Rosemary Rowe - A Coin for the Ferryman

Marcus laughed. ‘I assume that Julia asked him. I would have done the same myself. I always call on him, if there’s a mystery to solve. He has a mosaic-maker’s brain and sees the patterns that other men might miss.’

Lucius looked more disapproving than ever. ‘Of course! I’d forgotten that you were a tradesman, citizen.’

‘An artist,’ Julia said, and would have earned my gratitude and love on the spot if she had not already had them both. ‘And very clever too. He has helped to solve a number of unpleasant crimes, and has even uncovered several plots against the state. He once received a personal reward from Pertinax himself.’ She saw the expression of surprise, and pressed the point. ‘That’s right — the Pertinax who was the Governor of Britannia once — the same Prefect of Rome that you’re so proud to know.’

‘I see. Then I salute the citizen.’ Lucius’s expression did not change a whit. ‘Obviously, Marcus, he is the proper person to advise on how you should deal with this unwelcome corpse. Myself, I should have counselled that you put it on the pyre — as I was saying to your charming lady here — before the Festival of the Dead begins. But obviously you don’t need my advice. I leave it to Libertus, who’s accustomed to such things.’ His condescending little smile did nothing to mask the harsh, sarcastic tone.

My patron, however, did not rise to the bait. He pretended to accept what Lucius had said as a genuine compliment to my aptitude. ‘Then, since there is to be a banquet later on, perhaps you would care to pay that visit to my new bath-house first? I instructed the slaves to light the furnaces last night, and the steam bath and the hot room should be warm by now. I will have a robe and oil and a strigil sent across to you, and Niveus can come and scrape you down and rub you dry — unless you would prefer to use your own attendant for the task?’

Clever. Marcus had acquired this country residence only a year or two ago and he had been making improvements ever since — including a new sleeping wing for himself and Julia — and this new bath-house was his latest toy: proper little hot and cold rooms and a plunge pool at the end, for which I’d been invited to design the floor. An invitation to enjoy the private facilities in this way could only be interpreted as a compliment — a piece of conspicuous hospitality extended only to the most honoured guests — and since Lucius had obviously been angling for the chance to sample it, he found himself entirely outflanked. He could do nothing dignified except capitulate, muttering his less than heartfelt thanks, and accept the offer with as good a grace as he could muster in the circumstances.

‘Ah, here is Niveus now,’ my patron said, as the page came struggling in, with a tray in one hand and a pair of folding chairs in the other. ‘Stay and take a cup of Falernian with us, and then he can escort you to the bath-house straight away.’

Lucius was too much of a Roman to decline a glass of wine, and he permitted Niveus to pour a measure out. He sipped it thoughtfully — I am no connoisseur of wine, but even I could tell that it was excellent — and pointedly talked of other things, murmuring to Marcus about the coming trip to Rome.

‘There are so many splendid new constructions since you saw it last, you’ll hardly recognise the place. Triumphal arches, fountains, temples — everything. There are whole new suburbs springing up these days. .’ I thought he was choosing the subject to exclude me from the talk, until I realised that Julia was feeling left out too.

At last, he pushed his cup aside, and rose to take his leave. ‘Time for the promised bath, I think.’ He clapped his hands, and his bull-headed bodyguard instantly appeared, with an alacrity which suggested that he’d been listening at the door. Niveus was sent trotting off with them, first to lead the way and then to fetch the cleansing olive oil and the strigil with which to scrape it off again.

‘Odious man!’ Julia remarked, as soon as they had gone. She sank back on to her seat. ‘Are all your cousins so self-consciously superior?’

Marcus leaned over and helped himself to figs, and — in the absence of the servants — poured himself some wine. ‘Lucius is the only cousin I have left,’ he said. ‘All the relations on my father’s side are dead. My mother had one brother, and he’s the only son. I did not see a great deal of him when I was young, or of his parents either.’ He rolled the wine pensively around his cup, as if he were reading fortunes in it. ‘It was not, I think, a very happy match — a matter of consolidating family estates — and once the heir was born my uncle put his wife aside, though he kept her in some style until she died, I understand. He never actually divorced her, in case she wed again. Wanted to keep her fortune, I suppose. She used to come and see us now and then.’

Julia shuddered. ‘What a dreadful life for her.’

‘Not at all. She rather liked it, it seemed to me, though of course I haven’t seen her since I was very young. She had more freedom than most Roman wives — went to the baths and the circuses, and visited her friends, and spent a fortune on her clothes and jewels. I remember she always smelled of spice, and wore a lot of kohl on her eyes. As a child you notice things like that. I was sorry when I heard she’d died. I looked forward to her visits. She used to laugh a lot. My mother thought she was disgraceful — I remember that, as well.’ He popped a sugared fig into his mouth.

Julia gave a sigh. It said, ‘Your mother disapproves of everything,’ as clearly as if she’d said the words aloud.

Marcus looked at her. ‘You mustn’t worry, Julia. It will be all right. My mother is patrician, whatever else she is, and she would never be less than totally polite to any visitor. And you will charm her, as you do everyone. Things are a little different in Rome, that’s all. Here in the provinces, people take their cue from us. If you and I decide to set a trend, half of the populace will follow suit. In Rome it’s more. . traditional, perhaps. Fashion does follow the Emperor, of course, but since the Emperor is. . well. .’

He did not finish, but we all knew what he meant. Commodus’s extravagance and outlandish ways were the subject of rumour throughout the Empire. Doubtless Marcus’s mother thought him disgraceful too, though of course it would be suicide to voice the thought in Rome. Even here in Britannia it was dangerous: Commodus was as famous for his spies as for his opulent lifestyle — he was almost assassinated by a palace plot quite early in his reign, and now he is said to have paid eyes and ears in practically every corner of the Empire.

Julia looked at Marcus with liquid eyes. ‘Do we really have to go, husband? It is bad enough knowing that your mother disapproves of me — and don’t pretend she doesn’t, because she makes it clear in every letter that she thinks I schemed to trap her darling son, and I know I’m ignorant of proper Roman ways, and all the ancient customs she thinks so highly of. But now there is this dreadful omen hanging over us as well! Would it not be possible to defer the trip, at least? Think of Marcellinus, if you won’t change your mind for me. What would you do if anything should happen to your son?’

It was surprising to hear her talking freely in this way in front of me, though it was clear that she had done it on purpose in the hope of my support. Julia is a lively woman of high intelligence, and her husband has been known to seek her views even on financial matters and affairs of state. But to question his judgement — and in public too — was quite another thing. Marcus was affronted, and he made that evident by the way he tapped his fingers on his thigh and set his lips in an unsmiling line.