A Coin for the Ferryman

Chapter Twelve

When I awoke next morning it was long past dawn — perhaps Marcus’s rich food and wine had had some effect on me. Gwellia was obviously already up, and so was the rest of the household by the look of it — the roundhouse was empty, and two rapidly cooling yeast cakes were standing on a plate, all that remained in a platter full of crumbs. Yet the fire was burning brightly — someone had blown the embers into life again and brought in fresh kindling to make a cheerful blaze. Somehow I seemed to have slept through all of this.

I felt a little twinge of discontent. Why hadn’t Junio awakened me? And then I remembered — that was over now. He was not my slave. I could no longer count on him to do that sort of thing.

I crawled out from my cover, pulled an extra tunic over the one I had been sleeping in, and sat down on the stool to eat my solitary meal. For some reason I wasn’t hungry, though the cakes were excellent. I decided I must have had too much to eat the night before.

Gwellia would be concerned if I did not eat at all — she had been anxious lately to build my strength again — and the yeast cakes had been made on my account, I knew. I took a listless bite at one of them, but I had scarcely done so before a face peered round the door, and Minimus was grinning in at me.

‘Ah, master, I see you are awake!’ He was carrying a pitcher of fresh water from the stream, and he came over to my side to pick up a beaker and pour some into it. ‘I was told not to rouse you until you’d had your sleep.’ He passed me the drinking vessel with a smile. ‘The mistress has gone out gathering lichens to boil up for a dye, and taken Cilla with her — to show her how, she says. And the young master has taken Maximus and gone out down the lane.’

‘The young master?’ I was about to say, when I realised that he was talking about Junio, of course, so I changed the question to ‘Did he say where he was going?’

Enthusiastic nods. ‘I was to tell you that he was going back to the villa straight away. He knew you wanted to talk to the land slaves Stygius sent out to ask questions yesterday. He thought it would be helpful if he made a start, by finding out which of them it was who spoke to the father of the Celtic girl who ran away with a man to join an entertainment troupe. To see if she matched the description that you had.’ He looked enquiringly at me. ‘I think that’s what he said. Does it make sense to you?’

My spirits had risen, but I tried to sound judicious. ‘I think so. We heard about this girl yesterday from one of Stygius’s slaves.’ I took another bite of breakfast. ‘It didn’t seem very important at the time, because the slaves had been asking about missing girls, and we knew by the time they returned that we were dealing with a man. But we still have to find the owner of the dress, so if Junio can find out where her parents live we can check with them and see if her appearance tallies with what we heard from the dancing woman last night. It may not turn out to be good news for the family, though, if it does.’

Minimus refilled my beaker before I’d even asked. ‘Do you want me to escort you to the villa later on? Your son presumed you’d want to join him when you’d breakfasted.’

I’d finished my first yeast cake now, and I’d found my appetite. I picked up the second and bit into it. It was even more delicious than the first. ‘We can’t be certain that this is the girl we want,’ I said, through a mouthful of warm crumbs. ‘But it is at least a possibility. And with hair like that she should not be too difficult to trace.’

Minimus looked enquiring. ‘Why, master? What was so unusual about her hair?’

Of course, he had been carrying the torch beside the cart last night and hadn’t heard what our informant said, so I outlined the description for his benefit. ‘Long, limed, yellow braids,’ I finished. ‘There can’t be many girls of that description in the locality.’ I had finished my second yeast cake by this time and I held my beaker out expecting him to fill it, but he did not do so, although he had the pitcher in his hand.

I looked at him in surprise. He was frowning vaguely into the water jug as if he might find inspiration there. ‘I think I might possibly have seen that girl myself,’ he said at last. ‘I noticed someone talking to Aulus one day in the lane — the morning before the civic feast, it must have been — and she had yellow hair. Not ordinary yellow, like Julia’s hair slaves have — it was that strange greenish tinge that comes from using lime. I’ve seen Celtic noblemen whose hair looked just the same. She had it in a great long plait that hung down to her knees. It sounds rather like the same person, doesn’t it?’

