The pontifex, who had been in a state of agitation all along, suddenly seemed to give way to frustration, like a child. ‘Great gods!’ he whinnied, throwing up his withered hands. ‘Don’t ask me what I think. Do as you please. Bring them all in — soldiers, corpses, thieves, bones, murderers! What does it matter now? Why not hold a market in the temple court? I’ve spent long enough chasing them away — sellers of birds, charms, amulets — invite them all! I’m sure there are a hundred slaves and women who’d like to pay a visit to the sanctuary — as the Christians do — or have a hand in sacrificing bulls. Why not? Why not? Nothing is sacred any more.’
Everyone was staring at him in astonishment. Even the two slaves who were dragging Lithputh from the room paused for a moment in their efforts to look back at the priest. His usually ashen face was scarlet now, and he was trembling with emotion.
‘Pontifex. .’ Marcus murmured, but it did no good.
‘Pontifex!’ the old man stormed, shrill with ineffectual rage. ‘What kind of Priest of Jupiter am I? All these years of ritual, fulfilling every item of the law, and more! And look what it has brought me to! The legate coming, and my temple the centre of bloodshed and riot! Even Jupiter has turned against me. I thought I read his hand in these events — but what were they? The actions and machinations of a slave! The body of a beggar from the pit! He thundered earlier, and I hoped to learn his will — to what effect? Even my pathetic effort to placate the gods tonight is doomed! This will teach me to have inflated dreams of being Flamen Dialis. Go, slaves, tell the city the procession’s cancelled and your foolish pontifex is duly punished for his presumption.’
There was an astonished pause. You could have heard a feather drop: no sound except the drumming of the rain. The two house slaves who were standing by the wall looked uncertainly at Marcus, as if appealing for his authority.
He gave it. ‘Tell them it has been postponed. Until the legate’s visit. Jove has delivered the culprit to us now. In the meantime, there will be perpetual vigil in the court. I think that’s best.’
The slaves looked grateful, and slipped silently away.
‘You see?’ the pontifex said bitterly. ‘My orders countermanded in my own house.’ He turned and blundered wildly from the room, brushing past Aurelia who was coming in, accompanied by her page.
‘Husband?’ she called after him, but he disappeared without a backward glance.
She came into the room. ‘Citizen, there have been people asking. .’ she began, and stopped, aware of the startled atmosphere. ‘Why, what has happened? Why is my husband so disturbed?’ She looked at the two men dragging Lithputh out, and her face turned whiter than the lupin powder with which it was dusted. ‘What are they doing to that man?’
Not ‘who is this man and what’s he doing here?’ I noticed. It was his arrest which caused this alarm. Another little piece of pattern fitted into place. ‘This is Lucianus, lady, steward to Optimus,’ I said. ‘As I believe you know.’
She did not deny it. She was still staring as they dragged him senseless from the room. ‘But why. .?’
‘Because he was found lurking in the temple court,’ I said. I was aware of the eyes of everyone in the room, watching me intently. ‘He came through here earlier, I think?’
She looked at me then, her pale cheeks turning red. ‘He did indeed. Is there some reason he should not have done? He had my permission — though I don’t know how you knew.’
‘You told me earlier, in this very room, that Optimus was pleased with the repairs to his pavement. I wondered about that at the time. How could you possibly have known that — unless you had some contact with someone from the house? When I saw the steward in the court, I understood.’ She looked so taken aback that I took pity on her, and added, ‘In any case he could hardly have gone in through the other gate — the slaves had closed it to keep out the mob.’
‘So,’ Marcus said, frowning at her, ‘Lucianus chose tonight to ask if he could enter the temple by the inner door? After all that had been happening at the shrine! You didn’t think that it was rather odd?’
Aurelia looked as if she was about to speak, but changed her mind. She stared down at her hands and said nothing.
‘But it was not the first time, was it?’ I was reasoning aloud. ‘The Phrygian had often come this way before. It was some arrangement that he had with you — is that not so, lady?’
She nodded, but she did not raise her eyes. ‘He sometimes carried things for me, that’s all. Nothing of importance, to anyone but me.’
I thought of the time I’d glimpsed her in the garden, and the piece of folded bark she’d tried to hide. ‘Letters, perhaps?’ I hazarded, and saw by the scarlet in her cheeks that I was right. ‘Letters you did not want your husband’s slaves to see?’ It was not a difficult deduction. Why else would a woman avoid using her own servants for the task?
She started as though I’d stung her with a lash. ‘Well, citizen, and if it was? There is no infidelity in a piece of bark. I wanted news of someone, that’s all, simply to know that he was safe — but my husband would not countenance even the mention of his name.’
‘But surely, Optimus. .?’ I began. I was not making sense of this.
She interrupted before I could show my ignorance. ‘Optimus knew nothing, citizen. He was in touch with his old cohort, that was all. He mentioned it one evening when he called on us. I knew that Tertius had been posted to the same legion. Of course I couldn’t ask Optimus directly — he would have told my husband instantly — but I made a friend of him and enlisted his steward when I could. Whenever Optimus sent missives to the legion, Lucianus ensured that mine went too, with the messenger — and if there was a reply, he intercepted it and brought it here.’ She seemed to realise the impropriety of this, and added quickly, ‘It did not happen often, citizen. I am a married woman, and Tertius cannot take a wife until his service ends.’
‘Tertius is the young cavalry officer you left behind in Rome?’ I said.
She was quite feminine when she blushed so charmingly. ‘He is in Britannia now, attached to one of the legions here. I did not wish the pontifex to know. Not for my own sake, but for Tertius. Marcellus Fabius is my uncle — as perhaps you are aware since it seems you know all my business, citizen — and my family always disapproved of Tertius. They would have posted him away, put him in the front line somewhere where he would be killed. Tertius is a contarius,’ she added with pride, naming the rarest and newest of the degrees of cavalry, ‘and though he’s a skilled horseman, that is dangerous. He writes that he has fallen several times — it’s hard to balance that long lance while you’re holding yourself on a galloping horse with nothing but your knees.’
Meritus was looking impatient at all this. ‘So,’ he thundered, ‘not only do you deceive your husband by receiving letters from this man, but you encourage Optimus’s slave to creep into the temple court at night — again without your husband’s knowledge — to murder and desecrate the shrine. Are you attempting to make fools of us?’
‘I’m not attempting to make fools of anyone, sevir,’ she retorted with some spirit. ‘Lucianus was unhappy and so was I. We tried to help each other, that is all. At first I paid him, or gave him trinkets and ornaments to sell — he was trying to acquire his slave-price and buy himself free — but he soon told me it was hopeless, and asked for my help in this instead. He often went this way to the temple secretly, sometimes quite late at night. It wasn’t difficult. Even if my husband was in the house he wouldn’t hear.’
‘But what about your slaves?’ I asked, aware of her page gazing up at her in disbelief. ‘Surely they must have been aware of it?’
She smiled grimly. ‘Lucianus always went directly to the temple, sometimes with offerings in his hands. Often he didn’t even speak to me. I told the slaves it was a sort of ritual — making secret offerings for me before the shrine — in case I should become the flamen’s wife. They are accustomed to strange doings in this house. It’s no odder than insisting a plate of new-baked cakes be left untouched on a table by your bed each night — just so that you have an instant sacrifice to hand, in case you’re called on to officiate!’