The Germanicus Mosaic Page 11

  ‘And where was that?’ He sounded wary.

  ‘In your bedding, Paulus.’

  It was my own fault. I knew that he was unaware of that fact. I should have waited till he had finished my haircut, but I could not resist the dramatic gesture. He let out a cry and his scissors faltered. I was obliged to attend the funeral feast with one section of my fringe cut peculiarly short.

  Chapter Twelve

  I was not looking forward to the funeral. Formal Roman funerals are not warm, undisciplined, tumultuous events like the Celtic ones, where the mead and tears and tales flow copiously far into the night, and which always end with a magical quality in the telling of old myths in the firelight. Roman rites are organised, tedious, demanding affairs, even when one has genuine affection for the deceased and has not recently been knocked on the head.

  What with lengthy torchlight processions, long graveside speeches and elaborate religious observances – all in the cold and dark – it is a wonder that more of those attending do not have funerals of their own shortly afterwards. With a cremation these problems are magnified. The ashes must be reverently collected into the funerary urn and laid to rest, and that can hardly be done with dignity until the deceased has cooled a little. It seemed likely to be a very long night.

  There was to be a funeral banquet first, it appeared, for the living. It is not always arranged that way, of course. More often the feast is held after the ritual, and many a man has been laid to rest without a single morsel being consumed at his expense. But Crassus had dictated ‘preliminary refreshments’ in his will – perhaps to ensure that he had a decent retinue of mourners for the occasion – and Andretha was interpreting this liberally.

  He was expecting at least thirty. Crassus was wealthy enough to have his own clientes, the local hangers-on who court and flatter any man of substance, and he had always been careful to flatter and court the more powerful in his turn – as he had courted Marcus, for instance. Most of these were doubtless the ‘substitute heirs’ named in his will, and it would have been unseemly for them not to attend the funeral, even if they were a long way down the list of substitutes and therefore unlikely to see a single denarius of his money. Especially unseemly if a dinner was provided. So, for a man who must have had few friends in life, it promised to be quite a party.

  The slaves, who had been working non-stop preparing for the funeral, or taking their turn at the lament, now turned their attention to arranging the feast. The smell of boiled meats and cooking spices from the kitchen mingled with the aromatic herbs from the death room: whatever delights the dead man was taking with him for the afterlife were likely to be served also at the banquet. There was no point in cooking twice. Slaves were already hard at work in the public rooms, sweeping floors, arranging greenery and trimming the wicks of lamps and candles.

  I put on my toga again and went into the atrium, attended by Junio. I had already obtained a little barley stew for him, like the other slaves attending the funeral, otherwise he would not have been fed until after the feast. I wanted him beside me at the cremation. Marcus was nowhere to be seen but Andretha was already in the main lobby, fussing over arrangements.

  ‘Ah, citizen.’ He bobbed over as soon as he saw me, full of agitation as ever. ‘You are a friend of Marcus, you can advise me. Would it be proper, do you think, to ask him to make the oblations? There is no member of the family to do it.’

  I could see his dilemma. According to strict Roman custom a libation should be offered daily at the household shrine to placate the god of household accounts and the spirits of the store cupboards, and to honour the genius paterfamilias. That little figurine is always accorded particular reverence, representing as it does both the householder’s own personal guardian spirit and the emperor himself, in his role as protector of his citizens. Whenever a formal meal is served, a sample of the food and wine is always offered to these gods first. I recall Crassus making the oblations before that banquet of his, and showing the utmost devotion to his genius, in particular. Only, of course, Crassus was not here to make the offering, and his brother would certainly refuse to do it, even if he consented to be present.

  ‘It has not been a problem before,’ Andretha fretted. ‘There has been no proper meal served since the festival, and since Lucius is presumably the head of household now, I was not especially concerned. I thought he would have all the Roman statues and shrines destroyed. I kept the Vestal fires burning – I think the other slaves would have panicked otherwise – but I did not concern myself with the lararia. But now Marcus’ messenger has returned from Lucius at last, telling us that he will not attend, but that we should continue to honour Crassus’ wishes until the house is sold. My master would have wished to sacrifice to all the proper gods, especially at his funeral.’

