‘Paulinus Atronius Marinus, at your service, citizen. I am the owner of this smallholding. How can I be of help?’ His voice was soft and cultured and his Latin quite impeccable. The quiet insistence on his full three Roman names was a way of telling me he was himself a citizen, despite his working dress.
I answered him in kind. ‘Longinus Flavius Libertus,’ I replied, wondering why this commonplace exchange was sending me inward signals of alarm. ‘I have bad news for you. You are a friend and relative of Audelia, I think?’
He stiffened very slightly. ‘You bring us news of her?’ A tiny pause. ‘I trust her marriage was a great success?’
‘She never reached her marriage,’ I said solemnly. I told him briefly what we had discovered in the coach.
‘Beheaded! Dreadful!’ he said, with a shudder that could hardly have been forced. He closed his eyes as though he could not bear to think of it. ‘Poor girl — the gods know she did not deserve a fate like that. What will they do with her? I suppose the family will cremate the corpse?’ He peered anxiously at me. ‘I imagine that they’ll have to, although it’s incomplete?’
It seemed an odd question to a Celt like me: even those of us who are not actually Druids revere the head as more or less the dwelling of the soul. But of course the Romans have a different attitude. They see things the other way about — a headless body might create a restless ghost, stalking the world until it found the missing parts. ‘I’m sure her family will give it proper rites, and do their best to see that her spirit is at rest,’ I said, aware of sounding oddly sanctimonious.
‘I hope so, citizen.’ He gave the famous smile and I saw at once what the donkey-boy had meant. It quite transfigured him. ‘Perhaps you didn’t realize that I know Audelia well — did know her, I suppose that I shall have to learn to say. My wife and I went to the Vestal temple many times when she was serving at the shrine.’
‘You and your first wife, that was?’ I was still double-checking details in my mind.
‘Indeed.’ He raised an eyebrow, as if he were surprised. ‘You must have heard that I have lately wed again? Did they tell you how fortunate I am? I have found an angel not just to care for me but to look after my poor mute daughter too. I am a lucky man. But I forget my manners. You have come all this way to bring me this distressing news about my relative. Please come inside and have some food and drink before you leave. We don’t have dates and Rhenish wine, I fear, but we can offer you some home-made bread and cheese and water from the well.’ He smiled at me, the perfect picture of a Roman host. ‘Indeed I have already sent the land-slave in ahead of us to warn the household you are here and thus ensure a light refreshment is arranged for you. I am afraid you find us in a little disarray.’
‘I hear you are preparing to go overseas,’ I said, as he dragged the snarling dog away and tied it to a post.
He came back to hold the gate ajar for me. ‘How did you learn that?’ His look of astonishment was almost comical.
I explained about the land-slave and he smiled again. ‘Well, citizen, what my farm-servant says is true. We plan to leave as soon as possible.’ He escorted me up the stony path towards the doorway of the house, skirting piles of kindling wood and avoiding the wet garments, clearly washed and dyed, which were draped over bushes in the wind to dry. When we reached the threshold — no more than a single piece of stone placed where people would walk in and out on it — he stepped ahead of me and called in through the door. ‘Are we prepared? Our visitor is here.’
A woman-slave came hastening out at once, rubbing her hands against her tunic-skirt as if they had been damp. She was a tallish, unattractive female of advancing years. Her wan face was worn and mottled, cobwebbed with fine lines, and she had the doubtful darting eyes of someone who has learned — by hard experience — to distrust the world. Her curly hair, which she wore severely short, was dull and mousy grey and her mouth was clamped into a tight, suspicious line. However, her sharp expression softened when Paulinus talked to her and the look she gave her owner was an adoring one.
‘This is Libertus, Muta,’ she was told. ‘He is a citizen and will be our guest. Kindly show him in. I will change out of my dirty working clothes and join you very soon.’ He turned away towards the rear part of the house.
Muta bobbed me a stiff curtsy and led the way inside, through a narrow passage into a sort of waiting-room. Her form was generally sinewy and thin, but the swollen ankles which I glimpsed beneath the tunic-hem suggested a reason for her awkward gait. I could see exactly what Priscilla meant — this servant was no bargain, whatever price he’d paid.
