both.’
Paulinus looked at me as though he dared not trust his ears. ‘You mean that, citizen?’
‘I do.’ I’d drained the drinking bowl by now and I replaced it on the board. ‘Though there are two questions which remain unanswered in my mind. What happened to the contents of Audelia’s travelling box? You cannot simply have exchanged them with your own, because you had to put Lavinia into that.’
Paulinus laughed. ‘That was very simple, citizen. We put most of it into the sack that I took to town with me. It was mostly jewels and gold in any case, of course, and later it had the Vestal cloak in it. When we picked the cart up, we put the sack on it. The lighter items of the dowry — such as lengths of silk — I rolled up in the rug and put on top of Lavinia in the box before we left.’
‘Oh, and of course I had my jewel-box with me from the coach, having loudly announced that I was giving Secunda several rings,’ his wife put in.
I nodded. Priscilla had already hinted this. ‘And when you arrived here you dyed the Vestal clothes — I presume that is what is hanging on the bushes now?’
‘Exactly, citizen.’ That was Audelia. ‘We are not so wealthy that we can afford to waste good clothing of that quality. And the other question?’
‘Was it not against your vows to tell the other lie — that you were going into the forum to buy a pair of slaves. Yet, Priscilla tells me that is what you said.’
Secunda’s lovely lips curled in a gentle smile. ‘Citizen, I took a vow that I would never lie. I did not swear that I would not choose words which might disguise the truth. We worked out very carefully what we were going to say — that we were going to the forum to collect two slaves. And that, of course, is exactly what we did.’
I put my bowl down. ‘Then I think that’s all. If you would care to write that letter.’ I fished into my belt. ‘I actually have a writing-tablet here that you can use. It’s a letter from Publius under seal promising to pay my expenses in the town.’
‘Then you must certainly keep that, citizen.’ Secunda put her own bowl on the board as well. ‘Otherwise you might find it hard to hold him to his word. We have bark-paper here, and lamp-black ink, as I think you are aware. Paulinus will write something and you can take it back — saying that he’s saddened to have heard the news and that he’s about to leave for Gaul and take Paulina to the healing shrine.’ She smiled. ‘And there’s no lie in that, either, citizen. When we heard the news about the nursemaid we were very sad indeed.’
Her husband nodded and went out towards the porch. I heard him moving in another room.
‘Lavinius will not guess that you have married Paulinus instead?’ I ventured.
‘He could hardly say so, citizen, even if he did. Especially when there is supposed to be a corpse. That would be admitting to his own perfidy. And he can scarcely follow us to Gaul. Besides, he’ll hear from the lodging-house that Paulinus had a wife before I disappeared. I think we’re safe enough.’
I fought down an unexpected wave of jealousy. ‘Then I hope you will be happy. I am glad to be of use.’
She gave me the most brilliant smile that I have ever seen. ‘And there is another thing that you can do for me. I promised the horseman that he should have a ring, in recompense for all his extra work on my behalf. If I go and get it, will you see it reaches him? I was there — you can tell him — and I heard the promise made and I wished it honoured. Will you do that for me?’
‘I would be delighted,’ I said, truthfully, and she went away to get it. That left me quite alone, and that was how Modesta found me a moment afterwards.
‘I didn’t know if I should come in the house or not. Nobody seemed to answer when I tapped the door? Are you coming, citizen? Fiscus is alarmed. He thinks that we are going to get to Glevum very late.’
I was about to answer when the householders appeared and thrust a bark-letter and a small parcel in my hands. ‘That concludes our business, I believe. The citizen is ready to accompany you now.’ Paulinus gave the smile that transformed his face. ‘I myself will come and see you past the dog.’ He led the way outside.
As he tethered the still snarling animal I glanced back at the house. I could not restrain a tiny sense of loss. As I watched I saw a figure scuttle from the byre and make towards the side-window of the house. I looked the other way. Everyone else was still looking at the hound, making certain they were out of range of teeth.
I permitted Fiscus to help me on the gig and sat down on the seat. He sat down beside me, leaving Modesta to kneel in what little space remained. The gig-driver, who was scowling at me as though I were the cause of all his many woes, raised his whip and we were ready to depart.
‘Wait a moment, citizen. I have a gift for you.’ Secunda herself had come running down the path. She came across and handed me a piece of slate. ‘A present from Paulina. I’m sure that’s what she wants.’
I looked back at the door. The deaf-mute girl was standing there, grasping Muta’s skirts and as I watched she smiled and raised a hand as if to wave.
The driver brought the whip down and we were on our way.
EPILOGUE
Marcus was sympathetic, but amused. That was a mild relief. I had half-expected that he’d be furious.
‘Well, Libertus, it’s not like you to fail. But you brought it on yourself. No one asked you to go rushing off, asking questions in Corinium like that. I’m not surprised that Publius was quibbling at the bill. You’re lucky that he paid it.’
I muttered something to the effect that I was glad he had.
‘He’s fallen out severely with Lavinius, of course — says that the fellow struck a deal with him and has failed to deliver what he promised. He’s threatening to sue. I think he finally agreed to meet your costs mostly because Lavinius did not approve of you.’
It was after dinner in his villa, and Marcus was drinking wine, reclining on his dining couch and eating little pastry-cakes left over from the meal. He had dismissed the other diners and the slaves, so we were all alone, but he hadn’t asked me to partake of anything. It was part of my penance. He had sent for me as soon as he knew that I was home, and I had not had time to eat, but he hadn’t finished with his diatribe.
‘Once it was obvious that Audelia was dead, I don’t know why you didn’t let the matter rest. Even you can hardly expect to solve a case of Druid sorcery — I suppose I should be glad that you escaped unscathed. So I forgive you. I can’t answer for your wife.’
It was true that she was angry, but I knew she would relent. It was mostly worry because I’d not been home for days. And she sensed that I was hiding something that I wouldn’t share. Not yet. I would confide in Gwellia as I always did, and tell her everything — even show her the poison-phial which had duly turned up in Priscilla’s midden-pile — but not until that little family were far away in Gaul.
In the meantime, I would have to live with her rebukes. I had not even earned a quadrans for my time. My toga was crumpled and in need of laundering and couldn’t I have let her know a little sooner where I was?
But I knew for certain that when I got home again there would be my favourite hot stew awaiting me, and that oatcakes for my breakfast were standing by to bake. Like Paulinus, I was a lucky man.
Marcus scooped up the remaining pastry-cakes, put them on a serving plate and handed them to me. ‘Take these home to her. It might win you a smile.’ He gave his languid grin. ‘In the meantime, I’ve had enough tonight. I’ll see you in the morning. I’ve got a job for you. A little mystery I’d like you to sort out. If you haven’t entirely lost the gift, that is.’ He chuckled and waved me out of the triclinium.
I walked home in the darkness, clutching the plate of cakes and trying not to spill them on the uneven lane. It was cold and drizzling and the wind was getting up, but I was thankful for my lot. I had a cheerful home and a wife who cared for me, a healthy grandson by my adopted son, good slaves to serve me and enough to eat. Who could ask for more? I thought of a gentle couple who had been forced to dreadful lengths by family treachery, of terrible diseases that carried off male heirs, and of a child, not many miles away, whose whole world was silence.
I fingered the piece of slate that I carried in my pouch and went in to see my wife. She was no ethereal goddess, she was short and stoutish and her face was lined, but I loved her dearly and I always had.
When she had finished chiding me and I’d enjoyed the stew, I would show her the chalk portrait and tell her it was me — not a tree with fingers. I knew that she would laugh.
