Dark Omens

by Rosemary Rowe

  I nodded. My own wife, Gwellia, would have felt the same. ‘I’ll follow at a distance,’ I told him, and I did. It was only yesterday that I’d been here last, but already the farm was looking less forlorn. The milder weather had allowed the stock to come outside and I could see half a dozen hungry-looking sheep cropping the thin grass in the nearer field, and there was a thin goat tied up in the corner of the yard, while a few bedraggled geese and chickens pecked among the flags. The barn door was half-open as I passed, and when I looked inside I could see the slave mute inside, forking straw about, and there was feed stuff in the manger baskets on the wall. Cantalarius had clearly put my aureus to use.

  The slave looked up and saw me and waved a clumsy hand, making a sort of formless roar I took to mean, ‘Hello.’

  I shouted ‘Greetings!’ and went on to the house, though the mean-faced mongrel bared its ugly teeth at me and growled. It was tied up to a post beside the empty shrine and it could not reach me, so I did not greatly care.

  Cantalarius came bustling out as I approached, bearing two stools and a pitcher full of wine. ‘Sit down for a moment. My wife will soon be here. She says she has some flatbread baking on the fire and we have some soft-curd cheese that we can offer you.’

  ‘You are very kind,’ I muttered, though I was not keen. I have eaten that kind of home-made cheese before – thin and sour, like scarcely curdled whey. I’d come to prefer the firmer kind the Romans liked – Gwellia had learned to make it when she was a slave. It involved a lot of arcane processes – straining, rinsing, pressing, drying and the gods know what – but it was well worth the effort and she was proud of it. I couldn’t imagine that Gitta would make a cheese like that.

  I was right. When a moment later she came hurrying out, in a clean green tunic which she’d clearly just put on, she was carrying a pan with runny curds in it, and a bowl containing a steaming hunk of bread. She too was looking better than she had done yesterday: her face was more composed, the wild hair drawn back in a tidy plait, and the simple cut and colour of her robe showed off her tall form and her shapely legs. I could see why Cantalarius was so attached to her.

  She set the foodstuffs down beside us on the ground. ‘I’ll fetch a knife and bowls for you,’ she said. ‘And a pair of goblets so you can drink the wine.’ She gave me a doubtful smile. ‘Cantalarius tells me that you have a proposition to discuss and that you want to hire the mule again? I gather it was useful to you yesterday.’

  ‘Indispensable,’ I told her heartily. ‘You knew that I was searching for a missing councillor? Well he was found this morning, or half of him was at least.’

  I had said it in the hope of provoking some response, but I could have not guessed how effective it would be. She dropped the spoon that she was holding and made a dash at me, pummelling my chest and arms with both her fists. ‘How dare you, citizen! You can’t come blaming Cantalarius for that one, too! He hasn’t left the farm since you came here yesterday – except to buy some hay and foodstuffs from a trader at the gate. He’s been here with me and Sordinus all the time.’ Every syllable was punctuated by a blow, each strong enough to bruise.

  I caught her hands and held them, though she tried to struggle free. She was quite athletic and I had to hold her hard, putting one arm around her waist to pinion her, while she attempted to continue her attack. I was quite breathless with the effort, but I contrived to say over my shoulder, to Cantalarius, ‘So after all you did not pay the money-lender back?’

  Gitta stopped struggling suddenly, and whirled her head around to glower at her spouse. ‘What money-lender, husband? You didn’t mention that! Dear gods, don’t tell me that we are still in debt!’

  He shook his head. ‘Gitta, be silent. It is not what it sounds. I will explain it later.’

  I had a sudden surge of confidence. ‘You will explain it now! I don’t believe you got that money from a lender after all. I think you may have got it from the body of the priest. What did Gitta mean by what she said just now – that I couldn’t come here blaming you for the other death “as well”? You know more about that sacerdos than you are telling me. What happened? Did you go back to the temple after dusk? I hear they found a ladder by the sacred grove – was that because you’d used it to climb across the wall?’

