‘He might still join the family — if I can clear her name,’ I said.
It was Pulchra who seized my meaning instantly. ‘And — excuse me mistress — he had better go at once, if he is hoping to do anything of the kind.’ She had put her hands upon her hips again and was almost chiding us — more like a paedogogus talking to a child than a handmaiden addressing the mistress of the house. ‘If Pompeia takes that potion she will be fast asleep and he won’t be able to get any sense from her.’
Livia laughed. ‘You will have to excuse Pulchra, citizen. She’s been with me many years — in fact she was my wet nurse when I was very small — she stayed to be my nursery maid and has served me ever since. But sometimes she forgets that I’m no longer two years old. Honorius has had her punished quite severely once or twice, and Helena Domna thinks that I should sell her on. But I would be lost without her.’ She patted Pulchra’s arm. ‘I really believe that she’d do anything for me.’
‘And can you wonder?’ Pulchra said. ‘You see how kind she is.’
Livia, however, ignored the flattery. ‘She is the only servant I brought with me when I wed — my husband already had a household full of slaves. Like those who helped me change into my widow’s clothes just now.’ She gestured to the two girl slaves, who were still loitering by Romulus and Remus at the rear.
Pulchra scowled. ‘And a poor job they have made of it, as well! I don’t know why you used them, madam, and didn’t wait for me. I’d only gone out to see the sweet cakes stored — because you asked me to.’
I was beginning to get anxious to get to Pompeia by now, but I could hardly interrupt Livia, who was saying, with a little laugh, ‘Pulchra, this is the same outfit that I wore to Helena Domna’s brother’s funeral last spring, and you seemed to think that it was satisfactory then. Helena Domna has her own, of course, though I shall need to arrange some mourning tunics for the slaves. I’ve sent the spare ones to the fullers to have them cleaned and dyed, while the sewing girls have orders, as soon as possible, to stitch dark bands round the hems of the ones that are in use. Your own included, Pulchra.’
Pulchra sniffed. ‘I’m perfectly capable of doing mine myself — and I’ll alter that stola for you at the same time. Later, perhaps, when I’ve put you into bed. I’m sorry to say it, mistress, but you really need it done — you don’t want everyone in Glevum guessing you’re with child, when otherwise it doesn’t need to show.’
Even the veil could not disguise that Livia had turned pink. ‘You see what I put up with, citizen? And I was the one who thought her beautiful and nicknamed her Pulchra when I was very small!’ She turned towards the slave and said with mock severity, ‘But, Pulchra, I am a Roman matron now, and a widowed one at that. If you don’t show a little more respect, I shall be obliged to do as Helena Domna says and put you up for sale.’
Pulchra had the grace to look utterly abashed. ‘I’m very sorry, mistress. I only thought. .’ She stopped and then went on in an altered tone, ‘I’d better take this citizen to Pompeia’s room at once.’
Livia gave a nod. ‘Very well. Then come and find me in the atrium afterwards. I’ll want someone to go down to the forum later on to see the silversmith. I’ve had a lock of the dead man’s hair cut off, and I want a mourning locket that I can wear it in. Oh, and you may alter my stola later, I suppose, since you’re so anxious to. Though it will scarcely make any difference to the gossips, I’m afraid. The news that I am carrying a child will be all over Glevum once the will is read.’
The plump face fairly beamed. ‘I’ll do that, mistress. This way, citizen.’ And, moving the bar that they had pushed across the door, she led the way — at last — into Pompeia’s sleeping room.
Nine
The girl was lying face down on the bed, still in her pathetic wedding clothes, with one of her servants standing over her.
‘Come on Miss Pompeia, just a little sip. You don’t want to have them hold you down and force it down your throat.’
The slave girl held a cup which she was evidently hoping to put to her mistress’s lips. But Pompeia’s face was resolutely buried in the pillow which she was lying on. She was obviously crying, though she made no noise — the heaving of the saffron veil gave evidence of sobs.
‘It’s all right, Pompeia, it won’t do you any harm. Only make you sleep for just a little while. And it won’t taste nasty, I can promise that — not like the mixture that I gave you for your warts.’ The voice from the corner took me by surprise. I looked over and saw Maesta sitting on a stool. I had been so interested in the figure on the bed that I hadn’t noticed that she was in the locked room too.
I looked around me now. There was nothing much to see. Except for a table and the stool — neither of which looked as if they properly belonged — there was nothing in the sleeping room except the bed, at all. No rugs, no cupboards, no chests of clothes — no sign of perfumes, combs or jewellery.
I turned to Pulchra. ‘This is Pompeia’s room?’ I asked her, in an undertone.
She whispered back. ‘It used to be her mother’s room, in the last days of her life. They put Pompeia here because it’s easier to bar — there is nothing of her own in her old room anyway. Everything is packed and waiting at the gate. It was due to be taken to the bridegroom’s house, of course, once he had walked her in triumph through the town.’
I nodded. I could imagine that. If we ever saw a bridal possession in the street Gwellia invariably wanted to stop and watch. You could always tell the house that they were heading for — the threshold would be hung with greenery and draped in fresh white cloth, and once the new bride had anointed the doorposts with symbolic oil and fat and tied a piece of woollen fillet round each one of them, the groom would pick her up and carry her inside to prevent her from tripping on the step. All this to prevent bad omens for their future life, but Gracchus would now have to take the decorations down — and as an augury, I thought, that must be even worse.
I did not voice these dreary thoughts, however. I spoke to the servant with the drinking cup. ‘Pompeia’s things will be brought back, no doubt?’
The slave girl nodded. ‘As soon as the immediate arrangements for the funeral have been made. She will need to change into some different clothes, even if she is not to help with the lament.’
The figure on the bed gave a convulsive sob at this. The servant made another attempt to give the girl the cup, which almost resulted in the liquid being spilt, and that brought Maesta hurrying over from her perch.
‘Can you persuade her to drink it, citizen? If Helena Domna comes and finds her still awake, she’ll send for the steward and make him force it down her throat. It could choke her if she struggles, and then they will blame me. My husband will be furious that I suggested this at all. He says that we are in quite enough trouble as it is — if it does turn out that there was any poison in the wine.’
I looked at her. She was quite dishevelled now. Her rich wine-coloured stola was hanging all awry, the greying hair was straggling from its fashionable combs and her stout face had taken on a mottled purplish tinge — which rather matched her under-tunic and her leather shoes. The haughty, sour expression had deserted her and she looked terrified.
‘Helena Domna knows that I have come to speak to her,’ I said, ‘so she will not be displeased to learn she’s not asleep.’ But I took the cup and motioned the slave to move away.
Pompeia seemed to sense that I had taken it away. She raised her head a little, and looked round at me.
‘I don’t want to speak to anyone. I want to be alone. Just go away — all of you — and leave me here until they come for me.’
‘Who is going to come for you, Pompeia?’ I enquired.
She rocked back on her knees and scowled up at me. Her face was red and swollen under the saffron veil, and the pathetic bridal plaits had been torn undone. She looked so miserable and angry that I felt sympathy for her.