The Germanicus Mosaic (25 page)

‘Not even lies, excellence. He thought he was to blame. He is a Silurian and worships Nodens. He went to the city shrine and put a curse on Crassus during the procession. When the body was discovered, he was horrified. He had not expected such a swift response. I think he still believes he brought down divine justice on Germanicus – you remember he thought the broken statue was a sign? When no human murderer was found, and the whole household seemed in danger of being executed, he confessed – to save Faustina’s life at least.’ I was talking too much, but there was method in it. If I could keep Marcus interested, his mood might well improve.

He was interested. ‘You have seen the curse-tablet?’

‘No, but I am sure it could be found. I should have suspected something like this earlier. I found a lock of hair under his bed. I’m sure now it came from Crassus. Obtained from the barber slave, no doubt. Almost certainly it was used to strengthen the charm – a piece of the cursed man’s hair is said to double the force of any curse. He went back to get a strand or two, secretly, while the other slaves were waiting on the farm cart – probably intending to save the rest for further imprecations. No wonder he was so troubled at its effectiveness that he kept breaking his lute strings.’

‘So, it was not Rufus. Do you know who it was?’

‘I think so, excellence. But I need your help.’

‘Someone else at the villa, I suppose? Libertus, you have a generous spirit, but there is little point in this. Merely one slave’s life against another – and strictly, we could execute them all.’

‘Regina was not a slave,’ I said.

He looked at me. ‘Regina? I have searched for her, as you asked. There is no trace of her.’

I told him.

There was less of an explosion than I was expecting. He raged for a moment. ‘Digging up the mosaic! Without authorisation? I should have you flayed!’

‘Should have you flayed’ I noticed, not ‘shall’. I began to breathe again. ‘Her throat was cut,’ I ventured.

‘Murdered?’ he said.

I quelled any temptation to answer that ironically. ‘It seems so.’

‘By whom? By Crassus? Or by one of his household?’

‘Her throat was cut,’ I said carefully, ‘with a novacula, it seems.’

That did it. I saw his eyes light with interest, and there was no trace of irritation as he said, ‘With a novacula. Like the one you found?’

‘The one Junio found,’ I said. ‘Yes,’ I added theatrically, ‘perhaps with that very blade.’

‘Great Jove,’ he said. ‘And Paulus could not be found when I wanted him. Where is the barber now?’

‘Missing,’ I said. ‘Although I think I know where to find him. And we should hurry, excellence. We shall find ourselves investigating the death of Lucius next.’

That roused him. ‘Then I will put on a toga and come with you.’ I had been hoping for that. It is always better if Marcus suggests these things himself. ‘I will arrange a gig at once. Go and see to it.’ This last to the slave who had been waiting patiently, and who trotted off at once at the command. Marcus turned to me. ‘Why did you not tell me about this at once?’

Since there was no possible answer to this, I merely grinned apologetically, and followed with Junio to the building where my patron had his apartment. Like all wealthy men he inhabited the first floor, a spacious suite of rooms immediately above the wine shop. I had visited the place before and it was impressive: stone floors, painted plasterwork and real windows. There was even a balcony, although it was not a good place to stand. It was too vulnerable to anything thrown down from above. I have waited for Marcus on that balcony before, and can bear witness to the interesting varieties of refuse – and worse – tipped into the street from overhead. There were times when I preferred my own humble habitation. At least I rented it whole, ‘from soil to sky’ as the law went.

We were not invited onto the balcony today. Marcus left us to wait outside on the landing, to my relief, among a small crowd of ‘hangers-on’ who had collected to see Marcus, and a bunch of inquisitive inhabitants from the cramped, bug-infested and overcrowded flats upstairs.

It was not long, however, before Marcus himself reappeared, resplendent in patrician purple edging and spotless linen. It must have taken five slaves to get him ready so soon. He waved an imperious hand and the crowd melted away like frost in the sunshine. The gig was ready and waiting too, together with a driver and a few mounted soldiers as guards provided by the local garrison. I was obviously not the only one who respected the possibility that my patron might have real imperial lineage. Marcus got in and motioned me to follow. Junio stood beside the gig, hesitating.

‘We need Junio,’ I said, daringly, and Marcus nodded. Junio clambered in, wide-eyed, and crouched at my feet, where he remained uncomfortably for the whole jolting, breathtaking journey.

