The Germanicus Mosaic (27 page)

I presumed it was the herbs. I had taken the precaution of exchanging our goblets while he signed the tablet, just in case it was the wine, but I had let him know that I had done that. ‘It is an elementary precaution to exchange glasses when one is drinking with a poisoner.’ It had not prevented him from draining his cup.

He had been very anxious, however, to give me the meal that was prepared for Paulus. The boy, obviously, had posed a threat to him. No doubt, like Daedalus, he had served his master in the bathhouse and would soon have seen through the disguise. So Germanicus had prepared a deadly meal for him, and then given it to me, and watched like a hawk as I pretended to eat it. I had been obliged to ask for water in order to distract him long enough to exchange the plates, and then to knock the beaker flying – I dared not risk a drink he did not share.

I carefully collected up the few fragments of leaf which still lay upon his plate and wrapped them in the square of cloth in which the woman had sent the loaf. I was careful not actually to touch them; according to Faustina the poison can be absorbed through the skin.

They did look like parsley leaves. Mentally I blessed that blow on the head I had received at the villa. It had saved my life. If it had not been for my conversation with Faustina then, I should undoubtedly have eaten those leaves unsuspectingly. Aconite or hemlock, I was sure. The herbs which had leaves very like parsley. There was no way of testing the fragments here, but if it was absolutely essential, Marcus would order that they be given to condemned criminals. That would prove that the herbs were poisonous.

However, I hoped that the matter would soon be proved by more immediate means. Crassus was a bigger man than I was, and strong, but he had eaten his meal greedily. I hoped he had provided himself with a sufficient dose.

He had.

It was Junio who came bursting up to find me, breathless and wide-eyed. I was searching through the chest-cupboard and cave when he arrived, collecting together the treasure which was hidden there.

‘Master!’ Junio blurted breathlessly. ‘You are unharmed! Thanks be to Jupiter. They said you were ill. Marcus is sending a stretcher party. Something has happened to Lucius. I was afraid . . .’ He broke off, goggling at the array of gold and silver, precious oils and gems, fine dishes and expensive ornaments which I had piled up upon the bed. ‘What in the name of Mercury is that?’

‘The treasure of Crassus Flavius Germanicus,’ I said. ‘The treasure for which he lived and died.’ I was aware that I sounded like a candidate for some schoolboy oratory competition, but I felt that the occasion warranted a little dramatic rhetoric.

Junio was duly impressed. ‘Great Olympus!’ he exclaimed. ‘I knew Crassus had been generous to his brother, but this is astonishing. No wonder Lucius required the mule to carry it all home.’ He looked sober. ‘Poor man, his legacy will do him little good, I fear.’

I took a deep breath. ‘Oh?’

‘He staggered down the hill, saying you were ill,’ Junio said. ‘Said you had been drinking poisoned wine that Paulus brought from the villa.’ He looked at me. ‘It is as well you do not care for Roman wine, or it would have killed you too. Lucius is dead.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘His brother murdered him – as he murdered everyone else who stood in his way. Murdered him, and then subjected him to the ultimate betrayal anyone could inflict on a sincere Christian convert. He had his body burned and his ashes buried in a pagan funeral.’

‘But . . .’ Junio began. ‘I don’t understand. His body is being taken into the roundhouse now.’

‘That is not Lucius. It is Germanicus. He was disguised under the cowl and the beard, and that was good enough when no one knew him well, especially in the dim light of the cave. But I have no doubt Paulus would have recognised him soon.’ I looked at Junio’s astonished face and laughed. ‘I know. I only lately worked it out myself. I almost left it too late—’

I broke off as two soldiers stumbled in, bearing an improvised litter of boards and cloth. They goggled as they saw me.

‘I shan’t be needing that,’ I said, ‘but you could carry some of this down the hill.’ I picked up two silver figurines and led the way out of the building and down the path, leaving them staring after me open-mouthed.

They had taken the body into the roundhouse, and the whole family was gathered around, white-faced. The woman was openly weeping. The carved stool had been set by the fire for Marcus, but he was not sitting on it, he was pacing the uneven floor, a striking sight in his patrician toga and scarlet cape, but looking anxious and discomfited. There was no sign of Paulus and the rest of the soldiers.

Marcus came bounding over when he saw me. ‘Old friend. You are recovered!’ His evident relief was flattering. ‘The hermit is dead, poor fellow.’ He looked at the figurines in my hand. ‘But how . . .?’

