Rosemary Rowe - Death at Pompeia

He must have decided that it was safe to let me in. His face relaxed and he was almost friendly as he said, ‘I shouldn’t worry about the customs, citizen. There isn’t much to do except stand and watch, then eat. And it’s likely to be a good feast too, judging by the other wedding that took place in this house.’

‘Then I hope for your sake that the guests are not too hungry — or for that matter the gods.’ Leftovers from important feasts were always offered to the household deities, in addition to the normal evening sacrifice, but anything remaining on the altar the next day was generally shared between the household slaves. I grinned at him. ‘Though I hear the last marriage did not work out very well — let us hope this new one is far happier.’

He gave me a wary smile. Most guests, I realized, would not stop to stand and gossip with the doorman in this way. He leaned forward, confidentially. ‘I hope so too, for Pompeia’s sake — even though her bridegroom is almost twice her age. She didn’t even choose him, her father did all that. Mind, she’s so plain, poor thing, no doubt she is glad of anyone at all — and her father’s so restrictive she hardly leaves the house! I tell you, citizen, if I were Pompeia, I’d marry the one-eyed beast of Hell himself if it would earn my freedom from Honorius! Though, of course, I’m just a slave, and I’m talking out of turn.’ He had bent so close towards me I thought for a moment he would clap me on the arm.

I took advantage of his friendliness to say, ‘Then there’s something else that you can tell me, friend. A guest called Antoninus is expected, I believe. Can you tell me if he’s already here?’

This simple enquiry had an unexpected effect. He took a step backwards, and abruptly changed his tone. ‘Almost all the other guests are here already, citizen. Only two more are expected — I see their litter now. So, if you’ll excuse me, I can’t stand here chattering. I should call an attendant and have them show you in.’

I looked over my shoulder in the direction of the street. Sure enough a double litter had drawn up just outside and a sour-faced merchant and his wife were being assisted to clamber out of it. I knew them slightly. They were very rich and dealt in the expensive wines which Marcus sometimes bought, and they were already looking disapproving at the sight of me. They turned their backs and made a show of paying off the litter. I was equally anxious not to talk to them — or to be ushered in with them. If they learned that I had been asking after Antoninus, they would make a point of telling him, and put him on his guard.

I turned back to the doorman urgently. ‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘I’d better go inside.’ I slid him a half-sestersius as I spoke. Marcus had advised me that I should tip the staff, though of course he had made no provision for my doing so, and my humble offering was out of my own purse. Too humble, it appeared. The doorkeeper looked unimpressed.

However, he did his duty — all cool politeness now. ‘Give me that cloak you’re carrying, citizen. And I’ll take your offering for the bride as well. The bridegroom and his procession will be here very soon.’

I gave him the cloak, which had been folded on my arm, but did not relinquish the solid silver plate. If anyone was going to hand over such a splendid gift, I would have the pleasure of doing it myself.

The doorman shrugged and put the cloak into an anteroom — a sort of little cubbyhole where waiting slaves could sit. There were several cloaks already, draped across a stool, but I would have no trouble locating mine again. It was the shabby one.

‘I’m sorry citizen. There are no house-slaves about. I’ll have to summon one.’ He struck a little hanging gong beside him as he spoke. ‘The pages are all busy, by the looks of it. Wait for a moment till these other guests are here, and I’ll find an attendant for all three of you.’

I shook my head. ‘I know my way about. I’ve walked unescorted in this house before.’

That impressed him, I could see. Not many people are accorded such an intimate privilege. I did not tell him of the circumstance — that I’d been laying the mosaic in this very entrance way.

I gave him a bright smile. ‘I’ll go straight along this passage to the atrium. There are certain to be several servants waiting there, in that big vestibule beside the door, in case they’re needed to attend to guests. One of them can show me in.’ I saw his startled look. ‘I know it isn’t usual,’ I added wickedly, ‘but I’m certain that even your master would approve. I’m representing Marcus Septimus, after all, and I’m sure he would be given the freedom of the house. Besides, you don’t want to upset that wealthy wine merchant and his wife — they won’t want to be seen walking in with me. You must have noticed the look they gave me when they saw me here.’

He glanced at me uncertainly, ‘Well, citizen, if you are sure. There’s certain to be someone outside the atrium, as you say. They will take care of you.’ He turned his back and went to greet the newcomers.

So I didn’t even have an escort as I walked into the house. I strolled along the passage, clutching my present like a talisman, and wishing — not for the first time — that I had my son Junio with me. He had been married only recently, himself. That had been a simple wedding, with just the family there. I wondered what he would think about all this.

‘All this’ was evident on every side of me. The door to the nearby triclinium was ajar, and I could see a low central table lit with scented oil lamps and festooned with flowers, though the perfume was more than half-obscured by delicious aromas from the kitchens, which must be somewhere through the door down the little passage leading to my left. From immediately ahead of me, behind the screen door to the atrium, a hum of muted conversation reached my ears — no laughter or raised voices, merely that formal murmuring that Romans think polite on ceremonial occasions before the feasting starts. But though I looked up and down the vestibule, and even down the corridor that led off to the rear, there was no sign of an attendant anywhere.

I peered around the screen door, which was ajar. It was much as I expected. I could see the splendid togas of the most important guests — a score of them at least — ranged not only around the corners of the room, but through the back into the courtyard garden which Honorius had carefully installed, at great expense, in imitation of a country house.

Against the far wall, I could see the preliminaries for a feast set out: tables crammed with dates and fruit and little sweetened cakes, and jugs and craters full of wine, but nobody was eating or drinking them as yet. Beside it, the household altar had been adorned with boughs of scented blossom round the base, while on the shelf above were the childhood toys which the bride would have ritually given to the gods the day before, together with her girlhood clothing. A fire was burning on the Vestal hearth, and at last I saw the slaves — moving through the crowd of younger men and handing out festive wreaths and sprigs of marjoram. Which of the guests was Antoninus I did not yet know.

By leaning further forward could I glimpse the womenfolk. There were fewer of them, but they were just as fine — decked out in tunics and stolas of the finest cloth, their arms, necks, ears and ankles hung with jewellery. They were clustered round a temporary dais set against the wall on which three women were enthroned on stools. This was the bridal party, that was clear. I craned a little more to get a better look — Gwellia would want to hear the details of all this.

Seated nearest to the entrance was the eldest of the group, a tall thin woman of advancing years. Her hair was dyed elaborately black and her skin was unnaturally white with powdered chalk, although — together with the wine lees tinting on her cheeks — this only emphasized her wrinkles and the gauntness of her face. This was the redoubtable grandmother, I guessed, as she surveyed the room with a disdainful air and brushed imagined creases from her golden robe.