I nodded. ‘Keep back the adult clothes and drawstring purse. I would like to look at them again. Ascus had better ride back to Lavinia’s family and break the news to them – not just about the nurse’s death but the fact we haven’t found the girl. He can also tell Publius where I’m going and why, and say that I’ll report in person in a day or two.’ I risked a smile. ‘I take it I can stay here for another night? It will be too late for me to walk back home today, whatever I discover at the farm.’ Poor Gwellia! I was already planning that, whatever news he took to Publius, Ascus could carry a reassuring message to her on the way.
Priscilla nodded. ‘Then, there’s a lot to organize. I’ll go and make a start. Meanwhile here’s that useless slave-girl with a drink for you. I hope you’ve brought the citizen a proper metal cup and not one of those beakers that we use ourselves?’ And she stalked out of the room.
The slave-girl hadn’t brought a metal cup, of course, but I indicated that she should pour me some water nonetheless. As she raised the jug she looked timidly at me. ‘Permission to ask you something, citizen?’
I nodded. The water was clear and cool, but not as good as that we get from Glevum’s public well.
‘Then . . .’ She hesitated for a moment, then said in a rush, ‘There is a rumour in the slave-quarters, that you don’t think that the woman who came here yesterday was really the Vestal Virgin Audelia at all. Is that true, citizen?’
‘Who told you that?’ I spluttered, taken by surprise.
She shook her head. ‘Something that the mistress mentioned, that is all. She came into the kitchen, saying that you’d proved Audelia was dead before she reached Corinium, and that was a blessing because it means the household could not be to blame. But – do you really think that, citizen?’
Something in her manner made me put down the cup. ‘You don’t believe that theory?’
She shook a doubtful head. ‘I might be wrong, of course – I’d never seen Audelia before. The woman who came here might have been anyone at all. But there is one thing you should know. Whoever she was, she certainly knew a lot about the Vestal shrine: what they did with all the newcomers, how they shaved their heads and what the rituals were, and everything that her young cousin could expect. She talked of little else all through the meal last night – saying how revered Vestal Virgins are, with the right to pardon prisoners who crossed their paths – and you could see that young Lavinia was thrilled. And she also made the offering at the household shrine, like someone who had done it all her life, when the master suggested that she should.’ She paused and looked at me. ‘If that was not a Vestal Virgin, citizen, how could she know all that?’ She glanced around. ‘But here’s the mistress, don’t say I questioned it.’ She seized the jug and beaker and scuttled off with them.
Priscilla was already speaking as she came into the room. ‘I’ve left my orders with the household now. So, when you are ready, citizen? You will need to dress, I suppose?’
I could take a hint. I left my breakfast, went upstairs and wrestled with my toga as I tried to put it on – not an easy business with no attendant slave – but finally I managed and came downstairs again.
Priscilla was already waiting by the door. ‘Ah, citizen! If you’d like to follow me,’ she said, and led the way out into the street.
TWENTY
C
orinium is primarily a market town, of course, not a colonia like Glevum – no streets of retired legionaries or heavy garrison – and at this time of the morning it was abuzz with trade and noise. Even the small street outside the house, which had seemed so quiet and secluded last night in the dark, was now full of street-sellers and people plying wares outside their homes. A man and his four children sat outside their door, weaving osiers into eel-traps, and an enterprising cobbler who had set up a small last, paused in his hammering to hail me as we passed.
He spat out the hobnails he was holding in his teeth. ‘New sandals, citizen? A special price for you. I’ll take an outline now and have them finished by tonight?’ He indicated the leather where I should put my foot so he could scratch a pattern from my sole. ‘Guaranteed best quality.’ He clutched at my toga but I eluded him. ‘Make it two pairs, citizen, and I’ll add spare laces, free.’
I was about to refuse and say I had no purse with me, but Priscilla took my elbow and steered me straight ahead. ‘Pay no attention, citizen. You stop and talk to one of them, they’ll all be after you. You come along with me!’ And she strode purposefully on.
