It was the first time – almost in my life – that anyone outside my family had ever shown the least concern for me, and what my feelings were when confronted with a death. I could have kissed her feet. Instead I put my hands together in the greeting pose, bowed my head and introduced myself. ‘I fear,’ I said – and for once that common form of words meant something genuine – ‘that is not the only piece of bad news that I bring.’
‘Then I will sit down and wait until my husband comes before I hear the rest. I should not like to make an exhibition of myself by fainting on the floor.’ She turned to the slave-woman and murmured with a smile, ‘A seat for me, perhaps?’
Muta made a signal of assent and left the room.
While she was gone I tried to turn the conversation to more cheerful things. ‘You are pleased with your acquisitions at the market yesterday?’
Secunda looked bemused. ‘I am not sure I follow . . . ?’
‘That slave-woman. You bought her yesterday, I think? Together with a page?’
‘Ah, of course.’ A blush of soft confusion suffused the lovely face. ‘I cannot think of slaves as acquisitions, citizen. I thought you were referring to this gown I bought. I wondered how you knew. Indeed, we are delighted with the slave. She is so good with Paulina, my husband’s child, you know.’ She smiled her rueful smile. ‘He will be here shortly. In the meantime, do refresh yourself!’
Thus encouraged, I did try the bread and cheese. They were extremely good. Simple but excellent. Somehow, in this household, I was not surprised. All at once, I wished I hadn’t come. I was here to find the answer to a gruesome tragedy – a nasty murder and a kidnapping plus an explanation for the nurse’s suicide. I had been convinced that I would find the answer in this house, but if these people were involved I didn’t want to know. I desperately wanted to believe them innocent.
I shook my head. This was ridiculous. Murder is still murder, whoever does the deed – and some of the cruellest emperors were famous for their charm. What was I thinking of? I could guess what Priscilla would have said if she had known – that I was the victim of some Druid spell. I do not generally believe in the efficacy of love-potions and the like but I put down the cup of liquid, just in case, and assumed my most severe expression as I said, ‘Secunda – the matter of your dowry . . .’
She beamed, the happiest expression I had so far seen. ‘Ah yes, citizen. Was that not fortunate? I had never married, so I brought my parents’ whole inheritance with me. I am so happy that Paulinus can have the use of it. Typical that his first care should be for the child. My husband is so generous and thoughtful, citizen.’
No question then of any rancour or mystery on that score, and Priscilla’s doubts about a Roman bribe appeared quite baseless too. The only question was the obvious. ‘You never married earlier?’ It seemed impossible. ‘A woman of such charm and elegance?’
She turned that charming pink again and dropped her eyes, to stare at the floor with unforced modesty. (It was tiled, but very roughly, with poor quality materials and no attempt at pattern even round the edge. If I had been the workman, and not done a better job, I should have been embarrassed to be paid.) ‘I had household duties to perform, so for a long time I could not be spared . . .’ She broke off as her husband and the slave appeared.
The servant put down the stool she had been carrying, and Secunda sank gracefully down onto the seat. Her husband came and stood beside her, saying tenderly, ‘Wife, be careful. You should not be here. Don’t put yourself to unnecessary strain. You never . . .’ Now in his toga, Paulinus paused as he looked down at her with affection.
Secunda looked back up at him with such an expression on her face that I was almost jealous of their tranquil happiness. ‘It is all right, husband. I can manage well enough – and I should be here to learn what Libertus has to say. Apparently he has more items of alarming news for us.’
Her husband looked at me, furrowing his face in anxiety again. ‘You didn’t mention this.’
‘I scarcely had the chance. Besides your wife thought it was better that we should wait for you.’
The couple exchanged glances, then Secunda said, ‘Whatever news you bring us, citizen, it cannot well be worse than what we know already. Tell us what it is.’
‘Lavinia is missing.’ I put the fact as baldly as I could. ‘At first sight it seemed that she had run away.’ Secunda turned so pale that I forgot my fear of potions and swallowed the remainder of my drink.
But her voice was steady. ‘Run away?’ She gave a pretty little frown. ‘That hardly seems like her, she was very keen on taking up her role.’
