A Prisoner of Privilege, page 5
The child looked doubtful, but a proffered quadrans prompted him to point to a staircase opposite. ‘Up there, first landing, second door.’ He seized the coin and disappeared inside, before I had time to ask him any more.
I was a little doubtful of his veracity, but we followed his directions and climbed the narrow stair (past the inevitable crowd of idlers playing illegal dice, who stopped to stare at us). But our informant was correct. Once on the landing, I recognized the door and the watchers lost interest when they saw us rap on it. All the same, we had to hammer twice, and I was almost persuaded there was nobody at home until I heard a shuffling on the other side.
At last the door was opened – a thumb’s-breadth, hardly more – and through the chink a pale suspicious eye looked out, while a cracked voice demanded, ‘What is your business here?’ It was hard to know if the speaker was a woman or a man. ‘If you want my master I’m afraid that he’s asleep. He took a nasty tumble in the baths the other day and he is not to be disturbed.’
‘I was hoping to hear that he’d recovered,’ I replied, looking politely at my feet so as not to confront the eyeball. ‘I saw him at the bathhouse, before he had the fall. He asked to speak to me. I am the councillor Libertus – I have visited before – and this is Junio, my adopted son, also a citizen.’ I flinched as a fat housewife shouldered past, carrying a pair of flapping fowls in either hand, on her way to one of the meaner tenements upstairs. ‘Could we come in and leave a note for him? You could supply a writing-tablet, I assume?’
‘I suppose so, citizen – since you’re a friend of his.’ The eye drew back and there was the rattle of a chain before the door was opened wide. Before us stood an aged, withered crone. She wore a simple brown tunic, like any slave, but around her head and shoulders there was draped a woollen cape, from which a few white wisps of hair escaped, and which she held in place with one thin blue-veined hand. I wondered for a foolish moment if this might be Josephus’s mother, but she had called him ‘master’, so this must be a servant. I wondered what had happened to the dignified old attendant who’d admitted me the last time I was here.
‘This way, citizens.’ She stood back to let us in, then put the chain back on the hook to seal the door. ‘I’ll fetch a writing-block, he keeps one on his desk.’ And she hobbled off, with an alacrity surprising for her age – despite her bandaged feet.
While she was gone I looked around the flat. It was much as I remembered: quite a modest one – half the size of Marcus’s (or even mine) – but this central room was square and spacious, with two large windows which would overlook the street, if one could have seen out through the thick glass windowpanes (which must have been expensive, but did keep out the draughts, though letting a little amber light into the room). There was not much furniture, just a table by the wall, a couple of small cabinets and a pair of folding stools. There was also a brazier alight – whatever cookery went on must be conducted here, as a bubbling pot of something on a gridiron testified – but an altar niche with the usual statues of the household gods showed no sign of recent sacrifice.
A narrow doorway led off to either side: one to the bedroom and study, (which – as I knew from my previous visit to the place – contained the weighty iron-bound strongbox where Josephus kept his cash) and the other presumably to the slaves’ room and the storage area. Not a mansion, but a pleasant place to live – apart from the constant hammering from the street.
I was about to make a wry remark to Junio, when the old servant came back with the writing-block. She set it on the table, fetched a stylus and stool, and motioned me to write. But I had hardly started when she began to talk – evidently she’d decided that she could confide in us.
‘I am sorry you can’t speak to him in person, citizens. But he’s been asleep since all day. And I am glad of that. He had been restless ever since he got home from the baths, until the medicus arrived late yesterday and, despite it being a nefas day, gave him something to assist.’
‘No doubt he bled him first, and prescribed a cabbage diet?’ I said, more sourly than I ought. I have no high opinion of the public medicus in Glevum. ‘That seems to be his remedy for almost anything. And then he asks for an enormous fee.’
