A Roman Ransom (23 page)

Junio, correctly interpreting my question as an invitation to come and talk things through as he’d suggested, abandoned his fretful activities and bustled over to squat down at my bedside on his usual perch. ‘Let’s start from the beginning, and consider all the facts.’ He gave me a disarming grin. ‘It is a technique my master taught me once, and I know that it has helped him on more than one occasion. So, Julia and Marcellinus are in the court one afternoon, when suddenly they simply disappear. No one sees them leave the premises, and no one unexpected comes or goes.’ He numbered these statements on his fingers as he spoke.

‘Only plainly that’s nonsensical, unless there is some sorcery afoot,’ I said. ‘People do not simply vanish. Yet it seems impossible that they passed the gate-keepers.’

Junio nodded. ‘But they manifestly did. Marcellinus was returned to you outside the villa walls. So someone knew that you were coming here – which suggests that it was someone in this household, or your own. I think we are agreed so far?’

I nodded. ‘I still think it was the doctor. He could easily have left the ransom note that was delivered here.’

‘Anyone in the two households could have managed that.’

‘But not the scroll which claimed that Julia and the boy would be released,’ I said. ‘That was left for Marcus at the basilica, after the announcement which set Lallius free. None of the slaves here could have put it there, but the doctor could have arranged it easily. He was with Marcus in Glevum at the time.’

Junio nodded. ‘So was the pontifex, I understand. You remember he was staying here in the villa then. And the page – Pulcrus – he was there as well. And there was a carriage-driver too, I suppose.’

I frowned. ‘Very well. All these people were in Glevum when that scroll arrived, but they were not outside the orchard when the litter stopped and the last message was thrown over the wall. The doctor was. Why are you so eager to defend him, suddenly?’

‘I’m not. But even if he is involved there must be someone else. He can’t have done the kidnapping himself – he was not known here in the villa then, and his presence would have infallibly been noticed by the guards. He could not have been the person who returned the child to you, and certainly he wasn’t Myrna’s murderer. He has been accounted for inside the villa, or in Marcus’s company – or yours – ever since you got into that litter yesterday.’

I grunted, unwilling to acknowledge the justice of his argument. ‘So where is all this leading?’

‘I want to make sure that there is nothing we have missed – nothing that we have failed to put together in our minds.’

I closed my eyes and said ungraciously, ‘All right. So the pontifex and Pulcrus were in Glevum too . . . And Malodius perhaps,’ I added wearily.

‘Not Malodius. He only drives the cart. Marcus has a proper driver for his other vehicles. You know that, master. You were out with him today, and you have driven with Marcus many times before.’

My eyes snapped open and I stared at him. Of course, it was quite true. Marcus was always driven by a special slave on occasions when he was about his personal affairs and did not have a military gig and an official driver from the garrison. I had seen the man myself a hundred times, but I could not have described him in the least – beyond the fact that he was young and strong – though Jove knows that he was eye-catching enough, in the flamboyant crimson tunic, cloak and shoes that told the world his master was a very wealthy man.

How many other people had become invisible like this, I thought, by being so familiar that they were not seen at all? Something was nagging at the corner of my brain – something I should have noticed or enquired – but in my exhausted state I could not capture it. I decided to let Junio think instead.

‘Go on,’ I said. I permitted myself the phantom of a grin. ‘Your master is clearly quite intelligent. There is a lot of sense in thinking systematically.’

He refused to be deflected from his argument. ‘So, the scroll set out arrangements for the hostages’ return, but suddenly there is a change of plan. Marcellinus is returned to you – alone, but well cared for, it appears.’

‘Without his bulla, drugged with poppy juice and hidden in a dark, smelly basket with some filthy cloths?’ I muttered. ‘That doesn’t sound like loving care to me.’

‘But he was smeared with grease against the cold and he’d been washed and fed. Even Marcus is admitting that.’

I nodded. ‘I have been thinking about that myself. The doctor’s right, you know, about Myrna’s having opportunity. She was alone with Julia and the child before they disappeared, and even if she didn’t kidnap them herself, it’s possible she colluded in some way – passed on a message, or something of the kind, so that Julia left the villa of her own accord. That would be much easier than smuggling people out.’

Junio nodded. ‘We heard she was so frightened afterwards that she could hardly talk! That would make sense, wouldn’t it? And someone had been caring for the child.’

