But Crassus was in the procession, I thought. And besides no man could have carried the body back here in that time. A foolish confession, but a particularly brave one, from a boy so timid. So why then did he avert his eyes as if he were lying?
‘And?’ I prompted.
He took a deep breath and by now his face had taken on the waxy creaminess of marble against the frame of his dark hair. ‘And — there is no truth in the rumour of course, because it is expressly outlawed on pain of death. .’
‘But?’
Paulus gulped. ‘But there are people in the villa who believe I am a follower of. . the Druids.’
The Druids! The forbidden religion, which called for ritual human sacrifice.
‘And are you a follower?’ I asked.
‘Of course not,’ he said, and this time we both knew that he was lying.
Chapter Four
There was obviously nothing further to be gleaned from Paulus. He had taken a calculated risk, preferring to tell me this now rather than disguise the facts and have them beaten out of him later. He was probably wise. Someone would assuredly have told me, if he had not; one of the effects of possible ‘blanket executions’ is this peculiar willingness to inform on others. All the same, the poor fellow obviously felt that he had said too much already, and retreated further into himself than a Roman snail at the smell of cooking.
I could hardly blame him for worrying. Personally, I have no particular quarrel with Druids — at least none that I would want any practising Druid to hear of. There was a lot of learning and culture among the Druidic priesthood while it lasted, and if devotees did offer themselves as sacrifices from time to time, so that their entrails could be read, well, worse things happen every week in the arena. But our Roman masters have decreed against it, and who am I to question their judgement? Perhaps it is true that the Druids sometimes kidnap their victims. Marcus certainly thought so; if he heard there was a Druid in the house he would immediately suspect that the body in the hypocaust was some kind of bizarre ritual. Perhaps he was right.
I sent Paulus scurrying away to fetch my breakfast, and after that I dismissed him, to his evident relief. I was glad, really, to eat in my room unattended. It gave me time to plan my course of action. First, I wanted to examine the body; I was sure there was information to be derived from that. And then, Andretha. On his own, preferably. There was something in the man’s over-anxious manner that I did not altogether trust. After that, I would wait and see.
I ate the bread and fruit, but wine, even watered wine, was too Roman for my stomach at this early hour. I opened the door-screen and Paulus leapt guiltily away from behind it.
‘You need something, citizen?’ What had he been doing there? Waiting for my commands, or spying at the door-crack?
‘Water,’ I said, indicating the empty drinking vessel. ‘I need to keep a clear head.’
‘Instantly, citizen.’ He almost tripped over his sandal straps in his anxiety to be gone, but I detained him.
‘If you see Andretha, tell him I would like to view the body, and to speak to him privately.’
Paulus paled, but said simply enough, ‘You may do both things at once, citizen. He is in the master’s bedroom, preparing the body for the funeral. Shall I fetch him?’
It was tempting. The idea of having the supercilious Andretha obliged to obey my summons was almost irresistible. But I thought better of it. I preferred to take the chief slave unawares. ‘Fetch the water,’ I said. ‘I will go to him.’
‘But, citizen. .’ Paulus began, looked agonised, and then trailed off. Shouldn’t I go with you, he obviously meant, but lacked the courage to say so. It was not polite to wander about a strange house unaccompanied by at least a slave.
‘Marcus has asked me to investigate,’ I pointed out. ‘I can do that best alone. You wait for me here.’
I made my way to the bedroom, following the pungent smell of candles and burning herbs. Andretha was, indeed, at his master’s bedside. The armour had been removed and left neatly ranged by the wall. The body was now draped in a linen sheet from chin to ankles and Andretha was kneeling beside it, with a bowl of water at his feet. He squawked up at my approach, like a seagull surprised stealing honeycakes, overturning a small oaken chest and scattering half a dozen silver pieces in the process.
‘You startled me, citizen, coming in unannounced.’
That was a rebuke, as near as he dared it. I grinned at him cheerfully. ‘It is necessary that I work unobserved. As it seems that you do. Performing the ablutions already?’
Andretha flushed, but when he spoke it was with careful deference. ‘Not the ritual cleansing, citizen, no. Only washing the dust and ashes from him, where he was lying on the floor. And finding his ferry fare, as you see.’ He scrabbled after the coins, and thrust them back into the chest. ‘I hope I have not offended, citizen, but it is hard to know how to proceed. His closest relative should close the eyes and begin the lament, but there are no eyes to close and anyway his brother is not here to do it. Yet it would not be fitting merely to ask the military guild. Crassus would not have wanted a common soldier’s funeral.’
I wondered if Andretha always talked like this to guests — like an anxious politician on the steps of the forum. I made soothing noises.
He flapped his hands helplessly. ‘I have done my best — sent a slave to fetch the anointing women, and find some professional mourners and musicians. They will provide a litter — at a cost. I am trying to prepare things here. He should be dressed in his best robes for the funeral. I have sent his sandals to the shoemender for fresh hobnails, he must be fresh-shod for the afterlife. I thought he had new ones but I cannot find them. I took off his uniform. I hope I did not exceed my duty, citizen. It was an awful task.’
It must have been. The charred skull was an even more appalling sight than I remembered. I hardly wished to look at it myself. I turned away and examined the armour. The leather skirt was burnished and I admired again the campaign seals on the chest-harness, and the intricacy of the gleaming breast-armour — the little individual metal pieces sewn to a fabric shirt, to afford maximum protection but allow movement to the wearer.
‘Fine work,’ I said.
‘Yes, citizen,’ the slave agreed. ‘And such a waste. It was all ordered new for the procession.’
I was surprised. ‘Where does a veteran obtain new armour? From the armourer?’
He flapped his hands again. ‘I don’t know that, citizen. I suppose so. A man with money might buy anything. There are those, too, who sell Roman armour which is not quite new. .’
I knew what he was referring to. The insubordinate Silures on the western border had taken their toll of casualties recently. There was always a ready unofficial market for good Roman body-armour; helmets were prized trophies, and even the Silures themselves recognised good protection when they saw it.
‘And the old armour? What became of that?’
Andretha shrugged helplessly. ‘I don’t know that, either, citizen. But those that sell, buy.’ He flashed me a sideways look. ‘Daedalus could tell you these things, citizen. If he were here.’
‘Yes,’ I said. I had not forgotten the missing slave. But Andretha had a point. Marcus, for instance, was inclined to overlook Daedalus. He was only a slave after all, and had no personal importance. ‘I will ask him, when I can.’
An uneasy flush came to his face. ‘You. . know where he is, citizen?’
That surprised me. ‘Do you?’
He shook his head hastily. ‘No. I wish I did, I promise you. If I knew I should tell you at once, and you could fetch him here. He could do this, at least. This should be Daedalus’ job, not mine. Crassus was fastidious. He would have no one but his favourite attend him when he dressed.’