The room was as bare as my own roundhouse at home: only a large wooden table and a brazier, a little household shrine set into a niche and — beneath a lone high shelf which held the household cups and bowls — a small amphora leaning on the wall and a few jars and storage-pitchers standing on the floor. The servant gestured to a small three-legged stool beside the table, where a bowl of curd-cheese and a crust of new bread had been set for me.
I sat down, rather awkwardly, while Muta picked up a brass water-pitcher from the floor and poured some into a handsome metal cup. She handed it to me without a word, and made a signal that I should start to eat.
‘Is your new mistress home?’ I ventured. I had hoped to meet Secunda and hear from her own lips that she was happy for her dowry to be squandered in this way. Besides, this silence was beginning to unsettle me.
The woman didn’t answer, just made a gesture to the inner door. Of course, I remembered, the poor thing couldn’t speak! I recalled that this was why she had been chosen for this house but that — unlike the daughter she was bought to serve — the woman could still hear.
I tried again, hoping to obtain at least a fleeting smile. ‘I hope that you are learning to be happy in your work? You will be a comfort to the daughter I am sure.’
‘It is no good talking to her, citizen. She cannot answer you.’
I turned to see the owner of the voice, and caught my breath. The woman at the inner door was singularly pale and far from young, but she was beautiful — one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. She wore no trace of kohl or lampblack round her eyes and there was no stain of wine-lees on her lips or cheeks but, despite her pallor, she did not need any. Her skin was soft and flawless, like a piece of kidskin cloth, and her hair, which hung in tight ringlets from a central band (in a fashion favoured by an Empress long ago, but long since out of style), was palest faded gold. She wore a simple floor-length lilac shift and as she walked towards me, holding out her hands, I thought that I had never seen a person more ethereal and serene.
‘I am Secunda, the wife of Paulinus.’ The tone was soft and very musical. ‘I am sorry that I was not here to welcome you. I was in need of rest. We are in train of packing, as I believe you know, and I am not accustomed to such activity.’
‘Pray do not mention it.’ This household’s slight formality and old-fashioned speech was infecting mine. I tried to fight this and conspicuously failed. ‘I had already heard that you were indisposed — not in the best of health.’ Now that I had seen her I could understand — already she seemed closer to the next world than to this.
She smiled rather sadly, revealing a set of almost perfect teeth. If I were a single man, I thought, I could have lost my heart. It was doubly tragic knowing that she was frail. I had heard that the gods take their best-beloved first, and now I could believe it. She was speaking, in that gentle voice of hers, and there was real emotion in her words. ‘You bring us dreadful news about Audelia. I am most distressed to hear that you found the body in that mutilated state. It must have been a dreadfully upsetting shock for you.’
It was the first time — almost in my life — that anyone outside my family had ever shown the least concern for me, and what my feelings were when confronted with a death. I could have kissed her feet. Instead I put my hands together in the greeting pose, bowed my head and introduced myself. ‘I fear,’ I said — and for once that common fo
rm of words meant something genuine — ‘that is not the only piece of bad news that I bring.’
‘Then I will sit down and wait until my husband comes before I hear the rest. I should not like to make an exhibition of myself by fainting on the floor.’ She turned to the slave-woman and murmured with a smile, ‘A seat for me, perhaps?’
Muta made a signal of assent and left the room.
While she was gone I tried to turn the conversation to more cheerful things. ‘You are pleased with your acquisitions at the market yesterday?’
Secunda looked bemused. ‘I am not sure I follow…?’
‘That slave-woman. You bought her yesterday, I think? Together with a page?’
‘Ah, of course.’ A blush of soft confusion suffused the lovely face. ‘I cannot think of slaves as acquisitions, citizen. I thought you were referring to this gown I bought. I wondered how you knew. Indeed, we are delighted with the slave. She is so good with Paulina, my husband’s child, you know.’ She smiled her rueful smile. ‘He will be here shortly. In the meantime, do refresh yourself!’
