Stygius thought a minute, and then said in his slow, stolid way, ‘A page? That would explain the well-developed legs: he’d get them from clinging to his horse and running about with messages.’ He walked ahead to undo a second gate and lead the way across another field. His stride was slow but it propelled him well on this uneven ground. We had to hurry to keep up with him. ‘But I’m surprised that no one has set up a hue and cry. A good pageboy is an expensive thing to lose.’
I was puffing, bouncing across hillocks and a little out of breath.
Even Junio was breathing hard. ‘His master might not even realise that he is missing yet. But if it was a messenger, what happened to the horse?’
‘We ought to be asking questions about that,’ I said, pausing at a rugged tree to lean and catch my breath. ‘Not just in local households, but perhaps at Glevum gates, in case the watch has heard of any missing page, or anyone unexpected has tried to sell a horse.’ I caught the glance that passed between the other two, and stopped. ‘Only, of course, the matter has been closed. So there is no point in our discussing this. Please drop the subject, and we’ll talk of something else.’
Junio gave me a knowing look. ‘You will not be interested in hearing what I learned in Glevum, then?’
‘And what was that?’
I saw my son exchange a glance with Stygius, and grin. ‘Not very much you didn’t learn yourself, in fact, though the gate guards recognised the description straight away. It was the hair that made her look conspicuous, of course. But they’ve seen her – Morella, is she called? – come to the market with her mother lots of times.’ He hesitated.
‘And?’
‘Then recently she turned up one day on her own and asked directions to the inn where the dancing troupe had rooms. The soldiers thought that it was comical, of course, and laughed at her. One of them suggested that she find Lucius’s chief slave – he was taking bribes, apparently, to have acts selected for the villa, to come and do their turns in the hope that they would be selected for the Emperor. That bears out what the dancing woman told us, doesn’t it? That the girl was willing to bribe someone for the chance of going to Rome. Only, of course, it was a waste of time. This fellow Hirsius didn’t have the authority to arrange it anyway. Only Lucius could possibly do that.’
‘And Morella?’
‘The guards didn’t think she had the money – it was just a silly jibe. But they told her where the dancing troupe were lodged, and off she went. Unfortunately no one paid particular attention after that, but someone recalled seeing her later in the marketplace, and another guard thought she might have gone out past him later on, but he wasn’t sure.’
‘Any use, citizen?’ That was Stygius.
I was affronted by this clear conspiracy with my adopted son. ‘How can it be useful, since the matter’s closed?’ I said, and trudged in disgruntled silence till we reached the house. ‘Junio and I must go in to take our leave. You have the funeral ashes to dispose of, I believe.’
‘As you say, citizen.’ And he went plodding off again towards the distant hillside and the still-rising smoke.
Whatever family ceremony had been taking place in the atrium while we were away was clearly over by the time we returned.
The statue of Marcus’s father now had a wreath round its neck, another on its forehead, and a little pile of flower offerings laid in front of it. There was fresh blood on the household altar where the wether had evidently just been sacrificed, and the smell of burning flesh and feathers lingered in the air. An oil lamp still burned on each side of the shrine, and another pair flanked the garlanded patriarchal bust.
Of Marcus and his party there was now no sign, nor was the high priest in evidence. However, the room was not deserted. Atalanta was there. Dressed only in a mourning tunic, barefoot and with her hair spread loose, she was seated on the stool which I had earlier occupied, playing a melancholy air upon a lyre and singing very softly in a keening croon. With her strong plain features smeared with ash and her hair in disarray, she looked like a Fury from some painted frieze, but the music she made would have charmed the gods themselves.
I was not sure whether I should speak to her – if she was officially commencing some sort of lament, she should be permitted to do so undisturbed – but she looked up at us and smiled when she saw who it was.
‘If you are looking for the master and mistress, citizens, I am afraid they’ve finished here. The mistress has gone to oversee arrangements for the feast; the master is drafting a letter to send home. The priest has retired to the bath-house for a little while. Apparently more purification was felt to be required.’
‘And Lucius?’
