A Body in the Bathhouse (44 page)

I saw the palace complete, in splendor. One day the King’s quiet corridors would be trodden by businesslike feet, amid the murmur of voices from elegant rooms. One day …

I woke. Something was wrong in my darkened surroundings. I saw it blearily. A large interior with a workplace. Fearsome gadgets hung on walls. Pincers and hammers. Was this tooth puller a torturer, or just provincial and crude? He owned one tool that was familiar: a joined set of clamps with cutting edges. The last time I saw anything like that, it was the most precious possession of Maia’s dead husband, Famia. He used it for castrating stallions.

The man approached me. He was holding a set of enormous pliers. He had watery eyes, in which I discerned evil intentions. Through my numbed brain, the truth rammed home. He had drugged me. He was now going to kill me. I was a stranger, why would he do that?

I stirred. I jumped up. He must have thought I was unconscious. He fell back indignantly. I threw aside the cloth he had used to cover me; it resembled an old horse blanket. I discovered my head had been resting uncomfortably on a smithy’s anvil.

“This is some wayside blacksmith’s haunt!”

“He left. I bought it—”

“You’re an amateur. And I fell for your story!”

This was not for me. I would make Cyprianus pull the damn tooth out with a set of nail-head pliers. Better still, Helena could take me to Londinium. Her uncle and aunt would produce some skilled specialist who could bore fine holes into abscesses and drain off the poison.

“What do you think you are doing here? What kind of pathetic loser wants to be a fake mouth surgeon?”

The shrinking fraud said nothing. He pushed open the wide stable doors for me to leave. I was too angry for that. Anyway, I had realized who he was.

I gave him a shove and he fell to his knees. Even through the fog caused by his sleeping draft, I knew I had had a narrow escape. I grabbed his lamp and shone it near his face. “I need a piss; I think I’ll piss on you! Where do you come from—Rome?”

He shook his head. That was a lie.

“You’re as Roman as I am. What’s your true trade?”

“Barber-surgeon—”

“Cobnuts! You run a builder’s yard. I’m Falco—now go on; pretend you have never heard of me. I’m a bounty hunter—but there’s no money reward on my present quest—just pure satisfaction.”

I found an old rope, maybe an abandoned halter, and bound him tightly.

“What’s this about?” he quaked.

“Have you got a brother who does something medical?”

“Barber and tooth puller. Same as me,” he added unconvincingly.

“Father of Alexas, on the palace site, I take it? Or is he just a cousin? Alexas certainly tried to put me off finding you. Even your partner tried to pretend he had lost you in Gaul. But once I found him, I was ready for you too. So are you going to own up?” He trembled feebly. “All right, I’ll say it. You’re Cotta. A builder. The firm Stephanus worked for. You come from Rome. You ran away because of how Stephanus died—who killed him?”

“Gloccus.”

“How curious. He said you did it.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“You know”—now he was trussed, I sat him up playfully—“I don’t care which of you hit him over the head. You both hid the body and you both scarpered. You have to share responsibility. Gloccus died tonight—but don’t worry, that was an accident. You will have longer in the world. Much longer. I’m going to make sure of it. I know just the punishment for you, Cotta. You are gong to the silver mines. It’s final, Cotta, but it’s ghastly and slow. If the beatings, hard labor, and starvation don’t kill you, you’ll be gray-faced and die of lead poisoning. There is no escape except through death—and that can take years.”

“It wasn’t me! Gloccus killed Stephanus—”

“Maybe I even believe that.”

“Let me go, then. Falco, what have I ever done to you?”

“Something really criminal! You built my bathhouse, Cotta.”

It had been a long night, but a good one. Now I felt no pain.

“EQUAL PARTS HISTORY AND HUMOR…SOLVING AN IMPERIAL ROMAN MURDER AIN’T NO TOGA PARTY ON THE THAMES.”

—
New York Daily News

“Breezy … funny. … The Rome of Davis’s imagination is licentious and entertaining,” proclaims the
San Jose Mercury News
of her bestselling mysteries featuring Roman sleuth Marcus Didius Falco. Here, in his newest adventure, an offensive case of
habeas corpus
sends Falco on a dangerous odyssey to the edges of the Empire…

A BODY IN THE BATHHOUSE

Some things never change. With his new villa, Falco also gets a timeless headache—building contractors. After the departure of two shady plasterers, a rank odor in the bathhouse soon leads to the discovery of a corpse under the mosaic floor. Should Falco follow the culprits to remote Britannica? Despite the British weather (damp), the inhabitants (barbarians), and the wine (second-rate), Falco takes his whole family and goes. In
veritos
, Falco has another, secret reason for this exodus: His sister Maia has rejected the affection of a powerful Roman official who vows brutal revenge. Now to protect those he loves, Falco must outrun an imperial enemy with a very long—and very deadly—reach.

“DETAILED AND METICULOUS…BRINGS ANCIENT ROME TO LIFE, HUSTLING, BUSTLING, SMELLY, AND LIVELY.”

—
Salisbury Post

“UP TO THE HIGH STANDARDS OF ALL OF FALCO’S ADVENTURES.”—
Tampa Tribune