  Gitta had started struggling again. ‘You can’t prove anything!’ she spat through gritted teeth. ‘There was nobody about. They were all at the evening sacrifice by then – he told me that no one could possibly have seen him climbing in.’

  ‘Gitta!’ Cantalarius’s voice was hollow with despair. ‘When will you ever learn to hold your tongue? Don’t you realize what your foolish words have done? You might as well have told him outright that I went back to see the priest!’

  I forced her hands a little further up her back and she let out a squeal. ‘To kill him?’ I enquired. ‘Tell me, or you can see what I will do!’ In fact I think he guessed that I would never injure her – and if anybody was in danger, it was very likely me. I said quickly, ‘And I shouldn’t plan to murder me as well, if I were you. My patron knows I came here, to return the mule, so if I go missing he’ll know who to blame – and you know what kind of penalty you’d be facing then. Bad enough that you have killed a priest. That is what you went back for, that evening, I presume?’

  The farmer let out a helpless little moan. ‘Of course I didn’t, citizen. What help would that have been? I didn’t want a dead priest, but a living one. I went back to confront him for a final time, that’s all – one last attempt at persuading him to come.’

  ‘But I thought he had agreed …’ I began, then shook my head. ‘But of course he hadn’t really. Go on with your tale. Your wife – as you say – has implicated you, and you have acknowledged the truth of what she said. That is quite enough for me to call the guard and have you formally arraigned before the courts, but I’m prepared to hear your version of events.’ It was mere bravado. From where I was at present, I’d be lucky to escape if I made the least attempt to go and summon the authorities.

  But Cantalarius seemed quite willing to go on. ‘When I went to talk to him that afternoon – took him that image of the god and everything – I thought that he was ready to agree to come. But at the last moment he seemed to change his mind. He said that I would need to bring him twice as much in gold, and then perhaps he would consider it. He was actually laughing when he said the words. I was so furious that I tried to take my offerings back – but he prevented me. Said they were donations to the gods and if I tried to take them, he would call the guard. I don’t know if you’ve seen the temple-slaves at all, but some of them are huge.’

  I nodded. ‘And immensely strong, as I have cause to know.’

  He shrugged. ‘In that case you can see how hopeless it would be for a hunchback like myself to try to tackle one, if they came to throw me out. I tried to reason with him, but he only laughed at me and in the end I had to give it up. I went back to the market where I had left the mules – and found there was a little hay and straw for sale, enough to save my livestock, if I only had the money with which to purchase it. But of course I hadn’t; I had given it away to that confounded priest. Well, I was determined that I would get it back. I told the vendor to await me at the southern gate and keep some hay for me. He promised that he would. That left me with the problem of getting to the priest. I knew that the temple would be closed by then – they would all be busy with the evening sacrifice, except the slaves on duty at the portico – so I tried to find some other way of getting in.’

  ‘The sacred grove, of course! Outside the temple proper, but still inside the grounds. And there was a building site not far away,’ I said. ‘With a convenient ladder as I said before? And you used that to go across the wall?’

  ‘Don’t tell him, husband!’ Gitta twisted round and tried to dig her teeth into my arm, and I had to restrain more vigorously again.

  Cantalarius heaved a heavy sigh. ‘He seems to know about it anyway! And he is right, of course. One of thos
e simple ladders – just a single piece of wood with steps lashed across it, but it was perfect for the task, because it had a weighted rope attached. I could throw it up and make it safe against the wall, then pull the ladder over after me and climb down safely on the other side. My first intention was to try and find his private room – where I had gone to see him earlier in the day – and wait for him to come back from the sacrifice. But then I saw him standing at the window of his cell, or at least I thought I did – praying to Fortuna and the moon.’

  I nodded. ‘One of the temple-slaves observed him too.’

  This caused a bitter laugh from Cantalarius. ‘Only, of course, it wasn’t him at all. That was the thing that made me angriest. I recognized the right room when I got inside, and managed to reach it without being seen. In fact, I was surprised that there was nobody about. No one expects intruders in a temple complex, I suppose – especially not in the dormitory area. In any case, I found the door with ease. I even tiptoed in – I did not want to disturb him at his prayers. And what did I discover? He was sitting on the bed, counting money into little piles. He had put that image in the window space, put his cloak and hood on it and stood it where only the outline would be seen – so that people would think that he was worshipping the moon. He was worshipping the money! That’s what angered me. He’d cheated me of everything, and he was a fraud!’

