looked suitably demure, but I don’t believe she generally communed with deities.
Indeed, she seemed embarrassed when she realised we were there. She hesitated for a minute; then – with a final mutter in the direction of the shrine – she rose and smiled at me.
‘Ah, Libertus!’ She had turned faintly pink. She made no mention of my two companions, who were still waiting behind me at the door.
There was an awkward silence. I took a step towards her. ‘Your pardon, Julia. We should have announced our presence, but the slave boy indicated that we should come in . . .’
She made a tutting sound. ‘It’s Niveus, that new page of ours. He should have knocked, of course. We only bought him a few days ago: Pulchrus has gone to Londinium, as you know, and Marcus decided – the minute he had gone – that he simply couldn’t manage without someone in the role. This boy came recommended – from a wealthy household, too – but I think they only really kept him as a pet. He does not seem to have the least idea of what to do and when. I said to Marcus when he bought him that the boy was far too young, but of course my husband was enchanted with his looks and wouldn’t be dissuaded. You know what Marcus is.’
I did. Marcus had had a succession of pages, all of them chosen for their looks. Not that my patron had an interest in such boys – not since he was married anyway – but he liked to be attended by an eye-catching young man. He dressed them strikingly as well, in a scarlet cloak and tunic with gold edging round the hem, to show that their owner was a man of wealth; Pulchrus had looked magnificent, though the uniform made Niveus seem very young and pale.
‘I’m sure the boy will learn. I’m sorry we disturbed you. I see you have been petitioning the household deities,’ I said.
She flushed. She was always beautiful, but the colour in her cheeks made her even lovelier. ‘I felt I should do something. It is the feast of the Lemures in only three days’ time. And here we are with an unburied body on our hands. It was one thing when we thought it was just a peasant girl, but if she is from a wealthy family, even if we give her a sort of funeral, we may still offend the ghosts. So I thought . . .’ She made a little helpless gesture with her hands. ‘This family is about to make a perilous journey overseas. You see what I mean, Libertus. One cannot be too careful. Especially when Marcellinus is so young.’
And then I understood. Julia would have prayed to any god on earth – in sackcloth and with ashes in her hair – if she thought it might protect her precious son. She was taking no chances with the Lemures. I only wished that I had better news.
She seemed to read my face. ‘I assume that Stygius was right? This is not a peasant girl?’
‘I can promise that, at least,’ I said gently. And then, seeing that the page had reappeared, at the head of a little army of servants bearing folding stools, a table and a tray of food and drink, I added, ‘Why don’t we sit down?’
It was not my place to issue an invitation of this kind, but Julia realised that I was preparing her for a shock. She gestured to the slaves, and we watched in silence as they arranged the seats and began to set out goblets, fruit and wine.
She took a chair and gestured me to sit. She proffered another stool to Junio, and indicated that Stygius should take up a position at my back. But it was to me that she addressed herself. ‘Well, go on. You have discovered who this mysterious young lady is – or was?’
I shook my head. ‘We have discovered that she is not a young lady after all,’ I said.
She gestured to the goblets, signalling the slaves to pour the watered wine for Junio and me. Ladies did not generally drink, except at dinner time, and Stygius clearly did not merit such hospitality. She took a sugared fig, and nibbled daintily at one side of it. ‘But I understood . . . the hands?’ she said.
‘Not a young
Indeed, she seemed embarrassed when she realised we were there. She hesitated for a minute; then – with a final mutter in the direction of the shrine – she rose and smiled at me.
‘Ah, Libertus!’ She had turned faintly pink. She made no mention of my two companions, who were still waiting behind me at the door.
There was an awkward silence. I took a step towards her. ‘Your pardon, Julia. We should have announced our presence, but the slave boy indicated that we should come in . . .’
She made a tutting sound. ‘It’s Niveus, that new page of ours. He should have knocked, of course. We only bought him a few days ago: Pulchrus has gone to Londinium, as you know, and Marcus decided – the minute he had gone – that he simply couldn’t manage without someone in the role. This boy came recommended – from a wealthy household, too – but I think they only really kept him as a pet. He does not seem to have the least idea of what to do and when. I said to Marcus when he bought him that the boy was far too young, but of course my husband was enchanted with his looks and wouldn’t be dissuaded. You know what Marcus is.’
I did. Marcus had had a succession of pages, all of them chosen for their looks. Not that my patron had an interest in such boys – not since he was married anyway – but he liked to be attended by an eye-catching young man. He dressed them strikingly as well, in a scarlet cloak and tunic with gold edging round the hem, to show that their owner was a man of wealth; Pulchrus had looked magnificent, though the uniform made Niveus seem very young and pale.
‘I’m sure the boy will learn. I’m sorry we disturbed you. I see you have been petitioning the household deities,’ I said.
She flushed. She was always beautiful, but the colour in her cheeks made her even lovelier. ‘I felt I should do something. It is the feast of the Lemures in only three days’ time. And here we are with an unburied body on our hands. It was one thing when we thought it was just a peasant girl, but if she is from a wealthy family, even if we give her a sort of funeral, we may still offend the ghosts. So I thought . . .’ She made a little helpless gesture with her hands. ‘This family is about to make a perilous journey overseas. You see what I mean, Libertus. One cannot be too careful. Especially when Marcellinus is so young.’
And then I understood. Julia would have prayed to any god on earth – in sackcloth and with ashes in her hair – if she thought it might protect her precious son. She was taking no chances with the Lemures. I only wished that I had better news.
She seemed to read my face. ‘I assume that Stygius was right? This is not a peasant girl?’
‘I can promise that, at least,’ I said gently. And then, seeing that the page had reappeared, at the head of a little army of servants bearing folding stools, a table and a tray of food and drink, I added, ‘Why don’t we sit down?’
It was not my place to issue an invitation of this kind, but Julia realised that I was preparing her for a shock. She gestured to the slaves, and we watched in silence as they arranged the seats and began to set out goblets, fruit and wine.
She took a chair and gestured me to sit. She proffered another stool to Junio, and indicated that Stygius should take up a position at my back. But it was to me that she addressed herself. ‘Well, go on. You have discovered who this mysterious young lady is – or was?’
I shook my head. ‘We have discovered that she is not a young lady after all,’ I said.
She gestured to the goblets, signalling the slaves to pour the watered wine for Junio and me. Ladies did not generally drink, except at dinner time, and Stygius clearly did not merit such hospitality. She took a sugared fig, and nibbled daintily at one side of it. ‘But I understood . . . the hands?’ she said.
‘Not a young
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