XXXIX

As soon as he said it I felt a cold sweat. “What happened?”

“He died last night. In his sleep.”

“The same way as Novus?”

“Don’t think so. He looked quite peaceful. It appeared to be natural—”

“Hah!”

“He was healthy,” frowned Hyacinthus.

“Cooks can always scavenge nourishment.” Viridovix was no age either; thirty, I reckoned. Like me; a boy. “Is anyone looking into it?”

“No chance. Someone suggested foul play to Felix—but he retorted that maybe Viridovix was so ashamed Hortensius Novus died after one of his meals, he committed suicide—”

“Is that likely?”

“You met him!” Hyacinthus scoffed.

“Yes! Are the rest of you going to do anything about it?”

“If the freedmen say no, how can we? He was,” pointed out my companion dourly, “just a slave.” So were his friends.

I chewed a fingernail. “The Praetor who is investigating what happened to Novus ought to hear of this.”

Hyacinthus scuffled to his feet in the loose earth. “Forget that, Falco. The Praetor has a large loan underwritten by Crepito; he is bound to co-operate. The family want Novus buried quietly—and no other distractions.”

“I thought they wanted to protect his interests? I thought that was why they hired me.”

Hyacinthus looked shamefaced. “I could never understand why they chose you,” he let slip. “You had a reputation for bungling…”

“Oh thanks!” I bit back an oath. Then I spat it out after all. It was one of my brother’s: particularly colourful: the slave looked impressed. “If they believed that, why commission me?”

“Perhaps they thought you would be cheap.”

“Then perhaps that was just one of their mistakes.”

I remembered Helena saying that what impressed these ghastly people was expense.

Even without seeing the body I shared the runabout’s doubts about the cook’s death. “Viridovix was poisoned too,” I said. “Though not with the same violent paralytic that despatched Novus. You saw both corpses afterwards: do you agree?” The runabout nodded. I made up my mind. “I needed to talk to Viridovix in more detail about yesterday afternoon. Now he’s gone, can you possibly find me someone observant who would have been in the kitchens while the food for the dinner party was being prepared?”

He looked uncertain. I reminded him that no one else would lift a finger to avenge the cook’s death. Fellow feelings made him promise to find someone who would help. I told him my new address. Then, since he was growing anxious about being seen here with me, I let him scamper back to the house.

I sat on under the tree, thinking about the man from Gaul. I had liked him. He accepted his fate but kept his own style. He had integrity. He was dignified.

I thought about him for a long time. I owed him that.

He had definitely been murdered. It must have been a slower poison than the one which struck down Novus, a less vicious kind. Presumably this too was intended for Novus—though I could not rule out the possibility he was not the only victim hoped for.

Nor could I yet be certain that the same person had prepared both poisons. Or why at least two different attempts had been made; insurance, possibly. But I did know how the second drug was administered; that would haunt me for a long time. The poison must have been among the bitter-smelling spices which the cook took in his cup of Falernian.

I still remembered how I mixed the wine for him: I had killed Viridovix myself.