Thus encouraged, I did try the bread and cheese. They were extremely good. Simple but excellent. Somehow, in this household, I was not surprised. All at once, I wished I hadn’t come. I was here to find the answer to a gruesome tragedy — a nasty murder and a kidnapping plus an explanation for the nurse’s suicide. I had been convinced that I would find the answer in this house, but if these people were involved I didn’t want to know. I desperately wanted to believe them innocent.
I shook my head. This was ridiculous. Murder is still murder, whoever does the deed — and some of the cruellest emperors were famous for their charm. What was I thinking of? I could guess what Priscilla would have said if she had known — that I was the victim of some Druid spell. I do not generally believe in the efficacy of love-potions and the like but I put down the cup of liquid, just in case, and assumed my most severe expression as I said, ‘Secunda — the matter of your dowry…’
She beamed, the happiest expression I had so far seen. ‘Ah yes, citizen. Was that not fortunate? I had never married, so I brought my parents’ whole inheritance with me. I am so happy that Paulinus can have the use of it. Typical that his first care should be for the child. My husband is so generous and thoughtful, citizen.’
No question then of any rancour or mystery on that score, and Priscilla’s doubts about a Roman bribe appeared quite baseless too. The only question was the obvious. ‘You never married earlier?’ It seemed impossible. ‘A woman of such charm and elegance?’
She turned that charming pink again and dropped her eyes, to stare at the floor with unforced modesty. (It was tiled, but very roughly, with poor quality materials and no attempt at pattern even round the edge. If I had been the workman, and not done a better job, I should have been embarrassed to be paid.) ‘I had household duties to perform, so for a long time I could not be spared…’ She broke off as her husband and the slave appeared.
The servant put down the stool she had been carrying, and Secunda sank gracefully down onto the seat. Her husband came and stood beside her, saying tenderly, ‘Wife, be careful. You should not be here. Don’t put yourself to unnecessary strain. You never…’ Now in his toga, Paulinus paused as he looked down at her with affection.
Secunda looked back up at him with such an expression on her face that I was almost jealous of their tranquil happiness. ‘It is all right, husband. I can manage well enough — and I should be here to learn what Libertus has to say. Apparently he has more items of alarming news for us.’
Her husband looked at me, furrowing his face in anxiety again. ‘You didn’t mention this.’
‘I scarcely had the chance. Besides your wife thought it was better that we should wait for you.’
The couple exchanged glances, then Secunda said, ‘Whatever news you bring us, citizen, it cannot well be worse than what we know already. Tell us what it is.’
‘Lavinia is missing.’ I put the fact as baldly as I could. ‘At first sight it seemed that she had run away.’ Secunda turned so pale that I forgot my fear of potions and swallowed the remainder of my drink.
But her voice was steady. ‘Run away?’ She gave a pretty little frown. ‘That hardly seems like her, she was very keen on taking up her role.’
‘It is possible she did not go willingly.’ I wished I did not have to tell them this since it would cause them grief but if they were to help me there was no alternative. ‘It seems more than possible that Druids were involved.’
‘Druids!’ they exclaimed, in unison. I saw the startled look that passed between the pair.
‘Could it have been a vendetta against the family? I understand that this household has had dealings with the sect,’ I muttered, apologetically.
Secunda answered in an altered voice, as though she were struggling with emotion inwardly, ‘In other circumstances, citizen, we might have helped you there. There was a servant in this household who proved to be a Druid, but she and her whole family were sentenced to the beasts — so if there was any information to be gleaned from them, I fear it is too late.’
‘My dear…!’ It was unusual for Romans to express affection in this public way, but Paulinus did not seem to care for such conventions. He even touched her shoulder as if warning her. ‘These things are best forgotten.’
