Three Hands In The Fountain

I glanced back to my own door. Helena Justina was waving us off, standing on the porch holding Julia. She too was looking thoughtfully across the street. I caught her eye. She smiled at me. I knew that expression. When little Milvia came down again she was going to be treated to a stern conversation with the daughter of the illustrious Camillus. I would be very surprised if Milvia ever showed her dainty ankle in Fountain Court again.

By the way he was sneaking off round the corner into Tailors' Lane, that suited Petronius.

As we were walking to the address Martinus had passed on to Petro, we heard a muffled roar from the Circus. The fifteen-day Ludi Romani were still, in progress. The president of the Games must have dropped his white handkerchief, and the chariots had set off around the long arena. Two hundred thousand people had just exclaimed in excitement at some spill or piece of dramatic driving. Their massed exhalation whomphed through the valley between the Aventine and the Palatine, causing doves to rise and circle before they dropped back on to heated roofs and balconies. A lower hum continued as the race went on.

Somewhere in the Circus Maximus would be the young, Camillus brothers and Claudia Rufina (well, Justinus and Claudia anyway). Somewhere there too might be the killer who chopped up women, the man whose latest dreadful deed we now had to explain to an unwitting husband. And unless Caius Cicurrus could tell us something useful, then somewhere at the Circus Maximus might be the next woman who was destined to end up in pieces in the aqueducts.

Caius Cicurrus was a chandler. With his wife but no children he lived in a typical third-floor apartment in a tenement full of identical small lets. His living space was cramped, but well kept. Even before we had knocked at his gleaming bronze lion-head knocker, the respectable flower tubs and rag mat on the landing had warned us of one thing his Asinia had probably not been a prostitute. A young female slave let us in. She was clean and neat, shy though not

cowed. Careful housekeeping was evident. Ledges looked dusted. There was an attractive scent of dried herbs. The slave girl automatically invited us to remove our outdoor shoes.

We found Caius just sitting by himself, staring into space, with Asinia's spinning in a basket at his feet. He was holding what must have been her jewel box, running skeins of glass and rock crystal beads through his hands. He looked obsessively troubled and drowsy with grief. Whatever was making him miserable, it was not the purely financial loss of a deserted pimp.

Caius was swarthy, but plainly Italian. He had the hairiest arms I had ever seen, though his head was nearly bald. In his mid-thirties, he was just a perfectly harmless, perfectly ordinary man. who still had to learn of his loss and its terrible circumstances.

Petronius introduced us, explained that we were conducting a special enquiry, and asked if we could talk about Asinia. Caius actually looked pleased. He liked talking about her. He was missing her badly and needed to console himself by telling anyone who would listen how sweet and gentle she had been. The daughter of his father's freedwoman, Asinia had been loved by Caius since she was thirteen. That explained why her wedding ring had grown so tight. The girl grew up wearing it. She would have been – she was, said Caius – only twenty now.

`You reported her missing this morning?' Petronius continued to lead the interview. Through his job with the vigiles he had had considerable experience of breaking bad news to the bereaved, even more than me.

`Yes, sir.'

`But had she been missing for longer?'

Caius looked perturbed by the question.

`When did you last see her?' Petro probed gently. `A week ago.'

`Have you been away from home?'

`Visiting my farm in the country,' said Caius; Petro had guessed something of the sort. `Asinia remained at home. I have a small business, a chandlery. She looks after it for me. I trust her entirely with my affairs. She is a wonderful partner -'

`Wasn't your business closed for the public holiday?' `Yes. So when the Games began, Asinia went to stay with a friend who lives much closer to the Circus: then Asima would not have to make her way home late at night. I am very particular about her being out in Rome alone.'

I saw Petronius breathe heavily, embarrassed by the man's innocence. To relieve him I weighed in quietly, `When exactly did you realise that Asinia was missing?'

`Yesterday evening when I returned. My slave told me Asinia was at her friend's house, but when I went there the friend said Asinia had gone home three days ago.'

`Was she sure?'

`Oh, she brought her here in a litter and left her right at the door. She knew I expected it.' I glanced at Petronius; we would need to speak to this friend.

`Excuse me for asking this,' Petro said. `We have to do it you'll understand. Is there any possibility Asinia was seeing another man in your absence?'

`No.'