The Vestal Vanishes

by Rosemary Rowe

  As we neared the forum, though, I paused and tugged her arm. I could see an amanuensis sitting by the wall, among the moneylenders who were busy at their trade. ‘Is that . . . ?’ I shouted, doubting she would hear over the general hubbub of the town.

  She shook her head. ‘That’s not the one we used the other day. It was a young man we hadn’t seen before. Now – you go down there, and find the slave-market, and I’ll go and see if I can locate the donkey-boy for you.’ She gestured in the direction I should take and turned away.

  I followed her instructions and was soon in the square behind the forum, where the butchers had their stalls. It was also the area where the livestock market was, where all kinds of domestic animals, including slaves, were sold. The noise and smell was indescribable. I declined an offer to purchase fresh fish from a pool or make a choice from buckets full of squirming eels and, edging round a ragged urchin with a pail (who was scavenging manure from the road to sell), I spotted the slave trader at the far end of the square.

  He was a swarthy fellow – probably a Greek – and clearly prosperous. His coloured tunic was of many hues, his cloak was of expensive scarlet wool and the clasp on his heavy leather belt appeared to be of gold. When I approached he was already offering the last lot of the day, a pair of dusky females chained together by the feet; either he’d had a busy morning or he’d not had much to sell. He saw me coming over and he called to me at once.

  ‘What do you bid me for this pair of slaves? Guaranteed disease-free and no rotting teeth. Direct from the Province in North Africa. Not virgins, but they have years of service left. Come on, citizen, you know you can’t resist.’

  I could resist quite easily; I shook my head at him.

  He turned his attention back to the small crowd of spectators. ‘Well, what am I offered, gentlemen?’ But there was no response. I could imagine why. Both girls were plain and scrawny, unwashed and sullen-faced, although I could hardly blame them for their scowls. I have been offered at a slave-market myself, and I know the degradation of being just a ‘thing’, to be handled and inspected by prospective customers who want to feel your muscles and inspect your teeth. And for females, of course, it was a great deal worse.

  There was a balding, greasy, paunchy fellow in a toga now, stepping forward and demanding to ‘see the merchandise’. The girls were stripped naked, and made to turn around while he examined and prodded every part of them.

  ‘They will do, I suppose.’ He took the straw that he was chewing from between his teeth, and made an offer so low it made me gasp.

  The trader shook his head. ‘Cost me more than that for each of them!’

  ‘Then you were cheated. Half as much again, and that’s my final offer.’

  There were no other bids forthcoming, it appeared, and after a little more haggling the females had changed hands. Their new master seemed reluctant to allow them to be clothed, but they were put back in their tunics and led away, still chained, while he casually pinched and fondled any part that he could reach. I almost wished I had a purse so I could have rescued them from this, but I had no money and certainly I did not need two extra mouths to feed.

  The small crowd that had gathered began to drift away, now that there was nothing more to see. The slave trader slipped his takings into his leather pouch and sauntered over to speak to me.

  ‘You wanted something, citizen? You were too late, I fear. I had quite a good selection a little earlier. Next moon, perhaps, when I’m this way again. Were you looking for something in particular?’

  ‘I believe you know a certain Paulinus, who has a farm a little way from here? You sold him a mute slave-woman to tend his child, I think?’

  He leaned back on his heels and gave me a strange leer. ‘It will cost you extra if you have special tastes. It’s very hard to find a slave that doesn’t speak. Why would you want one anyway? Different for that Paulinus, he has a deaf-mute child. If you want a girl that can’t protest, just put a gag on her. Now, if you want something special, I shall have a girl next week—’

  I cut him off before he imagined any worse of me. ‘I do not want a girl of any kind. I have all the slaves I want. I am interested in information about Paulinus, that’s all.’

  The leer transmuted to a crafty look. ‘With respect, citizen, why should I give you that? I deal in slaves, not information about my customers. Unless of course . . .’ He rubbed his thumb against his first two fingers in the time-honoured signal that he wanted to be paid.

