‘If you are looking for my cousin and his wife, I fear they are not here. They have already left for Glevum. Marcus has taken my advice, and intends to consult the high priest of Jupiter about the best way of affording this corpse a funeral – today, if possible, and certainly before the Lemuria begins. His wife, of course, decided to go too, to order some new sandals to be made for her before she goes away, and your adopted son has gone with them as well. He was anxious to make enquiries about some girl he wants to find for you – in case she had been noticed passing through the gate.’
I nodded. ‘Splendid. So he traced her family?’
He was not amused. ‘I am not aware of any more details than I’ve told you, citizen. You will have to talk to Stygius – or whatever that oaf of a chief land slave calls himself. All I know is they have gone to town, and Marcus was going to speak to the garrison as well. I made it clear I did not think that that was very wise – involving half the populace in our affairs and starting rumours in the town, instead of discreetly consulting the high priest and quietly disposing of the corpse as soon as possible – but he thought that you would wish him to pursue the matter, and naturally your views took precedence over mine.’ The eyebrows rose a fraction, and the lips compressed. ‘It isn’t altogether how we manage things in Rome. And, of course, it turned out that I was right. It is most unfortunate that my cousin wasn’t here.’
‘Something has come up since he went away?’
The thin face pinched still further. ‘A messenger. A reply to Marcus’s letter to the authorities, with details of the accommodation and the passage he required. But the rider brought another letter for my cousin too – a disturbing message which was already on its way from Rome, and which arrived in this province just in time to catch the courier. You know that Marcus’s father has been very ill?’
So I was right about a crisis in the family, I thought. ‘Taken worse?’ I said.
It was a stupid question. The answer was obvious before Lucius replied. He adopted his most pompous manner. ‘I fear that the paterfamilias is dead. I have instructed the household slaves to dress accordingly and make arrangements to purify the house.’
Of course! Suddenly it all made sense – the household chaos and the missing slaves. The servants had obviously been dispatched to change their tunic uniforms to such mourning colours as they might possess, and to fetch appropriate candles, food and herbs to plunge the house into memorial. This hasty sacrifice, with Lucius taking Marcus’s place, was equally explicable, in fact. As the senior male in the family, in such a case as this, Lucius was entitled to represent my patron in his absence.
‘So – you were making an offering on Marcus’s behalf?’ I said.
‘I was. I felt a gesture should be made at once, especially in view of the unfortunate events which have already occurred at this most inauspicious time of the year. I am beginning to fear that my aunt Honoria was right – this family is ill-omened if not actually accursed. I thought I might appease the household gods, at least.’ He looked at the scattered fragments on the floor. ‘Though I fear that now my efforts may have had the opposite effect.’
It was a sly rebuke. He was suggesting that the failure was my fault for interrupting him and causing him to drop the jug and wine like that. It was a matter of concern. Roman ritual is much like ours, in that regard. One false move – particularly a spillage or a broken dish – not only negates the ceremony but is ill-omened in itself, and needs additional sacrifice in propitiation.
I was anxious to do anything I could to put it right. I was as keen as anyone to see my patron’s father’s ghost achieve repose – especially if any problems could be attributed to me. ‘I can fetch fresh offerings from the kitchen, if you wish, since there seem to be no slaves in evidence. I realise that you will have to start the sacrifice again.’
‘Unfortunately so,’ he said severely. ‘But I must provide the offering, if I am to atone. I have appropriate items in my travelling pack, along with the icons of my household gods. You, citizen, can help me best by witnessing the act.’ He clapped his hands. ‘When that fool of a bodyguard of mine comes in answer to my call. Colaphus!’
In fact it was only a moment before the man came clattering in – a big man, built like a battering ram, with a square, shaved head to match, his huge hands already forming into fists. I could see why they called him Colaphus. The very name means ‘thump’.
