A Coin for the Ferryman

by Rosemary Rowe

  I could feel the eyes of the whole room fixed on us, but Lucius managed to look simply pained. ‘Kill Aulus? This is monstrous, cousin. Have the man locked up. Something has obviously afflicted his brain. How could I kill Aulus? Especially poison him? All the provisions in the house are yours. You know I have brought nothing of that kind of my own.’

  ‘Not even the little flasks in your lararium?’ I said – and knew from the way he paled that I was right. ‘I should have thought of it when I first saw you pouring liquid on the altar fire. You said yourself the offering would have no force unless you provided the wherewithal for it. And yet you were using a jug of Marcus’s when I arrived at first – though you contrived to break it, so no one could discover what it had contained, and what you were trying to dispose of on the flames.’

  He had recovered now. ‘Cousin, you provided me with a jug of Rhenish when I went to bed. So it was my wine I offered, for all practical purposes.’ He looked around the assembled diners for support, like an advocate in court. He knew he’d scored a point.

  ‘But this was not that jug,’ I muttered doggedly. ‘You expressly told Colaphus not to bring you that – so I imagine we will still find it in your sleeping room if we look. This was a big, coarse drinking jug of the kind the servants use, just like the one they sent me with the funeral wine today. I say that the one you broke was used for Aulus’s lunch. No doubt the kitchens can confirm it – the pieces will be lying in the rubbish pile somewhere. Nor do I believe that there was only wine in it.’

  ‘This is quite scandalous. You have no proof of that.’ But he was breathing hard and that telltale pink was round his nose again – a sign that he felt guilty, as I now realised, or was about to be discovered in a lie.

  I pressed my advantage. ‘And you knew that he was dead. I was half aware that something was peculiar at the time. There was a little niggle worrying at my brain, and now I realise what it was. The whole time he was missing you spoke of him in the past, as though you were certain that he wasn’t coming back. And when I told you that I’d found him, you guessed that he was dead before I’d had the chance to tell you that he was.’

  Lucius was clearly shaken but he kept his calm. ‘Cousin, are you going to listen to this burbling all night? The man is a menace – I have told you that before.’

  I saw Marcus hesitate and glance towards the burly slaves beside the wall. I burst out to Lucius – before he quite convinced his cousin to have me hustled off – ‘So you deny that you killed Aulus? And that you had Marcus’s messenger waylaid and killed, so that the clever mimic you hired could take his place for you?’

  Lucius sat down again, the picture of contempt. ‘And why should I do that?’

  ‘So that you could arrange for your cousin to stay with your relative, instead of visiting the governor’s palace as he planned? I’m still not certain why you wanted that. I think it must be so that you could poison him as well – and possibly his little family too.’

  The Roman had turned as white as linen by this time, but he still contrived to sneer. ‘And no one would have noticed? Come, be rational!’

  ‘I think you’d planned to blame it on the snakes – no one could ask questions if vipers had got loose, especially in the narrow confines of a ship. Why else were you so anxious to employ the snake-charmer? Everyone said the act was very poor. But of course that didn’t matter – that was not the point. You had already made arrangements with him for an “accident” – no doubt offered to pay him very well. But then you discovered that our vipers here don’t have the venom to finish off a man – thanks to the intervention of my wife. Is that why you wrote a letter to that house tonight?’

  I paused. It was the officer who made the point for me. ‘Be careful how you answer – we have stopped the messenger. The letter will be returned tomorrow to your cousin here – quite properly, since it was travelling under his private seal.’

  Marcus was looking at his cousin in dismay. ‘But why? For money? It would come to you, I suppose, once my poor father died, if my heir and I were conveniently disposed of in this way. My mother would inherit, and you’d be her guardian, since you would be the nearest agnate male. But I can’t believe it of you.’

  There was a shrug of the patrician shoulders as Lucius replied. He had the Roman gift of stoicism, which they so admire. ‘Then don’t believe it, cousin. Of course it isn’t true. Did you ever hear such a confection of lies in all your life? Do you seriously believe that I would go out to the gate and get Pulchrus to write that little note to you just so that I could have it sent back to you later on, to convince you that Puchrus had arrived in Londinium safe and sound?’