It took only two thirds as long in the gig. It was harder on the bones, but the lighter conveyance seemed fairly to rattle along the roads, and with our armed outriders other traffic moved smartly aside to let us pass. Even a troop of soldiers parted ranks to let the official carriage through. We stopped again for horses, at the posting station, but this time we were offered spiced meats and almond cakes, not the mere bread and cheese of my last visit – that was reserved for Junio and the cavalrymen. (The exquisite envoy would have been chagrined, I thought, to know what luxuries real rank afforded.)

It can barely have been three hours before we turned down the little lane and I found myself outside the Dubonnai roundhouse again.

The appearance of the soldiers created a far greater stir than my fashionable companion of a few days before. I imagine the roundhouse dwellers associated the military with land seizures or with tax. No sooner had the gig stopped than the entire household hurried to the entrance of the enclosure, and formed up in lines to greet us. Marcus smiled, but I could read the signs. Women and children at the back, shielded by their menfolk. The males deferential and polite, but armed. The family were ready for trouble.

Marcus descended from the gig. ‘From your Roman governors, greetings!’ They abased themselves appropriately. He turned to me. ‘You talk to them, Libertus.’ Obviously the envoy had told him that I spoke the language.

I stepped forward, allowing my face to be seen, and deliberately catching the eye of the woman who had provided the oatcakes. ‘We have come to see the hermit,’ I explained, in Celtic. Some of the tension vanished. ‘We think there is a criminal in his cave.’

‘There is a boy there,’ the woman volunteered. ‘He arrived about an hour ago. I was a bit worried about letting him go up there – he looked a bad type, dirty and wild-eyed, dangerous almost. I went up myself with my son, to take some barley loaf and cheese, just to make sure, but Lucius came out and told us not to worry. It was just a runaway slave, he said, and rightfully his.’

‘That’s true,’ I said. ‘It is a long story. We have come to take him away before any further harm is done.’

‘And quickly,’ Marcus said, taking his lead from me. ‘You know the way, lead on.’

I hesitated. I thought I knew, now, what had happened, but I could not prove it – yet. I said, ‘Give me a little time to talk to the fellow alone.’ That was important. I would never gain his confidence while Marcus was there.

Marcus looked doubtful. ‘But I want to talk to Lucius. About the villa.’

‘A little while, that is all.’ I looked around for some way to mark the time. ‘Look at the tree. Wait till the sun has passed behind the highest branch, then follow me. That should give me time for my purpose. Junio, you stay here with Marcus in case you are needed. And do not fear for me, I’ll take the soldiers with me.’

Marcus looked doubtful, but he agreed, and off we went. Great Minerva, they knew how to march, those men! They were not infantry, but they strode up that hill as if it were the merest ridge-furrow, with me struggling breathlessly after them.

‘Wait,’ I panted, as we reached the final slope. ‘Let me go on ahead, I want to—’

I broke off. The hermit had seen us coming. He was standing outside his cave, hands folded at his belt, and was confronting us, his hood half-obscuring his face, very still, very solid, very determined.

I said to him, ‘We have come for Paulus.’

The eyes beneath the cowl hardly flickered. ‘He has come to cast himself on my mercy.’

‘Then you know what he has done? It is an offence – you cannot shelter him. The price is execution.’ I raised my voice. ‘Paulus, come out. Come out or I will send the soldiers in.’

There was a silence.

‘Very well,’ I said, producing my best impression of an officer. ‘Cavalry detachment—’

‘All right,’ said a little voice. Paulus came trembling out of the cave. ‘I’m here. Don’t beat me. I confess. The head—’

I silenced him. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘That misled me for a time. Heads. The head of a corpse in the hypocaust, the head of a statue hidden in a tree. And then of course I realised that it was intended to mislead. I was supposed to concentrate on the heads, to make connections between heads and Druid ritual. It drew attention to you, Paulus, but at the same time drew attention away from the brutal truth.’

‘Which was?’ the hermit said.

‘It was a much simpler murder. We have found damning evidence. There was a woman’s body buried at the villa – Crassus’ bride, Regina. Her throat had been cut with a novacula. A novacula which Paulus admitted was his own. It was found bloodstained, hidden in his bed—’

‘I didn’t kill her,’ Paulus interrupted. His voice was almost a shriek. ‘I came to find my new master, because—’

I whirled on him. ‘Quiet! How dare you interrupt a citizen. Silence him at once.’

