A Coin for the Ferryman

by Rosemary Rowe

  ‘And that tune?’ I said softly. ‘Did you devise that yourself?’

  She shook her head. ‘I learned a lot of dirges – the woman who taught me was an undertaker’s slave and my master hoped to sell me to someone similar. But then Julia came along and picked me anyway, though she has never required me to play a single note. It is quite a delight to have the chance again. Besides, you know, citizen, it enables me to sit – which is a pleasure in itself. But, excuse me, I must begin again. There is one final tune of homage I should play.’ She closed her eyes and began to strum and croon, a cadence so plaintive that, I felt, it might have brought tears to the statue’s eyes.

  We were still listening with pleasure when Niveus returned, not with the bread and cheese which I’d been promised earlier, but with a tray of honeyed dates, a folding table and a pair of stools. He must have seen the disappointment on my face, because he turned bright red again, and immediately began to apologise.

  ‘I’m very sorry, citizen – it is all my fault. I forgot to tell the kitchens that the platter was for you, and I am afraid they gave it to your slave. Of course they are very busy now with the memorial feast, but it was suggested that I should bring you these.’ He was setting up the little seating arrangements as he spoke. ‘I’m to offer the same to any visitor who comes to pay respects. Though I don’t know who would, except for the people invited to the feast. There’s hardly been time to spread the news. It was only this morning that we heard of it ourselves, though it wasn’t unexpected. The master had our tunics ready several days ago, and Lucius had guessed before he even cut the seal. Though there’s been so much happening since the messenger arrived that it seems like days ago. Here you are, citizen, this is ready now.’ He set the tray down with a flourish and invited me to sit.

  Dates are by no means a favourite food of mine – they are too sweet for me, especially in the honeyed form that Marcus seems to like – but I was so hungry that I could have eaten the serving dish by now, and I could see that Junio was grinning in delight. Such delicacies as honeyed dates were still rare treats to him, so I said, ‘Thank you, Niveus. You may go and fetch my slave. He should be waiting in the servants’ room.’

  The slave looked startled. ‘But, citizen, the wine! I wasn’t able to carry everything at once.’

  ‘Then you may fetch it after you’ve brought Minimus to me,’ I said, and with that I popped a date into my mouth. It was as sweet as I’d remembered, but it was welcome all the same. I took another and another and swallowed those as well, though my son was still relishing his first, letting the sweetness linger on his tongue.

  I was just beginning to wish that I had ordered the wine at once – half a dozen honeyed dates do not improve a thirst – when the outer door was opened and Marcus strode in. He was accompanied by Minimus, much to my surprise.

  I rose to my feet in some embarrassment. The remnants of my last date were proving hard to swallow. ‘Patron,’ I murmured, through sticky teeth. Junio, meanwhile, had scrambled to his feet and was bowing respectfully, while Atalanta quickly brought her homage to a close, rose and stood in silence, dangling her lyre.

  ‘Thank you, Atalanta, that will do for now. You can come back and play some more a little later on.’ Marcus waved his hand benignly, and she tiptoed from the room. Even funerary music had to wait its turn, it seemed. My patron smiled at us. ‘I am glad to see that you have been offered hospitality,’ he said, ‘though Niveus has failed to bring a drink, I see. I have given him the simplest duties, but it seems he never learns. That is what I want to talk to you about, in fact, Libertus, my old friend.’

  ‘Of course, if I can be of any service, Excellence,’ I said cautiously. ‘Old friend’? It always made me wary when he called me that. What did he want of me this time? Not another wasted walk into the hills, I hoped.

  But I need not have worried. It was not my services he was after, it appeared. ‘I want to borrow Minimus back from you for a little while. I need someone to go to Glevum to take a letter to the garrison and link up with a messenger from the imperial post. I have been writing home. A difficult message, in the circumstances, but an important one – since I am the heir, there are arrangements I shall need to make. I don’t want to entrust the note to Niveus this time. He is too young and vulnerable to ride the roads alone, and anyway there is a good chance that he would contrive to get it wrong. Not insist on seeing the commander personally or something of the kind.’

