‘I’ll need help to lay her on the floor, and to anoint her. She must be cremated in her finest dress,’ Aurelia heard herself saying in a monotone. Elira threw her a concerned look, but she didn’t acknowledge it. The only way that she was going to get through this was to remain completely matter of fact. She could grieve later, when it was all done. ‘Then we must lay her on a table in the atrium, and place a coin in her mouth. Word must be sent to the family’s friends in Rome, and arrangements made for the funeral.’
‘Yes, mistress,’ replied Elira, respect filling her eyes.
‘Fetch Agesandros to me. Bring oils, and clean cloths, and the dress my mother used to wear to banquets.’
Elira scuttled from the room.
When she had gone, leaving Aurelia with her mother’s corpse, her mask slipped a little. The tears began to flow again. Her marriage to Lucius had separated her from Atia, but the space between them had never been more than the distance between their two houses. In its place there loomed a chasm that could never be bridged. Why did it have to be now, with the war keeping Quintus away? Aurelia railed silently. Her mother had been fit and well for her entire life. She could have expected to live for another five to ten years.
The quiet knock helped Aurelia to regain control. She wiped the tears from her face. ‘Come.’
Agesandros slipped inside. His dark eyes drank in Atia’s body, and his lips thinned. ‘She is dead then. Although it was a release for her, I am sorry for your loss.’
Aurelia inclined her head in recognition. ‘I want you to go to the Forum and the markets. Find the stonemason whom she spoke with first. A tomb needs to be built.’
‘And the plot that it will be built on?’
‘I will see to that. There are lawyers who act for the vendors of such land. You must also find musicians and actors for the funeral. Some of the household slaves can be pallbearers.’
‘They will be honoured. I will act as one too, should you permit it.’
How could she deny him that? ‘Very well.’
‘My thanks.’
‘Mother spoke highly of you before the end.’
Agesandros looked pleased. ‘I have always done my best, first for your father, and afterwards, your mother.’
It felt bizarre to be having this conversation over Atia’s body, but Aurelia felt he should know. ‘You are to be rewarded for that service with manumission, and not only that, but discharge from any duties to this family. It was one of my mother’s last commands.’
Wonder, and then joy, flared in his eyes. He approached the bed, lifted Atia’s hand and kissed it with great respect before replacing it on the covers. When he straightened, he was very close to Aurelia. It took all of her self-control not to retreat. ‘You will be glad to see me gone,’ he said.
Despite her fear, she met his gaze. ‘I will. We both know why. Suni was no threat to our family.’
‘I disagreed, and so did your mother,’ he said emotionlessly. Then, ‘If the paperwork can be drawn up in time, I will depart after the funeral.’
You’re not free yet, she thought angrily, but she didn’t possess the energy for an argument. ‘That can be arranged. You’ll travel to Sicily?’
‘If I can find a ship to take me, yes.’
‘It will be dangerous there, with the war.’
‘Good. I intend to take service with the legions, in whatever role they will have me.’
Her temper flared up. ‘The Carthaginians whom you encounter will be innocent of the murder of your family.’
His anger rose to meet hers. ‘I don’t care! They’re all gugga dogs, who need killing.’
Aurelia recoiled from his fury. She thought of Hanno, whom Agesandros had hated, and tried not to feel scared for him. He was serving on the mainland. Even if he ever came to Sicily, there was no chance of him and Agesandros meeting. That didn’t stop her from toying with the idea — for a guilty moment — of refusing to grant the Sicilian his freedom. Yet her mother’s wish, made on her deathbed, could not be denied. Aurelia had no desire to court more divine misfortune. Rallying her courage, she said, ‘That is your opinion, and that of a slave. To me, they are just our enemies. They need to be defeated, but not annihilated.’
The walk from the city behind the slaves carrying her mother had taken an age. Aurelia had hated every dragging moment of it. The slow pace. The actors wailing at the front; the musicians playing solemn dirges. Atia’s body, rocked gently from side to side by the motion of the litter. The disinterested, even annoyed looks from pedestrians on the packed streets. Once out on the Via Appia, it had been only a little easier. They had had to negotiate their way past hordes of travellers and files of carts and wagons bound for the capital. Their arrival at the newly constructed brick tomb, some two miles from the city walls, had been a welcome relief, but the screams of the pig, as it was sacrificed in honour of the goddess Ceres, had not. Nor had the falsely eulogistic words of the priest she’d hired for the occasion. In a daze, Aurelia had watched the placing of her mother’s body on the pyre that sat alongside the vault. Her grief had come bubbling up then and she’d been grateful for Tempsanus’ fleshy hand on her arm, and for his support when she’d had to step forward with the burning torch and set the timbers alight. It had been the right decision to leave Publius behind. The protest had been there in Elira’s eyes when Aurelia had ordered her to look after him, but she hadn’t argued. Regardless of what others might say about children attending funerals, thought Aurelia, seeing a human body burn was not something that a two-and-a-half-year-old should witness.
Thank all the gods that the wind was blowing away from them. Despite that, the stench of burning human flesh hung in the air, trapped perhaps by the towering cypresses that stood around. Even when the pig had been butchered and set to cook on another fire, the normally welcoming smell of roasting pork had not helped. Nonetheless, she had eaten some of the meat. It was part of the ritual. Somehow, she had prevented herself from bringing it back up again, had accepted the condolences of the dozen or so mourners, who had mostly been aged relations. A number of hours had passed since then. Few people remained. Tempsanus, bless him, had stayed by her the entire time. She was grateful for that. He hadn’t tried to talk to her; his mere presence had helped. At last the smell from the pyre was waning. There would be little left now of her mother but bones and ash. Aurelia stirred; offered up a last prayer. The slaves would tend the fire until her mother’s remains could be removed and placed in a funerary urn. She could return the following day to oversee their interment in the plain tomb alongside. That would be difficult, she knew, but for the moment her ordeal was almost over.
Or so she thought.
Initially, she paid no attention to the clatter of hooves from the nearby road. The Via Appia was the busiest thoroughfare in the land; scores of horsemen had ridden past them that day. It was when a horse and rider cantered off the road, towards the pyre, that she felt the first stirrings of alarm in her belly. All eyes focused on the newcomer, a young man in a dusty tunic. He looked exhausted, but there was nothing wrong with his voice. ‘I seek Aurelia, wife of Lucius Vibius Melito,’ he called out. ‘I was told to seek her here, among the tombs.’
The attention reverted to Aurelia. She took a deep breath and stepped forward. ‘I am she.’
The rider dismounted and threw the reins to a slave. He approached Aurelia, delving into the leather satchel that hung from a cord over one shoulder. ‘I beg your pardon for disturbing you at this time, my lady.’
She waved a hand in dismissal. The fashion of his arrival had driven all thoughts of her mother from her mind. ‘What is it?’ she asked, fighting real anxiety.
‘I bring news, from Rhegium.’
Instead of the normal elation she would have felt at this news, Aurelia felt dread. What was going on?
‘Have you ought for me?’ Tempsanus interrupted. ‘I am Melito’s business partner.’