  Marcus looked sorrowfully at me and shook his head. ‘I agree! It is preposterous. For once, Libertus . . .’

  But I interrupted. ‘What little note was that?’

  Marcus frowned, impatient. ‘A note to say Pulchrus had ridden on ahead, to arrange accommodation for the party in advance. It was in his handwriting – I knew the script at once. Of course, now you draw my attention to the fact, the words are rather ambiguous, I agree, and could just as easily have been written here. But, Libertus, why on earth should you imagine that? Why would Pulchrus write a letter while still outside the house?’

  ‘Because he’d had new orders – and he would not deviate from your instructions without informing you. I think that Lucius persuaded him to write the note to you by telling him that you were busy at the time. I think it’s possible that he dictated it – then sent it on to Londonium to be sent back to you.’

  Marcus shook his head. ‘The messenger was quite certain who had given it to him.’

  ‘A man in Pulchrus’s uniform who behaved like Pulchrus. That mimic was obviously very good indeed,’ I said. ‘But, patron, think of this. How did Lucius come to know about that note at all – or that it was Pulchrus who had written it? As I understand it, it was delivered to you in the town, and the commander here was with you when you broke the seal. Just as you broke the seal of your mother’s letter from Rome, which brought the news about your father’s death. Yet Lucius knew about the contents of that, too, by the time you got home.’

  ‘The messenger told me verbally, of course.’ Lucius was still defiant even now.

  ‘But Niveus and I saw you opening a seal.’ That was Atalanta, waiting with her lyre. Like many wealthy Romans, I think that Lucius had half forgotten she were there, or that slave girls were endowed with working eyes and ears. ‘Craving your indulgence, master, but I thought you ought to know.’ She turned back to Lucius. ‘And I saw you talking to Aulus afterwards – in the slaves’ waiting room where he was eating lunch. You told him he could finish the wine that you’d begun, because you didn’t care for Rhenish. I saw you pour it out.’

  ‘Along with a little something from your lararium flask, perhaps,’ I said. ‘Or do you still deny it, citizen?’

  Lucius was defeated but he faced me with a smile. ‘Of course I still deny it. I will prove it, too. Slave!’ He motioned to his bodyguard who was standing close to him, staring as though he’d been turned to stone. ‘Go to my sleeping room and fetch the travelling box. I will show you that there is no poison in any of my flasks.’

  ‘Go with him, Atalanta,’ Marcus said. ‘Make sure he brings it. And the rest of you – please go back to your seats.’ Most of the dining guests had risen to their feet and were clustered in a startled group against the farther wall, shocked as statues and very near as pale.

  There was a lot of hurried whispering, but one or two obeyed, and others were beginning to follow suit when Atalanta and the bodyguard reappeared. Colaphus held the lararium, which he carried to the front and laid before Lucius on the table-top.

  ‘You still doubt me, cousin?’ Lucius exclaimed. ‘I’ll soon prove who is the liar here.’ He took the box, produced a key and slowly opened it. I felt the crowd lean forward in their seats, and heard the gasps of admiration at the craftsmanship. Lucius took out the silver flasks – the whole array of them – and
poured the contents with a flourish into his drinking cup. Then, rising to his feet, he raised the cup to me, rather as Marcus had done when I came into the room.

  There was a titter of amusement around the room at this.

  I felt extremely foolish. Was I mistaken after all?

  ‘Your good health, citizen. I drink to you, and to your imaginative tales!’ He met my eyes, and in that moment I knew what he had done. I might have stopped him, but I let him drink.

  It was several seconds before it took effect.

  The death of a dignitary at a memorial feast is not usually the signal for a lightening of mood, but strangely tonight that seemed to be the case. I found I was surrounded by cheering citizens, clapping me on my shoulders and congratulating me. I felt like a victorious net-man being applauded at the games – as if I had entrapped my victim in my web and brought him to his knees, and he’d escaped dishonour by falling on his sword. Perhaps, indeed, that was exactly what I’d done.