One of the burliest soldiers stepped forward and seized the barber, one hand forcing his arms behind his back, the other clamped across his mouth.

‘A novacula, you say?’ The hermit had not heard of our find. He stared at me, white-faced under the beard.

‘And there is more,’ I said. ‘The barber used ointments in his work. Regina was an expert in herbs. She had a chest of potions, some of them deadly. That chest has not been seen since she died, but one of her phials was found, empty, on the rubbish pile, the day of the funeral.’

Paulus shut his eyes in anguish, but he could not speak.

‘With fatal liquids on his tray Paulus would have a thousand opportunities to murder his master. One nick is enough to introduce poison, and he cut Crassus badly the day before the procession. I imagine he applied one of Regina’s ointments, claiming it would staunch the bleeding. Not all poisons kill instantly – my own slave pointed out that if Crassus was poisoned, the murderer need not have been there when he died. Paulus hated his master. It would have pleased him to see Crassus die in public at the parade.’

The barber gave a little hopeless moan, but I carried on inexorably.

‘Only, it was not Crassus in the procession, it was Daedalus, taking his master’s place for a wager. Did Paulus slip away to see what had happened – he told me himself he had left the others at the festival – and stab Daedalus in the back with his centurion’s dagger?’

The hermit was looking at me steadily, the grey eyes very glittering. ‘Why should he kill Daedalus?’

‘Daedalus died,’ I said, ‘because he knew too much. Just that. That is the problem with murder, one killing leads to another.’ I turned to the soldiers. ‘You may have Paulus now. Take him to Marcus. Bind him, gag him, and take him away. I have some business to conclude with Lucius. Tell his excellence I shall not be long.’

I watched them bear the slaveboy, struggling, down the hill.

The hermit watched them go. Paulus was being half-dragged, half-carried, as if his legs had failed beneath him.

‘Unfortunate young man!’ My companion turned to me with genuine emotion. ‘You did well, citizen, to fathom the truth. It was a subtle crime.’

‘More subtle than I thought,’ I said. ‘I underestimated the lengths to which fear will drive a man. Perhaps you guess yourself what danger you were in when we arrived here. I think we narrowly averted another killing.’

‘Mithras!’ The smile grew graver. ‘You think so? He meant to kill me? Citizen, I cannot thank you enough for coming here.’ His eyes searched my face. ‘But you have business with me?’

‘About the villa,’ I said.

He smiled. ‘Have you the leisure to break bread with me again?’

I glanced down the valley, where the gig was just visible in the distance. There was no sign of Marcus. ‘I think I might accept,’ I said. ‘My patron is being fêted by the Celts.’

I followed him into the cave again, and took my seat on the stool, watching as he poured out two goblets of watered wine. The woman’s barley loaves were on the bench, a single slice of cheese, and two bunches of the same meagre herbs I had observed before.

‘Wine?’ I said, in surprise, taking the goblet he offered.

He smiled. ‘From Crassus’ cellar. I have three amphorae here, for medicinal use. I meant to give some to that unfortunate boy. I was preparing a meal for him. He was so consumed with terror, I felt a little sustenance would help.’ He picked up a wooden platter on which a piece of bread, filled liberally with herbs and cheese, was already lying. ‘Take it, citizen. It is not much, but it is all I have.’ He went to the bench, carved an end from the barley loaf, and began to prepare a similar meal for himself.

I took a tentative sip of wine, and waited until he came to join me. Roman politeness demanded that, at least.

‘So,’ he said, cutting a slice of cheese with that handsome knife, ‘what will you do now, citizen, since you have resolved this mystery? Go back to your pavements?’

‘I have a commission for Caius Didio,’ I said. ‘I hope to start work on that again tomorrow. It leads me to a delicate matter, Lucius. The librarium pavement at the villa. Crassus commissioned it, but he never paid, and under the circumstances I can hardly ask Marcus . . .’ I smiled hopefully.

‘Of course.’ He laughed. ‘You have dug it up again. Well, I will see what I can do.’ He came to join me, settling himself on the mattress as before.