Rosemary Rowe: A Pattern of Blood

‘I should join it now,’ Marcus said, but he did not go. In the courtyard, Lupus joined the procession, forlornly alone, and then members of the curia were carried out in litters, one by one. The front of the cortege, surrounded by lights and laments, had already made its way into the street and had disappeared from sight.

Marcus went to the door, and then turned back. ‘And the blow to Rollo’s neck and stomach?’ he asked.

‘There was no blow, Excellence. I understood that tonight, as we stood by that kiln with the body of the soothsayer. Sollers wanted us to concentrate on when she died, not how. He talked about the marking on her body where the weight had been — it looked like bruising, he said. And then I knew for sure. The marks on Rollo’s body were similar. We would never have thought of violence if Sollers had not suggested it. Everything suggested poisoning. But because he was a medicus, we accepted his opinion. Of course, he agreed it could be poison. Naturally, since he administered it himself.’

‘I still don’t understand why he wanted to poison you.’

I smiled. ‘You told Julia that I was skilled at solving mysteries, and she told Sollers. He was afraid of my powers of deduction. Sollers and I are in many ways alike. He feared that I had found him out, I think — although at the time, I had no suspicion.’

Again he turned away, and again turned back. ‘And the soothsayer? How did you know that she was dead?’

‘I fear, Excellence, that I knew no such thing. I thought I could reach her before Sollers did. She would have testified for Maximilian, of course, and then all Sollers’s careful calculations would have failed. But I was too late. He had been there already.’

‘But she died of a fever, surely?’

‘I doubt it, Excellence. She had a fever, certainly — she was too ill to prophesy for Maximilian last time he went to her — but I imagine Sollers helped her on her way. Gave her poison, probably, pretending it was a cure. I saw a broken phial at the kiln. Poor woman, she does not seem to have foreseen her fate. Her predictions were wrong on every count. Flavius was to be reunited with Julia, Julia was to remarry happily, Sollers was to find another woman and Maximilian and Quintus reconcile. Not an impressive catalogue.’

The slaves from the courtyard, and their lights, were swelling the numbers now. We could still hear the front of the procession, the percussion driving away evil spirits, right out to the gates of the town.

Marcus looked at me sharply. ‘Who was this soothsayer?’

‘Beyond that she was a beggar who lived in a kiln? I don’t know.’

‘I wondered why Maximilian consulted her. She seems an odd choice for a decurion’s son. You do not think there was a reason for it?’

‘Because she had lost her looks to warts and to the pox? Her story may have reminded him of his mother. There seems little else to recommend her.’

‘You do not think she was his mother?’

‘He was too old for that. In any case, Quintus kept his ex-wife in fair comfort, even after he put her away. Maximilian seems to have known his mother a little — he and Quintus quarrelled when she died. Besides, don’t you think Lupus might have told us that? She was the mother of his son. I do not think he would leave her in a kiln to starve.’

‘No.’ Marcus looked at his hands. ‘Well, if I am to make this funeral oration, I had better go. Julia has arranged a litter for me. It will be waiting. I have made my ritual ablutions already. Are you coming with me?’

I shook my head. ‘I have a scratched face and a torn toga. It would be disrespectful now. Besides, I never did know Quintus alive. No, I shall follow Rollo’s bier. They will be coming for him shortly. But I have need of money, Excellence. I spent my last as buying information this morning.’

‘Dear Mercury, why did you not say so earlier?’ He fished in his purse and tossed me two silver coins. ‘You had better buy yourself a meal, in case the slaves’ guild doesn’t provide one. You can hardly present yourself at Quintus’s feast if you did not attend the burial. Well, I shall see you later.’

I watched him go. Two denarii, that was generous. Enough to have my toga cleaned and mended. Not tonight; the fuller’s would be closed. I should have to attend Rollo’s funeral as I was.

But Marcus was right about one thing. Junio was being fed at this moment, together with the slaves who were to serve the feast — audible hunger from the servants is frowned on at a celebration. I, on the other hand, had not eaten since this morning. I would go to Rollo’s funeral, but first I was going into the town to buy myself a plate of steaming stew — tripes, turnips, antlers, eyeballs and all.

Rollo’s was a simple funeral. The guild had provided mourners and a drum player, and Julia had given permission for the two slaves who had worked with the page most closely to attend this ritual, instead of joining the procession for Quintus or staying home to prepare the funeral feast. And Junio came with me, so the page was not altogether unlamented.

There were four bodies altogether. In a town the size of Corinium there are always some deaths among the slave population. We were the third house, so by the time we entered the street there must have been a dozen followers altogether. The bodies were carried out on stretchers and placed on wooden biers — clumsily carved and heavy, but more gilded and ornate than Quintus’s own. It had come on to drizzle again.

The guild had built a pyre, a long way outside the town — necessarily, since proximity to the gates is a sign of status. The bodies were laid upon it, with decent reverence, and the grave gifts offered to the gods, though I noted that the litters were carefully retained. There was a flowery speech by one of the guild members, about the qualities of a good servant, and then the priest — an old man, inclined to ramble and probably cheap — but a genuine priest all the same — made the offerings and lit the pyre. They had put fat on it to make it burn, and it did so fiercely.

The drummer entertained us while the flames burned down, and then the remains were sprinkled with wine and water — rather an indecent quantity of water, I thought. The ashes were collected into urns, and buried before they were fairly cool. The neck of each amphora was left above the earth, so that the guild could feed the spirits of the dead.

It would have been difficult, I thought, to work out quite which bit of ash was which, but we made our offering in front of what I thought was mostly Rollo and I went dispiritedly home. The guild had provided a supper, but it appeared that there was to be only one dish, stewed river eels and barley, which I have never liked. Even then it would be accompanied by fish pickle — probably the cheap variety, at that, made from jellyfish instead of anchovies, but tasting just as dreadful. As the only Roman citizen present, I felt I could decently forgo the pleasure, especially since I was already beginning to regret my turnips.

The house was almost empty when we returned; there were only a few servants setting up lamps and couches for the expected feast. I borrowed a taper and, leaving Junio in my room, went up to the attics to see Sollers.

I was glad I had my candle, because he was sitting in the dark. He had managed to take his boot off, despite his bound hands, and his foot — in the flickering light — looked sadly swollen. He looked at me in silence for a moment.

‘What brings you here? A desire to mock me?’

‘Mock you, no. But I would like to hear, from your own lips, what it was that made you do it. A man with such skill and intellect. You did not need to stoop to this. Surely, it can’t have been for money.’