The slaves pulled so hard that I began to rise out of the water, bringing the thing with me. I clutched it with both hands, keeping hold of the torch as well so that its flame flickered close to my face. Before the agony in my shoulders compelled me to release the thing, letting the heavy weight slip back into the water, I was sure of what I had seen.

From somewhere above I heard Aratus cry, 'Heave!' I surged upwards so swiftly that the torch slipped from my hand. It bounced off my foot and twirled flaming into the water, where it expired in an explosion of steam.

Heaving and straining, the slaves lifted me up, like a deus ex machina on a stage. I careened from side to side in the darkness, legs flailing, shoulders banging against the walls. I hardly felt the pain and the jarring in my teeth. My head was too full of the thing I had seen in the water.

It was a body. And it had no head.

Part Three

Conundrum

XXIV

Darkness had fallen by the time the body was removed from the well.

On the first attempt, a slave was lowered into the shaft carrying with him a second rope, which he harnessed around the corpse's shoulders. The shivering slave was pulled up, looking queasy and pale, and then the body. The sight of the naked, bloated, headless corpse emerging from the well was so grotesque that several of the slaves cried out in horror and loosened their grip on the rope. The rope escaped, sliding like prickling fire through the hands of those who tried to hold it, whipping through the air like a mad serpent. From deep inside the well came the sound of a great splash. An instant later the end of the rope followed the body down the shaft, like a snake disappearing into its hole with a contemptuous nick of its tail.

This disaster unnerved the more superstitious of the slaves. I heard voices all around me whisper the word 'lemur'. Looking about in the uncertain light of dusk, I couldn't tell which of the slaves had said it. They all looked equally frightened. It was as if the word had been whispered by the warm, dry breeze itself.

It was then that I realized that the well had been doubly poisoned. First, by the pollution of the corpse's bloated, decaying flesh. Then again by the very fact of its presence in the well. The slaves would consider the spot unholy now. They would shun the place, avoid any errands that sent them there, avert their eyes when they passed, perhaps refuse even to drink from it again, fearing it was haunted by the dead man's shade.

It was only thanks to Aratus's mastery at dealing with the other

slaves that we were able to stage a second attempt, even as the sun was setting. The slave who had descended the well balked at doing so again. None of the other slaves was willing to volunteer. Aratus selected one of the men, who quailed at the task. Aratus threatened him with a beating and even struck him across the back. The slave acquiesced and allowed himself to be fitted into the harness. What other choice was there? To go myself was out of the question after the wrenching that had been done to my back and shoulders, and I refused to let Meto make the attempt. In the end, I acted as any other slave owner would have and allowed my foreman to coerce one of the slaves into doing it against his will. I could almost hear the shade of dead Cato mocking me.

This time, the shock of the corpse's appearance was not so great, and the men managed to keep their grip. Still, the sight was unnerving — the waxiness of the bloated flesh, the gaping wound at the neck, the terrible absence where the head should have been. The body was pulled onto the paving stones. A pool of water gathered beneath it and trickled in various directions. The slaves cried out and jumped back rather than let the water touch their feet.

I looked towards the house and saw Bethesda's silhouette at one of the windows. I had sent word to her to keep Diana away, and to keep herself away as well. What was she thinking now, gazing out at the group of frightened slaves gathered around the well in the gathering gloom? She would know the truth soon enough. Everyone on the farm would know — there was no way to keep the catastrophe a secret, as I had with Nemo.

I called on Aratus to bring more torches so that I could see the body by a better light. The slaves milled restlessly about, eager to be gone from the place. I told Aratus to dismiss them for now, but to see that all the slaves were gathered together outside the stable within an hour. I stooped beside the body, wincing at the stabbing pain in my shoulders and at the cuts on my elbows and knees where the rough walls of the well had scraped the flesh. Meto, holding a torch, knelt beside me.

'Well, Meto, what can you see?'

He swallowed hard. Even by the ruddy torchlight he looked pale. The flesh is so bloated, it's hard to say. I'm not sure where to begin.'

'Make a list in your head. Either-or, as the philosophers say. Man or woman?'

'Man, of course.' 'Old or young?'

'About the same as Nemo?' he said uncertainly. 'Why do you say that?'

'The grey hairs among the black ones on his chest. And the way his joints are all knobby. Not a boy, but not an old man either.' 'Dark or fair?'

'It's hard to tell much about his skin, the way it's all swollen and discoloured, though I would say it looks weathered by the sun. The hair around his sex is dark.'

'Slave or free?'

'Slave,' he said, without hesitation. 'Because?'

'From where I was standing I saw his back as the slaves pulled him out.'

I reached down to turn the body over but the weight was too much for my injured shoulders. Meto put down his torch, knelt beside me, and helped me tip the corpse.

'There,' he said, picking up his torch and pointing. By its lurid glow we saw the proof of the man's slavery. His back and shoulders were covered with scars. Some were old, almost faded away, while others were vivid and fresh. He had been regularly beaten while he was alive.

'What caused his death?' I asked.

Meto bowed his head, considering. 'Obviously he was killed before he was put in the well, since his head is off. Unless his head is down there, too.' He glanced at the well and swallowed hard.

'I think not. I didn't see it, and neither did the slaves who went down after me. But again, as with Nemo, you're assuming he was murdered. We don't know that. There's no visible wound, except where the head's been cut off, and as with Nemo, that probably happened after he was dead. Who's to say how he died?'

'Unless we can find out who he is.'

'And where he came from.'

'Surely, whoever left Nemo in the barn also left…' Meto frowned. 'What shall we call this one, Papa?'

I looked down at the wretched, lifeless mass of flesh. 'Ignotus,' I said: Unknown.

* * *

A few moments later a slave arrived from the house. The mistress is eager for you to come,' he said, casting furtive glances at the naked corpse. 'And Congrio says that your dinner is getting cold.'

'Tell your mistress that I have no appetite tonight. And while you're at it, tell Aratus to gather all the slaves outside the stable.'

'Even Congrio?'

'Yes, even Congrio.'

By the light of Meto's torch we made our way through the gathering darkness to the stable. The slaves began to assemble and whispered among themselves. A moment later Aratus came down from the house, followed by the kitchen slaves and Congrio.

Aratus stepped beside me and spoke in a low voice. 'They're all here. Do you want to address them yourself^ Master, or shall I?'

'I'll speak to them.'

Aratus stepped forward. 'Quiet! Something important has happened, and the Master wants to speak to us all together.' He stepped away from me but did not join the other slaves, keeping himself apart. Congrio, too, stood off to one side, while his underlings from the kitchen joined the others. Even among slaves there are the high and the low.