The River God's Vengeance(5)

The burly men stooped, took her by the shoulders and ankles, and rolled her onto her face. The girl’s back, buttocks, and thighs were crisscrossed with a net of deep, ugly whip marks. This had not been somebody playing games with a ceremonial ?agellum; that stings but doesn’t cut. These were the marks of a bronze-clawed ?agrum, laid on with a will. A hundred lashes from one of those can kill a grown man. Many of the wounds were so fresh that they had bled only hours before, and these were laid atop older, partially healed slashes.

“What could a child like this have done to deserve such punishment?” I mused.

“We haven’t seen the mistress of the household yet,” Hermes said. “If she was some ugly old bag, just being that young and pretty was reason enough.” His face and voice were as impassive as any well-schooled slave’s. We had grown close over the years, but I knew that I would never know what he felt looking upon such a sight.

I had some of the other bodies turned over. Many of them were marked as the girl had been, even some who did not wear runaway collars. One was different. She was a plump, middle-aged woman wearing a few cheap bangles, unmarked by punishment. Her hands had never washed clothes or dishes, and she was well fed.

“This is the one who told on the others,” Hermes said, “the housekeeper.”

“Ah, well, my office doesn’t regulate the happiness of households. It does, however, have supervision over buildings. I want a look at these foundations as soon as the wreckage is cleared away.”

Not long after this, two more bodies were brought up and laid out. “I think we have the master and mistress now,” I noted.

The man was portly, baldheaded, with a fringe of gray above the ears. He wore a citizen’s ring but no other jewelry, no marks of military service either. Even minimal soldiering usually leaves a few scars.

The woman, likewise, had considerable heft. Her hair was hennaed and had once been elaborately dressed. She wore an abundance of rings, bracelets, necklaces, and earrings, which she apparently slept in. Even in death her face, with its piggy eyes and small, downturned mouth, was that of a vile-tempered shrew.

“Look there,” Hermes said, pointing to a smashed chest from which had spilled some white tunics, one of them now fioating in the shallow water. The tunics bore the narrow red stripe of an eques, Rome’s wealthy but not noble class, those who made their fortunes through business rather than land.

“Now we know his rank, anyway,” I said. The bodies were laid out side by side, but their heads were turned away from one another, as if they disliked each other as much in death as in life. The angle was unnatural though.

“Their necks were broken,” I commented. “Must have happened when they fell through into the basement.”

“Most likely,” Hermes said, probably wishing they had died of something more lingering.

“Find me somebody who might be able to confirm the identity of these two,” I told him. “I’m surprised no relatives have come to inquire about them yet. News of this must have been all over Rome before noon.”

A few minutes later, Hermes returned with a shopkeeper in tow. “I couldn’t find any neighbors who knew about them,” he reported, “but this man says he dealt with some of their slaves.”

“Is this possible?” I said. “This is Rome. Everybody knows all their neighbors’ business. Did none of the neighbors know these people?”

“They only moved in less than a month ago, Aedile,” the shopkeeper said. “I don’t think they were from this district, maybe not from Rome at all. Never called on their neighbors that I ever knew about.” He was a stooped little man, smelling pungently of rancid oil. There was no need for me to inquire as to the nature of his business. “Fact is, sir, nobody wanted to have much to do with them.”

“Why would that be?”

“Well, sir, there was sometimes a lot of noise from that place, disagreeable noise, screams and such. I think they were pretty rough with their slaves. Some people complained, and there wasn’t quite so much noise after that; but maybe they just gagged ‘em before they started whipping. I know you have to discipline slaves from time to time, but there’s got to be a limit. There were times it sounded like they had Spartacus and all his rebels getting crucified in there.” The man clearly had a Roman’s love for hyperbole.

“Did you ever have contact with anyone from the household?” I asked.

“That woman”—he pointed to the slave Hermes had identified as the housekeeper—”did their marketing. She was always with a big slave”—he trailed off and scanned the line of bodies—”well, I don’t see him here. Probably still down there in the rubble. He carried the purchases. She bought oil a few times at my shop. I never saw any of the other household slaves.”