  ‘So that is why you killed him!’ I prompted, helpfully.

  ‘I tell you that I didn’t!’ He half-rose and bellowed, and for a frightened moment I thought he’d lunge for me, but he sat down again and added ruefully: ‘I admit that for a moment I was afraid I had. When he looked up and saw me, it gave him such a fright that he gave a gasp and clutched his chest, rolled his eyes back and tumbled off the bed. I was convinced that I had frightened him to death.’

  ‘And had you?’

  ‘Of course he hadn’t!’ Gitta’s voice was shrill. ‘He’d fainted, that was all. If my precious husband only had the wit to leave him there and run away, that would probably have been the end of it. But that was too simple! Once he found the man was breathing, he had a new idea. He would bring him to the farm and make him perform the atoning sacrifice before we let him go. After all, we’d more than paid for it, he said.’

  I looked at her husband, who was sitting with his head between his hands. ‘Is that true?’ I asked him.

  ‘It’s not as idiotic as she makes it sound,’ he grumbled. ‘The priest knew who I was in any case – if I had run away and left him, you can imagine what he’d do. Claim that I’d come to rob him, at the very least – that would be a charge of sacrilege – and you know the dreadful punishments for that!’

  ‘And you didn’t rob him?’ I said sarcastically. ‘I thought that’s where you got that money which I saw in your purse.’

  ‘I only took exactly what I had given him. And I even left the jewels that had been the statue’s eyes – can you believe that he’d extracted them? From the image of a god! And he a priest as well! The man had no respect whatever for the deities. And I couldn’t bear to see it standing where he should have stood himself – I took it down and laid it on the floor beside the bed. I expect they’ll find it, if they look for it.’

  I nodded. I was beginning to have some sympathy with this unhappy tale. ‘So then what happened? You took him to the ladder and across the wall? And no one saw you? That sounds difficult.’

  He shook his head. ‘He was so thin and frail that he was feather-light. Less than a full-grown ram in any case, and he wasn’t struggling. I could have carried him one-handed, if I’d tried. I put him round my shoulders as if he were a sheep, climbed over and pulled the ladder after me. I didn’t even stop to put it back, just went to where I’d left the mules tied up, put the priest’s body on the frame that I’d used to bring the image into town, covered him with the blanket that I’d wrapped it in and rode back to the farm. Several people saw me, but it occasioned no remark – no one thinks twice about a farmer with a loaded mule, and in any case it was getting dark by then. I even found the trader at the southern gate and managed to buy a little hay from him – just a sheaf or two that I could tie on top. I suppose it made me even less remarkable.’

  ‘So when you got here, he was still alive?’ I said, incredulous.

  Gitta let out a long, despairing wail. ‘If only that were true! I told him it was stupid. A frail old man like that! And after having given him a dreadful shock as well!’ All the struggle had gone out of her, and suddenly her frame was racked with sobs. ‘So there you are! You know now! I told you we were cursed!’

  I let her hands go, and she raised them to her face, covering her eyes and the tears that flowed from them. ‘But I don’t know,’ I said gently. ‘I understand that he was dead when he arrived – but not how he contrived to be discovered in that pond. Nor how half of him was missing by that time. I don’t believe in demons. I presume you put him there?’

  Cantalarius had lumbered to his feet. ‘Citizen, I’ll tell you, but first I need a drink.’ He picked up the pitcher and brandished it at me. ‘Would you care to join me? I will get a beaker each. Stay, wife!’ he added, as she broke away from me – but he was too late and she had already wriggled free.

  She was flushed and weeping and utterly distraught – what I have heard physicians call ‘hysterical’, though I am not convinced it is an affliction of the womb. At all events she was disturbed enough to stamp her feet and shout. ‘I’ll tell him, husband! What does it matter now! We shall both be executed anyway, for the illegal abduction of a priest! They can’t do any more to us for bleeding him and trying to use his blood as sacrifice.’

