The Germanicus Mosaic

Chapter Fifteen

But first I had promised Junio the librarium.

Visiting it, however, was not as easy as it sounded. All of the other main rooms of the villa had been designed as such, and were either interconnecting or led off the handsome verandah-corridor across the front of the house; spacious rooms with handsome plastered walls and latticed glass in the windows. The librarium had, of course, begun as an ante-room for the slavegirls, and although its situation was surprisingly pleasant, given its purpose, it was not a convenient room to reach.

It led directly off the back left-hand side of the courtyard garden, reached by a colonnaded walk between the draughty flowerbeds, arbours and statues. While most of the walls bordering the garden were whitewashed and decorated with optimistic designs of colourful flowers and birds, the librarium’s façade, half-obscured by a bush, was dominated by a heavy door. This, being an outer door, was a wooden one and (unlike most in the villa) secured with a key.

It was locked, though presumably not now to save the slavegirls from unwanted attentions. Junio looked at me helplessly.

‘Andretha should have the key,’ I said. ‘Wherever he is. In the kitchen, I would judge, arranging refreshments for Marcus’ breakfast.’

Junio scampered off to ask, while I admired the murals and counted the drooping herbs in the borders: rosemary, sage, leeks, parsley, thyme. Germanicus had planned his garden less for his eyes than for his stomach. I was just gazing at the statue of Minerva which stood in an arbour, when Junio returned.

‘He went to the slaves’ quarters,’ he reported, breathlessly. ‘He’s looking for Paulus, Marcus is calling for a shave.’

And the barber was missing again, I thought sympathetically. He would pay for that, especially if the chief slave had to search for him in person. Andretha was already smarting from being sent to fetch Aulus. Senior slaves do not expect to have to chase after menials.

I had no such difficulties myself. ‘We’ll go to him, then,’ I said and led the way out of the courtyard to the slaves’ quarters at the rear.

I had not been in the building since I was attacked, and I was uncomfortably aware of a little shiver of nervousness as I went in. However, this time I had Junio with me, I reminded myself, and I strode down the aisled centre with a fair imitation of boldness, glancing from side to side into the sleeping areas as I went. There was no sign of Andretha, until we came to the partitioned room at the end. I called his name.

There was no answer, but I thought I heard a faint scrabbling sound within. I pulled back the screen, and there was the chief slave, kneeling on the floor, in the act of pushing a wooden chest hastily under the mattress. He abandoned it immediately as I came in and scrambled to his feet, in a parody of agitation and self-abasement.

‘Citizen! I did not hear you call.’ How then, did he know that I had? ‘I am sorry that you should have to search for me! What brings you here?’

‘I think you have a key, Andretha.’

He turned visibly faint. ‘A key? What key? I swear, citizen-’

Junio looked to me, but when I said nothing, he supplied the answer himself. ‘To the librarium. My master wishes to see the pavement.’

‘Ahh!’ Andretha busied himself with dusting down his tunic. ‘That key. Let me see. I should have it here.’ He fished inside his tunic and fetched out a cluster of keys on a chain around his neck. ‘Come with me, and we shall see.’

It was a clumsy lock, one of those that operates outwards, but he opened it in the end and pulled the door ajar. The librarium looked darker and pokier than ever, musty, echoing and bare, a tiny windowless square of a room with its painted plaster and its mosaic floor and those lonely manuscript pots on a shelf, in their solitary alcove. Junio, however, was enthralled.

‘Ars longa,’ he said, pushing open the door to read the amended inscription on the pavement. ‘You did that cleverly. And the border too. In so little time! It looks very well.’

‘The bulk of the mosaic was already done,’ I reminded him. ‘And Crassus had his own slaves prepare the ground for the mortar. I only had to roll and lay it.’

He grinned at me. ‘A real pavement. My first. Well, I’m glad to see it. It seems a pity it will never now be used. I hope Lucius appreciated it.’ We walked back out into the courtyard, blinking in the light. ‘Perhaps the new owner will have a studious bent. Though if he does, I expect he’ll choose a more convenient room.’