I sighed. ‘But then, to complete your little summary of events, Myrna was found this morning stabbed to death, clearly the victim of the kidnappers herself. So that theory doesn’t work at all.’

Junio interrupted. ‘But perhaps it does!’ He was speaking eagerly. ‘Suppose that Myrna
was
involved – but in a different way? Suppose that she worked out where the kidnappers had gone, and somehow managed to extract the child? She hid him somewhere – in that house of hers, perhaps; there was a room which had been cleaned and swept – did her best to care for him, and then came to your roundhouse and tried to speak to you, because she wanted to arrange to send him back.’

I was thinking very slowly still. I closed my eyes. ‘All right, I allow that to be possible. So why not come directly to the villa here? Surely that would have been the natural thing to do? She would have earned eternal gratitude and very likely a good reward as well.’

He considered for a moment. ‘Maybe the problem was in getting here – if the kidnappers were somewhere nearby. In the woods, perhaps, since that is where they claimed the ransom from. It might explain why she was murdered too, if they found out what she’d done and caught her afterwards.’

I thought about that for a minute. I could see a hundred flaws in it, but it did have a kind of logic – and that had been missing from everything so far. ‘There may be an element of truth in what you say,’ I murmured. ‘But it doesn’t prove that Philades was not mixed up in it.’

‘On the contrary. It was his arrival with the litter which scared the wet nurse. off. That would fit our theory very well. If Myrna knew that the doctor had planned the kidnapping she would not wish to meet him at your house. Especially not if she was hoping that you would take the boy.’

‘But he saw her anyway . . . and we know what happened next. If you are right, she was immensely brave to try to come to me at all. She must have guessed the kind of people she was dealing with.’ I shook my head. ‘Why would she put her life at risk like that?’

‘She would be terrified for Marcellinus, too.’

‘So when she couldn’t see me face to face, she seized what opportunity she had? Thrusting him at me in the litter to get him safely home? She knew that I was coming here because Cilla told her so.’ I nodded. ‘There are questions left unanswered, but it makes a lot of sense. Well done, Junio.’

I knew that he was flattered, but he brushed my words aside. ‘Of course I realise that it doesn’t help us very much, even supposing that any of it’s true. Myrna’s lying in the stables, dead, and she can’t answer any questions now. We don’t know who carried out the kidnapping or how. We certainly don’t know where Julia is.’

‘What could have led Myrna to the kidnappers?’ I said. ‘Something that she saw in Glevum yesterday, perhaps? I wonder . . .’ I was interrupted by a knocking at the door, which opened to reveal a dumpling face and a bowl of something steaming on a tray.

I was about to tell Porphyllia to come in, but she had not waited to be asked. She was already in the room.

‘This is for you, citizen,’ she said, affording me the briefest curtsey before turning to gaze at Junio with adoring eyes. Perhaps I blinked for an instant because she hurried on. ‘Oh, I think your master is asleep. Where shall I put this? I’m allowed to stay. I’m going to be his poison-taster, like he promised yesterday.’

I had indeed intended to speak to Marcus about appointing her, but with all the happenings of the day it had completely slipped my mind. I doubted that he would now permit me such a thing, especially with Cilla on the premises. If I were to have a poison-taster, he’d expect me to use her.

I explained this to Porphyllia, though without regret.

She dimpled. ‘Oh, don’t worry yourself about that, citizen. Of course, I know you’re in disgrace, but I arranged it earlier. I told them yesterday that you wanted me, and the chief steward was instructed, then, that you were to have anything you required. So here I am. I think he was glad to find a job for me, if truth were told. And there’s nothing the matter with the broth because I’ve already tasted it.’ She gestured to the tray. ‘It’s barley soup with chickpeas, lentils, onions, peas and beets, and cabbage leaves on top. It doesn’t taste of very much without the fennel seed and cumin, but the cook says that’s how it has to be. The medicus has forbidden herbs and spices in your food. They’ll put some in this afternoon, of course, before it’s served tonight.’

She had passed the tray to Junio as she spoke. It was not the simple painted wooden board which Maximus and Minimus had carried earlier, but a much more grand device, made from beaten metal shaped into a disc and ornamented with designs round the rim.

