Prima Facie by Ruth Downie

Author:Ruth Downie
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2019-07-09T04:00:00+00:00

13

The marbled splashiness of Nemausus’s town baths was a sharp contrast with the dank, abandoned facilities at home. Even when the late bath boy had been doing his best, the family had regularly complained that he didn’t change the water often enough. It was easier to blame the slave than to admit that the whole scheme (another of Ruso’s stepmother’s ideas) had been over-ambitious: that if there wasn’t enough water to run a fountain, there certainly wasn’t enough for a bathhouse. Whereas here, fresh water flowing from distant hills was piped into the town day and night. It fed an abundance of gleaming pools and tumbling water features, including the sparkling fountain beneath which three young men sat cooling their feet.

All three were fashionably bearded and although Publius introduced them by name, Ruso could not help thinking of them as Bushy, Wispy and Patchy.

When Publius told them that Ruso had come to ask about the party, each young man in turn offered his own version of “Poor old Titus.” On learning that Ruso’s sister had been hoping to marry Titus’s driver, Patchy said, “Ouch,” and the others winced.

“Exactly.” Ruso chose a place next to the heavy figure of Bushy, and bent to untie his sandals.

“Poor old Titus,” repeated Patchy as Publius settled beside him.

Wispy said, “Anything we can do to help. Just ask.”

“I’m not sure we can do very much, really,” put in Patchy as Ruso submerged his feet in the welcome chill. “By the time poor old Titus was found, we’d all left. I had no idea anything was wrong until the message arrived the next day.”

“Nor me,” agreed Wispy. “We were all a bit the worse for wear at the time.”

Publius said, “I never invited any of you in the first place.”

“That was why we came,” Patchy told him. “We heard you were stuck at home all by yourself feeling miserable. We came to cheer you up.”

“So it was a good evening?” asked Ruso, whose idea of a good party was one he didn’t have to go to.

“Till old Publius here threw us out,” said Patchy, sounding almost proud of it.

“And Titus enjoyed himself, as far as you know?”

“Absolutely,” Patchy assured him. He turned to his friends. “Wasn’t it him who suggested the hunt? With that girl—what was her name?”

“Xanthe,” put in Wispy.

“That’s the one. Wearing that—whatever she was wearing.”

“Not very much.”

“I had the one with the tits, you had her friend and Titus had Xanthe.”

Ruso said, “Hunt?”

Patchy indicated the stolid form of Bushy, who had not said a word since expressing his regrets about the death. “And he had the—what was it?”

“A very expensive antique silver cup,” put in Publius.

“Really? It didn’t look expensive. Anyway, whoever has the cup, or whatever, is the stag. So he has to run, and everyone else counts to twenty and grabs a girl and the girls ride around—on us, obviously—and try to find him and snatch the cup off him. Then whoever’s girl gets the cup is the next stag.”

“I see,” said Ruso.

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