  I looked at Cantalarius. He put the pitcher down and came across to take her in his arms. She was red-faced and ugly with distress, but he looked at her as tenderly as if she were his bride. ‘It was my fault, citizen. She thought of the idea – what blood could be more pleasing to the gods than priestly blood? – but she’d never have put it into practice but for me. And we did try to give him a decent funeral – in fact you almost interrupted it …’

  ‘The pyre!’ I said. ‘How simple! Why, of course! And then, of course, you said it was a slave!’

  He nodded. ‘I wondered if you’d notice that our last slave was still alive, but you did not question it. We had lost several others and we had kept the pyre alight – so adding him to it seemed an obvious thing to do, a kind of burnt offering even, to appease the deities. We even washed the body and treated it with herbs – and that’s when we discovered the final insult to the gods! You know the fellow should not have been a priest at all? A priest must be physically perfect in all respects, of course – is that not always a prerequisite?’

  ‘No limp; no impediment of hearing, speech or sight; and no physical or mental deformity,’ I quoted, in assent.

  ‘Only he had a birthmark, across both his upper thighs. A great big purple birthmark, bigger than my hand. Someone must have bribed the temple priests when he was young, for them to have accepted him at all.’

  ‘Surely it is possible that it developed afterwards?’ I said. ‘These things do happen sometimes, I believe. And priests can go on acting when they are frail and old – after all, apart from the Servirs of the Imperial cult, a priesthood of the Roman deities is generally for life.’

  He shook his head. ‘I know a birthmark when I see one. I should do; I was born with one myself. And it was always held to be a sign of judgement from the gods – an indication that I was born unworthy and unclean – like this crooked shoulder that I bear. How could I offer that to purify my land? I cut off the offending limbs, and wrapped them in his priestly robes and took him to the pond next morning before light. I knew the place where the other corpse was found – perhaps that’s what gave me the idea – and we put him where the ice had already been disturbed. I knew that someone would soon discover him – I thought perhaps that would prevent a further search and people would simply think that he’d been gnawed by wolves. The last one had been, so I understand.
But I reckoned without your involvement, citizen.’

  There was nothing much that I could say to that. ‘So that is why the temple was so sure that it was him! They must have known about the birthmark too – but of course they couldn’t say so publicly. No doubt that’s also why they held the funeral so soon and privately. And, judging by the fact that you had put him on the pyre – or the part of him that you were offering to the gods – very shortly before I got here with my slave, both halves were cremated not very far apart. I see now why your wife was so upset when we interrupted that – especially when we talked about a missing man. Where have you put the ashes?’

  He let go of sobbing Gitta to wave a hairy hand. ‘You are looking at them, citizen. We put them on the land. Isn’t that the way to use a cleansing sacrifice? But there you are. We meant no disrespect. For one wild moment, we thought you might be right – the sacrifice we’d offered had removed the curse – but of course I realize now that it was quite the opposite. Though I have to tell you, citizen, this has been a relief. I have not slept a moment since I found that he was dead. In fact I tried to tell you once before – but you misinterpreted. I’d said that I’d been tempted in the marketplace …’

  ‘I thought you meant the money-lenders!’ I said, remembering.

  He nodded. ‘Precisely, citizen. But now you know the truth. So what, exactly, do you mean to do with us? I am unimportant – I am ruined anyway. But after all, perhaps you could contrive to save my wife? She was going to leave me, because she thought me cursed – poor creature, it turns out that she was right. Could you let her get away and go back to her home? Then it doesn’t matter what becomes of me.’

  Perhaps it was that plea that made up my mind for me. Or perhaps it was Gitta sobbing as she clung to him. ‘Husband, don’t say that. It’s my foolish tongue again. I should not have threatened that I was going to leave. How could I know that you would take it so to heart? You’re old and you’re ugly, but you’ve been good to me. How could I let you make a sacrifice like that?’