  ‘Use Minimus, by all means.’ I was quite relieved that it was nothing more.

  Marcus rewarded me with a grateful smile. ‘I won’t deprive you of him longer than I need. I’ll send him back to you as soon as he gets home.’

  ‘Which will be tomorrow, I suppose?’ I said. I have known Marcus make arrangements several times for a servant to be accommodated at the garrison overnight, since it takes some little time to get to town and back on foot.

  He laughed. ‘He should be back this evening, though perhaps not till after dark. Minimus can ride, you realise? He was trained as a page, and it’s one of the reasons why I bought him when I did. I shall put him on a horse. That way the letter will get there as soon as possible, and you are not inconvenienced for so long.’ A thought seemed to strike him, and he added with a smile, ‘In the meantime you can borrow Niveus, if you like. At the very least, he can escort you home.’

  I was about to accept this offer with gratitude – it would give me a chance to question the young page, I thought – when Niveus himself came scuttling in again, carrying a jug of wine and two goblets on a tray. ‘I couldn’t find Minimus for you, citiz—’ he began. Then he saw Marcus. He stopped in the doorway, speechless with dismay.

  ‘It is all right, Niveus, you may bring in the tray,’ Marcus said, impatience obvious in his tone. ‘And then I have a little task for you. The citizen Libertus—’

  ‘Excellence!’ Niveus was so anxious that he actually interrupted the remark. That could have earned him a whipping, but he was too flustered to care. ‘You’re here! And I have only brought two cups! Give me just a moment and I’ll fetch another one!’ He hurried over to the table and put down the tray, so eager that he knocked a metal goblet to the floor, and in trying to retrieve it nearly spilt the wine.

  ‘You see, Libertus?’ Marcus raised his brows at me, as though seeking recognition that this was an idiot.

  Niveus looked very close to tears. He gulped, turned pink and then burst out again, ‘I’m sorry, master. And you too, citizen. I know you asked me—’

  I intervened before he managed to make matters any worse. ‘Niveus, thank you, but I do not think I shall require a drink just now.’ It was a lie – my tongue was almost cleaving to my palate as I spoke – but it was obvious that something must be done. ‘And Minimus is found, as you can see. Your master needs him for a special task, and has said that Junio and I can borrow you to escort us home. So, if you are ready?’

  He glanced at me with gratitude, but said uncertainly, ‘Should I go and get a cape, then? And who’ll man the anteroom? I’m supposed to greet the visitors and hand out towels . . .’

  ‘I’m sure my steward can find someone to do that onerous task.’ Marcus gave me another of his looks. ‘Even Colaphus could do it, if only Aulus had returned.’

  ‘The gatekeeper’s still missing, then?’ I frowned. ‘Lucius had a theory that the Silurians might have—’

  My patron gave a short impatient laugh. ‘Aulus? I see little chance of that. He’s stronger than an ox. Though I can’t imagine where he’s got to – leaving his post at such a time! I’ll have him soundly whipped when he returns and reduced to bread and water for a week. None of his precious onions. And you too, Niveus, if you make a mess of this. Now, Libertus, Junio, I’ll leave you to make your own arrangements with my page – and have a little wine, if you should change your mind. The sooner I get Minimus safely on his way the better. I want the letter in the hands of a courier today.’ He nodded curtly. ‘Till this evening, then.’

  He lef
t the room. Minimus gave me one last, apologetic look, and followed at his heels.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Junio had been standing quietly all this while, as befits a junior citizen in the presence of a senior magistrate, but as soon as my patron had safely left the room he became his usual lively self again.

  ‘Father,’ he said, with an excited air. ‘You were telling me about that slave girl – Morella, was she called? – and the tunic she was wearing when Minimus saw her here, which it seems she didn’t have when she left home. So she must have bought it somewhere, mustn’t she? It occurs to me, if Minimus is going to Glevum anyway . . .? That is surely the most likely place? Or are you really not going to enquire into the matter any more?’

