Rosemary Rowe - Requiem for a Slave

‘As a matter of fact, I came by twice before,’ he muttered with an embarrassed grin as if I’d accused him of something untoward. ‘I was hoping to find you.’

‘You haven’t seen anybody else outside my shop this afternoon?’

He thought a moment and then said doubtfully, ‘No one that I can think of, except that red-haired slave of yours. He was here the first time I came — that would have been an hour or two ago.’

‘You are quite sure of that?’

He nodded. ‘Fairly certain. Of course, I wasn’t taking any special notice at the time, and there are always lots of people moving to and fro — street-vendors and messengers and clients for the various businesses — but nobody near your workshop in particular. I would have noticed that, I think, because I was looking out for you. But you weren’t here, of course.’ He did the grin again. ‘I decided to go on into town and come back later on. And when I did come back, I saw the litter and realized there was no point in calling while your customer was here, so I went off round the corner and waited until now. I’m trying to sell these last few turnips so I can go back home.’ He gestured towards the barrow. ‘Very good for soup.’

I shook my head again. ‘I shan’t be buying turnips to take home today,’ I said. ‘There’s been a tragedy. Lucius the pie-seller — do you know the man?’

His round face puckered into a thoughtful frown. ‘I think I know the one. Fellow with an awful burn-mark who only has one eye? Grey-haired chap who sells the dreadful pies?’

‘Used to sell them,’ I corrected. ‘I’m afraid he’s dead. I found him in my workshop. Someone’s murdered him.’

The turnip-seller whistled. ‘Murdered? Well, I’ll go to Dis! Poor old Lucius! He was harmless. Who’d want to murder him?’

‘That is what exactly I am trying to find out.’

He looked at me. ‘Of course, you’re supposed to be clever at this sort of thing. Will you be able to catch whoever did it, do you think?’ He tapped his forefinger against his stubby nose. ‘Oh, now I understand. That’s why you were asking if I’d seen anyone. Well, I will think about it a bit more carefully, and if I remember anything, I’ll be sure to let you know. And, of course, if there’s anything else that I can do to help. .’ He was already turning as if to move away.

I prevented him by saying thoughtfully, ‘Well, in fact, there might be something you can do.’ I saw his startled face. ‘It’s nothing difficult. I want to find his mother and break the news to her. Would you be prepared to stand watch here for me? It doesn’t feel decent to leave the poor man lying there alone, and in any case the military might come to take the corpse. That decurion who was here said he’d ask them to do that. Someone will have to be here to meet them when they come.’ He was looking doubtful, and I added instantly, ‘I’ll give you half a sestertius if you’ll stay here while I go.’

‘Well, I don’t know. I’m not sure that I’m very keen on keeping vigil for a corpse. Particularly a murder victim whom I scarcely knew.’ But he was clearly weakening. Turnip-selling was not a very profitable trade, and a half-sestertius is a handsome bribe. The promise of a silver coin was far too good to miss.

I pressed my advantage. ‘And perhaps I’ll even buy a turnip too. But you must make up your mind. Will you stay here while I go and tell his mother what’s occurred, in case there are arrangements for a funeral? She’s only at the bake-oven, not very far away. But I’ll have to get there quickly, because if I don’t find her very soon, the army will be here and the body will be gone.’

‘And she’ll never have the chance to say goodbye or close the eyes. I know how much my wife would grieve if our son was lying dead and she could not perform those simple services for him. Very well, I’ll do it — to oblige you, citizen. Half a sestertius, I believe you said?’

‘Half a sestertius, when I get back again.’ I didn’t want him running off while I was gone. ‘But, on second thoughts, I don’t think I’ll ask his mother to come and close his eyes. They’re bulging from his head. Someone has pulled a cord around his neck. He doesn’t present a very pleasant spectacle.’

The turnip-seller had that doubtful look again. ‘Well, perhaps you’d better close them yourself before you go. They say that’s where the soul gets in and out — and we don’t want it coming back. I suppose you’ve called his name, and lit a candle at his head and feet?’

Of course, I had done nothing of the kind. ‘I scarcely had the time,’ I said, with more asperity than I really meant. ‘In any case, as far as candles go, I didn’t have the means — someone has blown the lamps and tapers out and let the fire go cold, and I don’t have any tinder in the shop just now. I was going to get some embers from the neighbour’s premises.’

‘Well, I tell you what, citizen,’ the turnip-seller said. ‘You go and get them, and get the candles lit — I’ll stay here while you do it — and then I will stand watch. I wouldn’t want to do it otherwise: you hear how ghosts get restless if the earthly body isn’t treated right, and come back to haunt the place and people where they died. But if you’ve done everything that you could do for him, it would be different. Even if the army put him in a pit, some of the rites will have been properly observed, and there’s less chance of his spirit coming back to haunt.’

I nodded. It was not a nonsensical idea, even if I was not afraid of meeting Lucius’s ghost! I could tell his mother that something had been done, and it might make the ritual cleansing afterwards a less expensive task. Besides, it would give the poor pie-seller a bit of dignity.

‘Very well,’ I conceded. ‘I’ll go inside and get something to put the embers in. While I am about it, I can close the eyes.’

He gave an enthusiastic nod. ‘And call his name three times, the way you’re supposed to do.’ Any minute now he would recommend that I put a coin for the ferryman underneath the tongue, but he did not do that. Instead, he said, to my immense surprise, ‘In fact, while you’re about it, why don’t I come in too? Then you have a witness that you did it properly. And I’ll know exactly where to show the soldiers when they come. Or is the body too horrible to contemplate?’

I realized suddenly what I should have seen before: that he was consumed with curiosity but far too superstitious to go in on his own. Perhaps he was also worried by my description of the corpse. I said, to reassure him, ‘It isn’t pleasant, but imagination often paints things more dreadful than they are.’

He didn’t answer, just nodded brusquely and followed me inside.

I wondered for a moment if he would turn tail. The body looked more gruesome than I’d remembered it, and the smell of greasy pies, mingled with stale sweat and body wastes, seemed to be even more pungent than before. But the turnip-seller seemed less affected than I thought that he would be.

‘You are quite right, citizen,’ he said cheerfully. ‘You see worse sights beside the roads — executed criminals and that sort of thing. This is much less horrible than what they do to highway thieves.’

I nodded. Crucifixion is an awful death, though it didn’t seem to deter the rebels in the forest very much. The Romans did their best. Those few bandits who were rounded up and convicted of their crimes were strung up in prominent positions by the road, so that their tortured bodies would be a grim warning to the rest. Lucius, by comparison, had died a speedy death.

I went over to the body, and Radixrapum followed me.

‘Obviously strangled, as you say, citizen,’ he said, examining the bloody neck with curiosity. ‘But no sign of the cord. You don’t suppose he might have hanged himself? Someone might have cut him down and brought him here, perhaps? Your young servant could have done it and then gone to seek for help.’