I knew Marcus. He was working up to something. I said cautiously, ‘Of course, Excellence, if there is anything whatever I can do. .’
Marcus smiled. ‘Libertus, you are a true friend. I will not forget this when it comes to assigning public commissions. Very well, then, I accept your offer. The funeral guild can take him from your rooms. That way you can attend the ceremony in my place. I will not have Felix contrive to have my herald sent to the other world with only slaves to mourn him.’
I opened my mouth to protest. Playing host to a funeral, especially as chief mourner, is a burdensome business. It would necessitate not only giving up a room to the corpse — and goodness knows there was little enough space as it was — but also all manner of cleansing rituals afterward, including a sacrificial offering, a period of fasting, and another series of personal purifications at the end of nine days. To say nothing of a cold nocturnal procession outside the city walls — no funeral is permitted within them. But one cannot argue with Marcus.
He was smiling at me. ‘I was certain of your good offices, old friend. I have already had them take the herald to your workshop. The guild has agreed that they can bury him from there. And you need not fear ghosts — they will not use your sleeping room. They will do the thing tonight. I have spoken to the foreman already.’
He meant he had offered the man a bribe. I said feebly, ‘But, Excellence, I had planned to go to the North Gate tonight, and meet the driver of the conveyance that brought the Celts.’ It was not exactly a firm plan of mine, in fact I had just thought of it, but it seemed a reasonable undertaking, and preferable to a funeral. I added, winningly, ‘He was promised payment this evening, and I hoped-’
Marcus interrupted. ‘Do not concern yourself with that. I will have the man questioned myself.’ He clapped me companionably on the shoulder. ‘The guild is expecting you. And do not look so downcast. There will be little fuss.’
I was not so sure. No doubt, if the corpse had been delivered, the gossip would already have started — and for the next half-moon my neighbours would avoid me with the wary politeness which always follows the presence of a dead body in the house. And there would be no hiding the funeral.
I have attended slave-guild funerals before. The bier is only of gilded wood, and it is rescued before the cremation, the urns are of cheap pottery instead of gold and bronze and the mourners are paid slaves, but there is no lack of ceremony. To a man who has nothing in this world, the entry into the next is an important occasion, and slaves will often set aside every quadrans they own to ensure that they pay their dues and so avoid the communal pit which is otherwise their lot. Even so, more than one slave is often cremated at a time — it halves the cost, and increases the show. I could envisage a very large cortège arriving at my door.
Marcus saw my look. ‘I assure you, Libertus, tonight will be a quiet affair. There was a great slave funeral last night, apparently. One of the dead actually worked for the guild at one time, so they made a huge ceremony of it: a senior priest, proper orations, pipers, dancers and scores of mourners following the corpse.’
I nodded. ‘We saw the procession ourselves, Excellence, on the way to the banquet.’
Marcus waved the remark aside. ‘Indeed. Well, there will be nothing like that tonight. I have requested that it be discreet, although I am assured that the guild always does these things very well.’
I must still have looked doubtful.
There was a hint of impatience in his voice as he continued, ‘And there will be no expense. They are providing the sacrifice, and the funeral meal afterwards. I have made the arrangements.’
Which is more, I reflected, than anyone would do for me. Except perhaps Junio. But I must not annoy Marcus. I said, with as much dignity as I could muster, ‘My pleasure, Excellence.’
In fact, of course, it was no pleasure at all. But there was no help for it. Already it was getting dark, and I would have to go home and prepare myself. Coarse cloth, ashes on the forehead and then a cold vigil in the night air when I was already stiff and bruised from an attack. And it was raining.
As I summoned Junio and made my way back to the street I wished, not for the first time, that Felix Perennis had never come to Glevum. I was so concerned with my resentful thoughts that it did not occur to me that I had been given the solution to at least a part of the problem I was trying to solve.
Chapter Nineteen
The evening was as dismal as I had feared. The poor old herald was a sorry sight, stretched out on a makeshift bier on my workshop table, with the ritual candles burning around him. He had not been a pretty spectacle when he was dragged away behind the carriage, and a day and night pegged up to a stake had not improved him — even the bits of him which one could see. I was glad that the guild, contrary to custom, had covered his face with a cloth.
They had done their best with him, bathed his appalling wounds and clothed what they could in a new robe which Marcus had provided. They had also provided a weeper, whose moans could be heard from the alley outside, and put up a wreath of funerary green on my entranceway to show that there was a corpse within. So, as I had half expected, people were already crossing the street to avoid the house. I would be lucky to have any customers call for days, after this.
Marcus was right about one thing. When the moment arrived there was comparatively little ‘fuss’. The guild had provided a mere four bearers, and they turned up almost before I was ready for them. I was still clothing myself in the lugubria, the dark-coloured robe expected of the closest relatives or chief mourners. I hadn’t worn mine since my own master died, and that was more than ten years earlier. Fortunately, since I had increased in girth as well as age, Roman fashion is not close-fitting.
I arranged my folds, with Junio’s help, and dashing the required ashes on my forehead I hurried down to meet the funeral workers.
Marcus’s bribe had clearly done its work. The foreman of the guild was there in person, together with a little wizened man I recognised as a priest of Diana, although I am not sure if the local slave guild has some affiliation with that cult, or whether this religious functionary merely happened to be available. Either way he looked pleased with this assignment — perhaps he too was benefiting from Marcus’s purse.
The guild foreman came wheezing over, wringing his thin hands, to instruct me in my ‘duties’. I was surprised. I have attended slave funerals before, and normally everything is performed by the guild.
The old man looked at me with rheumy eyes. ‘Oh no, citizen. You represent the slave’s owner — a rare honour at these occasions. And since the slave’s owner is His Excellence Marcus Aurelius Septimus of course it is doubly so. Naturally you must help officiate. You could begin now, perhaps, by calling on the spirit of the departed?’
This was awkward. I knew what to do — I was supposed to call the herald’s name, to ensure that his spirit really had departed, but this was difficult because I didn’t know it. I had to content myself with simply calling ‘Herald of Marcus’ three times, in ringing tones. It seemed to satisfy my audience.
It did not occur to me until afterwards that, since I represented Marcus, they were unlikely to be critical of me, whatever I did. And it made little difference. The poor fellow’s spirit had clearly escaped the body long before, and given the manner of its going, I doubt it was anxious to be recalled.
These formalities complete, the bearers hoisted up the bier, and took it outside. I saw them place it on the more ornate carved carrying stretcher they had brought with them, for which there was no room in my cramped workshop. Instructed by the priest I doused the candles, ‘purified the room with fire and water’ (a whirled censer and a quick sprinkle from the ewer provided) and we were off: myself, Junio, the pall-bearers, two professional keeners, the officiating functionaries and a couple of skinny torch-bearers.