Andretha was waiting outside anxiously with the keys. I waited for him to lock the librarium door, before I said casually, ‘Which key is missing, then, Andretha? The key to that chest you were examining?’

He flashed me a look of such unexpected ferocity that I stepped backwards sharply.

‘I thought as chief steward you held all the keys?’ I said, attempting to repair the damage a little. Life at the villa had proved dangerous enough, without deliberately attracting enemies. ‘Or did Crassus entrust that one to his favourite? To Daedalus?’

It seemed to be the mention of Daedalus that did it. Or perhaps it was the fact that we had caught him in the act. All at once, it seemed, he decided to gamble on the truth. The old self-important, obsequious Andretha vanished and I saw the frightened man within, desperate, vulnerable and urgent. He sat down abruptly in the arbour, under the statue of Minerva. ‘No, citizen, not even that. Crassus kept that key himself. That box was his treasure chest. I knew he had it. He kept it in his bedroom, under the floor, where he kept the cashbox too. You saw me with that the other day. I held a key to that. But this was different. It held, not coins, but all his jewels and gold, and little silver figurines. He had a ring-key to it, which he always wore, on his little finger.’

‘I did not see it, when I examined the body.’

He look at me helplessly. ‘No, citizen, nor did I. I looked for it, but it was gone.’

‘You did not tell me that at the time,’ I said.

He shook his head. ‘The fact is, citizen. .’ He dropped his head into his hands. ‘You will soon know anyway. There is a. . a shortfall in the accounts. I am sure that there was gold in that chest, the way Crassus kept it locked. It was heavy too. I hoped, perhaps, I could make good the loss.’

‘You meant to steal some of his gold, in fact?’

He did not deny it. ‘But I did not do it, citizen.’ He raised his head, and lifted his hands like a Vestal Virgin making sacrifice. ‘I could not find the key. Imaginary theft is not a crime. But who would believe me?’

‘You have the chest now,’ I said. ‘What were you doing? Prising it open?’

He sighed, defeated. ‘It would do me no good, citizen, if I tried. The chest is empty. It is still locked, but you have only to shake it to know that. That is why I moved the chest from his bedroom. I thought if it was discovered there, with nothing in it, suspicion would fall on me at once.’

I confess, I had not expected this. ‘But you do not have the key?’ I said. ‘Or know where it is?’

He looked at me, and I saw that ferocious despair in his face again, but not directed against me this time. I have seen that look before, in the arena; the furious terror of a man who has staked his life and lost.

‘I think I know where it is,’ he said at last. ‘I have been foolish, citizen. Foolish and tricked. Daedalus must have it. Find Daedalus and you will find the key.’ He hunched his shoulders hopelessly. ‘I suppose you will take me before Marcus now?’

‘I should,’ I said. ‘You say imagined theft is not a crime, but this is not imagined theft. There is a shortfall in the accounts. You have been stealing from your master for some time, haven’t you? I suspected as much, earlier.’

He havered. ‘No, citizen, I. . Yes. Yes, it is true. I wanted my slave price. A man in my position acquires, you know, an as or two here and there, sometimes as much as a sestercius. I was saving them. Tradition has it that a slave may keep such gifts, and even buy his freedom, if he can. But Crassus-’

‘Fined you,’ I supplied, remembering what Aulus had said, ‘each time you almost had the price?’

He nodded. ‘It was as if he knew. He always found something to fine me for — an insolent slave, a meal not to his satisfaction, a broken goblet. I was responsible, you see, for everything. I have even thought he did things purposely; there was a fine Samian dish once, I swear it was not cracked when I took it to him. It cost almost as much as I do, that one dish alone.’

Junio was looking at him, appalled. That kind of cruelty is outside his experience.

‘So,’ I said, ‘you started stealing from him? To take back what he owed you, was that it?’

