The Germanicus Mosaic Page 13

  I took the drinking cup and drained it. Peppery it wasn’t. As for strange – there are times when even Roman fish sauce would improve a flavour! Faustina was right about one thing though. It did seem to clear my head.

  ‘You hesitated. Did you fear poison?’ Junio said, when she had gone, and I was sipping a cup of cool water to dispel the taste. ‘I would have tested it for you. But surely she would not poison you so openly? Marcus might grant a general pardon over Crassus, if a single killer was discovered, but poisoning you would lead to certain death.’

  He looked at me for confirmation. I raised an eyebrow. I have been trying to encourage Junio in other skills, as well as pavement making.

  He said slowly, ‘Though I suppose she might do it to protect Rufus.’ He frowned. ‘But that would mean that he killed Crassus. Or that she suspected him, at least.’

  ‘I think she does. She knows he was missing from the procession. He denies “touching” Crassus, but she knows that poison was used.’

  ‘It was?’

  ‘I am sure of it. There may have been damage to the face, perhaps, but nothing that could have been fatal. The back of the neck is untouched, and there is no sign of strangling. There were no marks on the rest of the body, and poison would explain so many things. I think Crassus, for instance, came back here of his own accord.’ I outlined my theory of Daedalus and the mask. ‘No doubt he had arranged to meet someone.’

  ‘But,’ Junio said excitedly, ‘he didn’t necessarily meet anybody. It may not be important who else was missing from the procession. Suppose he had arranged to wait for someone, in the stoke room perhaps? If he were tricked into taking poison, disguised in wine for instance, he might have died alone. No one would go there, with the fires down. The killer could have come back later and put the head into the furnace.’

  I thought about this. ‘Why should anyone do that?’

  ‘To disguise the signs? Burning him does not hide that he is dead, of course, but it deflects the thoughts from poison.’ He stopped. ‘I see your reasoning. It might equally deflect the thoughts from people who know about poison – prevent them from being immediately suspected. No wonder you were hesitant about drinking that remedy.’

  I raised an eyebrow, approvingly.

  Another thought seemed to strike him. ‘And of course, she would not poison you outright. A little poison in each drink – not too much – the thing is simply done. You have received a head wound too, so that if you become confused and ill, it is easy to account for. And all the while, it would seem as if she was trying to cure you. I am sorry, master. You were right. I should not doubt your judgement.’

  I grinned at him. ‘Then let us hope my judgement is correct. I drank her potion. Otherwise, you reason much as I did. Except that I am fairly convinced that Crassus was not here alone. Someone must have put the head into the furnace early, while the fires were still hot, or the face would not have been so burned. Later, after the procession, the fires would have died. But enough of that. Here is Aulus, sent to answer your summons!’

  I took care that the gatekeeper did not hear that, of course. It would not have pleased him to think he had been summoned by a mere slave, and he looked even more menacingly large in my bedchamber than he had seemed in his own. I had no wish to displease him. He was already scowling nervously.

  ‘Aulus,’ I said heartily, as if this was a social call of his own desiring, ‘how good of you to come. I need your talents. You found me, I hear, after I was attacked?’

  The scowl lifted slightly, and he gave me a conspiratorial nudge. ‘You were lying face down on Paulus’ bed. I didn’t see who did it. If I had . . .’ He fingered the cudgel at his belt.

  You would have knocked him on the head? I thought, but I did not say so. He was unlikely to see the irony, but I was taking no chances. Instead I said, ‘Thank you for saving me. It is lucky you came to be there, at that hour.’ What were you doing there, is what I meant.

  He understood. ‘Andretha sent me, to collect a clean tunic for the procession. You can ask him. I was not in the sleeping quarters more than half a minute. He saw me go in, and as soon as I found you I went out and fetched him.’ Aulus was so anxious to defend himself that he was not even angry at the inquisition.

  ‘Very well,’ I said, glad to move off dangerous ground. ‘Now, tell me about these meetings that you saw – when Crassus met this soldier at the gate.’

  That pleased him. He seemed to take reference to his spying as a professional compliment. ‘Two meetings, citizen, at twilight. And both times Crassus tried to order me away.’

