‘Not even lies, excellence. He thought he was to blame. He is a Silurian and worships Nodens. He went to the city shrine and put a curse on Crassus during the procession. When the body was discovered, he was horrified. He had not expected such a swift response. I think he still believes he brought down divine justice on Germanicus — you remember he thought the broken statue was a sign? When no human murderer was found, and the whole household seemed in danger of being executed, he confessed — to save Faustina’s life at least.’ I was talking too much, but there was method in it. If I could keep Marcus interested, his mood might well improve.
He was interested. ‘You have seen the curse-tablet?’
‘No, but I am sure it could be found. I should have suspected something like this earlier. I found a lock of hair under his bed. I’m sure now it came from Crassus. Obtained from the barber slave, no doubt. Almost certainly it was used to strengthen the charm — a piece of the cursed man’s hair is said to double the force of any curse. He went back to get a strand or two, secretly, while the other slaves were waiting on the farm cart — probably intending to save the rest for further imprecations. No wonder he was so troubled at its effectiveness that he kept breaking his lute strings.’
‘So, it was not Rufus. Do you know who it was?’
‘I think so, excellence. But I need your help.’
‘Someone else at the villa, I suppose? Libertus, you have a generous spirit, but there is little point in this. Merely one slave’s life against another — and strictly, we could execute them all.’
‘Regina was not a slave,’ I said.
He looked at me. ‘Regina? I have searched for her, as you asked. There is no trace of her.’
I told him.
There was less of an explosion than I was expecting. He raged for a moment. ‘Digging up the mosaic! Without authorisation? I should have you flayed!’
‘Should have you flayed’ I noticed, not ‘shall’. I began to breathe again. ‘Her throat was cut,’ I ventured.
‘Murdered?’ he said.
I quelled any temptation to answer that ironically. ‘It seems so.’
‘By whom? By Crassus? Or by one of his household?’
‘Her throat was cut,’ I said carefully, ‘with a novacula, it seems.’
That did it. I saw his eyes light with interest, and there was no trace of irritation as he said, ‘With a novacula. Like the one you found?’
‘The one Junio found,’ I said. ‘Yes,’ I added theatrically, ‘perhaps with that very blade.’
‘Great Jove,’ he said. ‘And Paulus could not be found when I wanted him. Where is the barber now?’
‘Missing,’ I said. ‘Although I think I know where to find him. And we should hurry, excellence. We shall find ourselves investigating the death of Lucius next.’
That roused him. ‘Then I will put on a toga and come with you.’ I had been hoping for that. It is always better if Marcus suggests these things himself. ‘I will arrange a gig at once. Go and see to it.’ This last to the slave who had been waiting patiently, and who trotted off at once at the command. Marcus turned to me. ‘Why did you not tell me about this at once?’
Since there was no possible answer to this, I merely grinned apologetically, and followed with Junio to the building where my patron had his apartment. Like all wealthy men he inhabited the first floor, a spacious suite of rooms immediately above the wine shop. I had visited the place before and it was impressive: stone floors, painted plasterwork and real windows. There was even a balcony, although it was not a good place to stand. It was too vulnerable to anything thrown down from above. I have waited for Marcus on that balcony before, and can bear witness to the interesting varieties of refuse — and worse — tipped into the street from overhead. There were times when I preferred my own humble habitation. At least I rented it whole, ‘from soil to sky’ as the law went.
We were not invited onto the balcony today. Marcus left us to wait outside on the landing, to my relief, among a small crowd of ‘hangers-on’ who had collected to see Marcus, and a bunch of inquisitive inhabitants from the cramped, bug-infested and overcrowded flats upstairs.
It was not long, however, before Marcus himself reappeared, resplendent in patrician purple edging and spotless linen. It must have taken five slaves to get him ready so soon. He waved an imperious hand and the crowd melted away like frost in the sunshine. The gig was ready and waiting too, together with a driver and a few mounted soldiers as guards provided by the local garrison. I was obviously not the only one who respected the possibility that my patron might have real imperial lineage. Marcus got in and motioned me to follow. Junio stood beside the gig, hesitating.
‘We need Junio,’ I said, daringly, and Marcus nodded. Junio clambered in, wide-eyed, and crouched at my feet, where he remained uncomfortably for the whole jolting, breathtaking journey.
It took only two thirds as long in the gig. It was harder on the bones, but the lighter conveyance seemed fairly to rattle along the roads, and with our armed outriders other traffic moved smartly aside to let us pass. Even a troop of soldiers parted ranks to let the official carriage through. We stopped again for horses, at the posting station, but this time we were offered spiced meats and almond cakes, not the mere bread and cheese of my last visit — that was reserved for Junio and the cavalrymen. (The exquisite envoy would have been chagrined, I thought, to know what luxuries real rank afforded.)
It can barely have been three hours before we turned down the little lane and I found myself outside the Dubonnai roundhouse again.
The appearance of the soldiers created a far greater stir than my fashionable companion of a few days before. I imagine the roundhouse dwellers associated the military with land seizures or with tax. No sooner had the gig stopped than the entire household hurried to the entrance of the enclosure, and formed up in lines to greet us. Marcus smiled, but I could read the signs. Women and children at the back, shielded by their menfolk. The males deferential and polite, but armed. The family were ready for trouble.
Marcus descended from the gig. ‘From your Roman governors, greetings!’ They abased themselves appropriately. He turned to me. ‘You talk to them, Libertus.’ Obviously the envoy had told him that I spoke the language.
I stepped forward, allowing my face to be seen, and deliberately catching the eye of the woman who had provided the oatcakes. ‘We have come to see the hermit,’ I explained, in Celtic. Some of the tension vanished. ‘We think there is a criminal in his cave.’
‘There is a boy there,’ the woman volunteered. ‘He arrived about an hour ago. I was a bit worried about letting him go up there — he looked a bad type, dirty and wild-eyed, dangerous almost. I went up myself with my son, to take some barley loaf and cheese, just to make sure, but Lucius came out and told us not to worry. It was just a runaway slave, he said, and rightfully his.’
‘That’s true,’ I said. ‘It is a long story. We have come to take him away before any further harm is done.’
‘And quickly,’ Marcus said, taking his lead from me. ‘You know the way, lead on.’
I hesitated. I thought I knew, now, what had happened, but I could not prove it — yet. I said, ‘Give me a little time to talk to the fellow alone.’ That was important. I would never gain his confidence while Marcus was there.
Marcus looked doubtful. ‘But I want to talk to Lucius. About the villa.’
‘A little while, that is all.’ I looked around for some way to mark the time. ‘Look at the tree. Wait till the sun has passed behind the highest branch, then follow me. That should give me time for my purpose. Junio, you stay here with Marcus in case you are needed. And do not fear for me, I’ll take the soldiers with me.’
Marcus looked doubtful, but he agreed, and off we went. Great Minerva, they knew how to march, those men! They were not infantry, but they strode up that hill as if it were the merest ridge-furrow, with me struggling breathlessly after them.