Porphyllia caught my glance. ‘Pretty, isn’t it? It was the mistress’s favourite. It’s the one she used for lunch the day she disappeared. Not that she ever had anything very much. Usually only fruit, or bread and cheese or a plate of cold cooked meat. Or just occasionally a little soup if the weather was particularly cold.’

I nodded. Marcus himself rarely ate more than that in the middle of the day, preferring to save his appetite for the evening meal, which always ran to many courses, even when he did not have guests to dine. This lunchtime broth which Porphyllia had brought had obviously been ordered on my express account, and following the medicus’s guidelines, too. I was prepared to be quite heartened by that thought until it occurred to me that, in order for the soup to be cooked in time for lunch, the instructions must have been given shortly after dawn – long before my present troubles had begun.

Junio picked up the bowl and spoon and came to occupy the stool. ‘Try to eat some, master,’ he implored.

I motioned to Porphyllia to eat a little first. I had no compunction about doing so. Apparently she’d already tasted some, with no effect. Anyway, once a poison-taster is in place it is almost certain that food is safe, since there is no value in its being otherwise. But she was clearly anxious to fulfil her role, so I permitted her to do it and then fell to myself.

It was in fact delicious: warm and nourishing and tasting of nothing but the main ingredients. It appealed to me far more than the highly seasoned version which would appear on my patron’s dining table later on that night. The Roman habit of smothering every flavour under spice and herbs has never especially appealed to me – though it was obvious my taster felt otherwise. She kept apologising for the blandness of the meal.

‘I’m sorry if that was boring, citizen,’ she muttered for at least the twentieth time. ‘I could have got you some garum, I suppose, and you could have mixed it in – if we didn’t tell the doctor, he would never know. It would have given it a little bit of taste, and I’m sure a tiny drop of garum couldn’t hurt.’

I smiled weakly. I knew that she was trying to be kind. Garum, made from sun-fermented fish – and spice, of course – is served at every Roman meal and beloved of every Roman I have ever met – but rotting fish entrails never did appeal to me, even at the best of times. The thought of it at present made my stomach heave.

She saw my expression and misunderstood. ‘Well, liquifrumen, I suppose I ought to say. The mistress always insisted on the most expensive kind – twice-filtered and made with the finest anchovies. She always added it to anything too bland. In fact she put some in her soup the day she disappeared – I remember Myrna coming in for it. Mind you, that was a bad omen too. You shouldn’t bring things from another room and add them to a dish after you have started eating it.’

Something slotted slowly into place within my brain. ‘Do you mean that she was served with unspiced broth that day? Surely that must have been unusual?’ I could not imagine Julia, the epitome of style, choosing to eat unfashionably unseasoned soup, as peasants did.

Porphyllia waved an airy hand. ‘Well, she’d ordered soup for dinner, rather than for lunch – but, as I say, the weather was unusually cold. The master was at the
ordo
meeting and not expected back till dark, so she’d ordered a warming dinner to be prepared for him that night – roasted fowl with apricots, and peas with cumin sauce, among other things. All wasted effort, too. When he came home and found his wife was gone, he didn’t eat a thing – just sacrificed a little to the gods.’

‘And then the servants had to finish up the rest?’ I said, realising why Porphyllia had been so certain of the menu. Slaves are not usually fed such splendid fare, but Marcus is frugal in his habits and I knew that he would not have permitted good food to go to waste.

She flashed me a conspiratorial grin. ‘And very nice it was. Anyway, the soup was in the kitchens at midday – rather like today – waiting for the cooks to add the herbs, and the mistress sent Myrna down to fetch her some for lunch. And a bit of garum to go with it – though the mistress hardly touched it in the end. Worn out from being in the carriage, I suppose. I know she had a headache and went straight to rest.’

I stared at her. ‘Are you telling me that Julia was ill?’

She shook her head. ‘Nothing as serious as that. In fact, I helped her dress that morning and she was in the peak of health, but she was very tired when she got home again. I think that it was just because the day was very chill and because she’d got a headache from being in the coach. There’s a lot of dust about, this time of year, and it can get in your throat, especially when you’re being driven through the countryside and get off the proper roads. That’s why Roman matrons often wear a veil – apart from decent modesty, of course. It keeps the dust out of your face and hair, and the mistress was so careful with her looks.’