I pushed my plate away and spoke quite sternly. ‘Why did you not mention this before? I asked you yesterday if you had seen any peasant women.’

I expected a spirited defence, such as Junio would have given. Minimus, however, simply said, ‘I’m truly sorry, master,’ and looked abjectly at me. ‘I didn’t realise. .’ He stiffened his shoulders as if he expected to receive a blow.

I said, as gently as I could, ‘Realise what? That this might be important? After what I’d said?’

He looked at me apologetically. ‘That she might be a peasant, master. She didn’t look like one. I thought she was a servant on her way to market in the town. She was carrying something in a sack, and she was wearing a colourful sort of tunic thing. I noticed it because it was particularly short.’

‘A tunic?’ I was disappointed now. Perhaps this was a false trail after all.

He nodded. ‘The flimsy sort that slave girls sometimes wear when they are expected to entertain their masters — you know the sort of thing. So short that her hair hung longer than her hems. Probably quite low round the arms and neckline too, but she had a shawl about her shoulders, to cover up the top.’ He frowned. ‘She certainly wasn’t wearing a plaid dress of the kind you talked about — although it might have been in the parcel, I suppose. And she was wearing the sort of heavy boots the woman described. Horrible clumpy shapeless ones — you know, the home-made kind!’

He spoke with the disgust of someone who had always worn custom-made shoes and sandals, cut and sewn to fit, and had never tied pieces of fresh cowskin round his feet — raw side inward, as many peasants do — and been obliged to squelch about until the leather self-cured in place.

I frowned. ‘Rough boots? You are sure of that? Not the sort of footwear you’d expect a household slave to wear.’

He looked at me a moment, and then said in surprise, ‘Of course not, master. I should have thought of that. What owner would supply his maidservant with such awful ugly boots? They made her legs look even thicker and stumpier than they were.’ He grinned. ‘You couldn’t help but notice, because the tunic was so short. I even wondered if she was a. . well. . if she wasn’t exactly a servant in the normal sense.’

I nodded. There were several brothels in the colonia, just as there are in every Roman town, and the girls in some of them wear tunics, too — at least to start with — if one can believe the advertising paintings on the wall. And some customers have strange fetishes about footwear, I believe. ‘So when you saw her with Aulus, what did you suppose. .?’ It was my turn to grin.

He did not smile in answer, but said earnestly, ‘I thought that she was lost. She was on foot and she seemed to be asking directions, or something of the kind — I remember Aulus pointing down the lane as if he was showing her the old route into town. The gatekeepers often have strangers asking them the way, if they have tried to take a short cut down the ancient tracks and missed their road. I simply thought that she had lost her bearings in the woods. In fact, I had forgotten all about her till you described the lime-bleached plaits.’ He frowned. ‘But why is she important, master?’

‘She might well be the owner of the clothes the body was dressed in when it was found. The robe could have been in the parcel she was carrying, as you say, and we now know that she, or someone very like her, offered the dancing woman a bribe to join the troupe. And that someone was wearing a plaid garment at the time.’

‘So isn’t it likely she simply sold it on — especially if she hoped to join the dancing girls?’ That bashful grin again. ‘Woollen plaid is not exactly the most erotic kind of dress, but it’s still worth money in the marketplace. Lots of stall-holders would gladly pay to take it off her hands, even if it was a little frayed.’

‘Sell it? With all that money in the hem?’ I shook my head. ‘I wonder if Junio’s been able to find out who she was. The gods alone know where she is by now — alive or dead — but it might yet be possible at least to find out where she went to when she left the villa gates.’ I did a little calculation in my head. ‘Though that can’t have been the same day she disappeared from home.’

Suddenly I was anxious to be at the villa too, making enquiries about what the land slaves knew. There was no time to be lost. I seized the jug and rinsed my face in it, and picked up my warm cloak from the hook beside the door. ‘Let’s go and see what Aulus has to say. Go and tell Kurso where we have gone, and he can pass a message to the mistress when she returns.’

