A Roman Ransom (25 page)

It was a deliberate attempt to exclude the other girl, by drawing on a shared experience. Cilla was quite right, of course: I had once used that path, escaping from hostile soldiers in the dark, though that was moons ago, when the new wing was first built and Marcellinus was only a few days old. However, it was not a story that I wished to amplify in front of one of Marcus’s household slaves – especially one who babbled like a brook. I frowned at Cilla as a warning that she should hold her tongue. Junio, who also knew about my ignominious flight, caught my eye and winked conspiratorially at me. But Porphyllia was not even curious, it seemed.

Instead she assumed a rather lofty air, as the only one who knew the present villa and its ways. ‘It must be a long time since you were in that section of the house, then, citizen. The master had that pathway gated off moons and moons ago – certainly before he purchased me. He said that if it was possible for people to get out that way, it was possible for strangers to get in.’ She gave the tray a little hoick against her hip, as if to emphasise a point well made.

Cilla was all false silkiness and charm. ‘I heard him talk of doing that, even before I left the house. I think he was afraid of robbers at the time – there were reports of thieves and bandits in the forest round about. But the path led to the orchard, didn’t it? The mistress used to like to go out there, especially when there was blossom on the trees. Surely the master didn’t block that off?’

Porphyllia treated the interruption with disdain. ‘There still is a path into the orchard and she still uses it – she used to take the baby there and let him see the geese – but it’s had a gate put on it. These days there’s no way out on to the farm except past the gate-keeper. The kidnappers could not have come and gone that way, if that was what you were thinking, citizen.’

It had occurred to me, of course. Erroneously, it seemed. ‘And the man on duty saw nothing untoward?’

‘Only the normal business of the day. Slaves taking laundry in and out, and produce from the farm. The master had him in his study for an hour for questioning – the poor man was quite shaken by the time he was released – but there wasn’t anything he could report that afternoon. Not even any omens, like horrible old groping Onions at the front.’ She spoke the nickname with disgust, as though it tasted of itself.

‘Aulus is still here and at his tricks?’ Cilla asked, with a look that said ‘Fondling anything that’s fool enough to let him?’ as clearly as if she’d spoken the words aloud.

Porphyllia turned scarlet to her tunic-hems. ‘No one likes that sort of thing.’ She flashed a little glance at Junio. ‘From Aulus, anyway.’

The boy exhibited such squirming embarrassment at this that I was hard put to it to suppress an inward smile. However, I kept my face as straight as possible, and stolidly pursued my questioning. ‘So how is it that so many people say they saw Julia and Marcellinus in the courtyard of that wing? As you say, it was built for privacy. Surely the area isn’t overlooked?’

It was Cilla who hastened to reply. ‘Not from the main body of the house. But there is a store cupboard, just where the passageway comes out into the court – or there was in my day anyway. That’s where the candles and the oil lamps for that wing were kept – fresh bedcovers and sleep herbs and all that sort of thing. Everything that might be needed over there.’

‘And the cleaning sponges for the clothes.’ Porphyllia was eager to give more information than her rival on the point. ‘We maidservants were always in and out, to fetch them or the mending chest, or else the spare spatulas and bowls for mixing facial pastes.’ She tossed her head at Cilla. ‘And before you ask, there was generally one of us in earshot anyway. The mistress might have sent us all away but she did have a gong to summon us, and she would not have been best pleased if she had wanted something done and there was suddenly no servant to be found.’

‘But that afternoon she didn’t call on you, not even for the soup? Or the cooked fruit for Marcellinus?’ I said.

The girl shrugged. ‘She just sent Myrna, as she often did. In fact it was Myrna who persuaded her to introduce the gong – to keep the rest of us away, the others said. Not that I minded very much. It can be cold out in that courtyard, if you’re simply standing by, waiting for somebody to find a job for you.’

Cilla raised her eyebrows, as if to say that servants in the villa nowadays were getting soft and self-indulgent. But a small connection was forming in my mind, like two pieces of pavement tile that fit together to form a pleasing shape.

‘Cold,’ I murmured. ‘People keep telling me how cold it was. And yet she took the child into the court.’

‘I know what the other girls are saying, citizen, but of course the mistress wouldn’t take a risk. Myrna always advocated an outing after lunch. The inner courtyard’s sheltered from the wind and the child was properly wrapped up.’

