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one of the candles – forgetting the vengeful spirits for a moment – and brought it close to get a better light. ‘And what’s even more peculiar, the smears – such as they are – seem to be on the outside of the dress.’ I lifted back the tattered material to show him as I spoke. The neckline was grimed to grey with mingled dirt and sweat, in contrast to the smooth and flawless skin it circled, but there was no evidence of bloodstains anywhere.
    My action had exposed the shawl-ends which were tied about the throat, and it occurred to me that we should remove it and see what was beneath. Even without the features, we could learn something from the hair – if it was sculpted in a Roman style, it might be helpful in identifying the girl by and by. Rather gingerly I undid the knots and let the plaid cloth fall back on the bier.
    The effect was startling. ‘Great Minerva!’ Junio stared at me. ‘Someone has hacked her hair off at the roots.’
    It was true. The hair had been cut off in savage, random clumps close to the scalp, so that only a few haphazard strands remained. ‘And look, there is no blood across the scalp, and nothing on the inside of the shawl. You see what that implies?’ I glanced at Junio and he raised his brows at me. I knew we understood each other perfectly.
    He gave a whistle of amazement, then turned to Stygius. ‘Have you examined her at all? Is there any indication how she died?’
    The land slave goggled at us. ‘But . . . surely, citizen? The face . . .? Nobody could survive that sort of attack.’
    ‘We think it’s possible that the damage was inflicted after death,’ I said. ‘That would explain why there’s so little blood. If she had been alive there would be bloodstains everywhere.’
    Junio nodded eagerly. ‘And you would expect the smears to be on the
inside
of the clothes if somebody had killed her, smashed her face, and then put her in these garments afterwards.’
    ‘And there’s your proof.’ I pointed to the neck. There was a thin purple-red line around it – not where the shawl had been, though that had left a white mark in the flesh, but higher up – as if a cord had been passed round and then drawn tight. ‘It looks like a strangulation. Almost a garrotte.’ We might have seen evidence, if the face was there – the change of colour and the protruding tongue – but all trace of that had vanished, together with the features. ‘So it looks as if he killed her first, then dressed her up like this – and then inflicted the damage afterwards.’ It was a dreadful image, and I shuddered at the thought.
    ‘But . . .?’ Junio began.
    I answered the question before he’d uttered it. ‘To disguise her identity, I suppose. Perhaps the simple change of clothes did not prove to be enough. It must be something of the kind. Why else would anyone do a thing like that?’
    ‘Great Ceres! I suppose it’s possible.’ Stygius furrowed his tanned face in a frown. He paused a minute and then spat thoughtfully. ‘Somebody was really anxious to do that, wasn’t he? Putting her in clothes that weren’t her own, chopping off her hair and mashing up her face as if it was a turnip – then going to the trouble of putting her in a ditch and piling leaves on her. And in part of the forest that was off the beaten track – on private property. He can’t have imagined that she’d be found so soon. Even we land slaves never usually go there.’
    It was my turn to frown. This was an aspect of the affair which had not occurred to me.
    Stygius saw that he had made a point, and went on in his slow unhurried way, ‘Well, it stands to reason, doesn’t it, citizen? If the mistress hadn’t told us to clear that piece of ground, to make way for a roundhouse for this young gentleman, that body would have been there years and years. Nobody would ever have had cause to go in there – it’s not even a place where poor people go to pick up kindling. There were a few old trees – which