She was quite right, of course. I was dressed in a toga and a stranger to the place, and every dealer tried to wheedle me to buy. There was much to tempt a purchaser: the stalls and shops sold almost everything from fine imported silver to mended copper pans; in every doorway there were trays of leather belts, used clothes, brass ornaments, and pots of eye-ointment, heaped up on trestle tables and spilling out into the street while the hawkers invited me to ‘come and look inside’.
Even the pedestrians had dubious offerings: boys with handcarts hawked firewood, turnips, reed mats and cabbages; pie-sellers and bakers’ slaves came jostling by, balancing trays of steaming food upon their heads, and a man with a pair of yoked pails around his neck accosted me, offering a drink of milk or fermented whey from a battered metal cup he carried on a chain. Priscilla waved them all imperiously aside.
As we neared the forum, though, I paused and tugged her arm. I could see an amanuensis sitting by the wall, among the moneylenders who were busy at their trade. ‘Is that . . . ?’ I shouted, doubting she would hear over the general hubbub of the town.
She shook her head. ‘That’s not the one we used the other day. It was a young man we hadn’t seen before. Now – you go down there, and find the slave-market, and I’ll go and see if I can locate the donkey-boy for you.’ She gestured in the direction I should take and turned away.
I followed her instructions and was soon in the square behind the forum, where the butchers had their stalls. It was also the area where the livestock market was, where all kinds of domestic animals, including slaves, were sold. The noise and smell was indescribable. I declined an offer to purchase fresh fish from a pool or make a choice from buckets full of squirming eels and, edging round a ragged urchin with a pail (who was scavenging manure from the road to sell), I spotted the slave trader at the far end of the square.
He was a swarthy fellow – probably a Greek – and clearly prosperous. His coloured tunic was of many hues, his cloak was of expensive scarlet wool and the clasp on his heavy leather belt appeared to be of gold. When I approached he was already offering the last lot of the day, a pair of dusky females chained together by the feet; either he’d had a busy morning or he’d not had much to sell. He saw me coming over and he called to me at once.
‘What do you bid me for this pair of slaves? Guaranteed disease-free and no rotting teeth. Direct from the Province in North Africa. Not virgins, but they have years of service left. Come on, citizen, you know you can’t resist.’
I could resist quite easily; I shook my head at him.
He turned his attention back to the small crowd of spectators. ‘Well, what am I offered, gentlemen?’ But there was no response. I could imagine why. Both girls were plain and scrawny, unwashed and sullen-faced, although I could hardly blame them for their scowls. I have been offered at a slave-market myself, and I know the degradation of being just a ‘thing’, to be handled and inspected by prospective customers who want to feel your muscles and inspect your teeth. And for females, of course, it was a great deal worse.
There was a balding, greasy, paunchy fellow in a toga now, stepping forward and demanding to ‘see the merchandise’. The girls were stripped naked, and made to turn around while he examined and prodded every part of them.
‘They will do, I suppose.’ He took the straw that he was chewing from between his teeth, and made an offer so low it made me gasp.
The trader shook his head. ‘Cost me more than that for each of them!’
‘Then you were cheated. Half as much again, and that’s my final offer.’
There were no other bids forthcoming, it appeared, and after a little more haggling the females had changed hands. Their new master seemed reluctant to allow them to be clothed, but they were put back in their tunics and led away, still chained, while he casually pinched and fondled any part that he could reach. I almost wished I had a purse so I could have rescued them from this, but I had no money and certainly I did not need two extra mouths to feed.
The small crowd that had gathered began to drift away, now that there was nothing more to see. The slave trader slipped his takings into his leather pouch and sauntered over to speak to me.
‘You wanted something, citizen? You were too late, I fear. I had quite a good selection a little earlier. Next moon, perhaps, when I’m this way again. Were you looking for something in particular?’
‘I believe you know a certain Paulinus, who has a farm a little way from here? You sold him a mute slave-woman to tend his child, I think?’