She smiled up at him. ‘There is nothing to be feared from telling him the truth. He seems to think the Druids may have harmed Lavinia and we should assure him that the sect is not an enemy of ours. The fact is, citizen — though Paulinus seems to wish me to obscure the fact — he was very good to them. He could not bear to think of that little family — who had been so helpful to our Paulina — torn to pieces for the entertainment of the crowd. You know the way that the officials at the games will lure a child into the arena first, so that the mother will willingly run in after it — I understand the spectacle is very popular. He could not stand for that. Paulinus bribed the guard and managed to get poison in for them and even made arrangements for disposal afterwards — to ensure as far as possible that they got proper Druid rites.’
Paulinus, who had been looking more and more embarrassed and bemused, now ran his hand through his receding hair and broke in awkwardly, ‘Well, be that as it may, it does not help us now. Have you been searching for Lavinia, citizen? Perhaps she went to the temple by herself? Have you been to look for her?’
I had to admit that I’d not been there myself, although I assumed that Trullius had done. ‘The news of her disappearance came to Glevum from a temple messenger,’ I added, ‘which does seem to indicate that she did not go there.’
‘When did they find that she was missing?’ Paulinus enquired.
I explained about the nursemaid and Priscilla and the tray. ‘And that is not the end of it,’ I said. ‘This morning, at the guest house, the nursemaid was found dead. Poisoned, by the look of it. I think by her own hand.’
‘Dear gods!’ There was no mistaking Paulinus’s sharp astonishment. ‘Dead! But… she was so happy for Lavinia… why should she…?’ He looked helplessly towards his wife.
She reached up slowly and took his hand in hers, as if she could pass on some of her own serenity through the gentle pressure of her fingertips. ‘It must have been a gesture for Lavinia’s sake,’ she said. ‘It was clear to everyone how much she loved that child. I wonder if she smuggled her away somewhere and killed herself to keep the secret safe.’ She looked at me. ‘Perhaps we’ll never know. But thank you, citizen, for bringing us the news. We must send a message to Glevum with our condolences. My aunt and uncle will doubtless be distraught.’
I was touched by her thoughtfulness again. And then I saw the implication of her words. ‘Your uncle?’ I said, sharply. ‘You mean Lavinius?’
The pale face coloured prettily again and she gave a laugh. ‘My half-uncle by marriage I suppose that I should say. He is related to Paulinus, of course — as I presume you know.’
I did, if I had only stopped to think of
it. ‘I should have realized that.’
She twinkled. ‘I suppose that you could say he is a relative of mine as well — though only through his wife.’
‘Which makes you a distant kinswoman of your husband?’
She saw my face and twinkled even more. ‘Does that surprise you, citizen? It is not uncommon for people of patrician lineage to marry others in the clan who are not direct blood-relatives of theirs.’ The grey eyes sparkled slyly up at me from under downcast lids. ‘Often it’s to keep the fortune in the family. In my case, it is the only reason that we ever met. A woman in my situation — bound to house and hearth — does not in general encounter many men.’
She was quite right of course. Indeed, now that she told me she was a kinswoman I could see a slight resemblance to Lavinius’s wife. Cyra was a good deal uglier — her face was harder and her features sharp, and of course her hair was dark — but there was something about the shape of her face which was not unalike. Secunda was almost what Cyra might have been, given different colouring and a happier life.
However, I could hardly say so, with Paulinus there, so I made a rather unfortunate remark. ‘You were never sent to be a Vestal Virgin then? It seems to be traditional, in your family.’
She dropped her eyes again. ‘I managed to escape that, citizen.’ She spoke with such embarrassment that for the first time it occurred to me to question whether she was quite the innocent that she appeared to be. There was more than one reason why a girl might be turned down for acceptance at the Vestal shrine — and more than one reason why a family might keep a single daughter under lock and key at home. I wondered suddenly if there was something in her past, even, possibly, without her full consent? Some importunate, wealthy visitor perhaps? I tried to force the unpleasant picture from my mind.
My unhappy thoughts were interrupted by a strange noise at the inner door, which instantly flew open and a stumpy girl came in. She was not very old — no more than five or six — and might have been quite pretty, if her little face had not been flushed and screwed into a frown. She stumped across the room, ignoring all of us, and stood with arms folded in front of Paulinus.
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