The temple slave had got down off his stool, and now flashed me a grateful smile, as if we were accomplices in a convenient lie.
Yet there was an explanation, I told myself fiercely. There had to be. If these unearthly events had occurred at the altar of Mighty Jupiter, perhaps my terrors would be justified. Even a Celt like me would have recognised the workings of a supernatural hand. But they had happened at the Imperial shrine, and surely that was quite a different matter? Commodus was officially a god, of course, but I had never had the slightest belief in his divinity, much less in his ability to perform miracles and signs. Surely, rationally, I couldn’t accept it even now?
I felt a little calmer at the thought, and that confidence must have communicated itself to the crowd, because they began to drift away. I couldn’t explain my reasoning to them, of course — I value my scraggy neck too much. It would not have taken much, in the mood that they were in, to turn the mob against me, and what I had just thought was treasonable, as well as impious. The punishment for that was horrible, though it might have caused amusement to the crowd. If Fabius Marcellus the legate ever did visit the city, I had no wish to form part of the civic entertainments by facing the beasts in the arena for his delight. I am an old man, and my sense of humour about these things is not what it was.
I elbowed my way out through the remnants of crowd, and went resolutely back to Optimus’s house. One or two of the stragglers followed me, still plucking at my sleeves and questioning. I was glad to arrive at the back door of the house, where I could get away from them.
Especially since I had no answers to give them. If there was some human explanation for what I’d seen, I had no idea what it was. I needed time to think.
I rapped sharply on the wooden gate, and the doorman let me in.
Chapter Fifteen
This time, when he greeted me, the doorkeeper seemed noticeably more relaxed. ‘Citizen Optimus got tired of sending important visitors round to the servants’ door,’ he informed me cheerfully. ‘He’s gone off to hold his meetings in the public baths.’ He chuckled. ‘Taken that Phrygian steward with him, so you can find your own way through the house if you like. Save me having to get up, and leave the back door unattended.’
‘Thank you. I think I know the way.’ I hurried off before he had time to change his mind. I wanted to take the opportunity of being unattended to have a quick look in that inner courtyard garden where I’d seen the hooded shape. Not that there was very much to see. The colonnaded walkway I had seen the day before; a few uninteresting plants; a collection of poky storerooms at the back, full of amphorae, sacks and barrels; a sort of two-storey outhouse for the slaves; a lararium to the household gods, and a small courtyard with an oven in it, where bread and cakes were evidently baked without the threat of setting fire to the kitchen. Just like a dozen other dwellings of its kind.
I might have investigated further, but at that moment a woman emerged from one of the bedrooms off the colonnade. She was short, well fed, well coiffured and well dressed, and accompanied by a pretty slave girl carrying a tray of unguents. This must be Optimus’s wife. She stared at me.
‘I’ve come about the pavement, lady,’ I explained.
She nodded vaguely and I went quickly on into the front section of the house.
It was almost a relief, after the pressures of the day, to walk into that calm interior and to think about a piece of floor which was not occupied by disappearing corpses or reappearing blood. The only bodies in the passageway, when I arrived, were those of Junio and the kitchen boy, and they were clearly very much alive. Both were on their knees, facing away from me, occupied in laying tiles to a template under Junio’s vociferous command.
‘Not there, you stupid oaf, you’ll put your hand down on the wet cement. A little further right. That’s it. And now another — pass me that red one, quick! Before the mortar sets! Come on! Did they breed you from a tortoise and a snail?’
I recognised something of my own style in this, and could not contain a chuckle. The kitchen slave heard me and scrambled to his feet, red-faced, brushing his dirty hands diligently on his apron.
‘What are you. .?’ Junio said, and then he turned and saw me too. He stood up in his turn, a slow reluctant smile on his face. ‘There you are, master,’ he said. ‘I did not hear you come.’
‘So I observe,’ I said, trying to sound severe. ‘Judging by the sight that greeted me!’
The kitchen slave looked anxious, but Junio only grinned. ‘Master, you have come back half an hour too soon. Another little while and we’d have finished the job.’ Now that I was not confronted by a pair of tunicked bottoms, I could see the border they had been working on. He was right. Most of the missing tiles had been reset by now and a good job they had made of it — though there was a slight imperfection in one corner, and they had created a lot of dust and chippings in the process.
I said, ‘It’s an improvement on the previous pavement, certainly. That corner piece, you could have used a smaller template there — but it will do. I think I can disguise it.’ I tied on my leather apron as I spoke (it had been folded on the floor nearby) and got to my own knees, creakily. ‘If you let me have those last few tile pieces there, and some water perhaps, so we can wash it down. .’ My last remark was intended for the kitchen slave, but he had already seized the bucket and was gone.
‘Master, what happened at the temple?’ Junio asked eagerly, as soon as the boy was out of earshot. ‘Have they discovered something new? What did they want you for in such a hurry?’ He was already collecting up the tesserae I’d asked for.
I told him, briefly — omitting my sacrilegious moment in the grove. ‘So, you can see, I have made little progress. Not like you — I see you’ve had assistance all the morning here?’
Junio nodded. ‘Lithputh gave orders that the boy was to help me until you came back — decided that someone should keep an eye on me, I think. I got the feeling that he knew what I was planning, and did it to stop me wandering about unsupervised and questioning the other slaves.’ He put the pieces he’d collected into a pile, and stood nearby to help. I looked up at him, inviting him to think about the task. ‘Red, in that corner, do you think?’ he said.
I held a tile or two above the floor to try out the effect. He had a good eye — red was exactly right. I nodded, satisfied. But I was still interested in Lithputh. ‘It wouldn’t make much difference how many slaves you saw. If Optimus or his steward had anything significant to hide, surely one servant would know as much as any other?’ I spoke from experience. ‘It’s hard to keep a secret in a household full of slaves.’
Junio shook his head. ‘Perhaps not in this household, master. Lithputh rules it with a rod of iron — quite literally a rod sometimes, I hear. Out of frustration, I suppose. It seems he’s been trying for a long time to save up and buy his freedom — but you know what Optimus is like. Phrygian stewards may be commonplace in Rome, but they’re a luxury item here — and Optimus must have set the price unreasonably high. In any case Lithputh can’t afford it. And his master fines him for all breakages and “wastage” in the house — so even that price rises all the time. It’s clear his master doesn’t want to let him go.’
‘And Lithputh takes it out on all the rest?’ I guessed.
Junio nodded. ‘Beatings for everything, from breaking plates to “standing gossiping” — and he has his spies — so naturally, if there is the slightest problem, everyone blames everybody else, and no one confides in anyone. There’s a real household atmosphere of resentment and mistrust.’
‘At least when Lithputh is about,’ I said, remembering the doorman’s manner. I put down the tiles and began to scratch the pattern in the mortar. The paving task that I had set myself was complex — an inner curve to minimise the flaw and link the new work to the old, and a final small medallion shape to draw the eye away. Curved lines are always more difficult than straight, and it must be done before the mortar dried.