dates.
'What's this, your travel diary?'
'No; it's yours, Falco.'
'Are you writing my memoirs for me, or auditing my expense claims?'
Marmarides laughed his jovial laugh. Apparently I was a crack wit. Then he laid his tablets open on his knee and showed me how every time we took a trip in the carriage he listed it, with the date and the new mileage. When we came to make a final reckoning of how much I owed Stertius, the driver would be able to demonstrate our usage of the vehicle exactly, should I venture to disagree with his reckoning. Plainly his master Stertius thought of everything. Stertius must have dealt with argumentative types before.
'So what's up?'
'Today you went over to the Rufius house, stopped on the way where we all talked about the young man being killed, then I drove you home. Now it is evening. I feed the mules, clean the carriage, and sit down with my little stylus to make up the record.'
'And?'
'The miles don't fit, Falco.'
My first reaction was bored incomprehension. 'Well, if you're slightly out I won't have a seizure. I can trust you on one or two discrepancies- Mind you, Helena Justina keeps my accounts and she's more precise.'
'Falco, how far do you think it is to the Rufius house?'
'Four or five miles?'
'So don't you see, Falco?'
'I'm very tired still from my trip to Hispalis-'
'This line here,' Marmarides explained stubbornly, pointing to his last written note, 'is my count for your last trip that I know about-when Helena and you went into Corduba and you interviewed Cyzacus and Gorax. The day we all had a fight on the riverbank.'
'I'll never forget. You fell in. I thought I would have to compensate Stertius for drowning his freedman… So now you have to add a new line about today?'
'I go to the hodometer and count the pebbles that remain.'
'And you notate this column?' I indicated the final row, where the figures diminished with each entry.
'That's what doesn't fit. From the day you went to Corduba to now, there are twice as many miles as I expect.'
'You allowed for the return journey?'
'Oh yes. The miles the carriage has traveled since Corduba,' Marmarides told me with a beaming smile, 'are enough for a journey to the Rufius house, there and back-then there and back a second time!'
I was impressed. It was immediately apparent what Marmarides meant. 'This is your big chance to solve something for me,' I said.
He beamed. 'You talked about how the man with the bad back could have gone to help the young one fix the grinding wheel. He could have gone in your carriage, Falco.'
I was keeping calm. 'In agenting you have to work out everything, and make sure there can be no mistake. I thought Helena was out in the carriage that day? I thought she went with Aelia Annaea to her house?'
'No,' he said. 'Aelia Annaea came to visit in her own carriage, and Helena Justina left with her.' Marmarides had really thought this through. 'Marius Optatus went into Corduba, but he used an ox-wagon.'
'So our carriage was in the stable?' He nodded. 'The slaves were all in the fields and wouldn't see much, Marmarides. The farm is near the road, so anyone could drive off without drawing attention… Did you happen to notice whether the mules had been out? Were they sweating at all?'
Marmarides looked sheepish. 'I never looked, Falco.' Then he cheered up, able to exonerate himself. 'I was not here. After Helena Justina left, I hitched a ride with Optatus to Corduba.'
'What did you want in Corduba?'
He just grinned. There was a woman in this somewhere, and I decided not to explore it. Since neither Helena nor I had been here there could be no objection. It also gave Optatus an alibi. 'All right. You observed Quinctius Quadratus with his bad back during the time that he was here. If he couldn't ride, do you think he would have been able to drive a two-mule carriage a short way?
'Probably. He would not have been much use as a partner in a heavy lifting job though, Falco.'
'Whoever was partnering Constans was certainly no good, we know that.'
If it was Quadratus, maybe he did not let the stone fall deliberately. Maybe his back just gave out. Maybe the boy's death was a genuine accident-one that should never have happened, caused by bungling incompetence. It was cowardly of Quadratus not to own up to his part in the stupidity, but it was not a criminal act.
So perhaps the worst that had happened that day was that Quadratus got bored-or maybe Constans, panicking about Selia, had appealed for his advice. For one reason or another Quadratus went to see his dear friend Constans. Then two young men who should have known better got together and decided to do a job for which they were poorly qualified. The work was too hard for them. Quadratus was unfit; the grinding stone fell on poor Constans. Quadratus was the elder and should have behaved more responsibly. That would make him the more reluctant to admit he had been there. Besides, he must have been badly shocked by what happened.
'We have to be sure,' Marmarides decided firmly. He had picked up a few phrases from me, apparently. 'You must come with me to the stables and we will recount the pebbles that are left in the hodometer. Then you will have firm evidence.'
He was in charge. So we walked over to the stables, crouched down at the back of the carriage and inspected the Archimedes hodometer. Marmarides counted the pebbles that remained on the upper gear wheel. Sure enough, there were several less than there should have been according to his notes: a rough count of the missing mileage confirmed that it would equal two trips to the Rufius estate: there and back for Quinctius Quadratus, plus our own drive out and back today.
Solemnly we made a note on the tablet, explained our deductions, and both signed as witnesses.
The funeral took place next day. There were no distant relatives to summon, and Baetica is a hot locality.
The necropolis which the wealthy Cordubans used lay nearest to us on the south of the city, this side of the bridge. Naturally it presented the best aspect. The wealthy did not inter their smart relations among the middle class or paupers, least of all with the gladiators in their multiple columbarium outside the western gate. Across the river from the noise of the town each family possessed a gracious mausoleum, lining the important road that passed through to the fertile plain and the sun-drenched slopes of their rolling olive groves.
I did wonder why they didn't build their tombs in complete privacy on their own land instead of crowding into a necropolis which was passed daily by carriages and carts. Maybe people who socialize madly in life know their dead will still want friends to mingle with in the afterlife.
The Rufii had not yet become so extravagant as the family who had constructed a miniature temple complete with Ionic columns around a little portico. Grandeur would come, no doubt. For the moment theirs was a simple brick-built, tiled roof edifice with a low doorway. Within the small chamber was a series of niches containing ceramic urns. Wall plaques already commemorated the parents, son and daughter-in-law of Licinius Rufius. These
