We were walking side by side along a stony track by now, and neither of the others said anything at all. They were avoiding looking at me as they picked their way, although I noticed that they were exchanging glances now and then.
‘The body is destroyed, in any case,’ I said. ‘It would be impossible for anyone to identify it now.’
‘So the murderer has had his way about that after all — since you’re still convinced that’s why he battered in the face.’ Junio’s voice was sad.
‘And what about the shoulders?’ Stygius put in.
It was an invitation, and I fell into the trap. ‘I have been thinking about that, ever since I saw the body on the pyre. When I saw him in that slave’s tunic, it gave me an idea.’ I outlined my thoughts about the softness of the hands and the fact that a messenger might not be quickly missed, if he was carrying a missive between two distant points. ‘All right, it isn’t Pulchrus,’ I went on, ‘but it could still have been a servant from another house like this. If so there might well have been a slave brand on his back — and that wound would remove the identifying mark. And there was that narrow line round his neck as well — exactly as if a slave disc on a chain was used to throttle him. It would have been cut off afterwards, of course.’
Stygius thought a minute, and then said in his slow, stolid way, ‘A page? That would explain the well-developed legs: he’d get them from clinging to his horse and running about with messages.’ He walked ahead to undo a second gate and lead the way across another field. His stride was slow but it propelled him well on this uneven ground. We had to hurry to keep up with him. ‘But I’m surprised that no one has set up a hue and cry. A good pageboy is an expensive thing to lose.’
I was puffing, bouncing across hillocks and a little out of breath.
Even Junio was breathing hard. ‘His master might not even realise that he is missing yet. But if it was a messenger, what happened to the horse?’
‘We ought to be asking questions about that,’ I said, pausing at a rugged tree to lean and catch my breath. ‘Not just in local households, but perhaps at Glevum gates, in case the watch has heard of any missing page, or anyone unexpected has tried to sell a horse.’ I caught the glance that passed between the other two, and stopped. ‘Only, of course, the matter has been closed. So there is no point in our discussing this. Please drop the subject, and we’ll talk of something else.’
Junio gave me a knowing look. ‘You will not be interested in hearing what I learned in Glevum, then?’
‘And what was that?’
I saw my son exchange a glance with Stygius, and grin. ‘Not very much you didn’t learn yourself, in fact, though the gate guards recognised the description straight away. It was the hair that made her look conspicuous, of course. But they’ve seen her — Morella, is she called? — come to the market with her mother lots of times.’ He hesitated.
‘And?’
‘Then recently she turned up one day on her own and asked directions to the inn where the dancing troupe had rooms. The soldiers thought that it was comical, of course, and laughed at her. One of them suggested that she find Lucius’s chief slave — he was taking bribes, apparently, to have acts selected for the villa, to come and do their turns in the hope that they would be selected for the Emperor. That bears out what the dancing woman told us, doesn’t it? That the girl was willing to bribe someone for the chance of going to Rome. Only, of course, it was a waste of time. This fellow Hirsius didn’t have the authority to arrange it anyway. Only Lucius could possibly do that.’
‘And Morella?’
‘The guards didn’t think she had the money — it was just a silly jibe. But they told her where the dancing troupe were lodged, and off she went. Unfortunately no one paid particular attention after that, but someone recalled seeing her later in the marketplace, and another guard thought she might have gone out past him later on, but he wasn’t sure.’
‘Any use, citizen?’ That was Stygius.
I was affronted by this clear conspiracy with my adopted son. ‘How can it be useful, since the matter’s closed?’ I said, and trudged in disgruntled silence till we reached the house. ‘Junio and I must go in to take our leave. You have the funeral ashes to dispose of, I believe.’
‘As you say, citizen.’ And he went plodding off again towards the distant hillside and the still-rising smoke.
Chapter Seventeen
Whatever family ceremony had been taking place in the atrium while we were away was clearly over by the time we returned.
The statue of Marcus’s father now had a wreath round its neck, another on its forehead, and a little pile of flower offerings laid in front of it. There was fresh blood on the household altar where the wether had evidently just been sacrificed, and the smell of burning flesh and feathers lingered in the air. An oil lamp still burned on each side of the shrine, and another pair flanked the garlanded patriarchal bust.
Of Marcus and his party there was now no sign, nor was the high priest in evidence. However, the room was not deserted. Atalanta was there. Dressed only in a mourning tunic, barefoot and with her hair spread loose, she was seated on the stool which I had earlier occupied, playing a melancholy air upon a lyre and singing very softly in a keening croon. With her strong plain features smeared with ash and her hair in disarray, she looked like a Fury from some painted frieze, but the music she made would have charmed the gods themselves.
I was not sure whether I should speak to her — if she was officially commencing some sort of lament, she should be permitted to do so undisturbed — but she looked up at us and smiled when she saw who it was.
‘If you are looking for the master and mistress, citizens, I am afraid they’ve finished here. The mistress has gone to oversee arrangements for the feast; the master is drafting a letter to send home. The priest has retired to the bath-house for a little while. Apparently more purification was felt to be required.’
‘And Lucius?’
‘Having a strip of mourning stitched round his toga-hems, in preparation for tonight. Fortunately there was still a bit of Marcus’s left over in the house,’ she said, her fingers rippling ceaselessly across the plaintive strings.
‘We simply wanted to take leave of them, and let them know that everything was done,’ I said.
She smiled. ‘I’m afraid I cannot assist you two citizens myself — I have been left here to play a requiem — but Niveus is in the ante-room, if you require a slave.’
I clapped my hands, but there was no response. I waited for a moment, then I made up my mind. ‘I suppose that we should go in there and cleanse ourselves in any case,’ I said, ‘since once again we have been in contact with a corpse. We will go and find Niveus, instead of waiting for him here. I want him to fetch my slave for me, as well, so that I can go home to my wife as soon as possible.’
Junio look startled for an instant. ‘Your slave?’ Then he grinned. ‘Oh, you mean Minimus, of course. In that case, Father, lead the way.’
We went through to the ante-room, though Junio remained dutifully a step or two behind. Niveus was dozing on a stool beside the door, with a pile of linen towels stacked upon his knee. He did not stir as we plunged our hands and faces in the bowl, then all at once he started into wakefulness. When he saw us, he was on his feet at once. Under the dust and ashes his face had turned as scarlet as his usual uniform.
‘Citizens! You wanted me? But of course you did. You will be wanting that refreshment you did not have time to eat. If you go back to the atrium, I will bring it there at once. In the meantime, here are towels for you.’ And before I could stop him, he had thrust the pile at me and was disappearing in the direction of the kitchens at a trot, as if he was intent on earning some winning garland at a race.