‘It is possible she did not go willingly.’ I wished I did not have to tell them this since it would cause them grief but if they were to help me there was no alternative. ‘It seems more than possible that Druids were involved.’
‘Druids!’ they exclaimed, in unison. I saw the startled look that passed between the pair.
‘Could it have been a vendetta against the family? I understand that this household has had dealings with the sect,’ I muttered, apologetically.
Secunda answered in an altered voice, as though she were struggling with emotion inwardly, ‘In other circumstances, citizen, we might have helped you there. There was a servant in this household who proved to be a Druid, but she and her whole family were sentenced to the beasts – so if there was any information to be gleaned from them, I fear it is too late.’
‘My dear . . . !’ It was unusual for Romans to express affection in this public way, but Paulinus did not seem to care for such conventions. He even touched her shoulder as if warning her. ‘These things are best forgotten.’
She smiled up at him. ‘There is nothing to be feared from telling him the truth. He seems to think the Druids may have harmed Lavinia and we should assure him that the sect is not an enemy of ours. The fact is, citizen – though Paulinus seems to wish me to obscure the fact – he was very good to them. He could not bear to think of that little family – who had been so helpful to our Paulina – torn to pieces for the entertainment of the crowd. You know the way that the officials at the games will lure a child into the arena first, so that the mother will willingly run in after it – I understand the spectacle is very popular. He could not stand for that. Paulinus bribed the guard and managed to get poison in for them and even made arrangements for disposal afterwards – to ensure as far as possible that they got proper Druid rites.’
Paulinus, who had been looking more and more embarrassed and bemused, now ran his hand through his receding hair and broke in awkwardly, ‘Well, be that as it may, it does not help us now. Have you been searching for Lavinia, citizen? Perhaps she went to the temple by herself? Have you been to look for her?’
I had to admit that I’d not been there myself, although I assumed that Trullius had done. ‘The news of her disappearance came to Glevum from a temple messenger,’ I added, ‘which does seem to indicate that she did not go there.’
‘When did they find that she was missing?’ Paulinus enquired.
I explained about the nursemaid and Priscilla and the tray. ‘And that is not the end of it,’ I said. ‘This morning, at the guest house, the nursemaid was found dead. Poisoned, by the look of it. I think by her own hand.’
‘Dear gods!’ There was no mistaking Paulinus’s sharp astonishment. ‘Dead! But . . . she was so happy for Lavinia . . . why should she . . . ?’ He looked helplessly towards his wife.
She reached up slowly and took his hand in hers, as if she could pass on some of her own serenity through the gentle pressure of her fingertips. ‘It must have been a gesture for Lavinia’s sake,’ she said. ‘It was clear to everyone how much she loved that child. I wonder if she smuggled her away somewhere and killed herself to keep the secret safe.’ She looked at me. ‘Perhaps we’ll never know. But thank you, citizen, for bringing us the news. We must send a message to Glevum with our condolences. My aunt and uncle will doubtless be distraught.’
I was touched by her thoughtfulness again. And then I saw the implication of her words. ‘Your uncle?’ I said, sharply. ‘You mean Lavinius?’
The pale face coloured prettily again and she gave a laugh. ‘My half-uncle by marriage I suppose that I should say. He is related to Paulinus, of course – as I presume you know.’
I did, if I had only stopped to think of it. ‘I should have realized that.’
She twinkled. ‘I suppose that you could say he is a relative of mine as well – though only through his wife.’
‘Which makes you a distant kinswoman of your husband?’
She saw my face and twinkled even more. ‘Does that surprise you, citizen? It is not uncommon for people of patrician lineage to marry others in the clan who are not direct blood-relatives of theirs.’ The grey eyes sparkled slyly up at me from under downcast lids. ‘Often it’s to keep the fortune in the family. In my case, it is the only reason that we ever met. A woman in my situation – bound to house and hearth – does not in general encounter many men.’
She was quite right of course. Indeed, now that she told me she was a kinswoman I could see a slight resemblance to Lavinius’s wife. Cyra was a good deal uglier – her face was harder and her features sharp, and of course her hair was dark – but there was something about the shape of her face which was not unalike. Secunda was almost what Cyra might have been, given different colouring and a happier life.
