The Germanicus Mosaic

Chapter Six

I was wrong, as I discovered when I got there. Things could smell a great deal worse.

It had taken me some time to reach the roundhouse. The lane was steep, and even when I got there I had to pick my way to the entrance. There was a path of sorts, but the old neat enclosure had fallen into disrepair, the outer ditch and wall had both collapsed and the inner compound had all but disappeared under bushes, thistles, grasses and young trees. The building itself was little more than a ruin. What nature had begun, Crassus had completed by pulling down most of the roof, so that what remained offered little protection against the wind and rain and only then if one huddled under the fallen thatch near what had been the door. The only thing still standing was the smell.

It was a strange smell, compounded of damp straw, rotting vegetation and animal droppings, and a horrible odour of corruption which I eventually traced to a pile of old fish-heads under the fallen thatch. There was an old dark patch on the earth floor besides, where some unfortunate creature had once been slaughtered bloodily, and there was a general ambience of pigs. Hardly a welcoming habitation, and although a pile of bedding straw had been raked together in the one place of shelter, it was dirty, rumpled and damp. I remembered what Aulus had said about beggars sleeping here.

And this was the only place that Rufus and his lady could find to be alone. I felt a twinge of sympathy. It was hardly a senatorial palace, even for Crassus’ hogs.

Yet, ruined as it was, the building revived memories in me. I had not been in a Celtic roundhouse since they had dragged me, at sword-point, away from my own almost thirty years ago, and there was a strange bitter sweetness in visiting one again. Mine was a little bigger, of course, but otherwise no different. A Celtic chief measures his wealth, not in draughty corridors, but in the beauty and workmanship of his possessions, in music and song and the loyalty of his people. In just such a house was I born, and to such a house I brought my bride. I could picture as if it were before me the central fire, giving off its cheerful smoky heat, while something bubbled deliciously in the blackened pot. I could see the women huddled around it, weaving cloth and plaiting baskets, the dog basking by the hearth, one ear already cocked for the returning menfolk, while a lad — it might have been myself — struck music from a little harp and sang the old, sad, proud songs of my youth.

I was accustomed, now, to Roman ways: to stone walls and floors, latrines and drains and aqueducts, to braziers and fullered linen. But there was a part of me which remembered, with regret, an older, wilder, less directed life, when a man’s time and land and labour were his own, without patronage or taxes, and a woman who needed an extra room could weave one out of osiers in an afternoon. Of course, there were drawbacks too, pirate raids and dirt and draughts, but all the same I felt a disagreeable tingling behind my eyes. There were so many things a man had to forget, so many compromises to make, simply to stay alive. I was proud to be a freedman now, but I had been freer, and prouder, then.

But this was no time for morbid introspection. I had come here for a purpose. I broke a stick from a tree nearby and scratched about in the straw, though not with any great hope of discovering anything. I found the fleas — or rather, they found me. I obviously represented their first square meal since the arrival of the aediles, and I wondered fleetingly what they lived on when I wasn’t there. Something, obviously, since there were plenty of them. I could see nothing else, however, and was about to give up when my stick dislodged something small and metallic among the straw.

I bent forward to retrieve it.

It was a single, small piece of hammered metal, thin and worn and shaped like a fishscale with a small hole in one end. I knew what it was. A piece of scale armour, like the ones on Crassus’ shirt.

Yet it had not come from Crassus’ shirt. I had examined that only an hour ago and it was undamaged. Anyway, I asked myself, what would Crassus be doing here, in the resort of pigs and beggars? So, where had it come from? One of Aulus’ amorous soldiers perhaps? Or from some imperial conspirator? Whatever it was, Marcus would have to be told. I slipped the piece of metal into the pouch inside my belt, and sighed. The more I saw of this business, the less I liked it.

There was nothing else to be found and I made my way back to the villa. Aulus was waiting for me.

‘There you are, citizen. Did you find the ruin?’

‘I did.’ I wanted to avoid further intimacy with the onions, but he was ushering me into his room again. I made a bid for escape. ‘I must speak to Rufus. What is he like, this man?’

‘Hardly a man.’ Aulus preened, relishing the opportunity to impart information. ‘He is small, red-headed, young. He is the lute player. You must have seen him. Freeborn, but poor, although so proud you’d think he was of patrician blood. He was sold into slavery by his parents, for ten years.’

I nodded. It was not unknown. Parents too poor to support their children sometimes sold them into slavery for a fixed term, especially if they had a talent, like Rufus. Usually they hoped the child would get manumission at the end and citizenship with it, but Rufus had had the misfortune to be bought by Crassus.

‘He will be lucky to escape when his contract ends,’ I said.