  I shook my head. ‘I haven’t any money that I can offer you. It is on my patron’s orders that I am asking you.’ That was true, in a circuitous sort of way. ‘Marcus Aurelius Septimus. Perhaps you know the name?’ Marcus, of course, had a substantial residence in this town. I could be cunning, in my fashion, too.

  It worked. The slave trader’s expression changed like quicksilver. ‘Why did you not say so when you first arrived? Of course I have had dealings with His Excellence. I’ve sold him several slaves – though he often prefers to have the more expensive ones the specialists bring in. So, how can I help you? What is it about Paulinus that you want to know?’

  ‘Have you known him long?’

  He seemed to contemplate. ‘Eight years or so, I suppose. We first met when I found him a house-slave when he married first, but when his wife died he sold that servant on. Wanted to use the money to help that girl of his, but how he managed in the house without a slave I don’t know. So when I heard about the mute I sent him word at once and he sent back agreeing to the price, and saying he would pick her up as soon as possible.’

  ‘And that is what he did?’

  He nodded. ‘He seems to be extremely pleased with her – and she could hardly believe her own good luck. After she’d had that injury and lost the power of speech, her owners didn’t want her, they thought she was a freak. They were going to cast her out – they actually approached me to find a substitute, but I thought of Paulinus and purchased her myself. The moment that he bought her, she bent and kissed his feet – she had feared that she would end up as a beggar at the tombs. So everyone was happy. I made a profit, too.’

  ‘So you’ve known Paulinus for some little time?’ I said.

  He frowned at me. ‘Have I not just said so, citizen?’

  ‘And you can confirm it was the same man that came here yesterday?’

  ‘Of course I can. You could not mistake him, he is very tall and thin, gentle, anxious-looking, with an air of mild bewilderment at fate. I don’t know why it is important, citizen, but it was definitely Paulinus in the market yesterday – though of course, I hadn’t seen that brand-new wife of his before. Not that I had very much to do with her. She was buying something from the garment stall. It was Paulinus who came to talk about the mute.’

  ‘And he also bought a little page from you? Though not a very trained one, from what I hear of it.’

  He shook his head. ‘Not me, citizen. I don’t deal in children very much. More trouble than they’re worth. You have to feed and train them before they’re fit to sell, and even then you can be undercut by amateurs – peasants wanting to sell one child so they can afford to feed the rest. If Paulinus bought a pageboy yesterday, then it was not from me. More likely from one of those peasant families. In fact I think I saw him talk to one of them. You’ll find them over there – in the corner by the fish-market.’

  ‘I’ll go and ask,’ I said. ‘I would like to talk to the family of that lad.’

  He stuck his fat thumbs into his leather belt. ‘I shouldn’t bother, citizen. You won’t find that family now. These paupers only ever bring a single child to sell – and that reluctantly. Once they’ve got the money they go back home again and try to scratch a living for another year – until they end up starving, and have to sell another one. It’s usually a boy, they bring a better price. Sometimes, especially if the winter’s bad, children are the only saleable asset that they have.’

  I tried to envisage how my adopted son would feel if he was forced to sell
his own beloved child to keep the rest of the family alive, but my imagination failed me. I shook my head. ‘Then I will try to find Paulinus at his farm and see if he can tell what I want to know. You have been most helpful. Thank you very much.’

  He gave me that sideways look again. ‘Perhaps you’ll tell your patron if I have been of use? But you look as if my information was not quite what you had hoped.’

  I gave a rueful smile. ‘It seems to disprove a theory that I had, that’s all. There is a mystery surrounding his family yesterday and now I’ll have to find another explanation of events.’

  ‘Is this about that Vestal Virgin who was here? She was some relation, wasn’t she?’ He caught sight of my face. ‘It is no “mystery” how I came to know that, citizen – he was so proud of it, he told me she was coming the last time that we met.’