  I gave him a sideways glance. ‘Well . . .’ I was forced into the admission with a sheepish grin. ‘Exactly the same thought had occurred to me!’ I beckoned to the page. ‘Niveus, come here. I want you to take a message to Minimus for me. Listen carefully. “There is a woman in the forum who sells old clothes. When you have delivered the letter to the garrison, go and see if she sold that tunic to the girl you saw.” Can you repeat those words exactly?’

  Niveus did so, looking mystified.

  ‘Very good,’ I told him. ‘Now go and say the same thing, word for word, to Minimus. Tell him that the message is from me. You should find him at the stables, being provided with a horse. Hurry, before you miss him. And when you have done that, fetch your cloak, and come back here to us.’

  ‘On my way, citizen.’ Niveus was almost pink with pride. I heard him muttering as he hurried off, ‘There is a woman in the forum . . .’

  Junio gave me an approving glance. ‘If more people gave him clear instructions of that kind, perhaps he would be more successful as a page.’ He gestured to the table. ‘Speaking of which, would it be in order for me to pour you out some wine? I know that strictly it is not my place – I am not a slave of Marcus’s and never was – but I know that you are thirsty and he did suggest that we could have some if we liked. The trouble is, he didn’t actually tell Niveus to pour it out.’ He did not wait for my agreement, but began to serve the wine.

  ‘I learned to give instructions to scared slave boys long ago,’ I teased, ‘and it seems I was successful, because he learned to read my thoughts!’ I took the goblet he’d filled for me and sipped it gratefully. Marcus would not have approved of it at all, I thought – Niveus had watered it too much for Roman tastes – but it suited me far better than if it had been strong. I sat down on the stool that the page had brought, and grinned at Junio. ‘And not just about the wine.’

  My son returned my smile. He had poured another cupful for himself, and was drinking with a certain relish, I observed.

  ‘Reading your thoughts? You mean about your interest in that slave girl, after all?’ He laughed. ‘That did not require any special skill. It would have been obvious to anyone who knew you, I should think.’

  I was quite affronted. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  His grin was broader now. ‘You do not like to leave a question unresolved, so naturally you would want to make a few enquiries about her if you could. Even Stygius could see as much, and that was before you told us the story of her life. When the chief steward came out with the tunic for the pyre and announced that Marcus now wanted the matter to be dropped, Stygius said—’ He stopped. ‘Great Minerva! That is something that had not occurred to me!’

  ‘What is?’ I enquired.

  ‘The tunic that Morella had! It could not have come from this household, I suppose? You know that Marcus had new ones made for all his slaves, so there must have been a number of discarded ones – including the one that we put on the corpse. They can’t all have been intended for use as cleaning cloths. Marcus is far too careful with his cash for that.’

  That was perceptive and it made me laugh. ‘You are quite right, of course. Most of them were dyed for mourning and are being used again.’

  ‘Yet Pulchrus’s uniform was among the most expensive of all. Why consign that for rags?’

  I frowned. ‘Because the colour was already bright and it would be more difficult to put the new dye over it? Gwellia would tell us – she understands these things. And the elaborate trimmings had all been taken off, so sparing it for the corpse was not wholly profligate. But Morella’s tunic . . .?’ I thought about it for a moment and then shook my head. ‘I don’t think it is likely that it came from here. Most of the tunics of the household slaves are blue – though there are a few exceptions here and there. Minimus worked here, after all, and knows the colours of all the uniforms. I’m sure that he would have told me if it looked like one of theirs. However, I might speak to the steward, just in case. Niveus can fetch him . . . ah, here he comes.’

  But it was not Niveus who came bursting in, nor the steward either. It was Colaphus, his bull-face flushed with outrage and affronted dignity. ‘I am no longer wanted at the gates.’

  ‘Aulus has come back?’ I made the obvious deduction, and was surprised to discover that I was quite relieved.