‘Wrapped up?’ I echoed. I was thinking of those little coverings which Philades had produced with such a flourish from the bag. ‘Of course he was. Woollen coverings on his legs and hands, a long-sleeved tunic that must have reached at least to his knees, and a warm cap to cover his head.’

‘That’s right,’ Porphyllia agreed. ‘And the dearest little cloak and hood, all made of woollen cloth – I helped to stitch some of it myself. The mistress’s very favourite it was – made to match his father’s.’ She stopped, confused. ‘But of course you know that, you’ve seen it for yourself.’ And then, because she was unstoppable, ‘And then they took it off him when they sent him back. Poor little mite. It’s a wonder he didn’t catch his death of cold, despite that stinking grease they put on him.’

But I was hardly listening any more. ‘Dear Jupiter!’ I cried. ‘Of course, you’re right. Cold weather, headaches and a carriage ride. How could I be so stupid!’ I was sitting upright now, fired with an unexpected energy. The beginnings of an almost incredible idea had just occurred to me. ‘Junio, I think I see how it was done. I believe we’ve been asking the wrong questions all along. In fact, I suspect we were intended to.’

‘Master?’ Junio was looking concerned and mystified, as though he were afraid that I was feverish again.

I shook my head, unwilling to commit myself any more as yet.

I turned towards Porphyllia, who was still standing with her tray, trying to look at once flirtatious and demure – neither of which were natural attributes of hers. ‘Now, listen carefully,’ I said. ‘You say that you saw Marcellinus take an airing in the court. But are you sure of that? It seems to me that what you saw was just a muffled child. Were you close enough to see his face?’

The girl looked from me to Junio, as if alarmed that I had suddenly gone mad and she might need protection. ‘But, citizen, of course it was Marcellinus I saw. Who else could it possibly have been?’ She drew her breath in sharply and her eyes got very wide. ‘You aren’t suggesting that the gods sent some sort of changeling in his place? I’ve heard about that kind of thing, of course, but I never thought I would live to see . . .’

‘Not exactly that,’ I interrupted soberly. ‘But something not so very different, perhaps. So I’m asking you again. Were you close enough to recognise his face?’ I could see that she was ready to burst into speech again, but I prevented her by holding up my hand. ‘Think carefully before you answer me. It is very easy to see what you expect.’

I had the satisfaction of seeing her reflect, and the dumpling face furrow into a troubled frown. ‘Well, I’m almost sure . . . though, now you come to mention it, I couldn’t swear before the gods that it wasn’t possibly a changeling that I saw. It certainly looked like Marcellinus, though – that’s all I can say. And surely his mother would have noticed it – after all, she was right there at his side.’

I glanced at Junio, and saw that he was following my thoughts, with a look of dawning understanding on his face. He nodded at me, mouth agape, and turned away to add some more fuel to the brazier which was burning down to chilly embers now.

I turned to Porphyllia again. ‘And that’s another thing,’ I said. ‘Did you see Julia, or just a woman in a cloak? If it was as chilly as you say, presumably she was wrapped up too?’

Porphyllia stared at me. ‘Well, I suppose she had her hood pulled up. But, citizen, I would know the mistress anywhere. It isn’t like a baby – the gods don’t steal adults for sport. Anyway, she is conspicuous; you would know her in a crowd. From her hair if nothing else – even with her hood on you can always see a little of her hair, and there is no one else I know who has blond hair like that. And I remember distinctly seeing it that day.’

‘But it’s a wig,’ I said. ‘You told us that yourself.’

She looked abashed. ‘I can’t believe that it was anybody else. It was her cloak and
stola
, I am sure of that. I remember thinking that I’d have to clean them afterwards, if she let her hems drag in the mud. The fuller’s boy had been the day before, and I didn’t fancy taking them myself. It’s a long walk at this time of year, when it is cold and windy on the road.’

‘But don’t I remember you remarking that, while she was in the court, she accidentally let her ankles show? A bad omen, you called it at the time.’

‘It wasn’t Julia, then! My former mistress was very careful about things like that,’ Cilla burst in unexpectedly. ‘I remember how she would rehearse the things she had to do each day – clamber into a carriage for example, or climb public stairs – and reject a
stola
as unsuitable if she thought it might reveal immodest glimpses of her feet. We slaves would grumble and make jokes behind her back. Sometimes it would take her ages to decide.’

