The Germanicus Mosaic (24 page)

It was an impressive place. A fine stone-paved floor, with a water channel let into it, and a bucket with a sponge-stick in it nearby, so that users could have running water to cleanse themselves without moving from their perch. I thought of my own wretched arrangements, which had to be thrown out of the window daily. Crassus certainly knew how to live in style.

‘Ah,’ Aulus said, freeing his piece of wood at last. ‘Here it is. There is a space in the wall.’ He groped through the hole to produce a small, almost spherical object wrapped in a piece of hide. ‘Naturally when I found this, I hid it to show to you.’

The man was lying, obviously. Until I arrived at the villa that morning, Aulus could not have had any idea that he would ever see me again. However, this was not the moment to argue. He unwrapped the object and held it out to me. I took it gingerly. It seemed clean enough, but I did not altogether care for its hiding place.

The object appeared at first sight to be a ball, a slightly lopsided pipe clay ball, but when I turned it over, the truth was obvious.

It was a head. A rather crudely carved and hooded head, smeared with dried blood, and with a jagged edge as if it had been broken from its modelled body by a savage blow.

I turned it in my fingers. ‘You know what it is?’ I said to Aulus.

He shrugged. ‘It is hard to say. I thought perhaps . . . from the lararium?’

‘A
genius paterfamilias
,’ I said. ‘Yes.’

Junio came over, drawn by curiosity. ‘If that is supposed to be Crassus it is not a good likeness, at least from what I have heard of him. In fact, the face is so featureless it could be anyone.’

‘They always are. At least the inexpensive ones. They are symbolic representations, nothing more.’ I turned to Aulus. ‘Where did you find it? Not in the latrine?’

He shook his head. ‘No. There is a hollow place in a tree beside the roundhouse. A big oak, hung with mistletoe. He often hid things there. He did not know that I had discovered his hiding place.’

‘He often hid things there?’ Who did? Surely not Crassus? Aulus seemed to suppose that I knew already. Perhaps he had explained to Marcus. That was tricky. If I let him sense my ignorance, he would guess that I had not spoken to my patron about this visit.

I searched my brain, and made an association. Mistletoe. It was revered by Druids; they were even said to have a special ceremony where they cut it with a golden scythe. And an oak. Oaks were sacred too. I said, as though I had known it all along, ‘You mean Paulus put it there? You are sure of that?’

Aulus shrugged. ‘I did not see him do it. But who else would it be? He was always hiding things in that tree – coins, bits of food, even those herbs Regina gave him for his bruises. I reported it to Marcus long ago, but he wasn’t interested. Anyway, the morning before Crassus’ funeral, I saw Paulus go there, and he came away looking horribly guilty.’

I nodded. I myself had looked for the barber for some time in vain that morning.

‘It wasn’t easy to get away and search,’ Aulus said. ‘I could not be found missing from my post. In the end I had to slip up there the morning after the funeral, when everyone else was asleep. That was what I found.’

‘You did not tell me at the time.’

‘I tried to tell you, citizen, but you were not interested. I told Marcus that I had found something, but he said it was unimportant because Rufus had confessed.’

I remembered. Aulus had hinted that he could tell me ‘stories’ at a price. I had supposed he was offering scurrilous gossip. Marcus had obviously thought something similar, since he also refused to buy the information. Now, of course, everything was changed. If Daedalus had killed Regina, as Aulus believed, the whole household of slaves was under threat again. He was only too anxious to turn informer.

‘I took it away and hid it in the latrine, just in case.’

In case Paulus could be blackmailed, presumably, but he didn’t say that. I said, ‘And?’

He shrugged, regretfully. ‘Paulus disappeared after that and did not return.’

The regret was genuine. He must have been hoping for a substantial bribe. A suspected Druid in possession of the bloodstained head – even the stone head – of a murdered man would have some serious explaining to do. Merely to be a Druid was an offence against the state, as was being involved in anything that smacked of Druid practices. Paulus would no doubt have been willing to pay a high price for silence. That much, at any rate, made sense.

We were interrupted by Andretha hurrying into the latrine.

‘I was looking for you, citizen. May I come in?’

