‘But Niveus and I saw you opening a seal.’ That was Atalanta, waiting with her lyre. Like many wealthy Romans, I think that Lucius had half forgotten she were there, or that slave girls were endowed with working eyes and ears. ‘Craving your indulgence, master, but I thought you ought to know.’ She turned back to Lucius. ‘And I saw you talking to Aulus afterwards — in the slaves’ waiting room where he was eating lunch. You told him he could finish the wine that you’d begun, because you didn’t care for Rhenish. I saw you pour it out.’
‘Along with a little something from your lararium flask, perhaps,’ I said. ‘Or do you still deny it, citizen?’
Lucius was defeated but he faced me with a smile. ‘Of course I still deny it. I will prove it, too. Slave!’ He motioned to his bodyguard who was standing close to him, staring as though he’d been turned to stone. ‘Go to my sleeping room and fetch the travelling box. I will show you that there is no poison in any of my flasks.’
‘Go with him, Atalanta,’ Marcus said. ‘Make sure he brings it. And the rest of you — please go back to your seats.’ Most of the dining guests had risen to their feet and were clustered in a startled group against the farther wall, shocked as statues and very near as pale.
There was a lot of hurried whispering, but one or two obeyed, and others were beginning to follow suit when Atalanta and the bodyguard reappeared. Colaphus held the lararium, which he carried to the front and laid before Lucius on the table-top.
‘You still doubt me, cousin?’ Lucius exclaimed. ‘I’ll soon prove who is the liar here.’ He took the box, produced a key and slowly opened it. I felt the crowd lean forward in their seats, and heard the gasps of admiration at the craftsmanship. Lucius took out the silver flasks — the whole array of them — and poured the contents with a flourish into his drinking cup. Then, rising to his feet, he raised the cup to me, rather as Marcus had done when I came into the room.
There was a titter of amusement around the room at this.
I felt extremely foolish. Was I mistaken after all?
‘Your good health, citizen. I drink to you, and to your imaginative tales!’ He met my eyes, and in that moment I knew what he had done. I might have stopped him, but I let him drink.
It was several seconds before it took effect.
The death of a dignitary at a memorial feast is not usually the signal for a lightening of mood, but strangely tonight that seemed to be the case. I found I was surrounded by cheering citizens, clapping me on my shoulders and congratulating me. I felt like a victorious net-man being applauded at the games — as if I had entrapped my victim in my web and brought him to his knees, and he’d escaped dishonour by falling on his sword. Perhaps, indeed, that was exactly what I’d done.
Someone was pressing a cup of wine on me — it wasn’t Lucius’s, I made sure of that — and others were leading me towards a dining couch. I sank down on it and permitted slaves to take my sandals off and bestow the luxury of washing both my feet. Then it was my patron who was bending over me, personally placing the dining wreath upon my balding head.
‘Libertus! I applaud you. You must sit at my right hand.’ He gestured towards the table where Lucius had sat, and from where his lifeless body was now being hauled away in an ignominious fashion by a pair of slaves. They were treating him as parricides and traitors are traditionally treated — dragged backwards by his heels so that his head bounced on the mosaics as he went, while his proud toga rucked up round his armpits and exposed his spindly legs and leather loinstrap to public ridicule.
I was reluctant, but he led me to the place, then rose and addressed the assembled company. I noticed that the commander was now reclining at the back and that Junio had come in and joined him there.
‘Citizens, councillors, friends.’ Marcus was shaken but he was a Roman through and through, and knew how to disguise his shock with dignity. ‘You were invited here tonight in honour of my respected father — but one of our number has disgraced his memory by scheming against his family and heirs. He has taken his reward!’ There were sporadic cheers and claps at this, but Marcus raised his hand. ‘So, now, I bid you truly to keep this memorial in the way that I know my father would have wished. Please, fill your glasses and drink to our safe deliverance, and we will offer a thanksgiving sacrifice later to the household gods. My slaves will serve you the “second tables” now, and I will call on Atalanta to play for us again. Something a little more lively, in honour of our joy.’
It was not what she was trained in, but she did her best, and with the arrival of another crater of finest mulsum wine and — a little later — of my wife and Julia, there was a general mood, if not of cheerfulness, at least of shared relief. Julia was even prevailed upon to sing — she did not have a strong voice, but it was very sweet — and the evening was as successful as it could possibly have been, given the extraordinary happenings of the night.
Marcus said so, when the last carriages were gone, and my little party was preparing to leave too. I had lingered to tell my patron everything I knew about Morella and the tunic.
‘I wonder what happened to Morella’s hair?’ Junio said, as Minimus helped him with his cloak. ‘Pulchrus’s was short enough to scatter in the woods, but they could hardly have taken those plaits to Londinium with them.’
I shrugged. ‘Perhaps we’ll never know. Sold in Corinium, perhaps — there was enough to make a wig, and the actor would be familiar with several wigmakers. Or perhaps it was simply buried somewhere by the road. Or dropped in the Sabrina — Hirsius must have taken a river ferry when he took Morella west — they would have been spotted by the Glevum watchmen otherwise. No doubt we will be able to determine that.’
‘And the coins? I still have them in my casket. What should we do with them? Return them to her father?’ Julia enquired.
I smiled. ‘To her mother. I will take them there myself.’ I would leave it to the tribe to deal with Farathetos, I thought. ‘And I’ll return the dress. I’m glad we didn’t burn it at poor Pulchrus’s funeral.’
‘Ironic that we should put him in his own tunic on the bier! I shall have you build a little shrine for him, and see that his grave is tended every year with food and water for the afterlife. In his way, he died in my defence.’ Marcus placed a heavy ringed hand upon my arm. ‘And I shall have you build that memorial pavement to my father too — with no expense spared. We can never thank you properly, Libertus, my old friend. I never liked Lucius, but I did not think that of him.’
I asked the question which had been on my mind. ‘And now what will become of him? Will you have him buried with Morella in the common pit? At midnight tomorrow it will be Lemuria.’
His face darkened, but it was Julia who spoke. ‘I think we should put him on the servants’ pyre and burn him after Aulus has been laid to rest,’ she said. ‘He does not deserve such dignity, but he was a family member, after all.’
Marcus looked rebellious. ‘It is more than he merited. But the pyre is ready, and it would not take long. And he is my mother’s agnate — so I consent. Perhaps I shall provide some burial herbs for him — and even a coin for the ferryman.’
Epilogue
Late the next evening we were all awake. There was still the problem of the roundhouse site to be resolved. Gwellia and I had talked into the night, and decided that — for Juno and Cilla’s sake — we should honour the rituals of the Lemuria ourselves.
It was difficult to estimate when midnight had arrived, but in the event we need not have been concerned, because when it was approaching the appropriate hour Caper and Stygius came knocking at the gate. They had been selected because they found the corpse. Minimus and Maximus went out to let them in, and we could hear them chattering as they came up the path.