A Coin for the Ferryman (16 page)

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.