He gestured to where a tall, thin, stooping man — slightly balding and with protruding teeth — was hurrying towards us across the pasture-field.
TWENTY-TWO
‘ That’s him, citizen!’ a voice behind me said. ‘Exactly as I told you. Now that you’ve seen him, am I free to go?’
I had been so busy with the land-slave, I’d forgotten all about the donkey-boy. I dismissed him hastily and turned to meet the owner of the house, who was by this time at the gate. He muttered something to his land- worker, who picked up his pail and scuttled off with it. The master turned to me enquiringly.
‘You are Paulinus?’ I said foolishly. Short of a portrait or a statue, I could not have had a better picture of the man than the one that I’d been given. He was not dressed in a toga but in a stained green tunic belted at the waist, but otherwise he was exactly as I’d envisaged him, down to the furrowed brow and slightly anxious expression of surprise.
‘Paulinus Atronius Marinus, at your service, citizen. I am the owner of this smallholding. How can I be of help?’ His voice was soft and cultured and his Latin quite impeccable. The quiet insistence on his full three Roman names was a way of telling me he was himself a citizen, despite his working dress.
I answered him in kind. ‘Longinus Flavius Libertus,’ I replied, wondering why this commonplace exchange was sending me inward signals of alarm. ‘I have bad news for you. You are a friend and relative of Audelia, I think?’
He stiffened very slightly. ‘You bring us news of her?’ A tiny pause. ‘I trust her marriage was a great success?’
‘She never reached her marriage,’ I said solemnly. I told him briefly what we had discovered in the coach.
‘Beheaded! Dreadful!’ he said, with a shudder that could hardly have been forced. He closed his eyes as though he could not bear to think of it. ‘Poor girl — the gods know she did not deserve a fate like that. What will they do with her? I suppose the family will cremate the corpse?’ He peered anxiously at me. ‘I imagine that they’ll have to, although it’s incomplete?’
It seemed an odd question to a Celt like me: even those of us who are not actually Druids revere the head as more or less the dwelling of the soul. But of course the Romans have a different attitude. They see things the other way about — a headless body might create a restless ghost, stalking the world until it found the missing parts. ‘I’m sure her family will give it proper rites, and do their best to see that her spirit is at rest,’ I said, aware of sounding oddly sanctimonious.
‘I hope so, citizen.’ He gave the famous smile and I saw at once what the donkey-boy had meant. It quite transfigured him. ‘Perhaps you didn’t realize that I know Audelia well — did know her, I suppose that I shall have to learn to say. My wife and I went to the Vestal temple many times when she was serving at the shrine.’
‘You and your first wife, that was?’ I was still double-checking details in my mind.
‘Indeed.’ He raised an eyebrow, as if he were surprised. ‘You must have heard that I have lately wed again? Did they tell you how fortunate I am? I have found an angel not just to care for me but to look after my poor mute daughter too. I am a lucky man. But I forget my manners. You have come all this way to bring me this distressing news about my relative. Please come inside and have some food and drink before you leave. We don’t have dates and Rhenish wine, I fear, but we can offer you some home-made bread and cheese and water from the well.’ He smiled at me, the perfect picture of a Roman host. ‘Indeed I have already sent the land-slave in ahead of us to warn the household you are here and thus ensure a light refreshment is arranged for you. I am afraid you find us in a little disarray.’
‘I hear you are preparing to go overseas,’ I said, as he dragged the snarling dog away and tied it to a post.
He came back to hold the gate ajar for me. ‘How did you learn that?’ His look of astonishment was almost comical.
I explained about the land-slave and he smiled again. ‘Well, citizen, what my farm-servant says is true. We plan to leave as soon as possible.’ He escorted me up the stony path towards the doorway of the house, skirting piles of kindling wood and avoiding the wet garments, clearly washed and dyed, which were draped over bushes in the wind to dry. When we reached the threshold — no more than a single piece of stone placed where people would walk in and out on it — he stepped ahead of me and called in through the door. ‘Are we prepared? Our visitor is here.’
A woman-slave came hastening out at once, rubbing her hands against her tunic-skirt as if they had been damp. She was a tallish, unattractive female of advancing years. Her wan face was worn and mottled, cobwebbed with fine lines, and she had the doubtful darting eyes of someone who has learned — by hard experience — to distrust the world. Her curly hair, which she wore severely short, was dull and mousy grey and her mouth was clamped into a tight, suspicious line. However, her sharp expression softened when Paulinus talked to her and the look she gave her owner was an adoring one.
‘This is Libertus, Muta,’ she was told. ‘He is a citizen and will be our guest. Kindly show him in. I will change out of my dirty working clothes and join you very soon.’ He turned away towards the rear part of the house.
Muta bobbed me a stiff curtsy and led the way inside, through a narrow passage into a sort of waiting-room. Her form was generally sinewy and thin, but the swollen ankles which I glimpsed beneath the tunic-hem suggested a reason for her awkward gait. I could see exactly what Priscilla meant — this servant was no bargain, whatever price he’d paid.
The room was as bare as my own roundhouse at home: only a large wooden table and a brazier, a little household shrine set into a niche and — beneath a lone high shelf which held the household cups and bowls — a small amphora leaning on the wall and a few jars and storage-pitchers standing on the floor. The servant gestured to a small three-legged stool beside the table, where a bowl of curd-cheese and a crust of new bread had been set for me.
I sat down, rather awkwardly, while Muta picked up a brass water-pitcher from the floor and poured some into a handsome metal cup. She handed it to me without a word, and made a signal that I should start to eat.
‘Is your new mistress home?’ I ventured. I had hoped to meet Secunda and hear from her own lips that she was happy for her dowry to be squandered in this way. Besides, this silence was beginning to unsettle me.
The woman didn’t answer, just made a gesture to the inner door. Of course, I remembered, the poor thing couldn’t speak! I recalled that this was why she had been chosen for this house but that — unlike the daughter she was bought to serve — the woman could still hear.
I tried again, hoping to obtain at least a fleeting smile. ‘I hope that you are learning to be happy in your work? You will be a comfort to the daughter I am sure.’
‘It is no good talking to her, citizen. She cannot answer you.’
I turned to see the owner of the voice, and caught my breath. The woman at the inner door was singularly pale and far from young, but she was beautiful — one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. She wore no trace of kohl or lampblack round her eyes and there was no stain of wine-lees on her lips or cheeks but, despite her pallor, she did not need any. Her skin was soft and flawless, like a piece of kidskin cloth, and her hair, which hung in tight ringlets from a central band (in a fashion favoured by an Empress long ago, but long since out of style), was palest faded gold. She wore a simple floor-length lilac shift and as she walked towards me, holding out her hands, I thought that I had never seen a person more ethereal and serene.
‘I am Secunda, the wife of Paulinus.’ The tone was soft and very musical. ‘I am sorry that I was not here to welcome you. I was in need of rest. We are in train of packing, as I believe you know, and I am not accustomed to such activity.’
‘Pray do not mention it.’ This household’s slight formality and old-fashioned speech was infecting mine. I tried to fight this and conspicuously failed. ‘I had already heard that you were indisposed — not in the best of health.’ Now that I had seen her I could understand — already she seemed closer to the next world than to this.
She smiled rather sadly, revealing a set of almost perfect teeth. If I were a single man, I thought, I could have lost my heart. It was doubly tragic knowing that she was frail. I had heard that the gods take their best- beloved first, and now I could believe it. She was speaking, in that gentle voice of hers, and there was real emotion