  So there was yet another way in which the Druids could have learned the news! I sighed. ‘Well, there’s nothing else to do but go out to the farm and try and talk to Paulinus himself. He and his family might have noticed something, I suppose.’ I glanced up and saw Priscilla striding through the square, accompanied by an urchin with a donkey on a string. ‘And here, I hope, is someone who is going to guide me there.’

  The slave trader flashed his pointed teeth at me. ‘Well, remember, citizen, I’m here three days each moon. If you ever need a slave-girl or a manservant – indoors or outdoors – I always have a range.’ He winked. ‘And – in future – since you’re the protégé of His Excellence, I’m sure I can manage a special rate for you.’

  I thanked him and turned away to greet Priscilla and the boy.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Priscilla came breathlessly up to me at once. ‘Did you discover anything?’

  I shook my head. This was not the time or place to tell her that the information I’d received only served to make me more bemused. ‘Only that I need to go out to the farm and speak to Paulinus as soon as possible.’

  She smirked triumphantly. ‘That won’t be difficult. I’ve found the donkey-boy for you. He remembers exactly where he took the writing-block and he will take you there, although it’s quite a walk, he says – several miles at least.’

  I nodded, though not without an inward sigh. I am quite used to walking from my roundhouse into Glevum town, and that is a walk of several miles as well, but this was different. I couldn’t take my time. Two females were already dead and another one was missing without trace: I wanted to ask more questions as soon as possible.

  The urchin tugged my toga. ‘You could come up on my donkey, citizen, if you don’t mind sitting at the back and hanging on. Long Ears is used to carrying panniers so he’ll bear you easily, though he can be a stubborn old creature when he tries. I may have to give you a branch-switch to help to urge him on.’ His grimy face split in a mocking grin. ‘Might not be very dignified, but it would get you there – a little bit quicker than walking anyway, there are a lot of hills and valleys between here and the farm. Or I could lead Long Ears and walk along beside, though that would obviously be slower and cost a little more.’

  I was about to protest my complete lack of ready cash, but Priscilla said at once, ‘I’ve told him, citizen, that we will put it on your bill, and pay him what is owed when Publius pays us.’ She saw my look and added urgently, ‘I had to promise something or he wouldn’t have agreed. The boy has to make a living, after all – and he can’t be doing other errands if he’s guiding you.’

  I was obliged to see the force of this and I agreed the terms, wondering what Publius was going to say to this. No one had mentioned hiring donkey-boys.

  Priscilla smiled. ‘I will leave you to it, then, and go back to the house and see if the undertakers’ women have finished dealing with the nurse’s corpse. If so the raedarius can take it back to Lavinius again, as you sensibly suggested, citizen.’

  ‘You will send news back with them, and warn the family what has happened, I suppose?’

  She looked pityingly at me, as though I were foolish to have asked. ‘I’ll do more than that. I’ll send the horseman off at once to tell them to expect her body later in the day, then they can make arrangements for a pyre. No doubt they’ll know if she was a member of the funeral-guild.’

  I nodded. It was probable. Most slaves in wealthy families belonged to such a guild, which – for a small subscription – ensured a decent send-off after death. Some masters, like Marcus, paid the fee themselves, it saved them having to arrange a private pyre.

  I said, ‘If not, I suppose Cyra and Lavinius will do something for their slave.’

  ‘Then, with your permission,’ Priscilla said, ‘I’ll send that flask back too, since clearly at one time it belonged to them. The household would expect to have it back, I’m sure. It is still a valuable object and if it can’t be repaired, at least the metal could be used again. Though whether Cyra will want to use it in any form at all, when she hears that it was used to murder that poor nurse, only Juno knows. Perhaps they’ll use it as a grave-offering for the corpse.’ She looked from left to right as though we might be overheard, then added in a whisper, ‘Should I get Ascus to tell her that we think it was tampered with by Druids?’

