There was nothing to be got out of the doorkeeper again, but at least the extra brazier made the entrance hall a pleasant place to work, and the mortar set more quickly that I’d dared to hope. So by the sixth day there was little left to do, except clean up the surface and collect our tools – though it seemed more and more certain that we’d need our witnesses, for Genialis was unlikely to be back in time himself.
The snow had stopped by now, but it was freezing hard instead, and even the main roads were still closed to carriages and very hazardous for pedestrians. The country tracks were blocked entirely, which meant that my son and I were stranded in the town – and there still was no way I could think of to get word to our wives. It would be inhuman to send a slave the long way round on foot – and we could find no mounted messenger who would agree to go.
So I was startled, after our last day working at the house, when we were struggling through Glevum with a handcart full of tools, to chance upon a neighbour in the market place – a free-born Celt called Cantalarius, whose roundhouse-property lay not far from my own. Like myself he was a Roman citizen – in his case by right, because he was born within the walls of the colonia – but the rank had not brought him any special privilege; he still struggled for a living on his muddy fields.
He was an ugly fellow with a twisted arm, and famed for grumbling, but I was fascinated to discover how he had got to town. I left Junio and the slave to watch the hand-cart and slithered over to the pavement on the far side of the street, where he’d set up a makeshift stall – and found that he was selling cabbages and turnip-tops from the panniers of a pair of mules.
Judging by the sample he was holding up, his wares were rather limp and blighted by the frost, but there were people clustering round to buy them all the same. Food had been very difficult to get these last few days, though some enterprising farmers on the river-bank had acquired a raft and brought things in by water every day – milk and chickens and a slaughtered sheep or two. There was a rush to buy them as soon as they arrived, though the price was very high: but Ulpius’s house was fortunately placed and we’d managed to acquire a scrawny hen or two, which Minimus had turned into a warming meal. The public granaries were open, so there was bread on sale and one day we’d also paid a fortune for some fish – which had been very scarce, because the water in the forum fish pool was inclined to freeze, until some prisoners from the jail were sent to stand in it and work with poles to stop the ice from forming on the top. Another team was doing the same thing by the docks, in case a large ship came up the river to unload supplies – though with the recent weather none had managed it.
So vegetables would be a welcome treat. The mules had solved the puzzle of how he’d got to town, but I joined the crush of customers surrounding him and in a little while he spotted me. ‘Citizen Libertus! What are you doing here?’
‘I might ask you the same!’
He shrugged his humped shoulders. ‘I struggled into Glevum with this pair of mules. Had to come here to fulfil a vow, and thought that I’d improve the day by selling something too.’
‘A vow?’ I was puzzled.
He dropped his voice. ‘I promised to provide an animal for the Janus offering …’
‘You did?’ I interrupted in astonishment. Perhaps my reaction was not polite, but it was quite a compliment to be permitted to donate a sacrifice for any ritual at all. To provide one for a major festival was an honour generally reserved for rich and influential citizens – like Genialis – who wished to make a public show. ‘I heard that a “citizen from the outskirts” was offering a ram, but I never supposed that it was you.’
Cantalarius misunderstood my evident surprise. ‘It was at my new wife’s insistence, citizen. We are not usually driven to such Roman practices, but we have had a dreadful run of luck ever since the moment that she married me. Half my crops are rotting in the fields, my barns burned down last summer so we’ve no feed for the sheep and now a spotted fever has brought low all my slaves – and none of the Celtic rituals have helped. My wife consulted a soothsayer in the end, and he told her that it was obvious that she’d upset the gods by marrying a hunch-back like myself – and that only a significant blood sacrifice would lift the curse.’
I nodded. ‘So you thought of the feast?’
‘My wife insisted on my pleading with the temple priests and – perhaps because she made me promise what little gold we had, the remnant of her dowry, as an additional donation to the gods – I managed to convince them that I could send a ram, and now I can’t supply one from my flock. It has to be a spotless one, of course, delivered to the temple in advance, and I had picked out my best – but it’s proving quite impossible to get it here alive. The poor thing’s half-dying of starvation anyway, since we’ve run out of feed, so it would likely have been rejected by the augurers.’
