And then, at last, something meshed inside my brain. The foreman went on chatting to me all the way into town, about this funeral and that, and what distinguished servants he had been called upon to bury, but I confess I was scarcely listening.
Never mind that the pork and fennel was poorly cooked, and that it was served smothered with the vilest kind of jellyfish pickle-substitute, or that the speeches and eulogistic poems went on for far too long — my mind was on other things.
If Zetso or Egobarbus had left the town last night — and I was fairly sure that at least one of them had — I now knew how they had done it. It had been so blindingly obvious that I was ashamed of myself for not thinking of it before.
I was even more ashamed a little later when, as we were walking home again, Junio turned to me. He was trotting along beside me, holding a taper.
‘Master?’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Forgive me if I sound presumptuous, but it occurs to me. .’
‘Well?’ I said.
‘If I were a stranger to the town, and wished to pass the gates after sundown without arousing suspicion. .’
‘You would put on a cape and pretend to be a mourner at a funeral. And there was a huge funeral last night, anyone could have gone to it. Yes, Junio, I am very slow. The same thought has just occurred to me.’
He frowned. ‘Only. .’
I waited.
‘Only, from what you say, Zetso and Egobarbus both left the banquet late. The funeral would have been over by then. One would have to move with the crowd. A lone mourner would have attracted attention.’
‘You think so?’ I said. ‘Watch this.’ We had almost reached the city gates and, as we approached, the guard, seeing my mourning clothes, grudgingly opened up the inner door and permitted us to pass.
Junio thought for a moment. ‘You mean, he would have to be hiding here, in the western suburbs? But then he would be trapped between the walls and the river, once the guards were alerted.’ He sounded excited, suddenly. ‘But in that case, he must still be here.’
‘Either that,’ I said, ‘or he found another way. Joining at the East Gate when the mourners were returning, for instance, and pretending to “turn back” to find his father.’
Junio looked at me.
‘Somebody did,’ I said. ‘The foreman told me so. And I was too stupid to have thought of it. And now Zetso or Egobarbus — whichever it was — has a whole day’s start over the searchers. It is very unlikely we shall catch them now.’
It was no comfort, when I got home, to find the whole house still smelling of herbs, candles and corruption. Dismissing Junio’s offer to bathe my bruises, I threw off my damp lugubria and called rather petulantly for a blanket. As I did so, ready to lie down in my tunic as I always did, my fingers found the cord loop of the little bottle. I had forgotten all about it again.
Junio brought the cloth to cover me. ‘What is that, master?’
I told him. ‘But if she poisoned her father,’ I finished, ‘she did not do it with this.’
Junio chuckled. ‘Then it is as well you didn’t show this to Marcus. He is so fearful of the Emperor’s wrath that he would have had half Glevum under lock and key. That old crow of a servant was taken to the jail and began singing like a blackbird. Claims that Phyllidia always hated Felix — even before the Octavius affair — because she thinks he poisoned her mother for bearing him no sons.’
It bore out what Gaius had told me, but I had not expected Junio to know. ‘Where did you hear this?’
Junio grinned. ‘In the servants’ room, while you were interviewing that gatekeeper. One of the slaves had visited the jail and came back bursting with gossip. All I had to do was listen — as you have always taught me, master.’
I aimed a playful cuff at his ear, but he evaded me easily. He curled up at my feet, blew out the taper and was asleep in an instant.
But I couldn’t sleep. The more I learned about this affair, the less sense it seemed to make.
Chapter Twenty
‘Well, old friend?’ Marcus said indulgently next morning, when I presented myself, bright and early, to tender my report. He had allowed me into his presence before any other of his clientes and was reclining on his couch eating a breakfast of hot bread and spiced fruits. There was no sign of his new wife, but a thin secretary-slave squatted on a stool beside him, scribbling frantically on a wax tablet. Marcus waved him away at my approach, and gestured me to the stool.
I gave him an account of the funeral, hinting — not without a touch of satisfaction — that I had deduced something significant. He went on eating his spiced fruit and regarding me with amusement. I reflected that the advent of a wife seemed to have improved his early-morning mood. Marcus was often bad-tempered at this hour.
‘So,’ he said, when I had finished, ‘you think you have the key to the mystery?’
‘Part of the mystery, Excellence,’ I corrected humbly. ‘A very small part, I am aware.’ I explained my theory about the mourner.
‘Very astute of you, my old friend.’ Marcus nodded sagaciously. This affability was beginning to worry me. I knew from experience that when Marcus addresses me with that air of good-natured condescension, he is about to produce a thunderbolt from somewhere.
He did it now. ‘However, pavement-maker, I fear that the matter of how these men escaped the city is no longer as significant as it was. Last night, while you were at the funeral, I received some important news.’
He paused theatrically. I knew better than to interrupt when my patron was making one of his dramatic declarations. I waited.
‘You will recall,’ he went on, ‘that I asked the commander of the garrison to make enquiries on the road to Eboracum? About that so-called Egobarbus and his party?’
‘You said that you would.’
‘Well, my friend, he was better than his word. Yesterday he sent a courier with a message to a little mansio halfway to Letocetum, an official way-station for the military post about a day’s march away. It was a short distance, for a horseman, and he had time to ask some questions in the area. There were some interesting results.’
He pushed aside his platter and gestured to the slave at the door, who hurried forward with water and napkins.
Marcus extended his fingers to be washed, and went on, ‘It seems that Felix took a house near there for a day or two, before he came to Glevum. Paid gold for it, and insisted on solitude. The owner was to make it ready for him and then go away and leave him undisturbed.’
The slave poured him a cup of watered wine and offered some to me. I took a little — to refuse entirely would have been insulting — and the servant retired. Marcus raised his drinking dish and looked at me questioningly over the rim of it. ‘What do you make of that?’
It was so unforeseen, I could make nothing of it. But Marcus was clearly waiting for an answer. ‘The solitude you might expect,’ I ventured. ‘Felix would not care to share his lodgings with anyone. What surprises me is that he should rent a house at all.’
Marcus’s grin broadened. ‘A most unlikely house it was too, by all accounts — a modest freeman’s dwelling less than four hours’ drive from here.’
I frowned. ‘Why should he do that, Excellence? He had a carriage, and an imperial warrant too — the mansio itself would open its doors to him, offer him the best it could, and it would cost him nothing. Why would he choose to sleep in some rented hovel?’ I took a sip of sour wine.
Marcus smiled. ‘That is just the point, my dear Libertus. He did not sleep there. Perhaps he never intended to. It seems he took the house for someone else. Or at least someone else stayed there. The owner did not know the name, and — after his instructions — did not dare approach, but he glimpsed the man, he says. A big red-haired Celt in a plaid with a long drooping moustache.’ Marcus tossed down his wine in a victorious gulp.