Murder in the Forum (20 page)

‘Oh, you’ve come at last, have you?’ he grumbled. ‘They said you were sent for. Why, is what I want to know. I’ve told them everything I can, a dozen times over.’

‘And what exactly could you tell them?’ I said affably, squatting beside him on the bundle of reeds which was provided as a bed. The room was small, but otherwise it was no more humble than my own.

He looked at me savagely for a moment, then fetched a great sigh. ‘Oh, very well. If I must go through it all again, I suppose I must. He came to the house early this morning. I hadn’t seen him before that I remember. He brought a parcel of silk and some bracelets, and said they were a gift for Julia Delicta, on the occasion of her marriage. Then he left. I paid no great attention to his face. That is all I know.’ He produced it all in the fashion of a recitation.

‘I see.’ I thought about this for a moment. ‘How early did he come?’

He frowned. ‘I don’t know. Do you think I am a councillor to have water-candles by me? Very early. The sun was hardly risen in the sky and I could hear the schoolmaster scolding in his pupils.’

‘And it did not surprise you that he brought a gift?’

The man shrugged. ‘I suppose a little, since he was a stranger to me. But there have been gifts arriving ever since Delicta arrived home from the forum yesterday.’

Of course, once the marriage was solemnised it was no secret. ‘No doubt the witnesses had spread the news,’ I said.

For the first time the gateman almost smiled. ‘More than that,’ he said. ‘The old
auspex
was delighted by being asked to perform the ceremony – he must have told half the town. And since it was Marcus that she married, everyone was anxious to come and make a gift – and be seen to do it.’ He paused. ‘I suppose that is why I remembered the man. There was nothing with the gift to say who the giver was.’

‘Did you ask him?’

The man grimaced. ‘I did. He said it was from an old friend of Marcus’s. I could hardly argue. I know who calls on my mistress, but His Excellence has a dozen friends in Corinium that I have never seen.’

It was hard to argue with that. I changed the subject. ‘So what made you suspicious of the man?’

He shrugged. ‘I would not have suspected him at all, if there had not been this stabbing of slaves from our household in the town. Of course, when I heard of that, I began to wonder about the stranger who had called. But truly, citizen, I can remember nothing else. He was wearing a dark cape and hood, but I thought nothing of that. It had been raining and the man was very wet. He came to the gate and asked to be presented to Delicta. I had to tell him that she was in the town.’

‘Surely the shops were barely open?’

That brought a reluctant smile to his face. ‘Delicta is a wealthy woman, citizen. The shops would open for her.’

I nodded. Delicta was unusual in doing her own shopping. Wealthy Roman women are not like Celts, they prefer to send their husbands or their slaves, even for cloth and jewels. But Julia Delicta was accustomed to having her own way. No doubt the shopkeepers of Corinium would hurry bleary-eyed down the stairs at midnight to open their shuttered stalls if they had found her on their doorsteps. I said, ‘So the caller left the parcel. Did you get a look at him?’

‘Youngish, and dark, and he had a strange, clipped sort of accent – or at least he seemed to have. I have wondered since if he adopted it on purpose. He had a fine horse, I remember.’

I nodded. That at least was new information.

He said, after a short pause, ‘My mistress thinks there was a company of thieves in the town. It has happened once before. Men calling with messages when the house-owners were out and – when they were admitted to wait – sending the slaves away on fruitless errands while they looked around for something to steal. Nothing large, of course, only a golden statue or two, which they would hide under their clothes, and walk out later as calmly as you please. The thefts were not noticed until afterwards.’

‘That hardly seems the case in this matter.’

‘Fortunately for me, since it would have been on my head if I had let him in. But there are always other thieves, attacking helpless people in the street and stripping them of their purses – as I hear they stripped you, citizen.’

I could hardly deny this, but he said it with a grin which was almost insolent. I did not care for the turn the conversation was taking, and having learned – as I supposed – all there was to learn, I took my leave of him and returned to Marcus.

My patron had a string of
clientes
waiting for his attention by this time, but he had lingered to speak to me.

‘So, my brave pavement-maker, did you learn anything new?’