But the woman shook her head. ‘Nothing like that, citizen. Master had always refused a medicus before – he’d had an argument with some member of the profession once. He was rude and violent with this one too, but the man was not deterred. Soothed the master and gave him something to help him to relax. And certainly it worked. Half-an-hour later he was sound asleep.’
Perhaps it was the assistant medicus, I thought – most public phsyicians have one, officially to accompany and observe them in their work, and thus to learn the trade. If so, this fellow was outshining his instructor. ‘A younger man, perhaps?’
‘Not an old one, certainly, but he was very good coming on a nefas day like that. He even called this morning with another dose, and looked in on Master, but he was still asleep. I asked him then about the bill – a little worried because I don’t have access to the purse – and he was very kind. Said that he would call back in a day or two – to see if anything further was required – and we could pay him then. I haven’t heard a murmur from Master ever since. I almost wish I had. I’ve made this soup for him. But the medicus was adamant that first he needed sleep and must not be disturbed.’
‘He will have given him poppy juice, of course?’ Junio said, making it a question, though it did not need to be – poppy juice is the standard treatment for sleeplessness and stress. ‘That can make you sleep for hours.’
‘I gave him that the first night,’ she replied. ‘One of his visitors brought a phial for him. But it hardly seemed to help. He dozed a little but soon awoke again and was shouting and half-delirious all day yesterday. But the medicus knew exactly what kind of draught to give. I don’t know what it was – some kind of soothing medicine he said. Certainly my master needed it – perhaps he was knocked stupid by the fall, but I have never known him like it. Shouting, raving, and all nonsense half the time. I blame those friends of his. They said it was the heat, on top of all the wine – but I think they gave him something very strong to drink. On purpose probably – as some kind of a joke – because Josephus has always been careful and waters everything. He says a money changer must be sober all the time. He would never deliberately drink enough to make him lose control – let alone enough to make him fall.’
‘Perhaps he missed his footing because he couldn’t see,’ I said, pacifically – though without much confidence. Josephus had certainly seemed drunk enough to me. ‘And he was wearing fabric slippers, which can be slippery. And, as you say, he hit his head – that can make people act in most peculiar ways. Though you would be wise to keep a careful eye on him for a day or two, when he does start waking up. There can be damage which isn’t evident at first.’
She made a scornful noise. ‘If so, it will be the fault of those so-called friends – and I shall tell them so. Slipped and fell, indeed! They were clearly worried that they’d had a hand in causing it. Not only did they bring him back here on a litter from the baths – just as well, I doubt he could have walked – but they paid for it themselves. Then one of them sent the medicus the next day, apparently, and another made a point of calling in as well to find out how Master was – even bringing little gifts of food and drink to tempt his appetite. It did no good – he wasn’t well enough to eat. But they would not have done all that, if they weren’t feeling guilty, I am sure.’
‘So Josephus was not really improving since the fall?’ If this were delayed concussion, as I feared, it was clearly serious.
She shook her head. ‘Worse if anything. He was delirious and shouting half of that first night – and he looked so bad at one stage, I was afraid for him. Until the medicus arrived. He was so clever, he set my mind at rest. Once that draught had taken its effect he assured me that the master would be all right – with rest. There wasn’t any bruising and he hadn’t fallen far. He even suggested a calves-head soup to give him when he wakes, so I have made a start’ – she gestured to the pot – ‘though it isn’t easy, we’re not properly equipped for cooking here. And no doubt he will be hungry. He won’t have eaten since he left here for the baths – apart from whatever snack he might have had with those so-called friends of his. But I need some leek and turnip to put into the stew.’ She looked at me, imploringly. ‘Advise me, citizen. I don’t know what to do. Do you think I could leave him for a little while? I could do with fetching water, too, if he is well enough to leave.’
‘So you are here with him, entirely alone?’ I said. ‘What happened to the manservant Josephus used to have?’
She made a little face. ‘Isn’t that always the way the Fates arrange these things? Semprius would normally be here, of course, but my master sent him on a mission just two days ago – some urgent letter that he wanted him to take.’