It was daring, while I was there. Some villa owners, like my own one-time master, permitted household slaves to use the house latrine – although never at times when any citizen might require it, naturally. I doubted that Crassus was so generous. There was probably a servants’ open latrine or cesspit somewhere, which would be emptied occasionally to provide fertiliser for the estate.

On the other hand, I told myself, Lucius was the official owner now. Perhaps Andretha expected him to take a different view of social customs.

‘No objection at all,’ I said heartily. ‘Aulus was just showing me a most ingenious hiding place. I wonder how he came to know of it?’

Aulus looked as if he would cheerfully have stuffed me into it, but he said, ‘I heard about it from the slave who cleaned the place. It was not difficult to hide things there – the latrine is not used at night. Only Crassus ever came here after dark, and it was easy to avoid him. He almost always had an oil lamp, or had Daedalus carry one, to light his way.’ He brightened. ‘Do you think Daedalus hid Regina’s body in here, while he dug the hole? Perhaps Paulus helped him. Obviously Daedalus had discovered the Druid connection and could force the boy to do anything, as his price for silence. It would not take long – the floor had already been dug over in preparation for a pavement.’

Of course, I thought. He was right. Even the disturbed earth would attract no attention. And then, in the morning, the slaves would pile the new earth over the hasty grave, to ‘make a good foundation’ and some foolish pavement maker, proud of his art, would conceal the evidence for ever. It was a humbling thought.

Aloud I said, ‘Why do you think Paulus was involved in this?’

Aulus looked at me as if I were feebleminded. ‘Regina’s throat was cut,’ he said. ‘Paulus is missing. And you found a novacula, didn’t you, citizen? In Paulus’ bed, I’m told.’

I wondered where he had learned that. From the guard who had been posted at my door, perhaps. I had to admit it, Aulus seemed to be an effective spy.

Andretha had concerns of his own. ‘I wished to ask your advice, citizen, about this body you have found. Should it, do you think, be given burial? And if so, how? After all, it has already been buried once, after a fashion.’

It was typical of Andretha, I thought, to agonise over the ritual niceties of reburying a corpse, when we were faced with a double murder and a runaway slave. Yet, strictly, he had a point. As a free woman visiting the villa Regina should be accorded funeral dignities.

‘Cremation would be best,’ he went on fretfully. ‘But the land is Lucius’ now. He might not welcome that. Christians do not like to burn the dead. Perhaps we should send to him for instructions. Or to her family. But we cannot wait for long. In the meantime we should wrap her up, at least. The sight is awful and the stench is worse.’

‘I think you might lawfully do that,’ I said. I had no authority, but somebody had to take command. ‘Fetch in some bedding and lie her in the librarium. It is cold in there, and dark, and you can lock the door. In the meantime we will send to Marcus. He should be told in any case.’

‘I fear to touch the body,’ Andretha said. He looked ashen. ‘She was not properly interred. I do not think her spirit could escape when it wished to. Her hair and nails have grown.’

If that was true, it was certainly horrifying. Andretha looked pale. More than pale, in fact. He had been living with acute fear for several days and this body under the pavement had been the last straw. I realised that this visit to the latrine had been born of necessity, not merely a desire to find me. If we had been equals, of course, there would have been no difficulty – the place was built for communal use. But since I was a citizen and a guest, and he was merely a slave, it was out of the question for him to ‘insult’ me. The least I could do was leave quickly.

I said, matter-of-factly, ‘We have found Regina. Now perhaps I can look for Paulus. Come, Junio.’

Andretha let out a little whimper. ‘Yes, I have lost Paulus, too. I shall be executed, I am sure of it.’ He was already edging urgently towards the wooden bucket with the communal sponge-stick in it.

I could take a hint. I led the way outside and left him to it. ‘He is right,’ I said to Junio. ‘Who would have dreamed that Paulus would run away? He was so timid. And where would he go? He took nothing with him – he had nothing to take. To his family perhaps?’

‘He couldn’t do that,’ Aulus said, desperate to please me by offering information. ‘His family are all slaves too. He told me so. Besides, he still has his neckchain, identifying him as Crassus’ slave. I am surprised he has not been dragged back here before.’

Andretha came out of the latrine looking shaken, and hurried up to us. Now, perhaps, he might be in a position to assist.

I held out the head that I had been holding. ‘Aulus found this. Have you seen it before?’

He looked at it. ‘It looks like the missing
genius
from the household shrine; Rufus said it was broken. But who could have done this to it?’

