So I was right about a crisis in the family, I thought. ‘Taken worse?’ I said.
It was a stupid question. The answer was obvious before Lucius replied. He adopted his most pompous manner. ‘I fear that the paterfamilias is dead. I have instructed the household slaves to dress accordingly and make arrangements to purify the house.’
Of course! Suddenly it all made sense — the household chaos and the missing slaves. The servants had obviously been dispatched to change their tunic uniforms to such mourning colours as they might possess, and to fetch appropriate candles, food and herbs to plunge the house into memorial. This hasty sacrifice, with Lucius taking Marcus’s place, was equally explicable, in fact. As the senior male in the family, in such a case as this, Lucius was entitled to represent my patron in his absence.
‘So — you were making an offering on Marcus’s behalf?’ I said.
‘I was. I felt a gesture should be made at once, especially in view of the unfortunate events which have already occurred at this most inauspicious time of the year. I am beginning to fear that my aunt Honoria was right — this family is ill-omened if not actually accursed. I thought I might appease the household gods, at least.’ He looked at the scattered fragments on the floor. ‘Though I fear that now my efforts may have had the opposite effect.’
It was a sly rebuke. He was suggesting that the failure was my fault for interrupting him and causing him to drop the jug and wine like that. It was a matter of concern. Roman ritual is much like ours, in that regard. One false move — particularly a spillage or a broken dish — not only negates the ceremony but is ill-omened in itself, and needs additional sacrifice in propitiation.
I was anxious to do anything I could to put it right. I was as keen as anyone to see my patron’s father’s ghost achieve repose — especially if any problems could be attributed to me. ‘I can fetch fresh offerings from the kitchen, if you wish, since there seem to be no slaves in evidence. I realise that you will have to start the sacrifice again.’
‘Unfortunately so,’ he said severely. ‘But I must provide the offering, if I am to atone. I have appropriate items in my travelling pack, along with the icons of my household gods. You, citizen, can help me best by witnessing the act.’ He clapped his hands. ‘When that fool of a bodyguard of mine comes in answer to my call. Colaphus!’
In fact it was only a moment before the man came clattering in — a big man, built like a battering ram, with a square, shaved head to match, his huge hands already forming into fists. I could see why they called him Colaphus. The very name means ‘thump’.
‘You wanted something, master? I’m sorry that I kept you waiting for so long.’ He was as fast of speech as Stygius was slow. He bowed, exhibiting his close-cropped head, and I was reminded of the battering ram again. That thick, flat skull would have splintered any gate. ‘I have given your instructions to the household staff. The funeral pyre is being constructed as we speak, and slaves are gathering wild herbs and grinding ointments for the corpse, and nailing the planks to make a bier to put in on.’
‘Pyre?’ I was astonished. ‘Bier? But surely the funeral will be in Rome?’
Lucius looked disdainful. He was very good at that. ‘This is for the body in the stable block, of course. Something must be done with it — it has begun to stink and it must be burned as soon as possible. We cannot have an unknown and decaying stranger’s corpse contaminating a house which is engaged in formal grief for a senior member of the owner’s family. Now, I must try again to appease the household Lars, lest this time of mourning be more inauspicious still.’ His livid colour had faded to an outraged, dullish pink around the gills. He turned to his attendant. ‘Colaphus, I need some sacrificial bread and a little perfumed oil and wine. You will find some in my room. Not the big jug on the table that I was drinking from — the containers in my portable lararium. In fact, on second thoughts, you can bring the whole thing here.’
‘Certainly, master.’ He thundered off, returning shortly afterwards with a wooden box which, when opened, proved to contain a tiny shrine, the flasks in question and the miniatures of Lucius’s household gods. In Colaphus’s great hands they looked especially delicate.
Lucius set up the tiny altar and placed it reverently on top of Marcus’s own. ‘These are a tribute to my aunt Honoria,’ he explained, setting up the pair of little silver figurines behind the shrine, ‘since they are the Lares and Penates of her ancestral home — and mine. These icons were her father’s — my grandfather’s, in fact — and their protection should embrace us all.’ He took out a tiny flagon and a little silver box, and placed them reverently beside him as he spoke.
He stood before the altar and from the containers placed minute amounts of bread and wine on it, sprinkled the whole offering with olive oil from the lamp, then solemnly used the taper to set the sacrifice alight. It flickered for a moment, then filled the air with smoke, while Lucius muttered what I supposed were prayers. They were evidently family incantations, and in ancient Latin, too — I could scarcely comprehend a single word.
I hoped that the divinities had understood him, anyway, as he stepped back from the shrine and turned to face me with a smile.
‘There, citizen. . I have done my best. We shall have to make a proper sacrifice in the temple later on, and when I get home I’ll ask the Vestal Virgins to say a prayer for us. But in the meantime. .’
He was interrupted by a dishevelled figure at the door. ‘Master?’ It was Minimus and he was out of breath. He didn’t stop to look about, but burst immediately into speech. ‘I apologise for having left you waiting here so long, but I couldn’t find Marcus Septimus anywhere. There seems to be a. . oh!’ He tailed off in confusion at the sight of Lucius. ‘I’m sorry, Excellence, I didn’t realise you were in the room.’
Lucius looked loftily superior, and waved a gracious hand. ‘Don’t let me prevent you from passing on your news. If you have anything truly new to say?’
Minimus looked doubtfully from Lucius to me.
‘Lucius has told me much of it,’ I said. ‘I know that my patron’s father died recently in Rome.’
Minimus nodded. ‘Marcus has gone to Glevum with his wife, and doesn’t know it yet.’
‘He may do so by now. Naturally, I sent the messenger to Glevum after him,’ Lucius corrected, in his most condescending tone.
‘Well then, master.’ Minimus turned to me. ‘Your new son Junio has gone as well — but he found the slave who interviewed the father of that girl. All the other land slaves are busy with the pyre, but Stygius has got him waiting for you in the outer court.’
I nodded. ‘Splendid. So, if you will excuse me, Excellence. .?’ I was not sure if that mode of address was appropriate, but it seemed wise to err on the side of flattery.
Lucius graciously half inclined his head. ‘By all means, citizen. Doubtless your slave can take you there. I understand he knows the house quite well.’
Minimus turned eagerly to him. ‘And I have a message for you, citizen, as well. Aulus the gatekeeper has disappeared — there was no one at the entrance when we arrived, and no one in the villa has set eyes on him.’
I was surprised. ‘That’s very curious. I thought that he had simply gone to change his uniform.’
Lucius looked at Minimus with narrowed eyes. ‘Was he due for a relief?’
The slave boy shook his head. ‘He had one just a little while ago. The kitchen sent some cheese and bread for him into the servants’ room, and he came in and ate it. Peeled a raw onion with it the way he always does.’
The Roman was dismissive. ‘I saw him at it, come to think of it, but surely he went back on duty after that?’
‘After he had visited the slaves’ latrine. He was seen to leave there and go out towards the gate. And he should still be there. Only he isn’t. I’ve told the chief steward and he’s placed a man on guard, but asks if you can spare your Colaphus — at least until they can find the regular relief. Everyone’s out helping with the funeral pyre and he can’t find a replacement of sufficient size.’