  Someone was pressing a cup of wine on me – it wasn’t Lucius’s, I made sure of that – and others were leading me towards a dining couch. I sank down on it and permitted slaves to take my sandals off and bestow the luxury of washing both my feet. Then it was my patron who was bending over me, personally placing the dining wreath upon my balding head.

  ‘Libertus! I applaud you. You must sit at my right hand.’ He gestured towards the table where Lucius had sat, and from where his lifeless body was now being hauled away in an ignominious fashion by a pair of slaves. They were treating him as parricides and traitors are traditionally treated – dragged backwards by his heels so that his head bounced on the mosaics as he went, while his proud toga rucked up round his armpits and exposed his spindly legs and leather loinstrap to public ridicule.

  I was reluctant, but he led me to the place, then rose and addressed the assembled company. I noticed that the commander was now reclining at the back and that Junio had come in and joined him there.

  ‘Citizens, councillors, friends.’ Marcus was shaken but he was a Roman through and through, and knew how to disguise his shock with dignity. ‘You were invited here tonight in honour of my respected father – but one of our number has disgraced his memory by scheming against his family and heirs. He has taken his reward!’ There were sporadic cheers and claps at this, but Marcus raised his hand. ‘So, now, I bid you truly to keep this memorial in the way that I know my father would have wished. Please, fill your glasses and drink to our safe deliverance, and we will offer a thanksgiving sacrifice later to the household gods. My slaves will serve you the “second tables” now, and I will call on Atalanta to play for us again. Something a little more lively, in honour of our joy.’

  It was not what she was trained in, but she did her best, and with the arrival of another crater of finest mulsum wine and – a little later – of my wife and Julia, there was a general mood, if not of cheerfulness, at least of shared relief. Julia was even prevailed upon to sing – she did not have a strong voice, but it was very sweet – and the evening was as successful as it could possibly have been, given the extraordinary happenings of the night.

  Marcus said so, when the last carriages were gone, and my little party was preparing to leave too. I had lingered to tell my patron everything I knew about Morella and the tunic.

  ‘I wonder what happened to Morella’s hair?’ Junio said, as Minimus helped him with his cloak. ‘Pulchrus’s was short enough to scatter in the woods, but they could hardly have taken those plaits to Londinium with them.’

  I shrugged. ‘Perhaps we’ll never know. Sold in Corinium, perhaps – there was enough to make a wig, and the actor would be familiar with several wigmakers. Or perhaps it was simply buried somewhere by the road. Or dropped in the Sabrina – Hirsius must have taken a river ferry when he took Morella west – they would have been spotted by the Glevum watchmen otherwise. No doubt we will be able to determine that.’

  ‘And the coins? I still have them in my casket. What should we do with them? Return them to her father?’ Julia enquired.

  I smiled. ‘To her mother. I will take them there myself.’ I would leave it to the tribe to deal with Farathetos, I thought. ‘And I’ll return the dress. I’m glad we didn’t burn it at poor Pulchrus’s funeral.’

  ‘Ironic that we should put him in his own tunic on the bier! I shall have you build a little shrine for him, and see that his grave is tended every year with food and water for the afterlife. In his way, he died in my defence.’ Marcus placed a heavy ringed hand upon my arm. ‘And I shall have you build that memorial pavement to my father too – with no expense spared. We can never thank you properly, Libertus, my old friend. I never liked Lucius, but I did not think that of him.’

  I asked the question which had been on my mind. ‘And now what will become of him? Will you have him buried with Morella in the common pit? At midnight tomorrow it will be Lemuria.’

  His face darkened, but it was Julia who spoke. ‘I think we should put him on the servants’ pyre and burn him after Aulus has been laid to rest,’ she said. ‘He does not deserve such dignity, but he was a family member, after all.’

  Marcus looked rebellious. ‘It is more than he merited. But the pyre is ready, and it would not take long. And he is my mother’s agnate – so I consent. Perhaps I shall provide some burial herbs for him – and even a coin for the ferryman.’