‘It is a long story,’ I said. ‘I was not ill, only stunned. I will explain later. Let us first deal with matters here.’ I walked over to look more closely at the dead man. The hood had fallen back from his head again. I looked at the tell-tale scar on the cheek – I should have noticed it earlier. I turned to the woman. ‘You have seen that scar before?’

She shook her head tearfully. ‘No, until the feast of Mars I had never seen him shaven. He only cut his hair and beard as a sign of mourning for his brother.’ She looked at me helplessly. ‘Will you speak for us, kinsman? You have influence with this Roman. Must you take the body away for funeral? He told me once he longed to be buried here – a simple burial with Christian prayers. In an unknown spot, he said, with no memorial. God would know where he lay and he did not wish the place to become a shrine, which it might do otherwise. He has brought down many blessings to this place. He was good to my son. I should like to do this for him.’

I translated this to Marcus, who frowned doubtfully. ‘What do you think?’

‘It seems to me,’ I said, ‘that it would be, in many ways, peculiarly apt. No, not a word.’ That was to Junio, who had just come in, his arms full of treasure. He had the missing ring-key on his thumb and seemed about to say something. I said, ‘I will explain it all to Marcus presently.’

Marcus looked at the armsful of golden artefacts. ‘Should we . . .?’

‘Bury them with him? I don’t think we should. You have heard what he told this woman. A simple funeral. Besides,’ I went on in rapid colloquial Latin, in case the young man from the house should be trying to understand, ‘these items came from Crassus. Are you not the named substitute heir, since Lucius cannot inherit?’

Marcus looked at the priceless figurines, at the dead man on the bed and back to me again. ‘Sometimes, old friend, I am grateful for your advice. Of course, as a representative of the governor, I do not wish to upset these good people by depriving them of their dead friend. It shall be as you suggest. Meanwhile Lucius’ possessions shall be returned to the villa.’

‘There is a great deal more of it,’ I said. ‘Perhaps the soldiers could help to fetch it down.’

‘They are outside guarding Paulus,’ Marcus said. ‘I suppose they can be spared since he is tied to the gig. I was going to have him dragged back to Glevum at our wheels.’ He led the way to the door.

‘I think it would be better to release him, excellence,’ I said in an urgent undertone, as I followed him. ‘Paulus had no hand in this, or in any of the other deaths.’

Marcus looked at me sharply. ‘Who then?’

‘I think discretion is called for,’ I went on, pressing my advantage. ‘There is a soldier involved.’

Marcus nodded slowly. ‘I see. Well, what am I to do with the prisoner? We cannot take him in the gig with us.’

‘If I might suggest it, excellence, Lucius had a mule. Let Paulus ride on that. You could ask the household to provide another, to carry the treasure. Or an ox cart would be even better. Then one of your cavalrymen could escort everything back to Glevum under guard.’ We were out of earshot of the others now and I added quietly, ‘And you could get your soldiers to bring down the rest of the wine – I believe it is a fine vintage and there is nothing the matter with it. But tell them to be very careful not to touch anything wrapped in the blue cloth. I would prefer the Dubonnai household not to know this, but it contains the herbs he managed to kill himself with.’

Marcus turned and stared at me. ‘You jest.’

‘I do not jest at all, excellence,’ I told him. ‘It is scarcely a jesting matter. He was trying to use them to poison me.’

Matters were soon arranged. The Dubonnai woman was so delighted at being able to keep her ‘hero’ for burial, that she agreed to lending the precious ox cart without the slightest demur, although others of the family were visibly less enthusiastic. The young osier cutter, in particular, seemed to feel that it was a very bad exchange.

Which it was, I thought, although Marcus still had no idea how bad. I would have to ensure that he was scrupulous about returning the cart. I allowed him to supervise the loading, while I set about freeing Paulus.

The barber was so frightened he was almost unable to stand, and when I undid the ropes and gags he burst into tears and blurted that he did not know how to thank me. It made me feel uncomfortable; after all, I had been instrumental in having him bound in the first place.

‘Thank me,’ I said severely, ‘by saying nothing – nothing at all, on the way home. I will leave Junio with you to make sure you do not.’

‘But, citizen—’ he began.

