‘I hear you are preparing to go overseas,’ I said, as he dragged the snarling dog away and tied it to a post.
He came back to hold the gate ajar for me. ‘How did you learn that?’ His look of astonishment was almost comical.
I explained about the land-slave and he smiled again. ‘Well, citizen, what my farm-servant says is true. We plan to leave as soon as possible.’ He escorted me up the stony path towards the doorway of the house, skirting piles of kindling wood and avoiding the wet garments, clearly washed and dyed, which were draped over bushes in the wind to dry. When we reached the threshold — no more than a single piece of stone placed where people would walk in and out on it — he stepped ahead of me and called in through the door. ‘Are we prepared? Our visitor is here.’
A woman-slave came hastening out at once, rubbing her hands against her tunic-skirt as if they had been damp. She was a tallish, unattractive female of advancing years. Her wan face was worn and mottled, cobwebbed with fine lines, and she had the doubtful darting eyes of someone who has learned — by hard experience — to distrust the world. Her curly hair, which she wore severely short, was dull and mousy grey and her mouth was clamped into a tight, suspicious line. However, her sharp expression softened when Paulinus talked to her and the look she gave her owner was an adoring one.
‘This is Libertus, Muta,’ she was told. ‘He is a citizen and will be our guest. Kindly show him in. I will change out of my dirty working clothes and join you very soon.’ He turned away towards the rear part of the house.
Muta bobbed me a stiff curtsy and led the way inside, through a narrow passage into a sort of waiting-room. Her form was generally sinewy and thin, but the swollen ankles which I glimpsed beneath the tunic-hem suggested a reason for her awkward gait. I could see exactly what Priscilla meant — this servant was no bargain, whatever price he’d paid.
The room was as bare as my own roundhouse at home: only a large wooden table and a brazier, a little household shrine set into a niche and — beneath a lone high shelf which held the household cups and bowls — a small amphora leaning on the wall and a few jars and storage-pitchers standing on the floor. The servant gestured to a small three-legged stool beside the table, where a bowl of curd-cheese and a crust of new bread had been set for me.
I sat down, rather awkwardly, while Muta picked up a brass water-pitcher from the floor and poured some into a handsome metal cup. She handed it to me without a word, and made a signal that I should start to eat.
‘Is your new mistress home?’ I ventured. I had hoped to meet Secunda and hear from her own lips that she was happy for her dowry to be squandered in this way. Besides, this silence was beginning to unsettle me.
The woman didn’t answer, just made a gesture to the inner door. Of course, I remembered, the poor thing couldn’t speak! I recalled that this was why she had been chosen for this house but that — unlike the daughter she was bought to serve — the woman could still hear.
I tried again, hoping to obtain at least a fleeting smile. ‘I hope that you are learning to be happy in your work? You will be a comfort to the daughter I am sure.’
‘It is no good talking to her, citizen. She cannot answer you.’
I turned to see the owner of the voice, and caught my breath. The woman at the inner door was singularly pale and far from young, but she was beautiful — one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. She wore no trace of kohl or lampblack round her eyes and there was no stain of wine-lees on her lips or cheeks but, despite her pallor, she did not need any. Her skin was soft and flawless, like a piece of kidskin cloth, and her hair, which hung in tight ringlets from a central band (in a fashion favoured by an Empress long ago, but long since out of style), was palest faded gold. She wore a simple floor-length lilac shift and as she walked towards me, holding out her hands, I thought that I had never seen a person more ethereal and serene.
‘I am Secunda, the wife of Paulinus.’ The tone was soft and very musical. ‘I am sorry that I was not here to welcome you. I was in need of rest. We are in train of packing, as I believe you know, and I am not accustomed to such activity.’
‘Pray do not mention it.’ This household’s slight formality and old-fashioned speech was infecting mine. I tried to fight this and conspicuously failed. ‘I had already heard that you were indisposed — not in the best of health.’ Now that I had seen her I could understand — already she seemed closer to the next world than to this.
She smiled rather sadly, revealing a set of almost perfect teeth. If I were a single man, I thought, I could have lost my heart. It was doubly tragic knowing that she was frail. I had heard that the gods take their best-beloved first, and now I could believe it. She was speaking, in that gentle voice of hers, and there was real emotion in her words. ‘You bring us dreadful news about Audelia. I am most distressed to hear that you found the body in that mutilated state. It must have been a dreadfully upsetting shock for you.’
It was the first time — almost in my life — that anyone outside my family had ever shown the least concern for me, and what my feelings were when confronted with a death. I could have kissed her feet. Instead I put my hands together in the greeting pose, bowed my head and introduced myself. ‘I fear,’ I said — and for once that common form of words meant something genuine — ‘that is not the only piece of bad news that I bring.’
‘Then I will sit down and wait until my husband comes before I hear the rest. I should not like to make an exhibition of myself by fainting on the floor.’ She turned to the slave-woman and murmured with a smile, ‘A seat for me, perhaps?’
Muta made a signal of assent and left the room.
While she was gone I tried to turn the conversation to more cheerful things. ‘You are pleased with your acquisitions at the market yesterday?’
Secunda looked bemused. ‘I am not sure I follow…?’
‘That slave-woman. You bought her yesterday, I think? Together with a page?’
‘Ah, of course.’ A blush of soft confusion suffused the lovely face. ‘I cannot think of slaves as acquisitions, citizen. I thought you were referring to this gown I bought. I wondered how you knew. Indeed, we are delighted with the slave. She is so good with Paulina, my husband’s child, you know.’ She smiled her rueful smile. ‘He will be here shortly. In the meantime, do refresh yourself!’
Thus encouraged, I did try the bread and cheese. They were extremely good. Simple but excellent. Somehow, in this household, I was not surprised. All at once, I wished I hadn’t come. I was here to find the answer to a gruesome tragedy — a nasty murder and a kidnapping plus an explanation for the nurse’s suicide. I had been convinced that I would find the answer in this house, but if these people were involved I didn’t want to know. I desperately wanted to believe them innocent.
I shook my head. This was ridiculous. Murder is still murder, whoever does the deed — and some of the cruellest emperors were famous for their charm. What was I thinking of? I could guess what Priscilla would have said if she had known — that I was the victim of some Druid spell. I do not generally believe in the efficacy of love-potions and the like but I put down the cup of liquid, just in case, and assumed my most severe expression as I said, ‘Secunda — the matter of your dowry…’