  ‘And the soldier,’ I said. ‘Would you recognise him again?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, citizen. With cheekplates, it is hard to identify a face, even when you are looking in broad daylight. In poor light it is impossible. It was a centurion both times, that is all I know; he had one of those sideways crests on his helmet.’

  ‘And you don’t know if it was the same man each time?’

  ‘I could not tell. I was too far away. I do not think it was. There was something about the second one – he seemed bigger, more confident. More of a swaggering air, like Crassus himself. But I could not swear that they were different.’

  ‘And from which direction did the soldier come?’

  Aulus looked startled. ‘I am not sure. But he must have come down the lane from the military road. There is nothing in the other direction but a few peasant farms. The track goes further, but it is a woeful one. Dangerous, too. There are wolves in the forest.’

  ‘And towards the high road?’

  ‘You have seen it, citizen. Nothing at all on the main lane, and not much more on the old road, except the ruined roundhouse. He would hardly go there.’ He gave me a suggestive leer. ‘Mind you, that has been used by one or two other people, for different purposes. Several people, apart from Rufus and his girl. I could tell you a few stories . . . at a price.’

  ‘Related to this matter?’ I said, severely. Sexual tittle-tattle was not to my taste.

  He shook his head, looking disappointed. I imagine that for Aulus this kind of salacious gossip was quite a profitable sideline. He brightened again. ‘I do have something for you, citizen. Something I found out on the kitchen pile.’

  Only a spy would search the kitchen pile – the heap of refuse and scraps which were thrown from the window, often rendered even more aromatic by the addition of leftovers from the slaughterblock.

  I managed a smile. ‘And what is that?’

  I do not know what I expected. Incriminating love-messages perhaps, scratched on a wax tablet. Something like that. I was not at all prepared for what he offered me.

  It was a small, glass, stoppered phial, no longer than my finger, and threaded with a leather thong through a small loop near the neck. It was empty. I knew what it was. I had seen one very like it recently – on Paulus’ tray. One of Regina’s phials. I thought of the potions I had drunk, and paled.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Aulus was saying, in a whisper that today smelt of boiled cabbage, ‘if that is helpful, citizen?’

  I managed to say, ‘Most helpful. Thank you.’

  He smirked hopefully. ‘Shall I be . . . rewarded?’

  ‘I will speak to Marcus,’ I said. If I started to pay for information like this I should soon be begging myself. ‘I am to see him later. In the meantime, if Junio will give me his arm we will peep in at the librarium pavement. I am still a little unsteady on my feet.’

  I didn’t say so to Aulus but I also had another expedition in mind. Remembering that piece of scale-armour, I was not at all sure that he was right about Crassus not going to the roundhouse.

  I wanted to have another look.

  Chapter Fifteen

  But first I had promised Junio the librarium.

  Visiting it, however, was not as easy as it sounded. All of the other main rooms of the villa had been designed as such, and were either interconnecting or led off the handsome verandah-corridor across the front of the h
ouse; spacious rooms with handsome plastered walls and latticed glass in the windows. The librarium had, of course, begun as an ante-room for the slavegirls, and although its situation was surprisingly pleasant, given its purpose, it was not a convenient room to reach.

  It led directly off the back left-hand side of the courtyard garden, reached by a colonnaded walk between the draughty flowerbeds, arbours and statues. While most of the walls bordering the garden were whitewashed and decorated with optimistic designs of colourful flowers and birds, the librarium’s façade, half-obscured by a bush, was dominated by a heavy door. This, being an outer door, was a wooden one and (unlike most in the villa) secured with a key.

  It was locked, though presumably not now to save the slavegirls from unwanted attentions. Junio looked at me helplessly.

  ‘Andretha should have the key,’ I said. ‘Wherever he is. In the kitchen, I would judge, arranging refreshments for Marcus’ breakfast.’

  Junio scampered off to ask, while I admired the murals and counted the drooping herbs in the borders: rosemary, sage, leeks, parsley, thyme. Germanicus had planned his garden less for his eyes than for his stomach. I was just gazing at the statue of Minerva which stood in an arbour, when Junio returned.