‘No real facts, Excellence, since that is what you required.’

‘Well, I have facts for you. You heard that my poor herald’s body has been found?’

I nodded. ‘Junio told me so.’

Marcus sighed. ‘I have had him collected. It is vexatious. Worse than I thought. Deliberately insulting. Not only did Felix have him tied to a stake for the birds to pick at, as if he were a common criminal, he also had a notice nailed up above him: “Here is a nameless, insolent slave who insulted the great Perennis Felix.” Who did Felix think he was? A Roman governor?’

I made a sympathetic noise. I knew what he was referring to. Some senior magistrates and provincial governors routinely labelled criminals in this way before their executions, and sometimes made them parade the streets wearing their placards of indictment, as a humiliation to them and a warning to the rest of the populace. I have known Marcus himself have a notice nailed over a crucified criminal, but Marcus was a senior magistrate. Felix had had no such authority.

‘Insulted the great Perennis Felix, indeed!’ Marcus fumed. ‘It is I who am insulted, if anyone.’

It passed through my mind that perhaps the herald himself had a certain claim to having been insulted, but naturally that was not a thought that I could voice. I said, ‘But you have had the body moved, Excellence?’

‘Of course. We cannot have his spirit unquiet and haunting the town. I intend to have him disposed of decently. But therein lies the problem, old friend. I should have had them bring him here, to be properly bathed and anointed, since this is where he lived and worked, but I am in official mourning for Felix. It would be disrespectful to host another funeral, especially of someone whom Felix himself put to death.’

‘But surely, Excellence,’ I ventured, ‘the slaves’ guild would bury him? I know you normally make provision for your slaves, like a thoughtful master, but in the circumstances surely you could have
them
cremate him? It would be all over before Felix’s funeral. They could do it at once. He was only a herald. There is no need for a mourning period.’

‘There will be no problem with that,’ Marcus said. ‘The herald is a guild member – I have always paid his dues. I have done it for all my servants. I never can be certain that I will not be recalled to Rome and be unable to provide a proper funeral when they die. No.’ He furrowed his brow. ‘The difficulty is where to take the body now.’ He looked at me speculatively.

I knew Marcus. He was working up to something. I said cautiously, ‘Of course, Excellence, if there is anything whatever I can do . . .’

Marcus smiled. ‘Libertus, you are a true friend. I will not forget this when it comes to assigning public commissions. Very well, then, I accept your offer. The funeral guild can take him from your rooms. That way you can attend the ceremony in my place. I will not have Felix contrive to have my herald sent to the other world with only slaves to mourn him.’

I opened my mouth to protest. Playing host to a funeral, especially as chief mourner, is a burdensome business. It would necessitate not only giving up a room to the corpse – and goodness knows there was little enough space as it was – but also all manner of cleansing rituals afterward, including a sacrificial offering, a period of fasting, and another series of personal purifications at the end of nine days. To say nothing of a cold nocturnal procession outside the city walls – no funeral is permitted within them. But one cannot argue with Marcus.

He was smiling at me. ‘I was certain of your good offices, old friend. I have already had them take the herald to your workshop. The guild has agreed that they can bury him from there. And you need not fear ghosts – they will not use your sleeping room. They will do the thing tonight. I have spoken to the foreman already.’

He meant he had offered the man a bribe. I said feebly, ‘But, Excellence, I had planned to go to the North Gate tonight, and meet the driver of the conveyance that brought the Celts.’ It was not exactly a firm plan of mine, in fact I had just thought of it, but it seemed a reasonable undertaking, and preferable to a funeral. I added, winningly, ‘He was promised payment this evening, and I hoped—’

Marcus interrupted. ‘Do not concern yourself with that. I will have the man questioned myself.’ He clapped me companionably on the shoulder. ‘The guild is expecting you. And do not look so downcast. There will be little fuss.’

I was not so sure. No doubt, if the corpse had been delivered, the gossip would already have started – and for the next half-moon my neighbours would avoid me with the wary politeness which always follows the presence of a dead body in the house. And there would be no hiding the funeral.