He leaned back on his heels and gave me a strange leer. ‘It will cost you extra if you have special tastes. It’s very hard to find a slave that doesn’t speak. Why would you want one anyway? Different for that Paulinus, he has a deaf-mute child. If you want a girl that can’t protest, just put a gag on her. Now, if you want something special, I shall have a girl next week—’
I cut him off before he imagined any worse of me. ‘I do not want a girl of any kind. I have all the slaves I want. I am interested in information about Paulinus, that’s all.’
The leer transmuted to a crafty look. ‘With respect, citizen, why should I give you that? I deal in slaves, not information about my customers. Unless of course . . .’ He rubbed his thumb against his first two fingers in the time-honoured signal that he wanted to be paid.
I shook my head. ‘I haven’t any money that I can offer you. It is on my patron’s orders that I am asking you.’ That was true, in a circuitous sort of way. ‘Marcus Aurelius Septimus. Perhaps you know the name?’ Marcus, of course, had a substantial residence in this town. I could be cunning, in my fashion, too.
It worked. The slave trader’s expression changed like quicksilver. ‘Why did you not say so when you first arrived? Of course I have had dealings with His Excellence. I’ve sold him several slaves – though he often prefers to have the more expensive ones the specialists bring in. So, how can I help you? What is it about Paulinus that you want to know?’
‘Have you known him long?’
He seemed to contemplate. ‘Eight years or so, I suppose. We first met when I found him a house-slave when he married first, but when his wife died he sold that servant on. Wanted to use the money to help that girl of his, but how he managed in the house without a slave I don’t know. So when I heard about the mute I sent him word at once and he sent back agreeing to the price, and saying he would pick her up as soon as possible.’
‘And that is what he did?’
He nodded. ‘He seems to be extremely pleased with her – and she could hardly believe her own good luck. After she’d had that injury and lost the power of speech, her owners didn’t want her, they thought she was a freak. They were going to cast her out – they actually approached me to find a substitute, but I thought of Paulinus and purchased her myself. The moment that he bought her, she bent and kissed his feet – she had feared that she would end up as a beggar at the tombs. So everyone was happy. I made a profit, too.’
‘So you’ve known Paulinus for some little time?’ I said.
He frowned at me. ‘Have I not just said so, citizen?’
‘And you can confirm it was the same man that came here yesterday?’
‘Of course I can. You could not mistake him, he is very tall and thin, gentle, anxious-looking, with an air of mild bewilderment at fate. I don’t know why it is important, citizen, but it was definitely Paulinus in the market yesterday – though of course, I hadn’t seen that brand-new wife of his before. Not that I had very much to do with her. She was buying something from the garment stall. It was Paulinus who came to talk about the mute.’
‘And he also bought a little page from you? Though not a very trained one, from what I hear of it.’
He shook his head. ‘Not me, citizen. I don’t deal in children very much. More trouble than they’re worth. You have to feed and train them before they’re fit to sell, and even then you can be undercut by amateurs – peasants wanting to sell one child so they can afford to feed the rest. If Paulinus bought a pageboy yesterday, then it was not from me. More likely from one of those peasant families. In fact I think I saw him talk to one of them. You’ll find them over there – in the corner by the fish-market.’
‘I’ll go and ask,’ I said. ‘I would like to talk to the family of that lad.’
He stuck his fat thumbs into his leather belt. ‘I shouldn’t bother, citizen. You won’t find that family now. These paupers only ever bring a single child to sell – and that reluctantly. Once they’ve got the money they go back home again and try to scratch a living for another year – until they end up starving, and have to sell another one. It’s usually a boy, they bring a better price. Sometimes, especially if the winter’s bad, children are the only saleable asset that they have.’
I tried to envisage how my adopted son would feel if he was forced to sell his own beloved child to keep the rest of the family alive, but my imagination failed me. I shook my head. ‘Then I will try to find Paulinus at his farm and see if he can tell what I want to know. You have been most helpful. Thank you very much.’
He gave me that sideways look again. ‘Perhaps you’ll tell your patron if I have been of use? But you look as if my information was not quite what you had hoped.’
I gave a rueful smile. ‘It seems to disprove a theory that I had, that’s all. There is a mystery surrounding his family yesterday and now I’ll have to find another explanation of events.’