‘Your master could see well enough to write? I understood his sight was failing him.’
‘Not easily, but he’s taken to sending a lot of messages of late – wanting to write them while he was able to, I think. This one must have been an afterthought. He turned up here before he went to bathe – only a little after noon, I’d just heard the trumpet sound. He scratched the note and nothing would do but Semprius must go with it at once. It was something private or he’d have used a public messenger – he usually did – and it was obviously not to anybody in the town, because he gave Semprius a purse of coins, so he could hire transport if he needed it. I don’t know when he is expected to return.’
I frowned. ‘So you don’t know what the letter was, or where it was to go?’
She shook her head. ‘My master would not have told me, anyway – and when he got back from the baths he wasn’t making sense. Kept on burbling about the Emperor, but he did not even seem to know which Emperor it was. And when I tried to ask him he just threw things round the room.’ She looked at me and I saw that her eyes were full of tears. ‘It isn’t like my master, citizens. He’s a dreadful talker, on any subject but his work – he can keep you standing up for hours, telling stories about people you have never met – but apart from that he is the best of masters and the gentlest of men. So I’d like to make his soup. But I don’t like to leave him, in case he wakes while I am gone.’
I glanced at Junio with my eyebrows raised and was rewarded with a nod. ‘One of us will stay here,’ I promised, with a smile. ‘I don’t suppose that you’ll be very long. Meantime I’ll write this message, for you to show him when he wakes.’
The old slave smiled, showing empty gums. ‘Councillor Libertus, you are very kind. I’ll hurry to the marketplace and come straight back again.’ She burrowed into one of the little cabinets and produced a cloak, a woven basket and a drawstring purse, the last of which she looped onto her belt. ‘There! I’ve got enough small coins to buy what I require, so I’ll take the smaller water jug’ – she put it into the basket as she spoke – ‘though perhaps, before I go, I’ll take a risk and just look in on him, to make sure that he isn’t likely to wake and want something while you’re here. I wouldn’t like …’ She did not finish, but hurried – hobbling – through the door towards her master’s room.
She hadn’t closed the door, so we waited silently, not wishing to disturb Josephus as he slept. I resumed my letter and had just begun – ‘To the most esteemed Josephus’ – when there was a scream, a bang, a clatter and the slave woman came back into the room.
Her face was ashen and her pale blue eyes were wide. ‘Citizens – oh, citizens – you’d better come and see. The master’s turned a funny colour and I cannot feel his breath. And he’s as cold as snow. I think he might be dead.’
FIVE
‘Dead?’ Junio glanced at me, looking as astounded as I felt. I started to my feet but he was already following the servant through the door, and there was nothing for it but to hasten after them.
Past the study – which I had visited before – there was another open door. Junio and the woman were staring into the little room beyond. The old slave was trembling and it was evident that she was reluctant to go in there again.
‘I can’t believe what I am seeing, citizen! Come and look at him yourself.’ She stood back as I approached.
Even from here a frame-bed was visible. One human arm was dangling from under the woollen blanket and furs which covered it, and beneath which one could see the outline of a form.
Josephus the money changer might have been asleep, if it were not for the colour of the face, which lolled grotesquely off the pillows, and the open, bloodshot, blankly staring eyes. It was quite evident that the man was dead, but – since something was clearly expected of me – I crossed the room and raised the arm, as if to check there was no warmth in it. There was none, of course. In fact, I noticed, the limb was already getting stiff. He was not only dead, but he had been dead some time.
Junio meanwhile had espied a mirror, a disc of polished bronze which stood on the clothes chest on the far side of the room. He glanced at me, I nodded, so he went and fetched it and handed it to me so that I could hold it in front of those bluish open lips. But there was no breath to mist it.
That seemed to be the final proof the slave required. She let out a wail – almost as if she’d been hoping I might work a miracle. ‘But he can’t be dead. He can’t be.’