‘It was not much, citizen. I did not dare. A few sesterces, no more. An extra as for hobnails, or to the pottery seller. I did not think it would be missed.’

‘It wouldn’t,’ I returned. These were trifling amounts, and easy to disguise. Hardly a shortfall in the books. ‘One extra dormouse invoiced for a feast — it would be impossible to trace.’

He blushed. ‘You are right, citizen. That was how I had intended it. And as I say, he had effectively stolen it from me. But. .’ He stopped.

‘It proved too easy? The temptation was too great?’

‘No, citizen. Not that!’ He was almost weeping now. ‘But Daedalus discovered it. I don’t know how. He threatened to tell Germanicus, to have me handed to the public torturers, unless — unless I stole for him as well. He wanted money, real money. A hundred denarii — and for the feast of Mars. He was to be freed, he said, if he won a wager. He would not tell me what it was, but he was confident. But he needed to raise the money as a stake. He was a personal slave, he never worked for others, and Crassus never gave gratuities. He had no money. Without me, that is.’

‘So you struck a bargain? The money in return for his silence. You trusted him?’

‘Not really, but what had I to lose? The torturer can only execute you once. Crassus would have had me killed just the same, whether I stole a hundred denarii or two. It is not as though a man can execute his own slave, now — Germanicus would have delighted in exacting “fitting” punishment, but one job is like another to the executioners. Besides, Daedalus promised that when he was free, he would try to buy me from Germanicus. It would mean changing one master for another, but Daedalus could not be worse than Crassus. He would let me earn my freedom honestly, he said.’

‘And you believed him?’

‘Daedalus has been good to others in the household. He tried to plead for Regina, and for Faustina’s child. It did no good, but at the least he tried. I thought he might have kept his word. But I was wrong, it seems. Daedalus has won his freedom and escaped, taking all my money with him.’

No wonder Andretha had been so anxious to find Daedalus. I shook my head. ‘He could not claim his freedom, if Crassus was dead.’

‘He did not need to,’ Andretha pointed out. ‘He has it anyway. Crassus gave him freedom in his will. Daedalus is a free man — as I would be, if I could render the accounts. I wish I had not stolen anything!’

‘At least,’ I said, ‘you have escaped with your life. Lucius surely will not have you killed. You will be sold, at worst.’

‘I will be sold,’ Andretha said, helplessly. ‘Lucius will show mercy, but he would not condone a theft. I will not gain my freedom. All the world will know the contents of that will, they will know I could not render the accounts — and who will buy me then? I will be worthless. I, who have been chief steward to a big estate, shall be lucky now to scrub the chamber pots or empty the vomitoria of some sick poverty-stricken master — until I catch his fever and die myself.’

There was truth in this. A dishonest slave is worse than a cracked cooking pot — useless to any buyer, and likely to be reserved for the basest tasks.

‘I thought that if I told you the truth about the chest,’ Andretha said bitterly, ‘I might have spared myself. But since you guessed about the stealing, I suppose you will hand me to Marcus just the same.’

I shook my head. ‘I am here to investigate a killing,’ I said. ‘Not thefts from Crassus. The shortfall in the accounts will come to light of its own accord. I see no reason to involve Marcus for the moment, unless the two things prove to be connected. Where, for instance, did you go during the procession? You were not there, or you would have noticed other people missing.’

He sighed. ‘You know about that too? Well, there is no point in denying it now. I went to the moneylenders.’ That was possible, there were dozens of them in the forum, and on public occasions they could do a roaring trade. ‘I was in their hands,’ he wailed helplessly. ‘Crassus fined me for the Samian dish and I had given Daedalus all the money that I had. Without him, how shall I ever pay them back?’ He plucked at my sleeve. ‘There is still hope, if you find Daedalus. Try to find him for me, citizen.’

‘I intend to,’ I said. ‘And you had best find Paulus, in your turn, if you wish to escape punishment. Marcus is still waiting for his shave.’