No wonder he was worried. This was a serious matter – quite apart from the humiliation of it all – failing to fulfil a public vow was an offence in law. ‘And the temple can’t provide one for you?’ I enquired. Generally they keep a few creatures in reserve, in case there is some problem with the entrails of a sacrificial animal in which event a second offering would be required.
He shook his head. ‘It’s been the same for them – nobody can get their animals to town. I did contrive to get one from the army in the end: they’ve cleared the road out to the territorium – the military farm – so that they can bring supplies in for the garrison and they’ve managed to find one that was acceptable.’ He dropped his voice so only I could hear. ‘A yearling ram. It’s not as good as mine was, but at least it means that I am not publically disgraced. Though the army wanted such a price for it, I’m going to be obliged to borrow money from the usurers, I think.’
I made a sympathetic noise. ‘I have been forced to the money-lenders too. With the rising price of food, they’ve done a roaring trade. They’re probably the only people in the town to benefit from snow.’
He made a helpless gesture with his hands. ‘But how am I to pay them back? That’s what I cannot see. I can’t even afford to provide another ram to ensure a substitute – though I gather that someone else has seen to that. Ironic, isn’t it? That sheep-offering was intended to improve my luck! And what was the result? The priests have all my money and I’ll be deep in debt, while this –’ he waved a withered leek towards the mules – ‘is all that’s left for us to sell – unless we sell ourselves to slavery.’
‘Well, I’ll take one of these.’ I selected the least damaged of his cabbages – Minimus could boil it later with some herbs – and offered him a coin, far more than the wretched thing was worth. He took it, with a sigh. ‘Thank you, citizen, every quadrans helps.’
‘Then perhaps I can assist you further, Cantalarius!’ I said. ‘I see you’ve brought your mules. When your panniers are empty they could take a different load. Can you take a slave back with you, when you’ve finished here?’ I gestured towards Maximus who was standing by the cart. ‘Get my servant home and I’ll pay you handsomely!’
He looked at me distrustfully. ‘And find you holding me liable for his slave price if he should freeze to death before I got him there? And that’s just what would happen, the way Fortune’s treating me. I think not, citizen. Why do you want to send the boy back anyway? You seem to be managing quite comfortably here.’
‘I want him to take a message to my wife – she has not seen or heard from us since New Year’s Day.’ A thought occurred to me. ‘Or perhaps you could consent to take her word yourself?’
He brightened suddenly. ‘I’m sure that could be managed, citizen. After all, I’m passing quite close to your door. Though it will cost, of course. The military route is passable with care – they’re putting salty sand on it to melt the ice – but the minor roads are still extremely treacherous, even for a mule. And no doubt it will soon come on to freeze again. I’ve nearly finished here. How long will it take you to get a note to me?’
I made a swift decision. ‘Forget a
bout the note.’ I knew I had a wax-tablet in the shop, but fetching it would take a little time. ‘Just call in at the house. Tell my wife you’ve seen me and we are all safe and well. We have had a commission for a pavement, which we have fulfilled, so we’ve enough to eat –’ no need to worry Gwellia with news that I’d been borrowing – ‘and we’ll come home as soon as ever we can walk the track. Or at least, the others will. I may have to stay here till after the Janus festival.’
He bowed his comprehension. ‘I think you suggested that I would get a fee?’
‘My wife will see to that.’ It was usual for the recipient to pay – a guarantee that the message would arrive. ‘Shall we say two sesterces?’ It was more than generous, but I was desperate.
He gave me a doubtful look. ‘A half denarius? Oh, come on, citizen. She won’t believe me if I tell her you’ve agreed to that.’