‘I wondered about that for a moment,’ I replied. ‘But I have changed my mind. I don’t think this came from the shrine at all. From Crassus’ collection of figurines, more likely. See where the stone has been broken? That is an old scar. It is too smooth to be recent damage, and not clean enough. This has a patina that comes with age. It has been broken for a long time.’

‘It must be important, all the same,’ Aulus said sulkily, ‘otherwise Paulus would not have hidden it in the oak.’

‘Paulus hid it in the oak?’ Andretha said. ‘A severed head?’

Aulus looked smug. ‘Among the mistletoe.’

‘Then that proves it. Paulus was a Druid.’ Andretha made a despairing gesture. ‘I suspected as much! A Druid! And in my household too. One disaster after another. I wonder if it would help if I denounced him to Marcus.’

‘
We
shall denounce him to Marcus,’ Aulus said hotly. ‘I was the one who found the head.’ He flung Andretha a mutinous glance. ‘There may be a reward.’ He turned to me. ‘And we should find him quickly, before he goes running to Lucius. Lucius will claim him as a Christian convert, and the next thing you know they’ll be blessing bread together and I shall lose my reward.’

I stared at him, taking in what he had said. Suddenly I had the missing piece, and everything made sense. What Aulus had said was surely the solution. It is no crime, even for a slave, to run away and find your master. Being a Christian is frowned upon, but it is not in itself a capital offence – not yet, at any rate. Far better than being under certain sentence of death. Paulus was no dedicated Druid, and he was so terrified of mere physical punishment – let alone execution – that a swift conversion would not bother him. He would sacrifice his own left arm to the emperor if it would help.

‘Of course! He has gone to Lucius!’ I cried. ‘How could I have been so blind? Andretha, put that body in the librarium and have the farm cart readied. I must go to Glevum, and then to Lucius. And hurry! If I am right, delay could be fatal.’

‘Fatal?’ Andretha quavered. ‘Fatal to whom?’

‘To you, among others,’ I told him brutally. It was not, admittedly, likely to be true but it ensured I had the farm cart readied in record time. In less than a hour Junio and I were at the gates of Glevum.

I found myself in a quandary. Marcus, of course, had no idea that I had gone back to the villa, and I was faced with the rather unpleasant necessity of telling him, not only that I had done so against his instructions, but that I had also dug up his librarium floor without his consent and found a decomposing body under it. These were not tidings likely to improve his afternoon.

Under the circumstance, I felt, I would have to be more than usually persuasive to convince him that it was necessary to stop whatever he was doing and accompany me immediately to visit Lucius in the fastest available official transport. Yet that was precisely what was required.

My heart sank when, after enquiring at Marcus’ lodgings, we discovered where he was. If I were to make a list of all the places where Marcus hated to be disturbed, a private massage room at the bathhouse would be very near the top of it. Lying there while a nubile slave rubbed his body with perfumed oils, before he strigiled off and went to join his friends for intrigue and gossip in the steam room, was one of my patron’s most sacred pleasures. He would not welcome intrusion there.

I sent Junio. All right, it was a sort of cowardice. Junio was willing enough – that is what slaves are for, he said – but I was rather ashamed of myself for it. Though there was a kind of excuse. I knew Marcus. He would think it below his dignity to lose his temper with a menial messenger. While he was getting dressed to see me he would have time to cool down a little, mentally as well as physically.

A little while later Marcus emerged in a tunic, looking pink and furious, and followed by a slave carrying his towel and cloak. He cut short my obeisance and greetings.

‘There had better be an excellent explanation,’ he said.

I swallowed. ‘Your pardon, excellence, but I come on your commission. I believe I know now who our killer is.’

He made an exasperated sighing sound. ‘I thought we had disposed of that. I suppose that you will tell me now that it was not Rufus? Although the slave confessed?’

I smiled, I hoped ingratiatingly. ‘Yes, excellence. That is what I am going to say.’

‘Very well, I am listening. But do not expect me to reprieve your little lute player. He is guilty of lies, if nothing else. No mere slave tells lies to me. I represent the State.’ He took his wrap from his own attendant and flung it impatiently around himself as he spoke. He did, I thought, look like a dumb show in a spectacle, representing Imperial Justice.