‘You wanted something, master? I’m sorry that I kept you waiting for so long.’ He was as fast of speech as Stygius was slow. He bowed, exhibiting his close-cropped head, and I was reminded of the battering ram again. That thick, flat skull would have splintered any gate. ‘I have given your instructions to the household staff. The funeral pyre is being constructed as we speak, and slaves are gathering wild herbs and grinding ointments for the corpse, and nailing the planks to make a bier to put in on.’
‘Pyre?’ I was astonished. ‘Bier? But surely the funeral will be in Rome?’
Lucius looked disdainful. He was very good at that. ‘This is for the body in the stable block, of course. Something must be done with it – it has begun to stink and it must be burned as soon as possible. We cannot have an unknown and decaying stranger’s corpse contaminating a house which is engaged in formal grief for a senior member of the owner’s family. Now, I must try again to appease the household Lars, lest this time of mourning be more inauspicious still.’ His livid colour had faded to an outraged, dullish pink around the gills. He turned to his attendant. ‘Colaphus, I need some sacrificial bread and a little perfumed oil and wine. You will find some in my room. Not the big jug on the table that I was drinking from – the containers in my portable lararium. In fact, on second thoughts, you can bring the whole thing here.’
‘Certainly, master.’ He thundered off, returning shortly afterwards with a wooden box which, when opened, proved to contain a tiny shrine, the flasks in question and the miniatures of Lucius’s household gods. In Colaphus’s great hands they looked especially delicate.
Lucius set up the tiny altar and placed it reverently on top of Marcus’s own. ‘These are a tribute to my aunt Honoria,’ he explained, setting up the pair of little silver figurines behind the shrine, ‘since they are the Lares and Penates of her ancestral home – and mine. These icons were her father’s – my grandfather’s, in fact – and their protection should embrace us all.’ He took out a tiny flagon and a little silver box, and placed them reverently beside him as he spoke.
He stood before the altar and from the containers placed minute amounts of bread and wine on it, sprinkled the whole offering with olive oil from the lamp, then solemnly used the taper to set the sacrifice alight. It flickered for a moment, then filled the air with smoke, while Lucius muttered what I supposed were prayers. They were evidently family incantations, and in ancient Latin, too – I could scarcely comprehend a single word.
I hoped that the divinities had understood him, anyway, as he stepped back from the shrine and turned to face me with a smile.
‘There, citizen . . . I have done my best. We shall have to make a proper sacrifice in the temple later on, and when I get home I’ll ask the Vestal Virgins to say a prayer for us. But in the meantime . . .’
He was interrupted by a dishevelled figure at the door. ‘Master?’ It was Minimus and he was out of breath. He didn’t stop to look about, but burst immediately into speech. ‘I apologise for having left you waiting here so long, but I couldn’t find Marcus Septimus anywhere. There seems to be a . . . oh!’ He tailed off in confusion at the sight of Lucius. ‘I’m sorry, Excellence, I didn’t realise you were in the room.’
Lucius looked loftily superior, and waved a gracious hand. ‘Don’t let me prevent you from passing on your news. If you have anything truly new to say?’
Minimus looked doubtfully from Lucius to me.
‘Lucius has told me much of it,’ I said. ‘I know that my patron’s father died recently in Rome.’
Minimus nodded. ‘Marcus has gone to
Glevum with his wife, and doesn’t know it yet.’
‘He may do so by now. Naturally, I sent the messenger to Glevum after him,’ Lucius corrected, in his most condescending tone.
‘Well then, master.’ Minimus turned to me. ‘Your new son Junio has gone as well – but he found the slave who interviewed the father of that girl. All the other land slaves are busy with the pyre, but Stygius has got him waiting for you in the outer court.’
I nodded. ‘Splendid. So, if you will excuse me, Excellence . . .?’ I was not sure if that mode of address was appropriate, but it seemed wise to err on the side of flattery.
Lucius graciously half inclined his head. ‘By all means, citizen. Doubtless your slave can take you there. I understand he knows the house quite well.’
Minimus turned eagerly to him. ‘And I have a message for you, citizen, as well. Aulus the gatekeeper has disappeared – there was no one at the entrance when we arrived, and no one in the villa has set eyes on him.’