‘Tell her I said to give you the money from the onion-pot.’ There were a couple of sestertius coins in there the last time that I looked – saving for a pair of sandals for the household slaves. ‘That way she’ll know that your request is genuine – and if she won’t produce it, I’ll pay another time.’ I gestured to the little clutch of waiting customers. ‘I’m prepared to swear to that before these witnesses.’
Cantalarius allowed himself a rueful smile. ‘Then I’ll trust you, citizen. But don’t blame me if something happens on the way and the message doesn’t get there. It would be typical. I’m beginning to believe that I am genuinely cursed. Otherwise I’ll see you at the Festival – supposing that I manage to get back here with the mules.’
I nodded. As donor of the sacrifice he would be invited to the rostrum with the priests. ‘Then I’ll look out for you at the Agonalia,’ I said. ‘Let’s just trust that the soothsayer was right and that your blood-offering brings you better luck.’
‘Great Mars, I hope so!’ he replied. ‘Things cannot well get worse. Enjoy your cabbage!’ And he turned away to sell his other wares.
I went back to where Junio and Maximus were waiting with the cart: blowing on their fingers and stamping their feet to drive away the chill. I explained what I’d been doing for so long. ‘At least I’ve managed to arrange to get a message home,’ I said. ‘And we have got some cabbage for the pot. So now all that remains for us to do is to go back to the workshop and keep warm – until it’s time to go to the temple and find our witnesses.’
The day of the Janus Agonalia dawned damp and wet – always a bad omen for an outdoor festival – but it least it brought the promise of reopened roads as the rain began to turn the frozen snow to slush. I was beginning to wonder if Genialis would manage to return and witness the completion of the pavement after all, but when I reached the sanctuary there was no sign of him.
In Rome there is a famous temple to the dual-faced deity, but in Glevum Janus has no building of his own and the annual Festival was held at the Capitoline shrine, where there was a little altar set up near the cella of the goddess Juno. Of course there were niches in the gateways to the town where travellers could make small personal offerings and prayers, but for the big occasion the large temple was required – and this year it was packed to near-capacity. Perhaps it was because the weather had been so severe since New Year’s Day, and the citizens were anxious to propitiate the god and obtain a better outlook for the remainder of the year.
Whatever the reason, it was hard to get a place and after we had left the slaves to wait outside, Juno and I found ourselves standing almost at the rear. This made it rather difficult to hear, but potentially easier to scan the crowd for our two witnesses. Everyone was huddled up in woollen cloaks against the cold, of course, but only the sacrificing priest would wear a hood, so our men’s faces would be clearly visible.
However, I could not see them for the press of citizens and after a few moments Junio – with the advantages of youth – climbed up on a column-base to get a better view. He earned himself some disapproving stares but he ignored them and looked steadily around.
After a moment he climbed down again and came to stand demurely at my side. ‘There they are,’ he murmuring, gesturing. ‘Right down at the front, with all the other councillors, close to the altar where the sacrifice will be. Your neighbour Cantalarius is there as well.’
I stood on tiptoe to see the area that he was pointing at and made out the pair, resplendent in their togas and their coloured cloaks, standing in the area which had the closest view, along with a lot of other local dignitaries. Even the commander of the garrison was there.
I grinned at Junio. ‘We’ll catch them afterwards. We’ll never fight our way down there before the ritual. But we’re going to need them, by the look of it. There’s no sign of Genialis anywhere. Or of my patron either, which is rather strange. If Cantalarius can get here on a mule, you’d think that Marcus would manage on a horse – he is a splendid horseman and he does not lack for mounts.’
‘Unless he is in the cella of Juno with the priests?’ Junio nodded towards the inner sanctum of the temple, where the public could not go. ‘I can hear the flutes, so the ritual must be almost ready to begin – and they would not start without him, would they? He’s the most important guest and wasn’t he bringing the officiating priest?’
I nodded. ‘I believe that was the plan. The man was travelling from Aqua Sulis to attend and was due to lodge with Marcus overnight.’ I looked at Junio. ‘You don’t suppose … Ah, but here’s my patron now! And he wasn’t in the temple. He’s just come from the street!’
