Murder on the Appian Way Read Online Free PDF Page B

come from; there was a sharpness in Fulvia's gaze that indicated a formidable intelligence. She lacked her mother's grim harshness, but one could see the seeds of it in the hard lines around her mouth, especially when she turned her gaze to Clodia.
    I could see at a glance that there was no love lost between the two sisters-in-law. Clodia and her brother had long been famous (or infamous) for their mutual devotion; there were many who thought they were more like man and wife than siblings. Where did that leave Clodius's real wife? What had Fulvia thought of the intimacy between her husband and his sister? From the look that passed between them, I gathered that the women had learned to tolerate one another, but not much more than that. Clodius had been the link between them, the mutual object of their affections as well as the cause of their mutual animosity; perhaps Clodius had also kept the peace between them. Now Clodius was dead.
    Quite dead, I thought, for beyond Fulvia I could see his corpse laid out on the long, high table. He was still dressed in winter riding clothes — a heavy, long-sleeved tunic cinched with a belt at the waist, woollen leggings, red leather boots. The filthy, blood-soaked tunic was torn open across his chest and hung in rags, like the streamers of a tattered red flag.
    "Come," whispered Clodia, ignoring the other women and taking my arm. "I want you to see." She led me to the table. Eco pressed close behind me.
    The face was undamaged. The eyes were closed and the bloodless Ups and cheeks were marred only by a few smudges of dirt and blood and a slight grimace, like that of a man suffering from a toothache or having an unpleasant dream. He looked uncannily like his sister, with the same finely moulded cheekbones and long, proud nose. It was a face to melt the hearts of women and make men prickle with envy, a race to taunt his scowling patrician colleagues in the Senate and win the adoration of the rabble. Clodius had been strikingly handsome, almost too boyish-looking for a man nearly forty. The only signs of his age were a few strands of grey at his temples; even these were mostly lost in his thick mane of black hair.
    Below the neck, his strong, lean body was elegantly proportioned with square shoulders and a broad swimmer's chest. A gaping puncture wound pierced his right shoulder. There were two smaller stab wounds in his chest, and his limbs were marked with numerous lacerations, scrapes and mottled bruises. More bruises ringed his throat, as if a thin cord had been tightened around his neck; indeed, had he shown no other wounds, I would have said that he had been strangled.
    Beside me, Eco shuddered. Like me, he had seen many dead bodies, but victims of poison or a dagger in the back present a less gory spectacle than did the corpse before us. This was not the body of a man who had died from quick and furtive murder. This was a man who had died in battle.
    Clodia took one of the corpse's hands in hers, pressing it between her palms as if she could warm it. She ran her fingers over his and wrinkled her brow. "His ring. His gold signet ring! Did you remove it, Fulvia?"
    Fulvia shook her head. "The ring was gone when they brought him. The men who killed him must have taken it, like a trophy." Again, she showed no emotion.
    There was a gentle rapping at the door. A group of slave girls entered with cloths folded over their arms. They carried combs, jars of unguents and pitchers of heated water that sent trails of steam into the air.
    "Hand me a comb," said Clodia, reaching out to one of the girls.
    Fulvia frowned. "Who sent for these things?"
    "I did." Clodia moved to the end of the table and began to comb her brother's hair. The teeth caught on a tangle of dried blood. Her face stiffened. She pulled the comb through, but her hands were shaking.
    "You sent for them? Then you can send them away," said Fulvia.
    "What do you mean?"
    "His body doesn't need to be bathed."
    "Of course it does. The