  ‘He went to the slaves’ quarters,’ he reported, breathlessly. ‘He’s looking for Paulus, Marcus is calling for a shave.’

  And the barber was missing again, I thought sympathetically. He would pay for that, especially if the chief slave had to search for him in person. Andretha was already smarting from being sent to fetch Aulus. Senior slaves do not expect to have to chase after menials.

  I had no such difficulties myself. ‘We’ll go to him, then,’ I said and led the way out of the courtyard to the slaves’ quarters at the rear.

  I had not been in the building since I was attacked, and I was uncomfortably aware of a little shiver of nervousness as I went in. However, this time I had Junio with me, I reminded myself, and I strode down the aisled centre with a fair imitation of boldness, glancing from side to side into the sleeping areas as I went. There was no sign of Andretha, until we came to the partitioned room at the end. I called his name.

  There was no answer, but I thought I heard a faint scrabbling sound within. I pulled back the screen, and there was the chief slave, kneeling on the floor, in the act of pushing a wooden chest hastily under the mattress. He abandoned it immediately as I came in and scrambled to his feet, in a parody of agitation and self-abasement.

  ‘Citizen! I did not hear you call.’ How then, did he know that I had? ‘I am sorry that you should have to search for me! What brings you here?’

  ‘I think you have a key, Andretha.’

  He turned visibly faint. ‘A key? What key? I swear, citizen—’

  Junio looked to me, but when I said nothing, he supplied the answer himself. ‘To the librarium. My master wishes to see the pavement.’

  ‘Ahh!’ Andretha busied himself with dusting down his tunic. ‘That key. Let me see. I should have it here.’ He fished inside his tunic and fetched out a cluster of keys on a chain around his neck. ‘Come with me, and we shall see.’

  It was a clumsy lock, one of those that operates outwards, but he opened it in the end and pulled the door ajar. The librarium looked darker and pokier than ever, musty, echoing and bare, a tiny windowless square of a room with its painted plaster and its mosaic floor and those lonely manuscript pots on a shelf, in their solitary alcove. Junio, however, was enthralled.

  ‘Ars longa,’ he said, pushing open the door to read the amended inscription on the pavement. ‘You did that cleverly. And the border too. In so little time! It looks very well.’

  ‘The bulk of the mosaic was already done,’ I reminded him. ‘And Crassus had his own slaves prepare the ground for the mortar. I only had to roll and lay it.’

  He grinned at me. ‘A real pavement. My first. Well, I’m glad to see it. It seems a pity it will never now be used. I hope Lucius appreciated it.’ We walked back out into the courtyard, blinking in the light. ‘Perhaps the new owner will have a studious bent. Though if he does, I expect he’ll choose a more convenient room.’

  Andretha was waiting outside anxiously with the keys. I waited for him to lock the librarium door, before I said casually, ‘Which key is missing, then, Andretha? The key to that chest you were examining?’

  He flashed me a look of such unexpected ferocity that I stepped backwards sharply.

  ‘I thought as chief steward you held all the keys?’ I said, attempting to repair the damage a little. Life at the villa had proved dangerous enough, without deliberately attracting enemies. ‘Or did Crassus entrust that one to his favourite? To Daedalus?’

  It seemed to be the mention of Daedalus that did it. Or perhaps it was the fact that we had caught him in the act. All at once, it seemed, he decided to gamble on the truth. The old self-important, obsequious Andretha vanished and I saw the frightened man within, desperate, vulnerable and urgent. He sat down abruptly in the arbour, under the statue of Minerva. ‘No, citizen, not even that. Crassus kept that key himself. That box was his treasure chest. I knew he had it. He kept it in his bedroom, under the floor, where he kept the cashbox too. You saw me with that the other day. I held a key to that. But this was different. It held, not coins, but all his jewels and gold, and little silver figurines. He had a ring-key to it, which he always wore, on his little finger.’

  ‘I did not see it, when I examined the body.’

  He look at me helplessly. ‘No, citizen, nor did I. I looked for it, but it was gone.’

  ‘You did not tell me that at the time,’ I said.