I was surprised. ‘That’s very curious. I thought that he had simply gone to change his uniform.’
Lucius looked at Minimus with narrowed eyes. ‘Was he due for a relief?’
The slave boy shook his head. ‘He had one just a little while ago. The kitchen sent some cheese and bread for him into the servants’ room, and he came in and ate it. Peeled a raw onion with it the way he always does.’
The Roman was dismissive. ‘I saw him at it, come to think of it, but surely he went back on duty after that?’
‘After he had visited the slaves’ latrine. He was seen to leave there and go out towards the gate. And he should still be there. Only he isn’t. I’ve told the chief steward and he’s placed a man on guard, but asks if you can spare your Colaphus – at least until they can find the regular relief. Everyone’s out helping with the funeral pyre and he can’t find a replacement of sufficient size.’
Lucius had that pinkness around his nose again. ‘Well, that is irregular, but I suppose it’s possible. I have no particular requirement for Colaphus just now.’
The battering ram looked as if he didn’t want to go. I could not altogether blame him. A gatekeeper’s job is a lonely, draughty one, and if Aulus had met trouble he might do the same. But a slave must do his master’s bidding, whatever it might be.
‘As you command, master,’ he said reluctantly. ‘But you will relieve me when the gatekeeper gets back? Aulus can’t be very far away. After all, we spoke to him not half an hour ago.’
And with a last, reproachful look at me, as if this was all entirely my fault, the battering ram went stomping off to take up his unwelcome duties at the gate.
Chapter Thirteen
Lucius stared after the slave’s retreating back. There was a moment’s silence.
‘You went out to the lane, then?’ I ventured finally, wondering what errand would take him from the house, especially while Marcus and Julia were in town.
When Lucius answered it was with disdain. ‘Of course. I believe I mentioned that there was a messenger?’
My turn to stare at him. A messenger? Why should that take Lucius to the gate? No citizen of his rank would go out to the road to receive an errand boy. More likely the messenger would be required to come in and wait for him – sometimes for a considerable time. However, I could hardly challenge Marcus’s cousin outright.
‘A messenger from your aunt Honoria, I think? And you received him, since your cousin was not here?’ I prompted shamelessly.
Lucius gave a thin smile. ‘Indeed. In this very atrium, in fact. But in view of the seriousness of the news from Rome, naturally I did not encourage him to linger here. I saw that he was given food and drink – he had ridden from Londinium without a stop, except to change his horses at the military inns – and sent him on to Glevum, to try to catch up with Marcus at the garrison if he could. Of course, the messenger doesn’t know the roads, so I escorted him to the gatehouse and personally asked Aulus to point out the shortest route.’
Without even giving the poor lad a chance to rest, I thought, after his long and dusty journey on the roads. However, it was logical enough. The rider would have a travel warrant to speed his way as regards the horses and assistance at the inns, but he would not know the short cut through the lane that passed my house, which – for a single rider – would cut off several miles.
‘And Aulus was at his station then?’ I asked. It was a meaningless enquiry, in the circumstances – obviously he must have been, or Lucius could not have asked him anything – and Lucius treated it with the raised eyebrow it deserved. I hastened to add a more judicious thought. ‘He did not seem peculiar in any way at all? Not ill, or anything?’
Lucius stiffened. ‘What do you mean by that?’ His voice was sharp. Still contemptuous of my idiotic questions, it appeared.
‘I thought – since he went missing shortly afterwards – there might have been some sign of the reason. Did he seem to be his normal self to you?’
Lucius gave me his thin smile. ‘His normal self? I’m not sure what his normal self might be. After all, I hardly knew the man.’
‘Shrewd and grasping and malodorous, and willing to sell information at a price,’ I said. Lucius looked properly scandalised at this – it is not polite to criticise the servants of one’s host. I hastened to explain. ‘You must have realised that the fellow was a spy? Marcus has relied on him for years.’
‘I heard rumours yesterday of something of the kind. Not that I would have used him in such a way, of course.’ He had turned that disapproving fish-gill pink again.