The clamour of voices had faded to a breathless murmuring and Marcus Septimus Aurelius was striding down the central aisle in the direction of the altar at the front, flanked by a pair of slaves. They were impressive in their crimson uniforms but he himself was quite magnificent. His patrician toga, with its broad purple stripe, had never looked more dazzling, and round his shoulders he had draped a white cape of finest fur, which swung open at every step he took to reveal the scarlet lining underneath.
The spectators who had crammed into the courtyard for the feast, so tightly that – a moment since – there seemed barely room to breathe, somehow contrived to melt away to either side to let him through.
A bevy of priests came out of the inner room as he approached, all robed and hooded for the sacrifice, and there was a hasty conference at the rostrum steps. The crowd was silent, suddenly – all whispering had ceased and even the flautists and recorders had stopped their tootling.
Then Marcus strode up the steps on to the central dais, accompanied by a temple slave on either side. It hardly needed the lituus-player to herald his address: attentive silence had already fallen before the crooked horn rang out.
Marcus turned directly to the crowd. ‘Citizens of Glevum, Romans, friends. I am the bearer of disappointing news. The high priest of Juno from Rome, whom we had hoped to welcome here today, has not been able to reach us in the snow. As you may have known he was supposed to stay with me last night, but we received a messenger from him only yesterday, to tell us that his carriage had been unable to proceed – and indeed had only with difficulty managed to take refuge in an inn.’
There was a murmur at this. There are strict observances required of a priest, which would not be easy in a common hostelry.
Marcus was still speaking. ‘Even the messenger on horseback had trouble getting through. So our hoped-for celebrant will not be with us for today.’
There was a louder murmur. People were muttering about ill omens getting worse, but Marcus held his hand up and uneasy silence fell.
‘Fortunately there is no problem with the Janus sacrifice,’ he went on. ‘You will know that the duty by tradition falls to the most senior priest available, so we are lucky in having another venerable celebrant, the former High Priest of Diana, and of Luna and Fortuna too – to act as our ‘rex sacerdotum’ and perform the sacrifice. He has agreed to do so, and as soon as he has performed the ritual ablutions and prepared himself, the ceremonial procession will begin. In the meantime, the
flautists and singers will perform for us.’
There was sporadic clapping in some sections of the crowd but most people were looking at each other in dismay. The ‘venerable’ priest of whom my patron spoke was very old and frail and had ceased to officiate at public gatherings. This was officially because of failing health, but there had been an incident a year or two before when he almost forgot a portion of the ritual – which would of course have meant that the sacrifice was void – so if he had not been prompted (just in time) by a judicious cough from a watchful acolyte, the whole ceremony would have had to start again.
Today, however, he seemed in better form. When, a short time later – after the musicians had performed a song – he emerged from the inner cellum, duly washed and anointed with the sacred oil, he looked almost sprightly. He had buckled on a brazen belt over his long under-tunic, his fresh toga was of sparkling white, and when the pipes and flutes struck up again and he joined the procession towards the altar steps, he almost seemed to march along in time. Behind him came a pair of temple servants with the ram which, by contrast – perhaps perturbed by the golden collar and the wreath of leaves around its head – seemed most reluctant and was having to be tugged along by the gilded halter-rope. Last of all came the assistant priests, the victimarius who would wield the sacred knife, and the augurers to read the entrails afterwards. As they approached the altar steps Cantalarius stepped up to join them, as was now his due.
One of the temple officials swaggered to the dais and gave the exhortation, ‘Still your tongues,’ while the old priest pulled up his toga-folds to form a hood and stepped forward for the adoratio, reverently touching the altar with one hand. The opening prayer is an elaborate recital, beginning with Janus and working through the whole pantheon of gods, but he managed perfectly – although I noted that an acolyte was standing by, with the proper formula written clearly on a scroll.
Dark Omens Page 4