‘Having a strip of mourning stitched round his toga-hems, in preparation for tonight. Fortunately there was still a bit of Marcus’s left over in the house,’ she said, her fingers rippling ceaselessly across the plaintive strings.
‘We simply wanted to take leave of them, and let them know that everything was done,’ I said.
She smiled. ‘I’m afraid I cannot assist you two citizens myself – I have been left here to play a requiem – but Niveus is in the ante-room, if you require a slave.’
I clapped my hands, but there was no response. I waited for a moment, then I made up my mind. ‘I suppose that we should go in there and cleanse ourselves in any case,’ I said, ‘since once again we have been in contact with a corpse. We will go and find Niveus, instead of waiting for him here. I want him to fetch my slave for me, as well, so that I can go home to my wife as soon as possible.’
Junio look startled for an instant. ‘Your slave?’ Then he grinned. ‘Oh, you mean Minimus, of course. In that case, Father, lead the way.’
We went through to the ante-room, though Junio remained dutifully a step or two behind. Niveus was dozing on a stool beside the door, with a pile of linen towels stacked upon his knee. He did not stir as we plunged our hands and faces in the bowl, then all at once he started into wakefulness. When he saw us, he was on his feet at once. Under the dust and ashes his face had turned as scarlet as his usual uniform.
‘Citizens! You wanted me? But of course you did. You will be wanting that refreshment you did not have time to eat. If you go back to the atrium, I will bring it there at once. In the meantime, here are towels for you.’ And before I could stop him, he had thrust the pile at me and was disappearing in the direction of the kitchens at a trot, as if he was intent on earning some winning garland at a race.
I dabbed my face, and Junio did the same – doubtless as pleased as I was to have rinsed at least some of the pyre-smoke from his skin. There is a lingering smell in charring human flesh which is inclined to stay with one for days.
My son grinned, and took my towel from me – some slave-like habits are hard to break, it seems – while I smeared the altar ashes on my face again.
‘You would have no objection to refreshment?’ I enquired. ‘I know that we are invited to a feast tonight, and really I had hoped to get away, but I have not eaten since I left the roundhouse shortly after dawn – and had only a small beaker of spring water to drink. It might not be polite to eat things in the atrium just now, so soon after the familial sacrifice and with the memorial statue there, but we could always retire to the
triclinium
, I suppose.’
Junio folded the towels and dropped them on the stool. ‘I snatched some bread and water at the garrison, and was given refreshment when we got back to the house. But I too would be happy to have something now – burying and burning corpses is very thirsty work.’ He patted some ashes on to his own boyish brow, and stood back to escort me to the atrium again.
Atalanta was still expertly plucking music from her lyre when we returned, but to my regret the tune was coming to a close. She concluded with a long, high, throbbing final note.
‘That was beautiful,’ I told her, to her evident delight. ‘Where did you learn to play the lyre like that?’
She gave a rueful smile. ‘The slavemaster who reared me up for sale saw that I was taught. “When a girl’s as plain as you are,” he used to say to me, “she needs some kind of talent, if she’s to fetch a decent price. I’ve spent too much on raising you to have you sold for fifty
asses
as a mere kitchen slave.” At first I did not like it – the hag who taught me used to try to beat it into me – but in the end I found I had a certain gift for it. So whenever I was exhibited for sale my master made me take the lyre. But it’s impossible to play it when your arms are chained, and he sometimes beat me round the hands because I didn’t sell.’ She said it without bitterness, as though this were no more than commonplace.
‘And that tune?’ I said softly. ‘Did you devise that yourself?’
She shook her head. ‘I learned a lot of dirges – the woman who taught me was an undertaker’s slave and my master hoped to sell me to someone similar. But then Julia came along and picked me anyway, though she has never required me to play a single note. It is quite a delight to have the chance again. Besides, you know, citizen, it enables me to sit – which is a pleasure in itself. But, excuse me, I must begin again. There is one final tune of homage I should play.’ She closed her eyes and began to strum and croon, a cadence so plaintive that, I felt, it might have brought tears to the statue’s eyes.
