locked when Calliopus goes home. He has a house in town of course-”
“Yes, I know.” Plus several others; that was why Calliopus had been favoured by a visit from Anacrites and me. “I expect you close up fairly early in the evening. Calliopus will want to go to the baths before dinner. A man of his standing is bound to be dining formally most nights, I suppose?”
“I dare say.” The slave had little idea of social life among free citizens apparently.
“His wife's demanding?”
“Artemisia has to take him as he is.”
“Girlfriends?”
“I've no idea,” declared Buxus, obviously lying. “He doesn't often stay late here anyway. He gets whacked out drilling the men all day; he wants his rest.”
“Well that leaves you to your own devices.” Buxus said nothing as I changed tack, assuming that I was now being critical of himself “But what would happen, Buxus, if one of the beasts were ill in the night, or if you had a fire? Presumably you don't have to run all the way into Rome to ask your master for the keys? If you have no access to the menagerie he could lose everything in an emergency.” Buxus paused, then admitted, “We have an arrangement.”
“And what's that?”
“Never you mind.”
I let it pass. Probably there was a duplicate key hanging on a nail somewhere really obvious. I could find out the details when I knew for sure it was relevant. If my guess was right, any competent burglar who cased the joint could have found that nail.
“So did everything go smoothly last night, Buxus?”
“Yes.”
“No sick beasts needing the farrier's attention? No alarms?”
“No, Falco. All quiet.”
“Did you have a girl in? A gambling mate?”
He jumped. “What are you accusing me of?”
“Just a man's right to company. So did you?”
“No.”
He was probably lying again, this time on his own behalf He realized I was on to him. But he was a slave; Calliopus was unlikely to tolerate open socializing of any kind, so Buxus would understandably want to keep his habits to himself I could extract details if I needed to. It was too soon in the game to start heavy-handed questioning.
I sighed. With a cold corpse at your feet, it's all the same. That this one was a lion did not change how I felt. The same old dreary depression at life being wasted for some barely credible motive and probably by some lowlife who just thought he could get away with it. The same anger and indignation. Then the same questions to ask: Who saw him last? How did he spend his last evening? Who were his associates? What did he eat last? Whom did he eat, in fact?
“Were you the only person who had dealings with the lion, Buxus?”
“Him and me were like brothers.”
When you investigate murders, that claim often turns out to be untrue. “Oh yes?”
“Well he was used to me, and I was used to him-as far as I wanted to be. I never turned my back on him.”
The keeper was still facing Leonidas now. With his eyes as much on the lion as if it were still liable to spring and maul him, Buxus crouched down to where I had set the spear and the bloody spearhead alongside one another.
Calliopus might be trying to hush this up, but I had a feeling Buxus wanted to know who had killed his powerful pal. “Falco-” His voice was low as he gestured to the snapped-off spike. “Where's the shaft off the one that did for him?”
“Have you looked around, Buxus?”
“No sign of it here.”
“The man who stuck it in probably carried off what was left. Do you think it could have been one of the bestiarii?”
“It was someone who could fight,” Buxus reckoned. “Leonidas wouldn't just roll over and let any killer tickle his tum with a weapon.”
“Had any of the lads been showing an interest in Leonidas?”
“Iddibal had a chat to me about him.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What was he asking?”
“Oh just general talk. He knows a lot about the business.”
“How's that, Buxus?”
“Don't know. He just takes an interest.”
“Nothing suspicious?”
“No, Iddibal was just homesick for Africa.”
“He comes from Oea like Calliopus?”
“No, Sabratha. He doesn't talk about his old life. None of them do.”
“All right.” This seemed to be going nowhere. “We need to know what happened last night, Buxus. Let's start with whether Leonidas was killed in his cage.”
The keeper looked surprised. “must have been. You saw this morning. It was locked.”
I laughed. “Oldest trick there is. ‘ The body was in a locked room: nobody could have got in there '. Usually it's meant to look like suicide. Don't even try to tell me this lion killed himself!”
“No call to,” joked his keeper darkly. “Leonidas had too good a life. Me to hunt for him and talk to him all day then every few months we put ribbons in his mane and sprinkled him with real gold dust to make him look pretty, and sent him to run free after criminals.”
“So he wasn't depressed?”
“Of course he was!” the keeper snapped, changing mood suddenly. “Falco, he was turning into a cage-pacer. He wanted to be running after gazelles back in Africa, with lionesses available. All lions can be solitary if they have to-but for preference they love to fornicate.”
“He was fretting, and you were very fond of him. So was it you who put him out of his misery?” I asked sternly.
“No.” Buxus' voice was miserable. “He was just restless. I've seen worse. I'm going to miss the old beast. I never wanted to lose him.”
“All right. Well that puts us back with the mystery. A locked cage isn't a closed room though; it's accessible. Could he have been speared through the bars?”
Buxus shook his head. “Not easily.”
'I was outside the cage by then, trying it out with the long spear. “No, there's not much space-” With hardly room to draw back my arm, it was a short, awkward throw. “It would take someone extremely accurate to loose off a shot through the bars. The bestiarii are good, but they don't hunt indoors. I suppose they could have just poked him-”
“Leonidas would have tried to avoid the spear, Falco. And he would have roared. I was only next door. I'd have heard him.”
“That's a good point. It was some spear thrust that killed him anyway. From close quarters, and with space to manoeuvre.” I knelt beside the corpse, checking it over again. There were no other wounds on the body. The lion was definitely killed by one terrific blow-with the weapon hand-held, I reckoned, not a throw-impaling the beast from straight in front. It was extremely professional. The situation must have been damned dangerous. The spear itself would have been a heavy one, and withstanding the onrush of the lion would have taken courage and power. Then I guessed Leonidas had fallen immediately, right where he was killed.
“Maybe he was killed near the front of the cage, the spear broke, then he crawled away.” Buxus lacked my expertise in working out the processes. He had a slave's habit of self-contradiction too-unless he were deliberately trying to confuse me.
“We said killing him through the bars wouldn't work.” Even so, to cover the possibility, I led Buxus to the front