  He shook his head. ‘The fact is, citizen . . .’ He dropped his head into his hands. ‘You will soon know anyway. There is a . . . a shortfall in the accounts. I am sure that there was gold in that chest, the way Crassus kept it locked. It was heavy too. I hoped, perhaps, I could make good the loss.’

  ‘You meant to steal some of his gold, in fact?’

  He did not deny it. ‘But I did not do it, citizen.’ He raised his head, and lifted his hands like a Vestal Virgin making sacrifice. ‘I could not find the key. Imaginary theft is not a crime. But who would believe me?’

  ‘You have the chest now,’ I said. ‘What were you doing? Prising it open?’

  He sighed, defeated. ‘It would do me no good, citizen, if I tried. The chest is empty. It is still locked, but you have only to shake it to know that. That is why I moved the chest from his bedroom. I thought if it was discovered there, with nothing in it, suspicion would fall on me at once.’

  I confess, I had not expected this. ‘But you do not have the key?’ I said. ‘Or know where it is?’

  He looked at me, and I saw that ferocious despair in his face again, but not directed against me this time. I have seen that look before, in the arena; the furious terror of a man who has staked his life and lost.

  ‘I think I know where it is,’ he said at last. ‘I have been foolish, citizen. Foolish and tricked. Daedalus must have it. Find Daedalus and you will find the key.’ He hunched his shoulders hopelessly. ‘I suppose you will take me before Marcus now?’

  ‘I should,’ I said. ‘You say imagined theft is not a crime, but this is not imagined theft. There is a shortfall in the accounts. You have been stealing from your master for some time, haven’t you? I suspected as much, earlier.’

  He havered. ‘No, citizen, I . . . Yes. Yes, it is true. I wanted my slave price. A man in my position acquires, you know, an as or two here and there, sometimes as much as a sestercius. I was saving them. Tradition has it that a slave may keep such gifts, and even buy his freedom, if he can. But Crassus—’

  ‘Fined you,’ I supplied, remembering what Aulus had said, ‘each time you almost had the price?’

  He nodded. ‘It was as if he knew. He always found something to fine me for – an insolent slave, a meal not to his satisfaction, a broken goblet. I was responsible, you see, for everything. I have even thought he did things purposely; there was a fine
Samian dish once, I swear it was not cracked when I took it to him. It cost almost as much as I do, that one dish alone.’

  Junio was looking at him, appalled. That kind of cruelty is outside his experience.

  ‘So,’ I said, ‘you started stealing from him? To take back what he owed you, was that it?’

  ‘It was not much, citizen. I did not dare. A few sesterces, no more. An extra as for hobnails, or to the pottery seller. I did not think it would be missed.’

  ‘It wouldn’t,’ I returned. These were trifling amounts, and easy to disguise. Hardly a shortfall in the books. ‘One extra dormouse invoiced for a feast – it would be impossible to trace.’

  He blushed. ‘You are right, citizen. That was how I had intended it. And as I say, he had effectively stolen it from me. But . . .’ He stopped.

  ‘It proved too easy? The temptation was too great?’

  ‘No, citizen. Not that!’ He was almost weeping now. ‘But Daedalus discovered it. I don’t know how. He threatened to tell Germanicus, to have me handed to the public torturers, unless – unless I stole for him as well. He wanted money, real money. A hundred denarii – and for the feast of Mars. He was to be freed, he said, if he won a wager. He would not tell me what it was, but he was confident. But he needed to raise the money as a stake. He was a personal slave, he never worked for others, and Crassus never gave gratuities. He had no money. Without me, that is.’

  ‘So you struck a bargain? The money in return for his silence. You trusted him?’

  ‘Not really, but what had I to lose? The torturer can only execute you once. Crassus would have had me killed just the same, whether I stole a hundred denarii or two. It is not as though a man can execute his own slave, now – Germanicus would have delighted in exacting “fitting” punishment, but one job is like another to the executioners. Besides, Daedalus promised that when he was free, he would try to buy me from Germanicus. It would mean changing one master for another, but Daedalus could not be worse than Crassus. He would let me earn my freedom honestly, he said.’