Read Online The Germanicus Mosaic by Rosemary Rowe - Free Book Online
Authors: Rosemary Rowe
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it.
The water-carrier had returned by this time, with his ewer of sacred water, and the rites could begin at last. When Andretha began instructing the musicians to start the lament, I decided that after all I would go up to the water shrine straight away. I have no stomach for professional keening. That dismal noise alone is enough to drive a spirit shuddering to the underworld. Perhaps that is the idea.
Walking to the spring would give me time to think, and besides it would take me as far as possible away from that demented wailing.
It was a little walk to the nymphaeum, out through the rear courtyard and inner gate and up a steep path between thick trees. At first I enjoyed my stroll, glad of the chance to clear my head after the thick air of the death room. But I had not gone many paces before I paused to listen. I could hear sounds. Small things, the crack of a twig, the scrabble of stones, a stealthy rustling. As I stopped, they stopped too. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. Someone was following me.
I turned. Nothing. I was imagining things.
I walked on, and there it was again, the unmistakable sound of footsteps on gravel. I whirled around, but there was no one to be seen. I felt my heart pounding, and I also felt conspicuously alone. After a morning when slaves had been drawing water constantly, to my knowledge, it seemed that suddenly the path to the spring was deserted.
I looked around. The path here was hidden from the villa, and with the household busy with funeral preparations, any cries for help would go unheard. And Crassus had after all been murdered. It would be ironic, I thought, to discover the murderer’s identity only by becoming the next victim.
I moved swiftly, diving behind a nearby tree and waiting silently. At least I would discover who it was. I waited a long time. Nobody came. My pursuer, it seemed, had given up – or had never really existed. I emerged, feeling rather foolish, and at that moment a dark-haired figure hurried round the corner. Paulus. He looked startled to see me.
‘Ah, citizen!’
‘Paulus! What brings you here? You have not come for water. You have no jug, I see.’ On the other hand, I noticed, he had no weapon either.
He smiled weakly. ‘No, citizen. I came to look for you. Andretha said you had come this way. Aulus, the gatekeeper, wishes to see you. He has information, he says, which he forgot yesterday – and he cannot leave his post.’
Aulus. Marcus’ spy. That seemed a plausible reason for coming to find me. Was it a real one or had Paulus been following me? Or, again, by coming this way himself, had he frightened away my pursuer? I did not know. I could only say, ‘Very well, tell him I will come. I will go up to the spring later.’
I did not go directly to the gatehouse, however. I walked around the side of the villa, on my way, to look in at the stoke room by daylight. I was not followed this time, but one glance into the furnace room was enough to tell me that I was too late to learn anything there. The whole area had been swept and cleaned, and even the pile of fuel had been removed. There was a faint, rubbed line on the trodden earth of the floor, as if something had been dragged across it from door to furnace. I thought of the graze on the dead man’s foot, but there was nothing further to be proved from that. A glance towards the back gate showed me why. Half a dozen slaves, under the supervision of Andretha, were already engaged in dragging garden sledges laden with logs from the woodpile towards the farm cart standing in the lane. For the funeral pyre no doubt. Any of the sledges might have made the mark.
It also explained how Andretha knew where to find me. He must have seen me go towards the nymphaeum. Why else would anyone seek me on that path? I gave myself a little shake. I was becoming unreasonably suspicious.
I turned away and went to find the gatekeeper.
He was sitting vacantly on a stool in his cell-like room beside
The water-carrier had returned by this time, with his ewer of sacred water, and the rites could begin at last. When Andretha began instructing the musicians to start the lament, I decided that after all I would go up to the water shrine straight away. I have no stomach for professional keening. That dismal noise alone is enough to drive a spirit shuddering to the underworld. Perhaps that is the idea.
Walking to the spring would give me time to think, and besides it would take me as far as possible away from that demented wailing.
It was a little walk to the nymphaeum, out through the rear courtyard and inner gate and up a steep path between thick trees. At first I enjoyed my stroll, glad of the chance to clear my head after the thick air of the death room. But I had not gone many paces before I paused to listen. I could hear sounds. Small things, the crack of a twig, the scrabble of stones, a stealthy rustling. As I stopped, they stopped too. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. Someone was following me.
I turned. Nothing. I was imagining things.
I walked on, and there it was again, the unmistakable sound of footsteps on gravel. I whirled around, but there was no one to be seen. I felt my heart pounding, and I also felt conspicuously alone. After a morning when slaves had been drawing water constantly, to my knowledge, it seemed that suddenly the path to the spring was deserted.
I looked around. The path here was hidden from the villa, and with the household busy with funeral preparations, any cries for help would go unheard. And Crassus had after all been murdered. It would be ironic, I thought, to discover the murderer’s identity only by becoming the next victim.
I moved swiftly, diving behind a nearby tree and waiting silently. At least I would discover who it was. I waited a long time. Nobody came. My pursuer, it seemed, had given up – or had never really existed. I emerged, feeling rather foolish, and at that moment a dark-haired figure hurried round the corner. Paulus. He looked startled to see me.
‘Ah, citizen!’
‘Paulus! What brings you here? You have not come for water. You have no jug, I see.’ On the other hand, I noticed, he had no weapon either.
He smiled weakly. ‘No, citizen. I came to look for you. Andretha said you had come this way. Aulus, the gatekeeper, wishes to see you. He has information, he says, which he forgot yesterday – and he cannot leave his post.’
Aulus. Marcus’ spy. That seemed a plausible reason for coming to find me. Was it a real one or had Paulus been following me? Or, again, by coming this way himself, had he frightened away my pursuer? I did not know. I could only say, ‘Very well, tell him I will come. I will go up to the spring later.’
I did not go directly to the gatehouse, however. I walked around the side of the villa, on my way, to look in at the stoke room by daylight. I was not followed this time, but one glance into the furnace room was enough to tell me that I was too late to learn anything there. The whole area had been swept and cleaned, and even the pile of fuel had been removed. There was a faint, rubbed line on the trodden earth of the floor, as if something had been dragged across it from door to furnace. I thought of the graze on the dead man’s foot, but there was nothing further to be proved from that. A glance towards the back gate showed me why. Half a dozen slaves, under the supervision of Andretha, were already engaged in dragging garden sledges laden with logs from the woodpile towards the farm cart standing in the lane. For the funeral pyre no doubt. Any of the sledges might have made the mark.
It also explained how Andretha knew where to find me. He must have seen me go towards the nymphaeum. Why else would anyone seek me on that path? I gave myself a little shake. I was becoming unreasonably suspicious.
I turned away and went to find the gatekeeper.
He was sitting vacantly on a stool in his cell-like room beside
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