And indeed he was. He stood in the now empty vestibule, where only a trampled wreath and an abandoned flute lay on the floor to show where the enthusiastic wedding guests had been. Through the open door of the atrium I could see a group of slaves, engaged in stripping the wedding flowers from the tables and the statues of the gods, while others stood ready to replace them with funerary wreaths. The imago of Honorius’s father had been brought from whatever cupboard it usually occupied and was already standing by the altar on a plinth, and no doubt Honorius’s own would follow it, when the funeral arranger had made a mask of him. Typical of this old-fashioned household, I thought, that these ancient customs should still be carried out here in the provinces when one heard that these days they were not always observed in Rome.
Even as I paused to watch the servants at their work, Helena Domna came into the hall. As Minimus had predicted, she had changed her clothes and now wore a long tunic of a sombre hue, with a dark net veil covering her hair and a gold chain set with fine jet beads around her throat. The most startling change, however, was the difference in her face. The careful chalk-paint and bright red lees had gone, and the sallow skin was almost colourless, except for the ashes she had rubbed upon her brow. There was no attempt to hide the wrinkles now, and there was no longer kohl around the eyes. She looked what she was: a ancient woman who had lost her son — and for a moment I felt a surge of sympathy.
There was no alteration in her manner, though. As soon as she saw me her mouth snapped firmly shut and it was through pursed lips that she addressed me. ‘Citizen? Are you still here? I thought that you had left.’
‘I was hoping, madam, for a word with you. I wanted to check on Honorius’s movements just before he died-’
She interrupted me. ‘Citizen, do not be so absurd. We women were all in the atrium with the wedding guests throughout. You saw us there, yourself.’
As there was no possible reply to that remark, I simply forced a smile and muttered that I’d hoped to speak to Pompeia at least. ‘If I am to do as Gracchus hopes and prove her innocent. But I understand that that’s impossible.’
Perhaps it was an instinct for contrariness, or perhaps it was the mention of Gracchus that made her say, ‘Who told you that it was impossible? It is entirely possible, if I give you leave. I am the child’s grandmother, after all — unlike Livia who has no blood-ties to the girl — and I still have some rights in that regard. If I say you may see her, then you may. Though you may not get a lot of sense from her. I have agreed that Maesta should provide a sleeping draught for her, made from the juice of poppies. She has just returned with it. I don’t know if Pompeia has yet taken it or not, but if you hurry you may find her before she falls asleep. You may leave your servant here, and I will find you a female slave to take you to the place.’
It was so unexpected that I almost gawped, but I collected myself sufficiently to say, ‘I appreciate your assistance, lady, very much.’
She no longer had her fan, otherwise she would have rapped me with it I am sure. ‘Then you will repay me by doing what you are employed to do, and seeing that my granddaughter gets married after all. Convince the world she didn’t kill her father, despite her outburst here. Though how you can do this without showing that she’s mad — which is no help to anyone — I confess I cannot see. However, Gracchus thinks you’ll do it, and if you prove him right I shall be as pleased as he is. So. .’ She clapped her hands and at once the dumpy maidservant appeared. ‘Pulchra, show this citizen to Pompeia’s sleeping room. He has some questions he wants to put to her.’
‘Madam. .’ Pulchra looked as if she might have something to impart, but Helena Domna waved the words aside.
‘Quickly, before Maesta’s poppy juice begins to take effect.’
Pulchra sketched a bob towards her and then said, ‘In that case, citizen, if you would follow me?’ And she led the way towards the inner door. As we went through it I heard the grandmother’s shrill voice ordering the page to move the basket of unwanted walnuts from the floor.
Eight
I was in a hurry as I strode into the court, but I did take a moment to look around at it. When I was previously in the house, laying the mosaic in the hall, the final building works were not complete — especially in these private quarters at the back — so I was interested to see what had been done. It was obvious even then that it was to be very grand, but I was not prepared for quite how grand it actually was — a piece of conscious ostentation on the owner’s part.
It was built like a country villa, although it was in town. The sleeping quarters were not upstairs, as they were in the rest of the fine houses in the colonia; here the extra story over each wing of the house was given over to the slaves — one area each for male and female no doubt, and accessed in each case by external stairs. When I had previously been working at the house, the servants had been housed in a wooden shed at the back, where I could now glimpse a brand-new kitchen block. It had been divided off behind an ornamental gate with another building (presumably a stables) beyond that — as though space and valuable land were of no account at all.
The bedrooms for the family were ranged around the court — the courtyard garden which backed the atrium and in which the guests had been milling earlier. It was a lovely place: full of flowers and ornamental shrubs, a fountain and so many fine statues that it took your breath away. No sign of anything so mundane as plants that one could eat, which is what most country houses used such gardens for.
But the most arresting feature was the verandaed colonnade that ran around the garden on both sides, and linked the private quarters with the front part of the house. It was crammed with life-size marble statues of all kinds: gods and goddess and figures from the past — I spotted Romulus and Remus and their wolf — all lined up and looking down on one. It should have been attractive, but it was the opposite: oppressive, as if a hundred eyes were staring down at one.
I marvelled at what must have been the cost of all of this. Most of the work was of such quality it suggested workmen and materials specially brought from Rome. I realized for the first time what a compliment it was to have been asked to contribute a pavement here myself.
‘Citizen?’ I realized that dumpy Pulchra was waiting up ahead. I had forgotten for a moment that we were hurrying. As I hastened after her she gave a knowing smile. ‘Impressive, isn’t it?’
I grinned, and fell into step beside her as she led the way, under the watchful gaze of stony eyes. ‘Honorius must have spent a huge amount on all of this,’ I said. ‘I knew he was successful, but I didn’t know how much. And such works of art. .’ I indicated a particularly handsome statue of Minerva in a niche.
She gave a small derisive snort. ‘It was his weakness — perhaps the only one. That Minerva you’re admiring is just the latest piece. But this was all done with my mistress’s dowry, of course. I thought everyone in Glevum was aware of that. It would have been a poor thing for him if she’d ever wanted a divorce, though — Minerva bless her — she showed no signs of it.’
I nodded. ‘Otherwise by law he would have had to give it back. Or most of it, at least — unless she was proved unfaithful or immoral in some way.’
That caused her some amusement. ‘Livia? Believe me, citizen, he’d never have found that kind of an excuse. I should know, I was with her all the time. She could not have concealed that sort of thing from me. In any case, he was very fond of her — insofar as that pompous icicle was fond of anyone.’
‘So, it was a fairly happy marriage, then?’
She paused an instant to raise her brows at me. ‘If you say so, citizen.’