‘If you hope to escape with your life,’ I said, ‘say nothing. Except, you can tell me where you went during the procession on the feast of Mars. I know where the others were. Andretha went to the moneylender, Rufus visited the temple, and Aulus followed him. That leaves you. I presume you did not merely roam the streets.’

The boy coloured. ‘I went to a barber’s shop, citizen,’ he said meekly. ‘I had used almost all of Regina’s herbal ointment for cuts, and I wanted something to replace it. I bought the concoction of spiders’ webs you saw. Crassus would never permit me to buy such things, but they eased my task. If I could staunch the bleeding, Crassus hit me less.’

‘And?’ I said. I remembered how terrified the boy had seemed when I questioned him.

He looked at me helplessly. ‘I took it to one of our priests to have it blessed, to make sure it worked. Some of these potions are useless. But the man is a known Druid. I knew where to find him . . .’ Paulus shuddered. With reason, I thought. If the authorities ever heard of this, they would beat the information out of him first, and execute him later.

We were already out of earshot, but I took him by the arm and led him further off. ‘And the head? No – this is no time for denials. You hid the head of a statue in your hollow tree. Aulus saw you.’

He had turned chalk white again. ‘It was in the lararium when we came back from the festival. The statue was broken – the head was severed and there was a bloodstain on it. And my master had been murdered, with his head in the furnace. I thought – you can see what I thought. People would think that I had done it. The body of the statue was no problem. It was only roughly carved to suggest a toga, and without the head it just looked like a piece of weathered stone. I simply threw it away. But the head! I was terrified someone would find that! I took it away and hid it in the tree.’

‘Where Aulus found it,’ I said.

Paulus gaped. ‘He had it?’

I nodded.

‘In that case . . .’ The barber trailed off helplessly. ‘But it would have done no good, I had no money to bribe him. When I found the head had gone, I panicked. I ran away to Lucius. You cannot be punished for running away to find someone to plead for you, and I thought if I confessed he would protect me. He would believe me in any case. I had done nothing.’ He gulped hard. ‘But Lucius was angry – I suppose because he thought I had dealings with idols.’

‘That was not Lucius,’ I said. ‘Lucius was already dead.’ I explained, briefly. ‘And no suspicion for any murder now attaches to you. So, keep your mouth shut about Druids and you may yet escape from this alive. You came to find your new master, that is all you need to say. Keep your own counsel and do not run away again. Now, here is Marcus coming. I must go.’

I got back into the gig with my patron and we bounced uncomfortably back towards Glevum. Even then, I did not try to explain until we were past the staging post. I did not want Marcus to go back to the roundhouse and start demanding the body.

When I did explain, he was thunderstruck.

‘The hermit was Crassus!’ he kept exclaiming. ‘I can’t believe it. How did he get away with it?’

‘He looked much like his brother,’ I said. ‘And you heard the woman, no one at the roundhouse had seen Lucius shaved. When Crassus took his place, he claimed that he had shaved his head and beard in mourning for his brother. Equally, none of us had seen Crassus with a beard. His plan was to hide himself away until he had time to grow one. It would not take him long. With that cowled hood and the dim light of the cave, he came close to getting away with it.’

‘I see,’ Marcus said. There was a silence, during which we bounced along more perilously than ever. ‘At least . . . no, I don’t see. Lead me through the arguments again. Crassus killed Regina and buried her under your pavement. And then he got Daedalus to take his place in the procession so that he could meet his brother at the villa unobserved; that much I understand. I suppose that is why he gave all his slaves a holiday to Glevum. I thought it was unlike him at the time.’

‘I doubt he even went as far as Glevum himself,’ I said. ‘It is more likely that he just went to the ruined roundhouse, where Daedalus changed into his old uniform. They must have hidden it there.’

Marcus said thoughtfully, ‘That would explain the piece of scale-armour which you found there. I suppose Crassus simply waited until the villa cart had left and then went back to the house to await his brother. But how would he get in? The gates were locked. You think he scrambled up the path past the nymphaeum? That would be quite a feat, in full armour.’

‘Yes, but he was very strong. He was getting fat, but he was a centurion after all. He had been trained to march twenty-four miles non-stop in a day, carrying his kit. Besides, we do not know that he was wearing armour then. It would have been an easy matter simply to come back in his tunic. That would have impressed his brother, too. Lucius must have believed he had a true convert, a veteran centurion who chose to miss the festival of Mars. It was on those grounds, perhaps, that they shared a celebration drink.’