However, I could hardly say so, with Paulinus there, so I made a rather unfortunate remark. ‘You were never sent to be a Vestal Virgin then? It seems to be traditional, in your family.’
She dropped her eyes again. ‘I managed to escape that, citizen.’ She spoke with such embarrassment that for the first time it occurred to me to question whether she was quite the innocent that she appeared to be. There was more than one reason why a girl might be turned down for acceptance at the Vestal shrine – and more than one reason why a family might keep a single daughter under lock and key at home. I wondered suddenly if there was something in her past, even, possibly, without her full consent? Some importunate, wealthy visitor perhaps? I tried to force the unpleasant picture from my mind.
My unhappy thoughts were interrupted by a strange noise at the inner door, which instantly flew open and a stumpy girl came in. She was not very old – no more than five or six – and might have been quite pretty, if her little face had not been flushed and screwed into a frown. She stumped across the room, ignoring all of us, and stood with arms folded in front of Paulinus.
‘!!!! !??!!!’ She stamped her foot and gestured angrily towards the inner door, moving her mouth although no sound came out. Another of my private theories turned to smoke at once.
It had occurred to me to wonder, before I’d reached the house, whether this so-called deaf-mute might be Lavinia in disguise – but now that I had seen her I was practically certain she was not. This girl seemed genuinely deaf and dumb. However, there was only one way to be completely sure. I waited until she had her back to me, and then mock-accidentally knocked the metal cup and sent it flying against the great brass pitcher on the floor.
It bounced against the jug with an alarming crash. I muttered an apology, ‘So clumsy. Pardon me! Lucky it was empty.’ But I had learned what I had hoped for. Everyone had jumped and whirled around – except the girl. It was quite evident that she had not heard a thing.
My excuses were mercifully cut short by the sudden arrival at the inner door of a breathless, rather scruffy little slave – clearly the purchase that I’d heard about. He was skinny as a sparrow, though clearly in fair health and cleaner than I’d expected him to be from the description which I’d had before. Someone had obviously bathed him in the stream. His face and hands were noticeably scrubbed, and so were the skinny legs beneath the tunic-hem, although there were still dark marks in the creases of his ears, and his scalp and spiky hair were streaked with grimy black. He paused at the doorway and gazed around the room, his eyes widening with alarm as he caught sight of me.
‘This is the new page that you brought home yesterday? Brave of you to take a child who is quite untrained, though no doubt the parents were grateful for the money,’ I said to Paulinus.
He did his haunted look. ‘How do you know that?’
‘I asked in the market,’ I told him, with a grin. ‘And you were seen at the guest house with him afterwards.’
Secunda had risen serenely to her feet. ‘But of course we were. Come here, Servus. You need not be afraid.’ The urchin came obediently across and stood in front of her. She turned him round to face me. ‘Now bow to our visitor as we showed you how. Don’t alarm him, citizen, he is very shy and has trouble finding words. You are right about the training. He has much to learn and at present he is very frightened, as you see.’ She was quite right. The child was trembling.
‘We are hoping that he might become a companion-help to poor Paulina,’ she went on. ‘Now that we have lost the wet nurse, as you know. But it is too early to expect a friendship there, I suppose. Servus was supposed to be guarding her while we were here with you – we do not commonly introduce her to our visitors – but evidently that has not been a success.’ She bent down to the slave. ‘Now then, Servus, bow politely to our guest, then take that jug and go and fill it at the spring – up in the field where I showed you earlier.’ She turned to the slave-woman who had been waiting by the wall. ‘And Muta, I think you’d better take Paulina back into her room and fetch her slate for her. She likes making pictures, citizen,’ she added, for my benefit, as the slave-woman nodded and took the daughter’s hand.
The child trotted off with her contentedly enough, and Paulinus watched them go with as much paternal pride as if this were a son. I was struck again by the unusual affection in this unlikely house.
The paterfamilias turned to me. ‘Is there anything further that we can do for you? I would offer you a cart to take you into town, but we have none to spare. And it is a long trek back to Corinium, I fear.’