I laughed. ‘Don’t worry, citizen. It would not have been surprising if you had. Most of us have slipped Aulus a little something now and then. Though, naturally, your rank and purse would get more out of him than I am able to. He has been the ears and eyes of Marcus for so long, he is accustomed to being paid more handsomely than I can generally afford.’
Lucius seemed genuinely interested in this. He lost that stuffed and starchy look. ‘You used him, then, yourself‘?’ He glanced at Minimus, and then went on as if the slave boy was not possessed of ears and eyes. ‘Aulus did not strike me as having the qualities of mind to . . .’ he paused, ‘to pass on intelligence with much intelligence.’ The pale eyes glinted at this attempt at wit.
‘All the same,’ I said, ‘he is reliable. He does not see the point of everything you ask, but what he does tell you is generally accurate enough. For instance, I wanted to know what vehicles were passing in the lane the other day – the day I think the murder of our corpse took place. He gave me a sort of list. I’m not convinced that it was quite complete – if I’d had money in my purse, I might have learned some more – but I’m certain that what he told me is nothing but the truth.’
‘I see.’ The thin lips smiled. ‘Perhaps I should have questioned Aulus when I had the chance. Or we should have questioned him together, you and I.’
Another jest? He was talking to me as though I were his equal, all at once. I knew I should be flattered by the compliment, but something was niggling in the corner of my brain – a vague feeling that something important had been said, some significant detail which had passed me by. I racked my brains but for the moment I could not work out what it was. Meanwhile Lucius was still smiling in that impassive way of his, waiting for me to answer his remark.
Well, two could play the game of flattery. ‘I’m sure your rank and status would ensure success,’ I said. I didn’t have to add ‘your bribe’ – that was implicit, as we were both aware. ‘Perhaps we could both talk to him when he turns up again.’
‘Willingly. Supposing that he does.’ Lucius arched his eyebrows. ‘Marcus was telling us, just the other day, about the trouble you are having with those rebels in the west, and how it’s feared they might now have a hideout in these woods.’
‘You think he might have been abducted or attacked?’ This was a possibility which had not occurred to me – though perhaps it should have done. What else would have persuaded him to leave his post l
ike that? He would hardly have done so willingly, and risked a flogging for his pains. I thought a moment and then shook my head. ‘Aulus is not the kind of man that brigands set upon – not unless there was a well-armed band of them, at least, and even then he would have laid about him with his club, and bloodied one or two of them for their pains. And the way he roars, it couldn’t go unnoticed in the house. Besides, there’s no sign of a struggle – I can vouch for that.’
‘You don’t suppose that he simply took the chance to run away? He was always complaining about something, when I spoke to him.’
I had to smile at this. ‘And make himself a fugitive, with a price upon his head? Not Aulus. He must have earned his freedom price half a dozen times in bribes, but he’s never shown the slightest inclination to buy his freedom and depart. I think he quite enjoys his position as a spy.’
Lucius seemed unwilling to abandon his idea. ‘In normal times, perhaps. But no doubt, like the rest of us, he was alarmed by knowing that we had an unburied body in the house, just when the Festival of the Dead is coming up. Perhaps he feared the spirits and made a bolt for it?’
I could not see Aulus as a superstitious man – one whiff of his onions would frighten off any ghost! I shook my head again. ‘More likely there was some crisis in the lane and – not finding another servant when he called for one, since there were none about – he left his post to deal with it himself.’
‘Unless you are right and he was suddenly unwell.’ Minimus had been standing by and listening to all this. ‘I remember that did happen to him once before – we found him in the forest, being very sick. He’d gnawed some sort of flower bulbs instead of onions.’
‘Your attendant interrupts us, citizen!’ Lucius was outraged by this affront to his dignity. ‘If he were my servant I should have him flogged.’ Shutters had come down across his face, like a shop-front at the market closing up, and his previous thawing manner had frozen hard again.
A Coin for the Ferryman Page 13