  I remembered the courtyard and the finding of the flask. What was it about the scene that still faintly troubled me? The little jug had been exactly where it would have bounced if it had been thrown out of the window-space above . . . Of course! I was a threefold idiot! I took a sharp breath and turned to Trullius’s wife. ‘Better perhaps, for Ascus just to say that the nursemaid drank a poisoned sleeping draught. It’s—’

  She was sharp-witted enough to see the point of this at once. She looked from left to right, then held me by the arm and tugged me to one side. ‘You don’t think it was the rebels, after all? Then who . . . ?’ She looked into my face. ‘You’re not suggesting that she drank it knowingly?’

  I said slowly, feeling for the truth, ‘It occurs to me that it is possible. That flask may be the so-called “sign” that she was looking for. It would explain why she begged us to let her back into the room, and why she wanted to have her two hands free, although she seemed perfectly happy to be chained.’

  Priscilla took a moment to consider this. ‘I said that we should never have allowed her back upstairs!’ She sidestepped a ribbon-vendor who was proffering his tray and dropped her voice again. ‘But surely it’s more likely that a murderer exchanged the poison for her sleeping draught and she drank it by accident? The same person who kidnapped Lavinia earlier – and perhaps, who then climbed out of the room down that knotted cloth-rope which we thought the child had made?’

  ‘In that case,’ I said, ‘why throw the flask away?’ Now that I had realized the unlikelihood of that, I wondered why it had taken me so long to question it. ‘Yet she must have done. No one else could have got into the room last night: there was a slave outside the door, and Trullius and I watched with our own eyes as she pulled up the cloth-rope and undid the knots – making a pretence of examining each one – so there was no chance of anyone gaining access from the court. Besides, if a murderer had got into the room and forced the nurse to drink the poison he had brought, he wouldn’t have thrown a valuable jug away – especially where it was possible that it would be found, Surely he would have taken it with him when he went?’

  The ribbon-man bobbed up beside us, offering his wares, but she waved him off as though he were a flea. She turned to me. ‘I see your reasoning. Rebels are always robbing people on the road to get hold of valuable things that they can sell.’ She frowned. ‘But what about the nurse?’

  ‘You don’t believe that she would kill herself?’

  ‘I can see she might want to do that!’ she replied. ‘Especially if – as now seems likely – she was party to the plot, either against the Vestal or against Lavinia. If her owners found that she was guilty of anything like that they’d have her put to death in ways that would make the poison seem an easy route. I can understand all that. But even if she took the potion willingly,
the problem still remains: why throw the flask away?’

  I had been asking the same question of myself. ‘Perhaps to make it look like sorcery,’ I said. ‘She was unlucky there. I have had dealings with an infusion of crushed hemlock once before. Otherwise I wouldn’t have recognized the stain on the drawstring of that purse – or identified the smell.’

  ‘And we’d have gone on thinking this was a Druid spell?’

  ‘Well, wouldn’t you?’ I asked.

  She nodded thoughtfully and seemed about to speak, but the hopeful ribbon-man was back, bobbing up between us with his tray again. ‘Best ribbons, lady. All hand-dyed and woven by my wife.’

  She turned on him. ‘I’ll hand-weave you, if you don’t move along!’ and he sidled off to hustle someone else. She gave me a knowing look. ‘And you had better move along with your donkey-boy as well, before some other customer appears who offers ready cash. But after what we’ve said, I think that I agree. I’ll simply send the message that the nurse is dead. If there are other explanations you can make them when you get back to Lavinius yourself.’ She made a wry face. ‘Perhaps it’s just as well. This way the nurse can have her funeral – if only with the guild – before her owners know that she was working for the Druids. Otherwise they might simply throw her body to the dogs, and then who knows what trouble we might have with her ghost. So I’ll go back and send that horseman with the message straight away, unless there is anything else you need me for?’

  ‘There is one thing that you can do for me, when you get back to the house. I think you said the nursemaid took Lavinia’s pot outside to empty on the midden-pile? Yesterday noontime, when she came down for the tray?’