  Colaphus shook his head. ‘I would not have minded that so much,’ he muttered bitterly. ‘After all, it is his job, not mine. But there’s still no sign of him. Yet they have relieved me at the gate – put some fellow in my place who’s only half my size – and sent me in to do the work of that accursed page instead, greeting visitors and handing namby-pamby towels! I don’t know what my master Lucius will say when he finds out. But the steward is insisting. I was put at his disposal in the interim so he maintains he can use me in any way he likes. Oh, and I’m to give you a message too. There’s a man and two women asking for you at the gate.’

  ‘A man and two women?’ I put down my cup and I looked at Junio, but he clearly was as mystified as I was. ‘Who are they?’

  ‘I didn’t ask them and I didn’t let them in. They don’t look the sort of people who should be calling here.’ Colaphus looked as prim and self-righteous as a battering ram can be. ‘I told them the household was in mourning, which they claimed they knew – though I don’t see how they could possibly have heard – but they would not take the hint and go away. They are clearly not people summoned to the feast, and the man, in particular, was not appropriately dressed to come into a household that was honouring its dead. They would’ve had to go through all that cleansing ritual. Besides, I understood that you were leaving very soon. I told them that they would have to wait for you out there . . .’

  I could not let this pass without rebuke. Even in a house of mourning it is not polite to keep a guest’s callers waiting outside in the lane. ‘One fewer lot of towels and ashes for you to deal with, too?’ I said. ‘You should thank Jove for these small mercies, I suppose.’

  He shrugged his massive shoulders, but had the grace to flush.

  I turned to Junio. ‘I’d better go and see them, whoever they might be. You stay here and wait for Niveus. And you can talk to the chief steward for me, if you like. About that matter we were speaking of a little while ago. There might be something useful he could tell us, I suppose – and if not we can at least eliminate the possibility you thought of.’

  I was being deliberately elliptical, partly because Colaphus was clearly bursting to know what I was talking about and I was still annoyed by his discourtesy, but also because I suspected that anything he learned would get back to Lucius and my patron in a flash, and I did not wish to be forbidden to pursue enquiries. Marcus had told me to let matters rest about the corpse, but he had not mentioned the girl who owned the dress: a technicality I did not wish to have pointed out to him. So I simply gave the bodyguard my warmest smile and said, ‘Since you are standing in for Niveus for a while, perhaps you would be good enough to escort me to the gate.’

  It did not please him but there was nothing he could do, and he led the way with ill-disguised bad grace. A little way short of the gatehouse cell he stopped and waved a vague finger in the direction of the road. ‘There you are, citizen. Exactly as I said. Not the sort
of people I could lightly have let in, when the house is preparing for a memorial. Don’t even speak good Latin, most of them. Besides,’ he added, in half-apology, ‘the man has got a dog with him. I could not have let that in, in any case.’

  A dog? A horrible suspicion was forming in my mind. But I could not imagine what Morella’s father could be doing at the villa gates, or why he wanted me – I was sure my comments about the murdered corpse had frightened him. Unless he’d found his daughter? I brightened. That was possible. Or, of course, this might not be Farathetos at all. Well, there was only one way to find out.

  I dismissed my escort with a nod, and went on to the gates where one of Marcus’s larger garden slaves was standing with a spear. He was muscular enough but he looked sadly ill at ease, though he rushed eagerly to open up for me.

  No sooner had I set foot out in the lane than I knew I’d been been correct. It was Morella’s father – I recognised the face, and even more certainly I recognised the dog. There was no mistaking it, in fact. It started barking and leaping up at me the instant I appeared and though its owner jerked it sharply back it went on snarling and growling in its throat. The creature seemed to have tolerated everybody else – I hadn’t heard it from inside the gate – but now it was straining at the rope leash round its neck and making snapping motions in the direction of my knees.

  I glanced towards the hooded females who were standing by – just long enough to take in that they were older women, not the missing girl – but as soon as I diverted my full attention from the dog the creature made a sudden lunge at me. It took me by surprise. I am usually very fond of dogs – in my youth I had several hounds myself – but this one seemed to share its master’s malice towards the world.