‘And she is no different now – as Porphyllia told us a short time ago.’ I felt as if someone had lit a candle in my brain – suddenly the mists had departed from my mind and I could see things clearly as I used to do. ‘We know that Julia rejected at least one
stola
on that day because it was too short. And yet when she was in the court, her dress allows a piece of leg to show sufficiently for her maids to notice it. That suggests to me that Cilla may be right, and the second time it wasn’t Julia at all.’

Junio had worked out the implications of all this. ‘You mean, the kidnapping didn’t happen that afternoon at all?’ He was standing near the brazier with a piece of wood, ready to put it on the fire, but he was frozen into immobility.

I nodded slowly. ‘I think it may have happened earlier, while Julia was out. That’s much more likely, isn’t it, in every way? Someone stopped her carriage, perhaps, and forced her out of it. And when it returned here, it brought back, not Julia, as everyone supposed, but somebody dressed up to take her place.’

Prophyllia put the tray down on the table with a clang. ‘But that’s preposterous. A thousand pardons, citizen – I mean . . . impossible. How could an impostor get in past the gate?’

‘It seems at first sight to be an enormous risk, I know,’ I said. ‘But I think it might be possible if it was planned with enough care. Julia was going out for a visit in the morning to see friends. She wore a veil, you say?’

Porphyllia seemed inclined to take this as a personal affront. ‘She’s done so off and on the whole time I’ve been here,’ she said, in a defensive tone. ‘Depended who she was visiting, I think, and where. Though Cilla here will tell you different, I expect.’

Cilla shook her head. ‘I have known her wear one, in winter especially. She used to say cold weather chapped her cheeks. Or when she was visiting a Roman home where there was an older woman in the house. It’s what the older ones expect, when you are a matron with a child. Julia wouldn’t cause gossip in the town – it might reflect on Marcus. Though she resented it. “What’s the point of taking pains with how you look if no one’s going to see you anyway?” she’d say. But it didn’t totally conceal her face, as soon as you got close enough to see.’

‘Which explains why Aulus was distracted from his post when the carriage came back through the gate,’ I said – and then remembered that Cilla didn’t know the tale. ‘He was told that there were strangers hiding in the bushes up the lane so naturally he went along to look, while Julia and the carriage came inside – to safety, as he thought. Of course, no one paid much attention at the time, but in the light of what happened afterwards it seemed that there might really have been someone lurking there. But suppose it was a fiction, entirely designed to draw him for a moment from his post? It would allow the still-veiled “Julia” to alight and go inside while his attention was on something else.’

‘But wasn’t it Julia herself who claimed to see . . .?’ Junio began, and then he worked it out. ‘But of course, she would not get down herself and ask Aulus to investigate. She would send the nurse. And, while he was looking down the lane, the impostor could alight and walk inside.’ He put the wood into the brazier and stirred the fire, and the room was filled with the sweet smell of burning applewood. He dusted off his hands and turned to me. ‘But master, what on earth would be the point of it? It’s taking such a risk. There would still be lots of household servants to avoid and if Julia was to be captured anyway, why pretend that it was done at another time?’ He paused, and put down the iron bar he’d used to poke the fire. ‘Oh, I see. To do exactly what it did, in fact: to cause alarm and draw attention from the truth, and from the obvious conspirator.’

I nodded my approval. ‘And that was . . .’ I prompted.

‘Well, Myrna, clearly,’ Junio replied.

‘Myrna!’ Porphyllia exclaimed. ‘But she’s been murdered by the kidnapper – everybody in the household is aware of that. And the master is arranging a funeral for her. You can’t mean that she was part of this all along?’

‘If we have hit on the truth, then she had to be,’ I said bleakly, recalling that Myrna had visited my house – and brought many of my present troubles on my head. That, and the memory of that distressing corpse, was enough to sap my feverish energy. I had been buoyed up by the excitement of my own deductions for a time, but suddenly I was weary to my bones. I shut my eyes. ‘Junio can explain it to you, I expect.’

I heard his exasperated little gasp, and realised what I had done. I had intended it as simply flattery, but I’d given her the opportunity to make eyes at him again.