‘Yes,’ Aulus agreed. ‘At least, that was true yesterday. Now, I suppose, he will be given to Lucius. That will ensure his contract is honoured. Lucius might even free him at once — unless he has use for lute players in his hermit’s cell.’

‘Why Lucius?’

Aulus shrugged. ‘That is an open secret. Crassus has no other family. He has sealed a will naming Lucius as his heir.’ He chuckled, an unpleasant loutish sound. ‘Not to enjoy the villa, though. That would be too simple for Germanicus. Lucius is to sell everything and have only the money, to build a church. It was agreed during his visit. Daedalus told me. Crassus would not wish this property to be openly owned by a Christian, it might dishonour his memory, but at the same time I suppose he will have secured prayers for his soul. Germanicus always preferred to bet on both sides of any coin.’

I was thinking about the will. ‘Are there any other bequests?’

Aulus shrugged. ‘Daedalus himself was to have something; and Andretha a pension and freedom, provided he could render the accounts. Apart from that it was mostly bequests to “substitute heirs”. The estate will go to them if Lucius refuses to accept the money — which, being Lucius, he might do I suppose. The substitutes are people that Germanicus wanted to impress. You know what wealthy men are like, always bragging about what is in their testaments, in order to win favours while they are alive. I hear Marcus and the governor are named as substitutes. There may be others, too. Of course, we shall not know for sure until the will is opened and read publicly in the forum.’

‘You realise,’ I said, ‘that you have just attributed to Andretha a motive for wishing his master dead? A pension and freedom.’

‘Andretha?’ That was a new idea, I was sure. ‘He’s a peculiar man. I suppose it’s possible. He’s got a mania about buying his freedom. He worked for a younger man before, you see, and was arranging to do it, but the youth died of a fever and Crassus bought him instead. Andretha still talks about saving his slave-price and buying his release — but now, I suppose, he will not have to. It has turned him into a hoarder, though. Crassus used to torment him by fining him for misdemeanours. Parting with a few sesterces was more painful to Andretha than the lash, I believe. Every fine delayed his freedom a little further.’

I nodded. A slave, particularly a chief slave, might hope to receive an as or two from departing guests — assuming that Crassus’ gambling friends were more generous than he was. All the same, it would take a long time to save up those ‘few sesterces’. Every fine would sting. This was presumably the ‘subtle method’ that Paulus had talked of. But speaking of Andretha reminded me. ‘And what about Daedalus?’ I said. ‘What kind of man was he? He was promised freedom even without the will. Why would he run away?’

‘He was a strange man, too. Oh, he was clever — knew how to flatter, how to laugh at the right time, how to find out people’s weaknesses. But-’ Aulus got up sharply. ‘Why are you asking me this, citizen? Facts I can give you, but who knows a man’s motives? I am a spy, not a soothsayer.’ He towered over me.

I stood my ground. Like Daedalus, I knew how to flatter. ‘You have sharp eyes, gatekeeper. I value your impressions. If I am to find Daedalus, I must know what kind of a man he was. Could he have done this murder? If Crassus had suddenly denied him freedom, say?’

Aulus took a step backwards and began looking at his sandals, with the air of a great philosopher. ‘I have asked myself that. I don’t know the answer, citizen. I do not believe so, murder was not his weapon. But people will stoop to almost anything, for a price.’

An interesting sentiment. ‘And Daedalus had his price?’ I asked.

There was a pause. ‘Oh yes, he had his price.’

‘And what was that? Money? Freedom?’

No answer.

I waited. At last he raised his head and looked at me. He was a big, brutish man, but he would not last a minute, I thought, in front of a hostile magistrate. No one had even threatened to torture him.

He sat down again, avoiding my eyes. ‘I suppose, power. Freedom and money perhaps, but most of all power. I don’t think he would murder for revenge. One can have very little power over the dead.’

‘But in exchange for power?’

He looked at me then. ‘He might do anything.’ He leaned forward, leering excitedly. ‘I see what you are thinking, citizen. Those soldiers at the gate. .’

It was not exactly what I was thinking, but I said, ‘Go on.’

‘Suppose Daedalus was paid to murder Crassus? Bribed by some high official perhaps, or offered a lucrative post — that would explain everything. If Crassus was plotting against the empire, as Marcus thinks, he would have powerful enemies. Men with the money to offer Daedalus anything.’ He smiled triumphantly, seizing my arm again. ‘If you prove this, citizen, do not forget that it was me who reported those soldiers at the gate.’

‘Or “soldier”,’ I said. ‘One each time.’

‘Yes,’ Aulus agreed, ‘but there might have been others behind the scenes. They were centurions, after all. They could have had a military gig, for instance, to bring the body back unseen.’

‘Of course,’ I said, ‘such powerful men would have the means to buy your service, too.’

He got up, terrified. ‘I swear, citizen. .’

