A Roman Ransom

Chapter Nineteen

Porphyllia was not the most concise of narrators, but like Cilla she told a lively tale and I learned more than I wished to know about Julia’s toilette — not only the perfumed water with which she bathed her face (‘the chill taken off it, citizen, and fresh rose petals floating in the bowl’), but the ear-scoops, the pointed rod for loosening the wax and the tweezers for removing facial hair. I learned how Porphyllia herself had mixed the white lead and red ochre which gave Marcus’s wife her artless pink complexion, helped to pin the curled and braided wig exactly into place to give that effortless look of elegance, and fetched the kohl, the lamp-black and the ash that her mistress used to make her eyes look larger and her eyebrows lustrous. There were a good many diversions and embellishments in the telling, but I had asked for detail and I was getting it, until by the end of it I felt that I could have done the job myself.

Porphyllia broke off and looked earnestly at me. ‘Is this the sort of thing you want to know?’

‘I find it most informative,’ I said. I meant it, too. Julia was beautiful, there was no doubt of that, but I’d never look at her loveliness with quite the same eyes again. I had a sudden memory of my dear Gwellia, rinsing her face and hands in cold water from the stream and content with the natural beauty she was fortunate to have. My lovely wife. Where was she? And what was happening to her?

I was so immersed in my anxiety that I was almost surprised to hear Porphyllia again. ‘You want me to tell you any more?’

I had to force myself to concentrate. ‘Of course. Go on — so your mistress was washed and clean. What happened next?’

We heard, at length: how Julia had rejected various other gowns (‘too hot, too heavy or too short’) before she finally selected the lilac stola from which we’d seen the strip; how she’d chosen a dramatic blue overtunic to set it off; and how the girdle, which we’d found so tragically, had to be tied and retied a dozen times before the knot was right. Then there was the jewellery to be chosen for the day — a bracelet, necklets, hair ornaments and rings, selected from the boxes which the servants brought — and perfumed oil to be applied behind the ears and on the throat, until finally, with the addition of a pair of pretty leather slippers on the feet, the lady was prepared to face the day.

‘She chose her finest woollen palla — a pretty blue cloak that would fold to make a hood — and had it put aside for later when she wanted to go out. .’ Porphyllia had just reached this enthralling stage in her narrative when there was a gentle tapping at the door, and a dishevelled Cilla sidled in. She had been given a clean tunic and her arms and legs were washed, but she was still bruised and battered, and my heart went out to her.

She crossed to my bedside and flung herself at my feet. ‘Master, forgive me if I did not help your case. I tried to do what my mistress instructed me to do — but I see that I did not assist you much. I seemed, if anything, to make it worse, although I told them nothing but the truth.’

I took her hand and motioned her to rise. ‘They struck the irons off?’

She nodded. ‘The medicus has given me some balm to rub into the place — apparently your patron ordered that he should. And they told me that I was to come and wait on you. Though I see that you already have a female slave at your command.’ She glanced towards Porphyllia, who dragged adoring eyes from Junio long enough to acknowledge this comment with a smirk.

‘This is one of Julia’s handmaidens,’ I explained. ‘She has been assigned to me as a poison-taster while her mistress is away, and she was telling us about what Julia did the day she disappeared.’

‘We thought it might be useful,’ Junio added, with a smile. He made an obvious attempt to look Cilla in the eyes, but she turned away from him and spoke to me.

‘Then I must not interrupt you, master,’ she observed. ‘Though of course I worked for Julia too, for years, before I was given to you. You never know, I may be able to assist.’

Porphyllia, listening, turned pink and scowled. I gave an inward sigh. Dealing with one infatuation was enough, but now there was clearly rivalry abroad. I longed to assure Cilla that Junio’s heart was safe, but of course I could do nothing of the kind. Instead, I motioned Cilla to the stool which Junio had left. She looked as if she needed to sit down.

‘Master, you are very good,’ she said, and sat.

I invited my little poison-taster to go on with her tale. ‘As you were saying. .’

‘As I was saying,’ Porphyllia spoke rather more loudly than was strictly necessary, ‘Julia called for breakfast in her room.’

‘Bread and fruit and watered wine,’ Cilla supplied swiftly, from her perch. ‘That’s what she always had.’

Porphyllia was scowling, and I tried to mediate. Rivalry for Junio might have one good effect — the two girls were competing as to who could tell me more. ‘She ate that alone?’ I said, addressing my question to Porphyllia.

‘Apart from myself — because I brought it in — and the girl who had been watching Marcellinus through the night. But by the time she’d finished, Myrna had arrived, so that slave could be dismissed. Then the other girls came in, and we were all given our allocated tasks and sent away. And then. .’ The dumpling stopped, and looked a little nonplussed. She thought for a while and then said in a rush, ‘I suppose that’s all I know. Later on the carriage came for her. I wasn’t the one summoned to help put on her cloak and veil, so I didn’t see her go, but I knew that she had gone out to visit friends.’

‘Taking Marcellinus with her?’ I asked.