  I smiled inwardly. Of course he would. Germanicus almost certainly did not believe in any of it, but he would observe the rituals, just in case. I am no expert in Roman rites, although I observe the required public rituals. I have more faith in the ancient spirits of woods and rivers than in squabbling deities and stone statues. But I thought I knew the answer. To Andretha I said, ‘I can see no difficulty. Marcus is named as a substitute heir; surely he can take Lucius’ place quite properly? Indeed, it seems the duty falls on him.’

  Andretha looked relieved, but there was something else to worry him. ‘My thanks, citizen. I should put the statue of the genius paterfamilias on the shrine, you think? Between the lar familiaris and the penates as usual? Ordinarily, when the master dies, the new genius should take its place, but Lucius, being a Christian, will not have his own figurine.’

  It was awkward, I could see that, making offerings to a man’s spirit when he was lying dead in the next room. On the other hand if ever there was a man whose spirit I should wish to placate, it was Germanicus. I said doubtfully, ‘It should be there, I suppose. After all it represents not only Crassus, but the spirit of the emperor too.’

  ‘I am glad of your guidance, citizen. I did not know what to do. I even thought of taking one from Germanicus’ stone store – he collected one or two from the more Romanised rebellious tribes, as trophies of war, and took particular delight in having them broken up for use on the estate. I thought it would represent the emperor at least. But Crassus was particularly superstitious about his genius. He and his brother had an argument about it. Lucius said it had become a kind of idol to him, and should be destroyed; Crassus said that Lucius could think what he liked, he personally was taking no chances. That statue was to stay with him always. That is why I ordered it to be placed on the funeral bier.’

  ‘Is that where it is now?’

  ‘Yes. I sent Rufus to fetch it when he went for his lute string.’

  So, I thought, when Rufus went to the sleeping room he might have been carrying a heavy statue. That was interesting. I had dismissed the idea of Rufus as my assailant because he had no weapon; he could hardly have laid me out with his lute. But with a lump of carved stone? I was interested in this statue.

  ‘Could I see it?’

  ‘If you wish.’ Andretha shrugged. ‘It is on the normal pattern. A figurine of a man with his toga over his head to ward off evil. Crassus had it made, I think, when he bought the villa, and it was of no great value, but he was very superstitious about it. But if I am to reinstate it on the shrine, of course you may see it. It will have to be fetched.’

  I turned to Junio, but Andretha forestalled me.

  ‘I had better fetch it myself, citizen. To enter the room now will be to disturb the lament, and it is better I do it than a stranger. Unless, of course, you wish to take part in the dirge yourself?’

  I excused myself hastily. Here in the atrium the sounds of mournful wailing were audible enough, and I knew the banquet would be interspersed with doleful music and speeches in praise of Germanicus. Possibly even an ode, if one of his clientes was feeling inspired, and we were very unlucky. I was going to do all the honouring of Crassus that I could possibly desire.


  ‘I must have seen this statue,’ I said to Junio, when Andretha had gone, ‘at the banquet with Marcus at least. I remember Crassus making an oblation, but I paid no attention to the figure. I had not even noticed it was missing, now, though I have just walked past the shrine. Of course it is in the corner, where it is dark, and one does not tend to look closely in the normal way.’

  Junio laughed. ‘Especially not to look at Crassus’ soul! But it proves what Andretha said, the statue has no artistic merit. I wonder who told him that, by the way? Yet it must be true. If it was fine work you would have noticed it, however shadowy the corner. It would have attracted your artist’s eye.’

  I grinned at him. Junio has a way, sometimes, of being very flattering. And he sees the obvious, which others overlook. He was right, for instance, about Andretha. The man had not one scruple of artistic taste. I was about to say so when Andretha himself came hurrying in. If he had been anxious before, he seemed desperate now.