We were still listening with pleasure when Niveus returned, not with the bread and cheese which I’d been promised earlier, but with a tray of honeyed dates, a folding table and a pair of stools. He must have seen the disappointment on my face, because he turned bright red again, and immediately began to apologise.
‘I’m very sorry, citizen – it is all my fault. I forgot to tell the kitchens that the platter was for you, and I am afraid they gave it to your slave. Of course they are very busy now with the memorial feast, but it was suggested that I should bring you these.’ He was setting up the little seating arrangements as he spoke. ‘I’m to offer the same to any visitor who comes to pay respects. Though I don’t know who would, except for the people invited to the feast. There’s hardly been time to spread the news. It was only this morning that we heard of it ourselves, though it wasn’t unexpected. The master had our tunics ready several days ago, and Lucius had guessed before he even cut the seal. Though there’s been so much happening since the messenger arrived that it seems like days ago. Here you are, citizen, this is ready now.’ He set the tray down with a flourish and invited me to sit.
Dates are by no means a favourite food of mine – they are too sweet for me, especially in the honeyed form that Marcus seems to like – but I was so hungry that I could have eaten the serving dish by now, and I could see that Junio was grinning in delight. Such delicacies as honeyed dates were still rare treats to him, so I said, ‘Thank you, Niveus. You may go and fetch my slave. He should be waiting in the servants’ room.’
The slave looked startled. ‘But, citizen, the wine! I wasn’t able to carry everything at once.’
‘Then you may fetch it after you’ve brought Minimus to me,’ I said, and with that I popped a date into my mouth. It was as sweet as I’d remembered, but it was welcome all the same. I took another and another and swallowed those as well, though my son was still relishing his first, letting the sweetness linger on his tongue.
I was just beginning to wish that I had ordered the wine at once – half a dozen honeyed dates do not improve a thirst – when the outer door was opened and Marcus strode in. He was accompanied by Minimus, much to my surprise.
I rose to my feet in some embarrassment. The remnants of my last date were proving hard to swallow. ‘Patron,’ I murmured, through sticky teeth. Junio, meanwhile, had scrambled to his feet and was bowing respectfully, while Atalanta quickly brought her homage to a close, rose and stood in silence, dangling her lyre.
‘Thank you, Atalanta, that will do for now. You can come back and play some more a little later on.’ Marcus waved his hand benignly, and she tiptoed from the room. Even funerary music had to wait its turn, it seemed. My patron smiled at us. ‘I am glad to see that you have been offered hospitality,’ he said, ‘though Niveus has failed to bring a drink, I see. I have given him the simplest duties, but it seems he never learns. That is what I want to talk to you about, in fact, Libertus, my old friend.’
‘Of course, if I can be of any service, Excellence,’ I said cautiously. ‘Old friend’? It always made me wary when he called me that. What did he want of me this time? Not another wasted walk into the hills, I hoped.
But I need not have worried. It was not
my
services he was after, it appeared. ‘I want to borrow Minimus back from you for a little while. I need someone to go to Glevum to take a letter to the garrison and link up with a messenger from the imperial post. I have been writing home. A difficult message, in the circumstances, but an important one – since I am the heir, there are arrangements I shall need to make. I don’t want to entrust the note to Niveus this time. He is too young and vulnerable to ride the roads alone, and anyway there is a good chance that he would contrive to get it wrong. Not insist on seeing the commander personally or something of the kind.’
‘Use Minimus, by all means.’ I was quite relieved that it was nothing more.
Marcus rewarded me with a grateful smile. ‘I won’t deprive you of him longer than I need. I’ll send him back to you as soon as he gets home.’
‘Which will be tomorrow, I suppose?’ I said. I have known Marcus make arrangements several times for a servant to be accommodated at the garrison overnight, since it takes some little time to get to town and back on foot.
He laughed. ‘He should be back this evening, though perhaps not till after dark. Minimus can ride, you realise? He was trained as a page, and it’s one of the reasons why I bought him when I did. I shall put him on a horse. That way the letter will get there as soon as possible, and you are not inconvenienced for so long.’ A thought seemed to strike him, and he added with a smile, ‘In the meantime you can borrow Niveus, if you like. At the very least, he can escort you home.’