A Pattern of Blood by Rosemary Rowe

have enjoyed that) were manoeuvring a heavy gilded bier on a litter from the courtyard in the direction of the reception room, from the invisible recesses of which a plume of pungent smoke was already rising – presumably the first of the herbs and candles were being lighted around the corpse. All this seemed to be taking place under the direction of Sollers, who was supervising operations from the interior of the ante-room. He looked up and saw me, and raised a hand in salute before the litter made its way inside and the outer door was closed again.
    ‘You see?’ Maximilian demanded. ‘I shall be wanted any minute. It is I who should be there with my father’s corpse, not Sollers. My father did not want me living – he has resented me since my childhood – but I should at least be beside him in his death. It is my place to put the coin in his mouth for his ferry fare over the Styx . . .’
    ‘And to start the lament,’ I finished. ‘I know. I am sure Marcus will not keep you long.’
    ‘There is nothing further I can tell him in any case. I came here to see my father, to do my filial duty, that is all.’
    ‘Except to ask for money,’ I reminded him.
    He scowled. ‘Well, yes. That too. But it was a trivial amount, no more than five hundred sesterces.’
    Five hundred sestertces would keep me in comfort for weeks, but I said nothing.
    ‘Anyway, he wouldn’t give it to me. Ranted about my extravagance and then sent me off to look for Julia. That’s all.’
    I was about to tell him to explain it to Marcus, when a thought struck me. ‘And did you do it?’ I said.
    ‘Do what?’
    ‘Look for Julia? Did you go anywhere else before you came to us?’
    He coloured. ‘I . . . I don’t know. I can’t remember. What if I did? I was on my father’s errand.’
    ‘Maximilian,’ I said patiently, ‘think. You came here to borrow money. He refused you, even threatened to cut you out of his will. You were alone with him, and you knew there was a dagger on a table in the adjoining room. Shortly afterwards your father is found crawling about with that same knife in his back and your financial troubles are magically over. One does not need to be a Greek philosopher to draw a logical conclusion.’
    He gaped at me, all irritation gone. ‘You think . . .?’ – I saw the panic in his eyes – ‘You really think I killed him?’
    ‘I confess, citizen, that I find the circumstances just a little suspicious. Of course, if you are able to recall where you went when you left – whether you came straight to us, for example – that may assist you. Could anyone have seen you leave your father’s room, for instance?’
    He seemed to consider this, and hesitated, but he said nothing.
    ‘Well,’ I said, ‘Marcus is waiting for you. Tell him your story, citizen, and try to sharpen your memory before he finds ways of doing it for you.’
    Maximilian gave me a scowl as though I were the personal cause of all his miseries, and slammed past me into the study. Shortly afterwards I heard the murmur of voices.
    In fact, simply by coming out here, I had answered one of my own questions. From here, between the screen of trees, I could see the front gate and most of the colonnaded walk: there was a clear view into the ante-room opposite, as I had just demonstrated, and Mutuus had been standing here earlier when he witnessed me eavesdropping by the hedge. Anyone leaving the study, or simply standing behind the open door, could take in most of the garden at a glance, apart from the deliberately secluded arbours. No other spot in the house commanded such a wide vista. Perhaps Quintus had designed it like that, on purpose, so that he could survey the fountains and greenery from the comfort of his study.
    I walked thoughtfully down the veranda of the study wing, and past the doorway which led into the atrium and so to the main rooms of the house. Through it I caught sight of pairs of slaves, still hurrying to and fro with platters and