Marida sighed deeply but obeyed.
When the slave was out of earshot, Phyllidia turned to me. ‘You have seen Octavius?’
‘He was here last night,’ I said. ‘Looking for you, I think.’
She met my eyes, not the shy, sideways glance of the well-brought-up Roman virgin, but a frank enquiring stare. Yet there was something in the brown eyes which gave me hope for Octavius. If this was a sheep, it was at least a clever sheep. ‘He is alive? And well?’
It seemed a strange question. ‘He was, no more than an hour ago. Although he was strangely uneasy. He seemed to have been looking for you in the hiring stables. Then he learned where you had stayed last night and went rushing away to search for you.’
She closed her eyes. ‘Great goddess Minerva, thanks be to your name!’ She raised her voice. ‘Marida!’
The old woman came out, so swiftly that I guessed she had been listening at the door. Phyllidia unclasped a jewel from her belt and handed it to the maid.
‘Take this. Go into the town and find a temple of Minerva. Speak to the priest and see that he places this on the altar as a thank-offering.’
The crone stared at it doubtfully. It was a fine gem.
‘Do it now,’ Phyllidia said. ‘I vowed it to the goddess if she heard my prayer. And be sure that I shall learn of it if you don’t. I shall be speaking to the priests later, about the funeral. You know the punishment for theft — especially from the temple. You understand?’
Marida nodded sullenly.
‘Then,’ Phyllidia continued, ‘when you have done that, you will go and find Octavius for me. Yes, Octavius. If this citizen is correct, he will be searching the inn for me. And no excuses that you could not find him. Do not return without him, or I will have you flogged. Do not suppose that I would not. I am the mistress now. Ask him to come here. I will meet him when I have done my duty by the corpse. And tell him. . tell him all is well. Whatever he has done.’
She took the oil-lamp from the startled maid, and disappeared downstairs in the direction of the atrium. The servant shot me a venomous look, then shrugged her shoulders and trotted reluctantly after her mistress.
I watched them go. I did not follow them at once, but stood for a moment thinking about the events of the last twenty-four hours: the deaths, the disappearances, the marriage and the would-be-marriages. Yet Phyllidia appeared to have arrived here not with bridal dresses but with garments suitable for a funeral. How, I wondered, had she contrived that? It did not seem to make sense.
As I groped my own way down the stairs a moment later I heard Phyllidia’s voice, strong and untroubled, raised in the lament.
Chapter Twelve
I returned to the entrance corridor, expecting to find Junio, but there was no sign of him.
The doorkeeper came out of his alcove, with its spy-hole looking out into the street, and scowled at me sourly. ‘If you are looking for that skinny young slave of yours, he’s gone. Sent out by Marcus Aurelius Septimus with a message to his wife.’
I cursed inwardly. Marcus had slaves of his own, and there were servants of Gaius, too, whom he might have sent on trivial errands. I had only the one slave, and my patron chose to send him — simply because he had been the message-bearer, no doubt. That was my fault; I should not have let Junio carry the news of Julia’s arrival himself.
‘Well,’ the doorkeeper demanded. ‘Are you going out or not? I’m opening and closing this door like a bridegroom’s toga as it is.’
‘I think,’ I said slowly, ‘that there is little else I can do here, for the moment.’
His hand went to the heavy lock.
‘Unless there is anything you can tell me? About the disappearance of Zetso and the Celt last night?’
He sighed. ‘I have told your patron all this. And my master, too. Felix’s driver went rushing in and out several times, on missions for his master. The last time he didn’t come back.’
‘Several times?’ I queried. ‘How often was that. Twice? Three times?’
The doorkeeper glared at me as though he were a trident-holder in the arena, and I was the netman sent to trap him. ‘Great Jupiter, citizen, I can’t tell you exactly. I was letting people in and out of this door all night. How can I be expected to remember the movements of a single slave? About the Celtic gentleman, though, I am quite certain. He and his party came in through that door, like everyone else, but he didn’t go out of it again. I would have remembered him.’
‘His party?’ I had not considered that. Of course, Egobarbus — or whoever he was — since he was a wealthy man, would presumably have arrived with slaves, ‘like everyone else’ as the doorman said. ‘He had servants with him?’
‘Oh yes. Two — or was it three — big strapping fellows in tunics. Three, I am almost sure.’
This was interesting news. One man may disappear. A group of three of four men is more difficult to hide. ‘The servants must have left again, too?’
His scowl deepened. ‘Do you think I am Janus, citizen, to remember the comings and goings of every slave? I don’t know.’
I reached into the money-pouch at my belt, took out a coin and began fingering it ostentatiously. It is amazing how the prospect of an as or two can sometimes improve the memory.
He did his best. ‘They probably went out afterwards, when there was a general rush for litters. I rather think they did.’ He eyed the coin hopefully, but I made no move. ‘I am almost sure.’
This was no use. The man would swear to anything for a reward. I tossed him the coin. ‘If you think of anything, tell Marcus,’ I said. ‘I am going out now, but I will return.’
The man opened the door and I went out into the street.
The air was cool and fresh after the heavy smoke of the funeral herbs and candles, but the crowd awaiting their turn at the lying-in-state had increased. Several of the magistrates, I noted, had left their slaves to do their waiting for them and gone away to do other things, but my former customer was still there. I avoided his reproachful gaze and sidled away down a side street.
I had thought, vaguely, of presenting myself at Marcus’s apartment, but I thought better of it. My patron would expect me to have made some progress before I reported to him again. Then I remembered what Junio had told me and, avoiding the unwanted attentions of the fortune-tellers, money-lenders and beggars who always lurk in the less frequented streets, I made my way across the town to the North Gate.
Somebody there had obviously remembered Egobarbus’s arrival, since Junio had heard about it.
I looked around for a suitable informant. There was no shortage of candidates. Tinkers, hawkers and doubtful medicine peddlers spread their wares at the foot of every pillar, and the usual grimy scoundrel with his pretended viper was performing his tricks to the astonishment of the innocent.
However, compared to my servant, I was at a disadvantage. Everyone expects a slave to indulge in gossip — who has come to the town, and who has left — since his livelihood may well depend upon tips and disbursements given in exchange for information. For a citizen — even an elderly citizen in a scruffy toga — to begin asking questions about a visitor is to invite immediate interest. Already the guards at the gate were looking at me suspiciously.
Outside the gates, in the straggle of buildings close to the walls, there was a thermopolium, a hot-food stall, selling hot drinks and questionable stew. I went through the archway and made my way towards that. These places are always hives of rumour. At the price of a bowl of greasy soup — in which goat’s hooves and something else’s eyeballs appeared to be important ingredients — I might find the information I was looking for.
‘Ooh, yes,’ the girl behind the counter said, pocketing the proffered coin with a grimy hand, ‘I see everything from here, citizen.’ She tossed her head, so that her long unwashed braids of hair swung treacherously close to the serving ladle, and favoured me with what she probably imagined was an inviting smile. It would have been more alluring, had she possessed a few more teeth.