I nodded. I thought about the dress, remembering the stitching at the waist, which had shown signs of tightness and of wear, as if it had been straining at the seams. ‘I think she had enough to eat,’ I said. ‘Whatever age she turns out to have been, it was not starvation which caused her death, I think.’
‘But you agree we are looking for another body?’ my wife said thoughtfully.
‘It rather looks like it.’
She came across the room, magnificent in her stola, and raked her fingers gently through my still-damp hair. ‘My husband, I could wish that you weren’t caught up in this. It is one thing to be asking questions at present, when your patron’s here — quite another when he’s gone to Rome. Who will there be to protect you then, if anything goes wrong?’
I shrugged, unwilling to admit that I had the same fears myself. ‘Then, wife, I shall have to make sure that nothing goes amiss. In any case, my patron wants this solved before they go away — before the Lemuria begins, in fact.’ Actually it was Julia who had said that to me, but it came to the same thing.
Gwellia was still looking doubtful. ‘That only makes it worse. You won’t have time to take things carefully. And from your description of what happened to the corpse, this killer will do anything to disguise his tracks. He must be merciless.’
I took her by the shoulders. ‘I’m sorry, Gwellia. But if my patrons ask me, what else can I do?’
She shook herself away. ‘I know you’re right, of course. But I have a premonition. I don’t like this at all.’
‘You are just like Julia’s mother-in-law, in Rome.’ I tried to lighten the moment with a jest. ‘She’s famous for her premonitions.’ I told her about what Lucius had said.
She gave a rueful smile. ‘I’m not surprised that Julia doesn’t want to go to Rome, if Marcus’s family is all like Lucius. He looked so supercilious in the court today, I was relieved that Junio’s manumission went off without a hitch — I would not have put it past the man to decide the business was beneath him and spoil it in some way. Though perhaps I misjudge him. We have never really met.’
‘Well, it is time to go and meet him now,’ I said. ‘It will soon be getting dark, and they will be expecting us at the villa for the feast. It will take some time to get there — especially in new shoes. I can’t walk quickly in a toga at the best of times.’
Maximus and Minimus were by my side at once. ‘With your permission, master. .’
‘. . our former mistress, Julia, instructed us that when you were ready to come. .’
‘. . we were to run down to the villa and request the cart for you.’
‘Did she?’ I was very much surprised. ‘Marcus has never sent a cart for me before, unless I was ill, at any rate.’
Minimus gave that toothy grin of his. ‘She told him it would not impress his cousin if you came with dusty hems.’
I laughed aloud. ‘Very well then, go and fetch the cart.’
And half an hour later the three of us were on our way — not in a cart but in Marcus’s own gig, with Maximus and Minimus trotting at our side. We rode like patricians to the villa gates, where Aulus was waiting to scowl at me again and Niveus came out to show us shyly in.
Chapter Ten
My patron was given to extravagant feasts but that evening’s banquet was the most elaborate I have ever seen. So for Gwellia, who had only rarely attended formal meals — let alone for Junio who had never dined in Roman style before — it must have been an amazing experience from the very start. Of course, we knew that all this conspicuous expense was entirely in Lucius’s honour — Marcus was clearly determined to impress his visitor and would not have bothered with such luxuries for us — but we were the incidental beneficiaries all the same.
There were scented bowls of water in which to bathe our feet (though we had washed them just before we came) and there were slaves to kneel and do it and pat us dry again with spotless linen cloths. Then came more slaves with floral wreaths, napkins, and knives for us all — as though a man never carried his own cutlery to feasts.
Lucius, as the principal guest, reclined on Marcus’s right while Julia occupied the position on his left, where — as the second-ranking guest — I’d half expected to be placed myself. Another couch and table had been arranged for us nearby, at right angles to the first, where I was similarly flanked by my wife and my new son, so that Junio — although a male — was in the most inferior place and the two women were close enough to talk. Apart from the dining couches, an empty stool stood by — obviously for Cilla when the moment came.
I suspected that Julia had had a hand in these seating arrangements, which were unusual — since women did not usually sit at the top table in this way — but actually very cleverly designed. Making me the centre of a table of my own was a kind of compliment and compensated for the fact that I was not at Marcus’s side. Besides, it kept Junio (who was in any case a little ill at ease) as far as possible from Lucius, who had probably never before sat down to dinner with a man who at breakfast time was legally his slave. Above all, I think, our hostess wanted to have the higher seat herself, so that she could hear what was being said between her husband and his guest and if necessary steer the conversation carefully away from any possible allusion to the dead man in the yard.
Whatever her reasons for the table-placing, I was glad of it. I was able to whisper instructions to my former slave when — as happened more than once — he was not sure of proper etiquette or had some difficulty in eating lying down, with only one elbow to support himself. In his former short life as a Roman slave, he had never served at table, and we followed Celtic customs in our house.
Once the company was settled Marcus clapped his hands. A player came in with a lute and sang a poem in praise of Lucius; after that a cymbal clashed, and then the meal began. It was a full-scale three-part dinner, no expense spared. The ‘tasting course’ alone was meal enough for me — eggs, oysters, radishes, and sardines. The serving boys who came in with the platters — silver ones, no pewterware tonight! — were struggling beneath the weight of them. Square loaves of wheat and rye bread were brought in, sweet and spiced, new-baked on the premises from flour grown and milled — as Marcus loftily observed — ‘within a thousand paces of this spot’.
Lucius looked pained and commented that Rome was not given to such rustic practices and that he, personally, patronised a baker who made special loaves for him. However, I noticed that he seemed to like the bread, and even more the mulsum, or sweet wine, that followed it.
When we had eaten far more than we should, the finger-bowls were passed around and, as I showed Junio how to rinse his hands, first the acrobats and then the dwarves whom we’d seen on the cart came in and entertained us for a time, to give our digestion a little space to work. They were energetic and amusing, and working to impress, until Marcus decided that his guest was getting bored and dismissed them in favour of a singer with a lyre.
After a trio of short songs, he too was sent away, and the main portion of the evening began. There were a full seven courses (‘one for each of us, and one for luck’, as Junio said later, in astonishment): fish, goose with lovage, lamb with pears and wine, and a main central course of roasted venison (with the choicest portion going to Lucius, of course) followed by the lighter dishes: stuffed sow’s udders — a Roman favourite, this — a dish of honeyed dormice, and, last of all, the larks. It was of course unthinkable to refuse a dish outright, though Marcus was sufficiently aware of my tastes to ensure that that dreadful fish sauce the Romans like so much was offered as a condiment and not put on the food before it came to table.
I had experienced Roman feasts before, though not generally on this scale, and remembered to save myself some space, and Gwellia only ever took a taste of every dish; but despite my best instructions that he should do the same, Junio soon began to look a little green. I reminded him that it was possible to slip outside to tickle his throat and bring a little up, and so make room for what was yet to come, but he was too embarrassed to do it. Lucius, however, had no such provincial qualms and he soon strode out to vomit before returning to eat some more.