An enthusiastic nod. ‘She was visiting the house where Myrna used to work, and she always took the boy when she went there.’ Porphyllia balanced the empty tray against her hip and tossed her head, as if to flaunt the fact that she was the proper centre of attention here. ‘And she wanted to buy some teething herbs for him as well.’

‘She must have taken an attendant,’ Cilla said. ‘The mistress wouldn’t travel anywhere without a slave.’

‘Of course she did. She took the wet nurse with her — as she always did, especially when she went to Grappius’s villa. I know some people think she did it purposely, to demonstrate that she had Myrna now, but I don’t think she meant to be unkind. She liked to show Marcellinus off, that’s all. He was always pretty forward for his age — he could do all the things that Myrna’s daughter does and he’s younger than her by a moon or more. And if the boy went, Myrna would go too. She was the obvious companion for the mistress then — whatever the other handmaidens may say.’

So Myrna was resented by the other maids, I thought — including, no doubt, Porphyllia herself. I noticed how adeptly the little dumpling had conveyed that impression while carefully distancing herself from any criticism implied. I understood. It is not wise for slaves to court the charge of speaking out against their mistresses.

I nodded. ‘So you did not see Julia again till she came back?’

‘Not really even then. I just glimpsed them coming in across the court.’

Cilla sniffed. ‘Surely there was someone standing by, in case she wanted help with her cloak. In my time there would have been a frightful fuss if there was nobody waiting to attend on her.’

The other girl flushed. ‘Well, of course we were ready to attend to her, but she just went straight over to her room.’

‘And didn’t she want someone on call outside the door? She always used to,’ Cilla said.

The younger girl took umbrage at this implied rebuke. ‘Two of the girls went over to report, but they were shooed away. The mistress had a headache and she wanted to lie down. She sent a message she was not to be disturbed. The boy was fast asleep in any case and she’d apparently decided that she would rest until he woke to take his feed, and call us later when she wanted us. And that was all. It was not unusual.’

Cilla laughed. ‘Leaving you idle for the afternoon?’

‘We all had jobs to do.’

I intervened again. ‘But did you see Julia and the child again? Yourself?’

Porphyllia frowned with concentration. ‘I’m sure I did. A little while after Myrna came over for the soup. I saw them playing in the court.’

‘The court?’ A thought had just occurred to me. I gestured to the door. ‘Could you show Junio and Cilla exactly where they were?’

‘But, master. .’ Junio had backed away towards the door, but now he stepped forward in alarm. I thought he was protesting at the idea of being paired off with his plump admirer in that way, but his next words came as a surprise. ‘They wouldn’t have been over here, would they? It would be the new courtyard, surely, in the private wing — where Marcus and the family have their rooms?’

Porphyllia and Cilla were both nodding now, in a moment of unexpected unanimity. ‘That’s where she always gave the child his airing after lunch,’ the dumpling said. ‘It’s much more sheltered than the courtyard over here, and they aren’t likely to be embarrassed or disturbed by any of the master’s official visitors.’

Cilla was not to be outdone. ‘Master, that’s the very reason why Marcus had the new wing built — to have more privacy. He even had the summer dining room put over there as well, when Julia was expecting Marcellinus and could not generally been seen in company.’

I frowned. I should have thought of that before. Of course, there were now two courtyards in the house. Perhaps it was an indication that my brain was still not working perfectly, but somehow I’d assumed all along that it was the central court from which they’d disappeared. Yet I had been told repeatedly that Julia had just come from her room, and I should have known where that was nowadays. After all, I was enjoying the luxury of her former bedchamber myself! And it did make perfect sense. Julia would obviously prefer to sit out over there, I thought, remembering the pretty little garden, with its arbour and its shrine, sheltered on all sides by walls and full of fragrant plants and scented herbs.

Junio crossed anxiously to stand beside the bed. ‘Does that make a difference to your thinking about the kidnapping, master? I should have thought it was more difficult than ever to abduct them from there.’

Porphyllia was still gazing adoringly at him, as though he were the Delphic oracle. She tore her eyes away to say to me, ‘That’s right. You can only get there from the passageway that leads through from the main part of the house.’ Then she clamped her gaze on him again.

Cilla said sharply, ‘But surely there’s a back way out of there? There is a little gateway, isn’t there, leading to the orchard and across the open fields? The path was there before the wing was even built. It’s pretty difficult and unfrequented, certainly — it goes across ploughed fields and through the tangled woods — but it is possible to go that way.’ She turned to me and grinned. ‘Master, I seem to remember that you used it once yourself. Isn’t that right, Junio?’

It was a deliberate attempt to exclude the other girl, by drawing on a shared experience. Cilla was quite right, of course: I had once used that path, escaping from hostile soldiers in the dark, though that was moons ago, when the new wing was first built and Marcellinus was only a few days old. However, it was not a story that I wished to amplify in front of one of Marcus’s household slaves — especially one who babbled like a brook. I frowned at Cilla as a warning that she should hold her tongue. Junio, who also knew about my ignominious flight, caught my eye and winked conspiratorially at me. But Porphyllia was not even curious, it seemed.