  Epilogue

  Late the next evening we were all awake. There was still the problem of the roundhouse site to be resolved. Gwellia and I had talked into the night, and decided that – for Juno and Cilla’s sake – we should honour the rituals of the Lemuria ourselves.

  It was difficult to estimate when midnight had arrived, but in the event we need not have been concerned, because when it was approaching the appropriate hour Caper and Stygius came knocking at the gate. They had been selected because they found the corpse. Minimus and Maximus went out to let them in, and we could hear them chattering as they came up the path.

  ‘The family are ready. They’ve counted the black beans . . .’

  ‘And I’ve fetched clean water specially from the spring . . .’

  ‘And now they are waiting in the roundhouse with the ashes and the bronze . . .’

  ‘All dressed in their best Roman outfits,’ Maximus finished, ‘as you can see yourselves.’ He ushered the two land slaves into the roundhouse as he spoke.

  We looked like a typical Roman household, in all sorts of ways. Two men in togas and two women citizens, with Kurso and the red-haired boys attending us as slaves – so it must have been surprising to find a Celtic central fire, and all the trappings of normal roundhouse life. Caper was delighted. ‘It’s just like home,’ he said.

  Stygius stumped over, and said in his slow way, ‘I was to tell you, citizen, you were right about that note – the one that Lucius had sent to the fleet commander’s house. It was brought to the master just an hour or so ago. It said snakes in Britannia were not venomous enough, and they’d have to get a foreign one or wait till overseas. It’s enough to have the fleet commander brought in for questioning, and Hirsius and the entertainers – the mimic and the snake-charmer – will be arrested too. Marcus says that he’ll preside over their trial himself – he has decided to delay his travel for a little while, and he’ll have them all brought back to Glevum to appear before the court.’

  I thought about Hirsius – his olive tunic, his large hands and his sandy hair. His lofty manner would be chastened now, the basalt eyes turned dull with fear and pain. As a mere slave his fate would be neither quick nor merciful – though doubtless the fleet commander and his wife would find an advocate, appeal to the Emperor, with sufficient bribes, and suffer nothing more than exile or a fine. It was hard to pity Hirsius, but I almost did.

  ‘So, if you are ready?’ Stygius prompted me.

  I picked up a taper. ‘It’s time to go,’ I said, and one by one we filed out into the dark. It was cold and frosty, and the night was still, and it was eerie walking through the tree
s without a light. We came to the cleared site where the new roundhouse was to be, and formed into a circle round the fatal ditch.

  Kurso brought the ash bowl and I placed my thumb in it and made a sign on my forehead, as I’d been told to do. Junio did the same, followed by all the women and the slaves – if there was any doubt about the efficacy of this ritual, I thought, I wanted it performed by all of us.

  Maximus brought water, and I washed my hands – and this time it was only for the men. I felt a little foolish as I turned round three times, taking care I didn’t stumble: it was uneven underfoot, and to miss my footing would have been the worst of omens now. Minimus brought the beans – in the blackness they looked blacker still – and I took a handful and, with averted face, threw them behind me, saying nine times over the all-important words: ‘These beans I cast away, with these I redeem myself and mine.’

  The words and actions were duly repeated by my son, and without a backward glance we began to walk away. Caper had been carrying a covered bowl of coals till now, and as I touched water, and clashed the bronzes I had brought, he whipped the lid off and there was suddenly a glow of cheerful light.

  We fairly strode now, back the way we had come, Junio clashing the bronzes all the while and all of us demanding that the ghosts should take the beans, accept our offering and leave the place in peace. As I reached our own enclosure I heard a distant clang, and knew at the villa the same ceremony was taking place.

  It must have been effective. Junio’s roundhouse has been built in almost record time and he and Cilla are moving into it. Marcus and Julia are so pleased with me they have gifted us the boys and given me the commission for the memorial pavement, too, for which they are promising to pay me handsomely. Little Niveus has been sold on again – slightly more confident than he was before – to a kindly master who is good to him. Even Morella’s mother has found a kind of peace: her husband was so frightened of reprisals that he has run away, and she and her daughters are farming in his place.