  ‘It is not there, citizen. I have searched the bier and the grave-goods, discreetly – it was unseemly, in the circumstance, interrupting the lament – but there is no sign of the statue. The anointing women have gone, back to Glevum.’ He was clasping and unclasping his hands in distress. ‘Perhaps they have taken it. I must send after them at once. Would Marcus lend us a messenger? We need a horse and we have only the cart animal. If only Crassus had not given his mount to his brother!’

  ‘Germanicus had his own steed?’ I had not known that, though I might have expected it, since the villa was some distance from the town.

  ‘A steed, no. Crassus was no horseman. If he wanted transport he usually hired a carriage from Glevum. He had a mule, though, which he rode sometimes, and even that may be quicker than a man on foot. If only we had it now!’ he wailed. ‘But when Lucius left he was so weighed down with gifts that Crassus gave him the animal to transport it all.’

  ‘Crassus was generous.’

  Andretha was concerned with other things. He said, abstractedly, ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘You think not?’ He looked impatient, so I added, ‘This is important, Andretha. It may have a bearing on your master’s death.’

  ‘I should not speak ill of my master,’ Andretha said.

  ‘But . . .?’ I prompted. That sort of remark is usually the preface to doing so.

  Andretha sighed. ‘But the day after Lucius left, half a dozen high officials came here for a gambling party. It was arranged beforehand, for Lucius’ benefit, but of course he no longer dices. Crassus was as jumpy as water on a griddle, wanting his brother safely away from here. He thought Lucius was likely to march into the party, deliver a sermon on the subject and urge them all to repent.’

  I grinned. ‘That would be embarrassing, with a houseful of important Romans.’

  ‘Yes,’ Andretha agreed. ‘Crassus would probably have given him twice as much to ensure that he was safely gone. But it was more than just embarrassment; the supper would have begun with a sacrifice, like tonight’s feast, and he knew that Lucius would refuse to take part in that.’

  So, we were back to that statue again. For the lar and penates it might not have mattered – the Romans are tolerant about household gods – but if Lucius refused to honour the genius paterfamilias there would have been trouble. Obviously, since it represents the emperor as well as the head of household. Refusal to honour that could have meant wild animals in the arena for both of the brothers.

  ‘Crassus bundled him out of the house the day before,’ Andretha went on, ‘with so many gifts for his new church that he needed a mule to carry them. Lucius was delighted, and surprised. I don’t think he guessed the reason.’

  ‘And now the statue has disappeared?’

  I should not have reminded him. He began to twist his hands again. ‘I cannot understand it. Who would steal such a thing? It was here yesterday. It must have been the women. There is no other explanation.’

  I was not so sure of that. ‘Have you asked Rufus? He was in the room when you went to search, surely?’

  ‘Rufus? He has gone to prepare for the procession – food, ablutions, latrine. We cannot offer baths to our banquet guests tonight, it would be disrespectful to light the furnace in the circumstances, but at least our slaves can be clean. You think I should speak to Rufus? He is in the kitchen.’

  ‘I think I should speak to him myself.’

  I went out to the kitchen, following Andretha. It was in a separate building at the end of the wing, isolated from the house: Germanicus, of course, had built in the latest fashion and this arrangement was supposed to prevent fires. Certainly it prevented the food being very hot when it was served, as I knew from that supper I had shared with Marcus, and the banquet I had attended.

  It was hot enough in the kitchen, however, and crowded, too. Slaves hurried about with charcoal for the baking oven and platters for the table, while cooks stirred at bubbling cauldrons suspended on hooks, sliced vegetables with wicked knives, pounded spices in mortaria, or carried bubbling pans from the hot griddles on the hearth. Amidst all this Rufus, standing at the table, was gulping hot stew from an unglazed bowl.

  My toga provoked an instant consternation. Cooks stopped in mid-stir and stood staring, their ladles suspended and dripping. Boys ceased to stoke the fires, and the lad setting the baked bread on the serving discus dropped his platter with a crash. Rufus gaped.

  I remembered what had been said about his truthfulness. ‘The statue,’ I said cheerfully. ‘The genius paterfamilias. What did you do with it?’