‘After all,’ I went on remorselessly, ‘you are known to be a spy.’

‘That is different, citizen! Quite different! Marcus is a state official, and besides I had no choice. .’

‘A man will stoop to anything,’ I quoted softly, ‘for a price. What was your price, doorkeeper? And do not lie to me, I have Marcus’ ear.’

He slumped down upon his stool again. ‘It was. . it was a small thing — a theft. I swear I did not know. I saw it lying on the highway and picked it up. I did not know it was the quaestor’s purse.’

‘Picking up a purse on the highway? That is hardly a capital offence.’

‘No.’ Aulus shifted uneasily. ‘Only — there was a body lying beside it.’

‘The quaestor?’ I had not heard of the incident.

He met my eyes. ‘No, the thief. There had been a struggle, he was wounded and must have crawled away and died. And there was I, standing beside the body with the purse in my hand, when Marcus and his lictor arrived. They had been riding some way behind the quaestor and had come to investigate the trail of blood. They said I was an accomplice.’

‘I see.’ It was easy to imagine. Marcus had persuaded the lad that his life was in danger — banditry on the imperial highway was punishable by crucifixion. Not a risk to be run lightly. Aulus had been quietly released in return for a promise to supply information. By such means are spies recruited.

It was neat. Perhaps on reflection Marcus’ choice of spy was not a bad one, even if he did seek the occasional bribe. A man terrified for his life could be relied upon to tell everything that he knew, prompted by a threat or two. Wasn’t I, after all, using a similar technique?

It was effective too. Aulus was positively babbling in his desire to offer information. ‘There is one other thing, citizen. Something I learned about Daedalus. It may not be important — I don’t think it is — but I believe he had. . a woman.’

It was so unexpected that I almost laughed aloud. The picture of Daedalus that Aulus had been building up — cold, clever, talented, calculating — did not allow for women. I said ‘Love?’ incredulously.

‘I know,’ Aulus said, ‘it sounds ridiculous. But I saw him with my own eyes. Crassus had a woman here who claimed a marriage contract. He refused to see her at first, but she threatened to make a fuss. He gave her the old slavegirls’ room in the villa in the end, and finally paid her off, I think, because she went off happy enough. But several times, at night, I saw Daedalus loitering outside her room, and twice afterwards, when she had gone and was supposed to be travelling home, he slipped out in the middle of the night and was gone until daybreak.’

More nocturnal adventuring, I thought. That back gate had a lot to answer for — although little seemed to escape Aulus. And no doubt Daedalus had paid for silence, too. Aloud I said, ‘I thought she was Crassus’ woman — or wanted to be?’

He shrugged. ‘She was, once. But that was years ago, and she’d aged worse than an army horse. Looked a bit like one, too. If Crassus wouldn’t have her, I think she’d have taken anyone. She was desperate, after all. Her father had just died, and left her penniless. She’d have ended begging on the roads, or selling herself into servitude, if she hadn’t found out where Crassus was, suddenly, and come to look for him.’

I nodded. In that case, I thought, any man’s attentions might have been welcome.

Aulus seemed to read my thoughts. ‘I was awake one night, and I am sure I saw her with Daedalus. She was lying under those trees, and a man — I believe it was him — was bending over her with his arms around her. I must have made a noise. When I went out to see, they were gone. She was freeborn, of course, and Crassus would never have permitted his slave to have her, even if he did not want her himself.’ A thought seemed to strike him. ‘Perhaps Daedalus was offered the lady and a new life in return for killing his master. Men would murder the emperor himself, for less.’ He leered, hopefully. ‘If this is proved, you will tell Marcus that I thought of it, first?’

‘Aulus,’ I said, ‘you have been most helpful. Two more questions, and that is all for now. You did see Crassus leave the villa, the day of the procession?’

‘Of course.’ He sounded surprised. ‘He and Daedalus. They set off together. They were laughing — Daedalus was favoured in that way. Most slaves would not dare to speak in Crassus’ presence, far less laugh — but with him Germanicus seemed to encourage it. I watched them walk to the end of the lane, out of sight.’

‘And who,’ I said, ‘was the last slave to leave the villa?’

He thought for a minute. ‘I believe it was Rufus,’ he said, slowly. ‘The cart came around from the back of the lane, and Rufus got off and went back into the villa, as if he’d forgotten something. Yes, I had to wait for him to come back before I came out and locked the gate.’

‘Then I have two reasons for finding Rufus,’ I said, and escaped from the gatehouse before he had time to breathe on me again.

Aulus had told me a great deal. I wondered how much of it I could trust. He had told me at least one obvious falsehood. Even by his own testimony, the last person to leave the villa was not Rufus, but Aulus himself. If anyone, going to the procession, had opened the gates or left them open for an intruder, who was more likely than the gatekeeper-spy?