He shrugged. ‘She was, once. But that was years ago, and she’d aged worse than an army horse. Looked a bit like one, too. If Crassus wouldn’t have her, I think she’d have taken anyone. She was desperate, after all. Her father had just died, and left her penniless. She’d have ended begging on the roads, or selling herself into servitude, if she hadn’t found out where Crassus was, suddenly, and come to look for him.’
I nodded. In that case, I thought, any man’s attentions might have been welcome.
Aulus seemed to read my thoughts. ‘I was awake one night, and I am sure I saw her with Daedalus. She was lying under those trees, and a man — I believe it was him — was bending over her with his arms around her. I must have made a noise. When I went out to see, they were gone. She was freeborn, of course, and Crassus would never have permitted his slave to have her, even if he did not want her himself.’ A thought seemed to strike him. ‘Perhaps Daedalus was offered the lady and a new life in return for killing his master. Men would murder the emperor himself, for less.’ He leered, hopefully. ‘If this is proved, you will tell Marcus that I thought of it, first?’
‘Aulus,’ I said, ‘you have been most helpful. Two more questions, and that is all for now. You did see Crassus leave the villa, the day of the procession?’
‘Of course.’ He sounded surprised. ‘He and Daedalus. They set off together. They were laughing — Daedalus was favoured in that way. Most slaves would not dare to speak in Crassus’ presence, far less laugh — but with him Germanicus seemed to encourage it. I watched them walk to the end of the lane, out of sight.’
‘And who,’ I said, ‘was the last slave to leave the villa?’
He thought for a minute. ‘I believe it was Rufus,’ he said, slowly. ‘The cart came around from the back of the lane, and Rufus got off and went back into the villa, as if he’d forgotten something. Yes, I had to wait for him to come back before I came out and locked the gate.’
‘Then I have two reasons for finding Rufus,’ I said, and escaped from the gatehouse before he had time to breathe on me again.
Aulus had told me a great deal. I wondered how much of it I could trust. He had told me at least one obvious falsehood. Even by his own testimony, the last person to leave the villa was not Rufus, but Aulus himself. If anyone, going to the procession, had opened the gates or left them open for an intruder, who was more likely than the gatekeeper-spy?
Chapter Seven
I found Rufus in the slaves’ quarters at the back of the house. It was a big barn-like building with a central nave, and aisles divided by columns. One side of it was screened off for the women slaves, and at the far end of the building was a partitioned room, which I guessed was for Andretha. Between the aisles were the sleeping spaces for the household slaves; the land labourers, obviously, had more rustic accommodation elsewhere.
Rufus was sitting on a bed — presumably his own — stringing his lute. He was clearly preparing to join the musicians and I had arrived just in time. I wanted to speak to him quickly, before Andretha had him in there for hours playing the lament.
I had not said so to Aulus, but I knew Rufus very slightly. He was a Silurian from the rebel tribes in the West, a slim, graceful youth, with delicate features — almost pretty, like a woman, with his blue eyes, fair skin and aureole of auburn curls. But for all his girlish looks there was an air about him, something in the stubborn jut of the jaw, the determined lift of the chin. When I had first been at the villa laying the pavement, he had come into the room one day, and admired the work.
‘We are both artists,’ he had said, at once, ‘I in music and you in stone. We are both Celts. It is in our blood.’ I had found the sentiments rather endearing, although I should have been more impressed by his flattery if the pavement had been one of my own design, and not Junio’s Cave Canem. Even so, I wondered that any slave cared to look.
I am too easily flattered. Aulus had just unwittingly suggested a much more likely explanation. The librarium had once been used for the slavegirls, as I knew, and Regina had been given ‘the slavegirls’ room’. It was not hard to deduce the rest. When Regina had gone again, Rufus had come to the room, probably hoping to find his girl. No wonder he had never returned to see the finished pavement.
He looked up now as I approached, though his hands continued to caress the lute. Long, tapering, sensitive fingers, but strong and dextrous too, from plying the strings.
‘Rufus!’ I said heartily, sitting down beside him uninvited. ‘How fares your lady?’
He did not ask who I meant, or make any attempt to deny it. ‘Faustina? She is well. And likely to be so too, now that oa- now that her master is dead.’ His voice sounded passionate; he had been going to say ‘that oaf’, I was certain of it. I saw, too, that he had been crying.
‘Then why the tears?’
He looked at me helplessly. ‘It occurs to me. . I hadn’t thought before. . even if we are not executed, when the villa is sold we may be separated, Faustina and I. Sold to different masters. You cannot imagine. .’
Oh, but I could. I could imagine only too well. For a moment I was back in that roundhouse twenty years ago, a raider’s dagger at my throat and a rope around my neck, watching helplessly as they dragged Gwellia from me, shrieking and struggling, her hands outstretched and her lovely face ugly with tears. I could imagine, perhaps better than Rufus. I had seen that scene a thousand times in my dreams.
I must be careful, I thought. Rufus was not at the procession, and he had lied to me about it. It would be too easy to let personal sympathy for his plight cloud my judgement on that fact. Still, he prided himself on a kind of Celtic honesty. I decided on a direct approach.
‘You were not at the procession.’ He made to protest, and I went on, ‘Not all of the procession, at least.’
His cheeks turned the colour of his hair, but he met my eyes. ‘So Aulus told you? I am not surprised — I refused to pay him. I have no money anyway. Yes, it’s true. I couldn’t see Andretha anywhere — I supposed he had slipped off to a tavern somewhere — but I forgot Aulus. He would inform on anyone for money. I suppose you paid him?’
‘I did not, though he is certainly someone’s spy.’ I did not enlighten him further. ‘Where did you go?’
‘Didn’t he discover that too? I am surprised.’
‘He thought,’ I said, choosing my words carefully, ‘that you might have gone to meet Faustina.’
He seized on the words. ‘And if I did, what then? It isn’t easy to find five minutes alone. Yet I love her. If I had not been sold to slavery myself, I would have bought her and married her. I would have found the money somehow.’
He was freeborn, of course, Aulus had said so. Before they sold him, such a marriage would have been possible. But not now. Slaves could not legally marry anyone. Even previous marriages, like my own, were legally void for slaves.
I smiled at his simple fervour. ‘Supposing that Crassus would agree to part with her.’
That sobered him. ‘Yes. Though I would have waited. Ten years if necessary. He would have tired of her by then.’
‘Then you still may. Is not your slave contract for ten years? And if Lucius owns you. .’
He brightened. ‘It is true, then, that Lucius will inherit? There was a rumour, but I hardly dared to hope. Faustina says-’ He stopped.
‘What does Faustina say?’
He looked at me anxiously. ‘I should not have heard this, it was woman’s talk. .’
‘All the same,’ I urged.
‘She seemed to think Regina would inherit something, that she had some kind of hold over Germanicus. Something he did or said when he was young. Regina came here a moon or two ago, claiming to be his. .’ he glanced at me. ‘Do you know about this?’