  He stood like a statue himself. ‘I . . . nothing.’

  ‘I asked you to take it in to the anointers,’ Andretha said, bristling with self-importance.

  ‘It wasn’t there,’ Rufus said, finding his tongue again. ‘I went to look for it as soon as I got my string – but it wasn’t there. I presumed you had sent someone else for it, while I was stringing the lute.’

  ‘You didn’t mention that it wasn’t there?’ I asked.

  Rufus looked at me. ‘I was frightened. I supposed someone else had fetched it – that I had not responded fast enough and that I risked a beating. I hoped that having so much to do, with the funeral preparations, perhaps Andretha had forgotten my failure. I didn’t remind him.’ He swallowed. ‘I didn’t break it.’

  ‘Break it?’ I said. ‘I didn’t suppose you broke it. The statue is missing.’

  ‘Missing?’ Rufus paled. ‘I didn’t take it, either.’

  One of the slaves with the platters chimed in. I had almost forgotten their presence. ‘It wasn’t there yesterday morning, citizen. I noticed when I was cleaning. But it was broken. I saw it the day before. The head had been chipped off. We were talking about it, we younger ones. We . . .’ He paused, embarrassed. ‘We thought it was taken down because the master was dead. That Lucius had ordered it to be destroyed. But it was not our place to ask.’

  I turned to Andretha. ‘Did you know of this?’

  He didn’t. ‘No one,’ he said, flapping like an outraged hawk, ‘would dare do such a thing.’

  ‘Well then,’ I said, ironically, ‘perhaps it was an act of the gods.’

  I wasn’t prepared for the effect on Rufus. He licked his lips nervously and turned deathly white. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I admit it. It was on the feast of Mars. When we had come back to the villa and were waiting for Crassus to come back, I was sent to tend the brazier in the atrium and I happened to look at the shrine. The genius was on the floor – it seemed to have been knocked over. I replaced it and stood it upright. It was damaged; the statue was chipped in several places and the head was broken off.’

  My mind was racing. Could this be true, or had Rufus for once invented a story to explain his own actions? Could being used to deliver a blow to a human head, for instance, damage a small stone statue?

  I said, ‘You told no one about this?’

  ‘No. I was afraid. I knew I would be blamed if I reported it, and when Crassus’ body was found, I was even more worried. That st
atue was virtually his talisman. I did not even look at the niche again, in case I drew attention to it. When I was sent to fetch the statue and it was not there, I was relieved. I thought someone else had taken it to the anointers.’

  And someone else would get the blame, I thought, but I did not say so. A slave’s life is difficult enough. I took a different tack. ‘So, first the figure is mysteriously broken, then it still more mysteriously disappears. And each time it seems that you were there.’ That was not quite fair; the younger slaves had noticed its disappearance before today. But I didn’t say that either. ‘Does not that seem very strange to you?’

  He was pale but he shook his head. ‘Strange, yes. But not impossible.’

  ‘Because you have an explanation?’

  His words startled me. ‘I thought . . .’ he said slowly, ‘I thought it was a sign.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  A stunned silence greeted this announcement. I saw the kitchen-slaves exchange glances and one of the charcoal bearers sniggered.

  Andretha was the first to speak, high-pitched and anguished like an old crone shouting after apple-stealers. ‘What a pack of lies, you ignorant whelp! How dare you invent such tales! Break the statue, did you, and hide the pieces to escape suspicion? Well, don’t suppose you will escape with merely a whipping. You will be fined for this – every penny of the replacement. I am responsible for presenting the accounts. I shall not be answerable for the cost of this.’

  Of course, I remembered, Andretha’s freedom and a pension depended on his balancing the books. The terms of a man’s will are taken very seriously. All the same . . .

  ‘Come,’ I said. ‘This is harsh. You have no proof that Rufus broke it.’ That was a poor plea, admittedly. A chief steward does not need proof of misdemeanour before he disciplines a slave. ‘Besides, you yourself were going to have it burned on the pyre,’ I added.