Instead she assumed a rather lofty air, as the only one who knew the present villa and its ways. ‘It must be a long time since you were in that section of the house, then, citizen. The master had that pathway gated off moons and moons ago — certainly before he purchased me. He said that if it was possible for people to get out that way, it was possible for strangers to get in.’ She gave the tray a little hoick against her hip, as if to emphasise a point well made.

Cilla was all false silkiness and charm. ‘I heard him talk of doing that, even before I left the house. I think he was afraid of robbers at the time — there were reports of thieves and bandits in the forest round about. But the path led to the orchard, didn’t it? The mistress used to like to go out there, especially when there was blossom on the trees. Surely the master didn’t block that off?’

Porphyllia treated the interruption with disdain. ‘There still is a path into the orchard and she still uses it — she used to take the baby there and let him see the geese — but it’s had a gate put on it. These days there’s no way out on to the farm except past the gate-keeper. The kidnappers could not have come and gone that way, if that was what you were thinking, citizen.’

It had occurred to me, of course. Erroneously, it seemed. ‘And the man on duty saw nothing untoward?’

‘Only the normal business of the day. Slaves taking laundry in and out, and produce from the farm. The master had him in his study for an hour for questioning — the poor man was quite shaken by the time he was released — but there wasn’t anything he could report that afternoon. Not even any omens, like horrible old groping Onions at the front.’ She spoke the nickname with disgust, as though it tasted of itself.

‘Aulus is still here and at his tricks?’ Cilla asked, with a look that said ‘Fondling anything that’s fool enough to let him?’ as clearly as if she’d spoken the words aloud.

Porphyllia turned scarlet to her tunic-hems. ‘No one likes that sort of thing.’ She flashed a little glance at Junio. ‘From Aulus, anyway.’

The boy exhibited such squirming embarrassment at this that I was hard put to it to suppress an inward smile. However, I kept my face as straight as possible, and stolidly pursued my questioning. ‘So how is it that so many people say they saw Julia and Marcellinus in the courtyard of that wing? As you say, it was built for privacy. Surely the area isn’t overlooked?’

It was Cilla who hastened to reply. ‘Not from the main body of the house. But there is a store cupboard, just where the passageway comes out into the court — or there was in my day anyway. That’s where the candles and the oil lamps for that wing were kept — fresh bedcovers and sleep herbs and all that sort of thing. Everything that might be needed over there.’

‘And the cleaning sponges for the clothes.’ Porphyllia was eager to give more information than her rival on the point. ‘We maidservants were always in and out, to fetch them or the mending chest, or else the spare spatulas and bowls for mixing facial pastes.’ She tossed her head at Cilla. ‘And before you ask, there was generally one of us in earshot anyway. The mistress might have sent us all away but she did have a gong to summon us, and she would not have been best pleased if she had wanted something done and there was suddenly no servant to be found.’

‘But that afternoon she didn’t call on you, not even for the soup? Or the cooked fruit for Marcellinus?’ I said.

The girl shrugged. ‘She just sent Myrna, as she often did. In fact it was Myrna who persuaded her to introduce the gong — to keep the rest of us away, the others said. Not that I minded very much. It can be cold out in that courtyard, if you’re simply standing by, waiting for somebody to find a job for you.’

Cilla raised her eyebrows, as if to say that servants in the villa nowadays were getting soft and self-indulgent. But a small connection was forming in my mind, like two pieces of pavement tile that fit together to form a pleasing shape.

‘Cold,’ I murmured. ‘People keep telling me how cold it was. And yet she took the child into the court.’

‘I know what the other girls are saying, citizen, but of course the mistress wouldn’t take a risk. Myrna always advocated an outing after lunch. The inner courtyard’s sheltered from the wind and the child was properly wrapped up.’

‘Wrapped up?’ I echoed. I was thinking of those little coverings which Philades had produced with such a flourish from the bag. ‘Of course he was. Woollen coverings on his legs and hands, a long-sleeved tunic that must have reached at least to his knees, and a warm cap to cover his head.’

‘That’s right,’ Porphyllia agreed. ‘And the dearest little cloak and hood, all made of woollen cloth — I helped to stitch some of it myself. The mistress’s very favourite it was — made to match his father’s.’ She stopped, confused. ‘But of course you know that, you’ve seen it for yourself.’ And then, because she was unstoppable, ‘And then they took it off him when they sent him back. Poor little mite. It’s a wonder he didn’t catch his death of cold, despite that stinking grease they put on him.’

But I was hardly listening any more. ‘Dear Jupiter!’ I cried. ‘Of course, you’re right. Cold weather, headaches and a carriage ride. How could I be so stupid!’ I was sitting upright now, fired with an unexpected energy. The beginnings of an almost incredible idea had just occurred to me. ‘Junio, I think I see how it was done. I believe we’ve been asking the wrong questions all along. In fact, I suspect we were intended to.’