I shook my head at Junio, and he gently took her arm and led her to a nearby stool, murmuring, ‘I fear that fall proved fatal after all. Does he have relatives?’
She shook her head. ‘He never married, and he was an only child. His father is long dead, so there is only me. They call me Florea. I was his nurse, you see – his mother died when he was very small, and his father kept me on to care for him. I’ve done so ever since.’
‘Then, in the absence of his manservant, you are the senior mourner in the household, Florea. You must be the one to come and call his name – to make sure his spirit’s flown. Then you can go and find some herbs to purify the room.’ Junio clearly understood that it would comfort Florea to have work to do. ‘We’ll close his eyes and do what’s necessary here. And – if Semprius does not return today – we’ll need to find which undertaker’s company the guild employs, to come and have your master washed and fitted for a proper funeral.’
He helped her to her feet and stood politely back until she had called her master’s name three times – in a voice so faint that it seemed a ghost itself. Then, taking the woman’s skinny arm again, he led her back outside, where I could hear her sobbing into the corner of her shawl.
I brought the stool across and sank down for a moment beside the lifeless form, so that I could close the eyes and rearrange the lolling corpse more fittingly. Corpse! It was singularly shocking, when I’d seen him – lively and particularly loud – just two days before. And I’d been too discourteous to stop and talk to him. I could not shake the feeling that I should have done – surely I had not managed to contribute to his fate? Could he have known then there was a problem with his health, and wanted to alert me that he was feeling odd?
I shook my head. He had mentioned business, so that was not the case. And he had been clearly drunk. Probably, as his friends had said, he had been overcome by heat and the resultant fall had caused some damage to his brain – damage that proved fatal. Such things were not unknown – though there was not the slightest sign of bruising on the head that I could see.
Except perhaps a little around the nose and mouth? It was hard to tell – the pallid skin was slightly blue in any case. But surely a blow there, on the upper lip, even if he fell against the stone rim of the bath, could not have killed him? It might have loosened his front teeth, perhaps, but I had never heard of a fatality resulting from that kind of injury. Unless he’d bitten off his tongue. For a moment I entertained that horrid possibility – one could slowly drown in one’s own blood from such a wound. But surely, then, there would be bloodstains visible? And according to Florea, he’d been talking freely since – which obviously disposed of that hypothesis.
Though since I was going to rearrange the corpse and close the eyes it would do no harm to check. It was not my place to slip a coin into the mouth to pay the ferryman, but I put a tentative finger inside to check the tongue. It seemed quite swollen but it was intact, and there was not even any sign of movement in the teeth, although … I sat back upright, frowning in surprise.
The front teeth were rammed so hard into the lips that they had left an indentation. I’d actually had to prise the lip away to test if they were loose. Obviously he’d hit himself much harder than I thought. And there was something adhering to the ridge inside the mouth – though not a piece of tooth. It was something soft. I’d felt it brush my hand.
Perhaps, in retrospect, I should have left it there. Gwellia certainly thought so, when I told her afterwards. But at the time I was merely curious, so I put my finger back and gently extracted the offending thing.
It was a tiny feather, and initially it did not surprise me overmuch. My first thought was simply that it must have come from the downy bottom section of a goose’s quill. Perhaps the medicus had used one (as they sometimes did) to tickle the inside of the patient’s throat and so cause him to vomit up whatever substance might have disagreed with him – in this case, alcohol. Though there was no sign or smell of vomit on the body now.
I shrugged. No doubt the slave had cleared it up. I was inventing things. I would ask her about it later on, perhaps, when she was less upset. Meanwhile she would be waiting now, for the signal to arrange her master’s funeral. I leaned across and closed the bloodshot eyes. I also made a senseless effort to close the gaping mouth, at least a little, so he did not look so dead. But – like the arm – the face was stiffening and I desisted, half-afraid that I would break the jaw.
