Rosemary Rowe - The Chariots of Calyx

The wretched Lydia, however, had clapped her skinny hands to her skinny face and was rocking to and fro in misery, muttering, ‘Fulvia, no! By sweet Mercury, you must not say these things!’ Annia had gone red, and was puffing herself up like an outraged turkey, and even the servants — although not daring to move another muscle — were exchanging horrified looks from the corners of their eyes.

And I? I did the only thing a man could do, in the circumstances. I gestured to the slave with the inlaid stool, as imperiously as I could. He hastened to set it down by the table and I installed myself upon it, importantly, signalling to the boy to pour some wine.

It had the desired effect. At this demonstration of masculine authority, the women seemed to recollect themselves and stood back.

‘Thank you for this hospitality,’ I said, with what I hoped was a dignified smile. ‘Now I am sure there are a hundred preparations to be made in this household, as there always are after a death. I do not wish to keep you from your unhappy tasks. If, perhaps, you could send my own slave to attend me, and continue to lend me one of your own? I am sure with the body to attend to, and the funeral meats to prepare. .?’

I saw the women glance at one another. They were about to begin bickering again, I realised with alarm. Probably about whose responsibility it was to organise the rites. I went on, hurriedly, ‘Otherwise, please ignore me. Call the funeral arrangers by all means. I will try to intrude as little as possible. Expect that I should like to see the body before the anointers begin, and I shall want to speak to everyone, one at a time. Starting with you, perhaps, Fulvia, since as his widow you must begin the lament. Unless his son is old enough. .?’

Fulvia’s face, which was looking pale and strained, lighted with a small, triumphant smile. ‘Filius is scarcely more than a child — he is only just old enough to wear an adult toga. He may close the eyes, if he wishes, but the duty of opening the lament will fall to me. As for the funeral arrangers, I have already sent for them. Some of them arrived before you did, citizen’ — of course they had: I had noted the funerary wreath at the entrance — ‘and by now they will be bathing the body.’ She glanced victoriously at Annia, who was crimson with fury. ‘But I will instruct them to suspend their ministrations a little. I am in any case going to my room. I shall be there if you need me, citizen, and you no doubt wish to speak to me — in private? After all, I was the only witness of what took place last night.’

Annia spluttered something, incoherent with rage.

Fulvia ignored her. ‘I will retire, then.’ She closed her eyes suddenly. She did indeed look faint and faltering, I thought. ‘My servants will attend me. Enjoy your refreshment, citizen.’

Annia glowered after her. ‘Making the arrangements, just like that — and his mother not even consulted!’

Beside her, Lydia began to sob, hiccoughing and snivelling wretchedly. ‘Poor, poor Monnius. To think that he should come to this. And if that woman is arranging it, they will not even let Filius lead the mourners.’

Annia put an arm round her, and with a final glare in my direction led her from the room.

I sat back on the stool and permitted myself to be served with some refreshment. By this time I was quite glad of my beaker of watered wine.

Junio arrived just as I was finishing the fruit (slices of apple, at last!), and he stationed himself beside my chair with a cheerful grin.

‘I hear you wish to view the body, master? I have been given instructions to lead you there.’

I got to my feet, holding out my hands to be rinsed and dried by the house-slaves who had been standing by with ewer, bowl and towel for the purpose. I dashed a few drops of water on my head, too, as a sort of purification, and took the time to go and pour the dregs of wine on to the altar of the Vestal shrine. I am not usually a superstitious man, especially in regard to Roman rituals, preferring my own ancient gods of tree and stone, but this household worried me. If I was to be visiting Roman corpses, I felt, I could do with all the supernatural support that I could get.

I nodded to Junio. ‘You know the way? Then lead me to him.’

The interlinking rooms and passages we passed through were as grand, and as lavishly decorated, as the atrium we had left, and everywhere there was the same disregard both for cost and for artistic restraint. Everything was bigger, heavier, more jewel-encrusted, and more ostentatious than its counterpart in any household I had ever seen. Even a simple gong-stick, hanging on a wall in a short corridor, appeared to be made of ivory, inlaid with gold.

Junio led the way into this corridor. It was a spacious passageway, almost a little lobby, from which three gilded folding doors led off into the rooms beyond and a stout wooden staircase gave access to the floor above.

‘Servants’ quarters,’ Junio said, following my gaze and nodding upwards. ‘And a few store-rooms up there for linen and candles. Nothing much else.’

‘In spite of that grand stairway?’

He grinned. ‘In spite of that grand stairway. That’s where they took me to wait. I contrived to have a peek behind a few doors on my way back to you.’ He gestured towards the nearest entrance. ‘I think Caius Monnius is awaiting you in there.’

I nodded, though I might almost have found my way unassisted, from the pungent smells of funeral oil and herbs already eddying in the smoky air.

I pushed open the door. I found not only Caius Monnius awaiting me, but also half a dozen of the undertaker’s men and women, engaged in preparing the body for its last procession. They had drawn back the folding window shutters while they worked (although they later would be discreetly closed again in deference to the dead) and muted daylight illuminated the room. It was an incongruous place for death, with a painted frieze of grinning satyrs round the walls, and a large bronze statue of a well-endowed Priapus standing in the corner by the door.

The undertakers, however, seemed oblivious. Evidence of their work was everywhere — the water with which the dead man had been ritually washed, the aromatic oils, the first of the sacred herbs and candles already pungently burning in pottery containers at each corner of the bed. A fine funeral bier was being readied, too, to carry the body to lie in state in the atrium when the preliminary rituals were finished. At our arrival, the funeral workers abandoned their tasks and stood obediently aside. Fulvia had evidently been as good as her word.

But it was already too late. I exchanged glances with Junio, who shook his head sympathetically. There was little point in my lingering here. Monnius had been stripped, cleansed and covered with a clean white cloth. His banqueting robes had been carefully folded and laid on one side, with the wilted festive garland on top of the pile. The fresh linen and new boots in which the corpse would be dressed for its final journey were already set out and waiting on the bier. I sighed. Any information that I might have gleaned from examining the body or clothing had long since disappeared under the ministrations of the undertakers.

I made a show of it, however. I inspected the fat neck, where the cruel marks of the silver chain were still clearly visible. Pertinax’s account had clearly been correct.

Someone had twisted the chain tightly from the rear, and the face was horribly contorted. There were bruises around the shoulders, too, as if someone had knelt on him to hold him down, although I could see no other marks on the body.

I walked over to the window-space. It was large — effectively a door — and looked out into the garden: a paved peristyle colonnade, protected by high walls, with a little formal enclosure of plants and flowers in the centre and a painted shrine at the further end, with a ladder still leaning drunkenly against it. The left-hand wall was clearly formed by the back of the famous annexe, but there was no access to the garden from there or even any window overlooking it. This was a private space for Monnius and his wife, though if Annia was excluded there was nothing much to see.