Minimus hurried off to do as I had asked. He was quick and eager and we were shortly on our way. As we walked along I coaxed a fuller story from the lad about what he remembered of the day he saw the girl.

The facts were clear enough. ‘I was sent out by the master with a message for the gate — about where the consignment of larks was to be directed when it came. I was on my own for once, because Maximus was acting as the master’s page — Pulchrus had gone to Londinium by that time, and Marcus wanted someone by his side.’

‘What about Niveus?’ I enquired. ‘I thought he was purchased with that idea in mind?’

‘He didn’t join the household until that afternoon,’ Minimus said dismissively. ‘This was still quite early in the day — only a little while after the luggage cart had gone. Anyway, the master sent me out, but when I reached the gatehouse Aulus wasn’t there. I looked out through his spyhole and saw him talking to this young woman in the lane.’ He gave me a sideways glance. ‘Not just talking either. He was standing close to her, one hand pointing down the road, and the other on her rump. She didn’t seem to mind it, surprisingly. She was smiling up at him as though he were some kind of Greek god. That’s why I wondered if she was a. .’ He shrugged. ‘Aulus was quite disappointed when I called out to him, and he had to come and pay attention to my message.’

I grinned, amused by the picture which this conjured up. ‘Well, we’ll get there very soon and then we’ll see what this unlikely Adonis has to say about the girl.’

But Aulus wasn’t there when we arrived. The gate was open, but there was no one in his cell, and a quick search up and down the lane revealed no trace of him. I suspected that he had sneaked off to relieve himself in the undergrowth, instead of waiting for his official break and then trailing all the way round the villa grounds to the slaves’ latrine, but though we called and waited he did not appear.

I frowned. This was unusual. Marcus was a stickler for guarding all the gates — especially since Julia and Marcellinus were abducted a little while ago, held to ransom and only narrowly escaped alive. Marcus had been doubly careful about security ever since. Aulus would be severely flogged if his owner discovered he’d left his post like this.

However, in the absence of a gatekeeper we went in on our own. Still no Aulus, or anybody else. No servants in the front courtyard, or at the entrance to the house. For the first time ever, I walked into the villa completely unannounced.

I let myself into the atrium with the idea of waiting there, while Minimus went off to find a slave and let his erstwhile master know that I had come. Some serious crisis in the family possibly? I could think of no other reason why there should be no one about — usually in Marcus’s villa one could scarcely move without inviting the attention of a pair of matching slaves. I was just wishing I had gone round to the back door of the house and thus been able to speak to Stygius without delay, when I was startled to find that I was not alone.

Lucius was already in the room and, unaccompanied by attendants, was pouring a libation on to the household shrine.

I seemed to be making a habit of disturbing private devotions, I thought, and those of the most unlikely people too! I coughed discreetly to let him know that I was there.

His astonishment was every bit as great as mine had been. He started so violently that he dropped the jug, and it smashed into a hundred fragments on the floor. Little drops of liquid splashed among the shards. He whirled round to face me, his face a mask of marble white. ‘What in Jove’s name. .’

‘A thousand pardons, citizen!’ I was mortified. I did not want to anger my patron’s relative, and the jug that he had broken was a substantial one. Besides, to find him worshipping at the household shrine was even more surprising than finding Julia, and more embarrassing for both of us.

Lucius was not the genius of this house so it was not properly his place to make such sacrifice — and he was just the sort of man who cared about such social niceties. Yet he had clearly intended a substantial sacrifice. There was a scrap of kindling on the altar-top and even a lighted taper standing by, as if he hoped to waft his prayers to heaven in the flame, the way that Christians and other outlandish sects are said to do.

At the moment, though, Lucius did not look especially devout. I heard him mutter, ‘Dis take it!’ in a furious undertone. He pressed his thin lips together very hard, and I noticed that pinched redness around the nose again. However, a moment later, he forced a condescending smile.

‘I did not know that you had graced us with your presence, citizen.’

I began to stammer that there had been no one to announce me at the gate, but he waved my words aside.

‘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.