I have attended slave-guild funerals before. The bier is only of gilded wood, and it is rescued before the cremation, the urns are of cheap pottery instead of gold and bronze and the mourners are paid slaves, but there is no lack of ceremony. To a man who has nothing in this world, the entry into the next is an important occasion, and slaves will often set aside every
quadrans
they own to ensure that they pay their dues and so avoid the communal pit which is otherwise their lot. Even so, more than one slave is often cremated at a time – it halves the cost, and increases the show. I could envisage a very large cortège arriving at my door.

Marcus saw my look. ‘I assure you, Libertus, tonight will be a quiet affair. There was a great slave funeral last night, apparently. One of the dead actually worked for the guild at one time, so they made a huge ceremony of it: a senior priest, proper orations, pipers, dancers and scores of mourners following the corpse.’

I nodded. ‘We saw the procession ourselves, Excellence, on the way to the banquet.’

Marcus waved the remark aside. ‘Indeed. Well, there will be nothing like that tonight. I have requested that it be discreet, although I am assured that the guild always does these things very well.’

I must still have looked doubtful.

There was a hint of impatience in his voice as he continued, ‘And there will be no expense. They are providing the sacrifice, and the funeral meal afterwards. I have made the arrangements.’

Which is more, I reflected, than anyone would do for me. Except perhaps Junio. But I must not annoy Marcus. I said, with as much dignity as I could muster, ‘My pleasure, Excellence.’

In fact, of course, it was no pleasure at all. But there was no help for it. Already it was getting dark, and I would have to go home and prepare myself. Coarse cloth, ashes on the forehead and then a cold vigil in the night air when I was already stiff and bruised from an attack. And it was raining.

As I summoned Junio and made my way back to the street I wished, not for the first time, that Felix Perennis had never come to Glevum. I was so concerned with my resentful thoughts that it did not occur to me that I had been given the solution to at least a part of the problem I was trying to solve.

The evening was as dismal as I had feared. The poor old herald was a sorry sight, stretched out on a makeshift bier on my workshop table, with the ritual candles burning around him. He had not been a pretty spectacle when he was dragged away behind the carriage, and a day and night pegged up to a stake had not improved him – even the bits of him which one could see. I was glad that the guild, contrary to custom, had covered his face with a cloth.

They had done their best with him, bathed his appalling wounds and clothed what they could in a new robe which Marcus had provided. They had also provided a weeper, whose moans could be heard from the alley outside, and put up a wreath of funerary green on my entranceway to show that there was a corpse within. So, as I had half expected, people were already crossing the street to avoid the house. I would be lucky to have any customers call for days, after this.

Marcus was right about one thing. When the moment arrived there was comparatively little ‘fuss’. The guild had provided a mere four bearers, and they turned up almost before I was ready for them. I was still clothing myself in the
lugubria
, the dark-coloured robe expected of the closest relatives or chief mourners. I hadn’t worn mine since my own master died, and that was more than ten years earlier. Fortunately, since I had increased in girth as well as age, Roman fashion is not close-fitting.

I arranged my folds, with Junio’s help, and dashing the required ashes on my forehead I hurried down to meet the funeral workers.

Marcus’s bribe had clearly done its work. The foreman of the guild was there in person, together with a little wizened man I recognised as a priest of Diana, although I am not sure if the local slave guild has some affiliation with that cult, or whether this religious functionary merely happened to be available. Either way he looked pleased with this assignment – perhaps he too was benefiting from Marcus’s purse.

The guild foreman came wheezing over, wringing his thin hands, to instruct me in my ‘duties’. I was surprised. I have attended slave funerals before, and normally everything is performed by the guild.

The old man looked at me with rheumy eyes. ‘Oh no, citizen. You represent the slave’s owner – a rare honour at these occasions. And since the slave’s owner is His Excellence Marcus Aurelius Septimus of course it is doubly so. Naturally you must help officiate. You could begin now, perhaps, by calling on the spirit of the departed?’

This was awkward. I knew what to do – I was supposed to call the herald’s name, to ensure that his spirit really
had
departed, but this was difficult because I didn’t know it. I had to content myself with simply calling ‘Herald of Marcus’ three times, in ringing tones. It seemed to satisfy my audience.