I had to laugh at this. ‘I would love to taste the stew,’ I said, and meant it too. My mouth was positively watering. ‘I am no phantom, I assure you. But whatever led you to suppose I was?’
Cilla had turned an embarrassed shade of red. ‘I suppose it does seem foolish, when you are sitting there. But what were we to think? There was a messenger.’
That startled me. ‘What kind of messenger? An urchin from the street?’ I asked, thinking about the boy that I had sent myself.
She nodded. She was already on her feet, trying to fish the ladle from the pot, but the spoon that she was using wasn’t long enough. I did not try to help. I knew that this was woman’s work and it would be insulting to offer to assist.
‘I would say so, from the look and sound of him,’ she said over her shoulder as she struggled with the spoon. ‘Not a proper courier, certainly. A ragged sort of boy. He must have run here all the way — he was completely out of breath. But he managed to blurt his message and tell us you were hurt.’
‘So naturally you thought there’d been an accident,’ I said. ‘And it was a short step from there to think that I might be a ghost?’
I meant to tease her, but her plump cheeks did not dimple into a smile. Her voice was serious. ‘He didn’t say anything about an accident. He said that you had been set on from behind and robbed, in your workshop or very near to it, and it was doubtful whether you would live. He’d been sent to tell us and to summon us to come. Gwellia gave him money and let him catch his breath, then she found Kurso and they all set off for town at once.’
‘To look for me?’ I said.
‘To bring you home if that was possible, or to find a medicus if there was time for that. I stayed here with the baby to wait for Junio in case the others didn’t pass him on the way.’ Her eye had lighted on an iron hook hung on a nail nearby, from which a large plucked chicken was dangling upside down. and in a moment she had it taken down and cleaned, and was using it to reach the ladle. She turned to frown at me. ‘How did you guess it was a street urchin who came?’
‘I sent a message with such a boy myself,’ I said, and added unnecessarily, ‘but that wasn’t it.’ I hazarded a smile. ‘Though I think I understand what might have given rise to this. There really was a tragic incident at my shop today — someone was set upon, exactly as described, and he died in fact. Only, of course, the victim wasn’t me.’
She stared at me. ‘Who was it, then?’
‘It was that one-eyed pie-seller you’ve heard me talk about.’
‘The one that you were kind to, who has plagued you ever since? Junio was telling me about his awful pies.’ I was relieved to see the suggestion of a smile. As if on cue, like an actor at the theatre, little Amato began to cry again.
Over his wails, I raised my voice to answer her. ‘I am afraid my generosity was the death of him, in fact. In his new tunic he looked quite prosperous. He was outside my workshop, by the look of it, and whoever killed and robbed him dragged the body in.’
She shook her head. ‘You can’t feel responsible for that! You meant to be a help.’
I gave a rueful smile. ‘That decision may be the ruination of us both — Lucius lost his life and every penny that he owned, and I lost that important contract I was hoping for. Quintus refused to buy a pavement from me, since the corpse was in the shop. The omens were too bad to contemplate, he said.’
She had retrieved the serving ladle while I talked and was now spooning steaming stew on to a wooden platter. ‘Oh, Father, what a disappointment. And what a dreadful shock, finding the poor pie-seller in your shop like that. No wonder you are tired and hungry after such a day. Sit on the stool and eat, while I see to the infant and try to settle him.’ She poured a little stew on to the stone-carved altar by the wall. (It still seemed incongruous to me — an altar to the Roman household gods in a Celtic roundhouse of this kind. I never made private sacrifices to the Lars myself, but Junio and Cilla were brought up in Roman households in their early youth — child-slaves, both of them — and the altar was almost the first thing they had bought to furnish their new home. It was the same altar that would be used tomorrow for the bulla ritual.)
I watched in silence as she made the token sacrifice, then she handed me a spoon and turned to rock the baby in its hanging crib. ‘When you came in, I’d just got him to sleep and I’m afraid I woke him when you startled me.’
The yelling was already fading into gulping sobs. I took up a tiny sample of the stew and blew on it. It tasted even better than it smelt.
‘Hush, little one,’ Cilla crooned to Amato. ‘You go to sleep again. You may have a big day tomorrow after all.’ She turned to me. ‘And I’d better set to work and get some baking done, and there’s that chicken and a fat goose waiting to be cooked — Gwellia and Kurso plucked and gutted them this afternoon — but nothing will be ready if I don’t make a start myself.’
I was tucking with enthusiasm into hot lamb stew, but I managed to reply, ‘Ready in time for the bulla feast, you mean?’
‘If you are alive, I suppose it will be held — I wasn’t sure if it was going to be. It’s hardly fitting to hold a naming day when there has been a family death — as Quintus would have said, the omens are too bad — although tomorrow is the ninth day after Amato’s birth. I was waiting for Junio and Gwellia to come home, to find out whether you were still alive before we finally decided what to do. When I first heard footsteps, I thought you might be them — they would have had time to come and go to Glevum by this time. Mother-in-law and Kurso left here hours ago. There’s a good boy, Amato.’
The whimpers had stopped as if by magic now, and my little grandson was gurgling up at her. She gave him a finger and he sucked at it, then slowly closed his eyes. Only then did she withdraw her hand and tiptoe back to me.
‘What happened to the corpse? It has been disposed of properly, I hope? Otherwise the auguries will still be terrible.’ She spoke in a low voice, as if the fates might overhear.
I nodded through another mouthful of delight. ‘It has been taken care of, don’t worry about that. Quintus got the military cart to come and take it to the pit. And I did what I could to respect the dead man first: lit a candle at the head and feet, closed the eyes — as nearly as I could — and called his name three times. And washed my hands three times with water afterwards, as ritual demands. I told his mother what I’d done and she was much relieved — she could not have afforded a proper funeral.’
Cilla smiled. ‘Poor father. I suppose you had to go and break the news to her?’ She moved to the table and took up the knife again, though this time it was only to chop a bunch of herbs. ‘You’ve had a busy day. The pie-seller was killed when you were out laying the Apollo piece, I suppose?’
I was about to tell her otherwise when a thought occurred to me. ‘I wonder how your urchin came to know about the death? I was there when the army came to take the corpse away, and there was no one in the street who could have spread the news — I remember being grateful about that at the time. But obviously somebody learned of it, and very early on if the message got here long enough ago for Gwellia to have time since to get to town and back. At what sort of hour did the boy arrive?’
She shrugged. ‘I can’t tell precisely. But the sun was past its height — I noticed it was just behind that tall tree over there.’
I looked in the direction of the oak she pointed to and did a little calculation in my head. The Romans divide daylight into twelve equal hours, and the dark into the same, though obviously the length will differ with the time of year. But taking the season into consideration and looking at the tree, I could make an estimate.
‘So it was around the eighth hour, more or less, which means he left the town an hour or so before. Certainly, Lucius was dead by then. But even if the urchin ran here all the way,’ I fretted, ‘I can’t see how he knew in time to manage that. Unless one of the soldiers gossiped straight away when they got back to base. The commander at the garrison knows me, after all? And he’s one of Marcus’s friends. He might have sent the message, possibly.’