‘How do you know that, Paulus?’ I said. ‘Do you often cut the dead?’
He was shaking now, but he tried to answer with dignity. ‘No. But I did shave a corpse once, when Regina was here. It was her custos — her travelling companion. He died suddenly, of a fever, just before she left. He was only a slave, but Regina had him shaved and cleansed, and buried with a coin in his mouth and a flask of wine at his feet. Rufus and Daedalus helped me — we did not dare tell Crassus.’ He sniffed, trying to disguise the tears.
‘About the death?’ I was deliberately gentle.
He looked at me gratefully. ‘About the funeral. He would have been furious at the expense. Though Regina swore he gave permission for it.’ He gave me a watery smile. ‘Perhaps he did. He was afraid of her — you heard he had Daedalus acting as food taster? He would not have crossed her openly. But he did not attend the burial.’
I smiled encouragement. ‘Which was where?’
‘Out in the top field, where the pyre will be tonight. That’s where Crassus buried all his slaves — though not usually with such ceremony.’
I could believe that. Wrap them up as they were and drop them in a hole, that was Crassus’ style.
‘I thought that pit was where I would end, more than once,’ Paulus went on. ‘Now, I suppose, Lucius will have me sold. He has a beard, like most hermits, so he won’t want a barber himself.’ He took a visible grip on himself. ‘But you, citizen, you wish to have a shave?’
I shook my head, smiling. ‘With a blunt novacula? No thanks. And I would prefer, I think, not to be shaved with that other one either.’
‘I could wash it, citizen. It could be washed spotless, given a little time. Even the handle, although the blade is sharp. And you need not fear bleeding — there’s a snakeweed powder here Regina gave me. Even Crassus could not complain of that. Or I could pluck your chin. I have good tweezers and an ointment here to loosen the beard. Bats’ blood and hedgehog ashes. It is very effective.’
I imagined this procedure, and winced. Enduring such things uncomplaining was a mark of manhood in the barber’s shop, but it was doubtless different in private. Small wonder Crassus sometimes struck him — Germanicus was not a long-suffering man. ‘No,’ I said, ‘you can use your scissors, and then Junio can wield his pumice. I have no wish to attend the funeral looking like a plucked pigeon. Besides, I think that Marcus should see that knife.’
Paulus said nothing for a long time, although his hand trembled on the scissors as he worked. At last he said, ‘Citizen, that knife. When Marcus sees it covered with blood, he will jump to judgement. It was my knife and my master is dead. He will have me locked up and flogged, if not thrown to the beasts. Speak for me, citizen, I beg of you. You know I did not have that razor in my possession.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I can speak for you. Crassus was not murdered with a knife. I am sure of that.’
‘So, you will tell him that blade had nothing to do with it?’
‘I did not say that. A bloodstained knife is not an accident. But my opinion should spare you execution and a flogging at least. As to locking you up, however, Marcus may still do that if he hears where Junio found the knife.’
‘And where was that?’ He sounded wary.
‘In your bedding, Paulus.’
It was my own fault. I knew that he was unaware of that fact. I should have waited till he had finished my haircut, but I could not resist the dramatic gesture. He let out a cry and his scissors faltered. I was obliged to attend the funeral feast with one section of my fringe cut peculiarly short.
Chapter Twelve
I was not looking forward to the funeral. Formal Roman funerals are not warm, undisciplined, tumultuous events like the Celtic ones, where the mead and tears and tales flow copiously far into the night, and which always end with a magical quality in the telling of old myths in the firelight. Roman rites are organised, tedious, demanding affairs, even when one has genuine affection for the deceased and has not recently been knocked on the head.
What with lengthy torchlight processions, long graveside speeches and elaborate religious observances — all in the cold and dark — it is a wonder that more of those attending do not have funerals of their own shortly afterwards. With a cremation these problems are magnified. The ashes must be reverently collected into the funerary urn and laid to rest, and that can hardly be done with dignity until the deceased has cooled a little. It seemed likely to be a very long night.
There was to be a funeral banquet first, it appeared, for the living. It is not always arranged that way, of course. More often the feast is held after the ritual, and many a man has been laid to rest without a single morsel being consumed at his expense. But Crassus had dictated ‘preliminary refreshments’ in his will — perhaps to ensure that he had a decent retinue of mourners for the occasion — and Andretha was interpreting this liberally.
He was expecting at least thirty. Crassus was wealthy enough to have his own clientes, the local hangers-on who court and flatter any man of substance, and he had always been careful to flatter and court the more powerful in his turn — as he had courted Marcus, for instance. Most of these were doubtless the ‘substitute heirs’ named in his will, and it would have been unseemly for them not to attend the funeral, even if they were a long way down the list of substitutes and therefore unlikely to see a single denarius of his money. Especially unseemly if a dinner was provided. So, for a man who must have had few friends in life, it promised to be quite a party.
The slaves, who had been working non-stop preparing for the funeral, or taking their turn at the lament, now turned their attention to arranging the feast. The smell of boiled meats and cooking spices from the kitchen mingled with the aromatic herbs from the death room: whatever delights the dead man was taking with him for the afterlife were likely to be served also at the banquet. There was no point in cooking twice. Slaves were already hard at work in the public rooms, sweeping floors, arranging greenery and trimming the wicks of lamps and candles.
I put on my toga again and went into the atrium, attended by Junio. I had already obtained a little barley stew for him, like the other slaves attending the funeral, otherwise he would not have been fed until after the feast. I wanted him beside me at the cremation. Marcus was nowhere to be seen but Andretha was already in the main lobby, fussing over arrangements.
‘Ah, citizen.’ He bobbed over as soon as he saw me, full of agitation as ever. ‘You are a friend of Marcus, you can advise me. Would it be proper, do you think, to ask him to make the oblations? There is no member of the family to do it.’
I could see his dilemma. According to strict Roman custom a libation should be offered daily at the household shrine to placate the god of household accounts and the spirits of the store cupboards, and to honour the genius paterfamilias. That little figurine is always accorded particular reverence, representing as it does both the householder’s own personal guardian spirit and the emperor himself, in his role as protector of his citizens. Whenever a formal meal is served, a sample of the food and wine is always offered to these gods first. I recall Crassus making the oblations before that banquet of his, and showing the utmost devotion to his genius, in particular. Only, of course, Crassus was not here to make the offering, and his brother would certainly refuse to do it, even if he consented to be present.
‘It has not been a problem before,’ Andretha fretted. ‘There has been no proper meal served since the festival, and since Lucius is presumably the head of household now, I was not especially concerned. I thought he would have all the Roman statues and shrines destroyed. I kept the Vestal fires burning — I think the other slaves would have panicked otherwise — but I did not concern myself with the lararia. But now Marcus’ messenger has returned from Lucius at last, telling us that he will not attend, but that we should continue to honour Crassus’ wishes until the house is sold. My master would have wished to sacrifice to all the proper gods, especially at his funeral.’