We followed up the cart track to the hill, a strange, flickering procession in the torchlight. Some of the house-slaves had already brought fire and the back of the pyre was alight; the additional braziers would not be necessary. They were a useful precaution, however. Nothing is more embarrassing than a cremation pyre that does not burn.
The bier was lifted reverently onto it, with some of the grave-goods, and the fire raked around it. The director of ceremonies, one of the funeral guild, sprinkled something over the body — wine and oil perhaps — and the flames leapt higher. The oration began. There were the usual cremation smells: burning cloth, burning wood, burning flesh, mingling with the perfume of the sprinkled oils. I was grateful for the pyre, the night was cold. How the slaves must have felt in their thin tunics I shuddered, literally, to remember.
Then at last it was over. The pyre had burned down very fast. Someone sprinkled wine over the ashes, and the slaves bent forward to scoop them into the urn. It was carried on a special salver, as if it was still warm, back to the nymphaeum. A long, last speech, an offering to the gods, the urn was placed into the niche and the remaining grave-goods with it — charcoal, food and the feeding jar, into whose neck the yearly offerings would be poured. Who would do that, I wondered, when the villa was sold?
A stone was placed in front of the urn, shaped to leave the jar-neck visible. A simple epitaph — probably it would be replaced by an elaborate one later: Crassus Claudius Germanicus, builder of this place.
Chapter Fourteen
I woke late, with a headache. Anyone who did not know me better might have supposed that I had drunk too much Roman wine — the last funeral guests had left at daybreak in their hired carriage — but the painful place on the base of my skull reminded me of the truth. I sat up cautiously.
Junio, who had been sleeping on the floor at the foot of the bed, roused himself instantly. ‘You are awake, master?’
‘Almost,’ I groaned. ‘Go and get yourself something to eat, and then you can come back and help me strigil and dress — and fetch me some bread and fruit from the kitchens too. And some water, my head aches abominably.’
Junio grinned. ‘Then I shall find Faustina and ask her to send a draught for you. Her “pond-water” did you good yesterday.’
I grimaced. ‘Perhaps. But be quick about it. I learned some important facts last night. I must speak to Marcus and go back to Glevum. I have some news that might help us to find Daedalus.’
‘So you have finished here?’
‘There are some things I want to ask Aulus, first.’
‘Then. .’ He hesitated. ‘Before we go, might I visit the librarium? I should like to see the pavement.’
I was sorry that I hadn’t thought of it. Of course Junio was interested. ‘I wouldn’t mind seeing it, myself,’ I said, and he went off, satisfied.
I sat on the edge of the bed-frame, thinking. So, if my theory was right, Crassus sent Daedalus to Glevum, to take his place under cover of the mask. Why? Because he himself wished to disappear and not be missed? What pressing business had he to attend to, which must be kept a secret from the world? Was he plotting the downfall of the emperor as Marcus feared? And if so, was he friend or foe of Marcus’ governor?
And why did Daedalus, if it was Daedalus, go off towards the West Gate when the sacrifices were over? He was not going home, the villa lay in the opposite direction. Presumably then, it was to meet Crassus undetected. That would make sense. That tesserarius at the funeral had spoken of a ‘wager’ and I was beginning to guess what that might be. Daedalus had wagered that he could successfully take Crassus’ place at the procession. Presumably he had offered something as a stake, and he was to have his freedom if he won. That would explain why he was boasting at the villa that he would soon be free, and why he had left after the procession saying that he had won ‘an important wager’. He had just gambled for his liberty.
Why had Crassus consented, I wondered. If Daedalus had failed he might well have been arrested for impersonating a citizen. Either way, Crassus lost a good slave. But then I laughed aloud. Of course! Being Crassus, he had probably placed a huge stake with one of his gambling cronies, betting that Daedalus would succeed. That way, whatever the outcome, Germanicus would win, though he was obviously confident of his slave’s ability.
No doubt they had arranged to meet later to settle the debt, somewhere away from the public eye. But if the murder had already taken place, Crassus could not come as arranged. So what became of Daedalus, lurking in the seedy suburbs by the river, dressed in a borrowed uniform to which he was not entitled? Knocked on the head and robbed? That would not be impossible. He had not been arrested, as one might suppose, or Marcus would have heard of it. He had not returned to the villa, either. There was only one thing to do — go to the West Gate myself and try to retrace his footsteps.
I had other reasons, too, for wanting to go in that direction. I could reassure myself that my workshop had not burned down in my absence.
My reverie was interrupted by Junio, carrying my breakfast. Apples, I noticed, but no plums. I was secretly glad, though, to have Junio fetch my food. Eating from a communal platter at the funeral was one thing, but eating alone was another. I had not forgotten that there was still a murderer abroad, probably a poisoner, and that someone had already rapped me on the head.
‘Faustina will bring you a potion later,’ Junio said cheerfully. ‘Now, do you wish to eat first, or wash and dress yourself before Paulus comes to do it? If he has been instructed to attend you, he may not welcome my intrusion.’ He grinned. ‘I managed to avoid him when I went for the food and water.’
I let him strigil me and help me dress, then turned my attention to the apples. I was about to instruct Junio to go to Marcus and seek an audience for me, when Andretha interrupted us, flurried as ever.
‘Marcus Aurelius Septimus sends his greetings and asks that you will attend him at lunch. In the meantime he instructs me to provide you with anything you need.’
At lunch! That gave me a long wait, but there was nothing I could do about it. Marcus, presumably, was feeling the effects of the wine. I was on the point of saying that I needed nothing, but Junio interposed. ‘I believe you said, master, that you wished to speak to Aulus. It would be convenient if he could come to you, since you are awaiting your headache cure.’
Andretha made a slight bow. Since I had been attacked he had been almost wearing in his willingness to please. I knew why, of course. My headache was officially due to his negligence, and he wanted as much of my favour as possible. ‘Aulus shall be sent to you at once.’ And he hastened off.
I rounded on Junio. ‘Impudent pup! Sending the chief slave to fetch Aulus, as if he were your messenger boy. I wonder you did not ask him to bring the library pavement too.’
Junio grinned. ‘Ah, but I should not have seen it in position then.’
Sometimes I fear I am too lenient with that boy.
‘Anyway,’ he went on, ‘I was right about your headache cure. Here is Faustina with the potion now.’
She came in with it, ready poured in a goblet. It was darker green this time and looked even worse than the last one.
‘This was quickly made,’ I said. I eyed it doubtfully. She had put henbane on my head yesterday. What was she preparing for me now?
‘The herbs were close at hand, citizen. Wild cress, succory and house leeks. It took little to crush and heat them.’ She smiled. ‘Regina would have been quicker yet. She had phials of potions ready. And she would have had rose-flower juice, which is the best of cures.’
I looked at the liquid again. Somehow it looked a little less vile when you knew what it was. Or thought you did. ‘Nonetheless. .’ I began.
‘You don’t trust me?’ Faustina said. ‘See. I will lead the way.’ She lifted the goblet and took a deep draught. ‘The taste is rather strange and peppery, but it does clear the head.’