‘But. .?’ Junio began.
I answered the question before he’d uttered it. ‘To disguise her identity, I suppose. Perhaps the simple change of clothes did not prove to be enough. It must be something of the kind. Why else would anyone do a thing like that?’
‘Great Ceres! I suppose it’s possible.’ Stygius furrowed his tanned face in a frown. He paused a minute and then spat thoughtfully. ‘Somebody was really anxious to do that, wasn’t he? Putting her in clothes that weren’t her own, chopping off her hair and mashing up her face as if it was a turnip — then going to the trouble of putting her in a ditch and piling leaves on her. And in part of the forest that was off the beaten track — on private property. He can’t have imagined that she’d be found so soon. Even we land slaves never usually go there.’
It was my turn to frown. This was an aspect of the affair which had not occurred to me.
Stygius saw that he had made a point, and went on in his slow unhurried way, ‘Well, it stands to reason, doesn’t it, citizen? If the mistress hadn’t told us to clear that piece of ground, to make way for a roundhouse for this young gentleman, that body would have been there years and years. Nobody would ever have had cause to go in there — it’s not even a place where poor people go to pick up kindling. There were a few old trees — which we’ve cut down now, of course — but it was mostly dense undergrowth and nasty prickly things.’
I held the candle higher and looked hard at him. ‘But someone must have forced a way in, mustn’t they, to hide the body there?’
He seemed to take a moment to acknowledge this. ‘I suppose they must have, when you think of it. Unless they used the tracks that we had made ourselves. We took the taller timber down a half a moon ago, and carted it out on sledges, so we made a sort of path.’
‘And didn’t you say the body was hidden in a ditch?’ That was Junio. He was looking at the body with horror, but was taking a lively interest in all this, as well he might. It was his roundhouse that was threatened by the Lemures, after all.
Stygius gave his slow nod. ‘The body had been pushed down into it, and covered with a great pile of fallen branches and dead leaves. It would have been nothing but a bag of bones, you’d think, before anybody found it in the normal way — and it couldn’t have been identified by that time anyway.’
Junio turned to me. ‘What do you think, mast- Father? It does sound as if whoever put this body there was very anxious not to risk its being found. Yet it can’t have been entirely safe hiding a body in the forest anyway. The area is right next to your roundhouse and the lane, so somebody could easily have seen them doing it. Kurso, for instance, when he was dealing with the animals; or anybody passing on the road. The ditch was hidden, but the access can’t have been — they could hardly have come through from the villa side. They would have had to be on Marcus’s private land for that.’
I shook my head. It was a mystery to me. Why take such trouble to obliterate the face and chop off all the hair when the body was to be hidden in a place where no one was likely to find it — as Stygius said — for years and years? When it was covered with large branches in that way, not even wild animals could dig it up — until all chance of identifying it was long gone, anyway. There must be something that I was missing here.
‘Take this, Junio.’ He was standing next to me, and almost without thinking I handed him the light, and bent to look more closely at the corpse. A quick inspection of the hands persuaded me that Stygius was right. They were far too clean and pumiced for a peasant girl and they showed no signs of heavy work at all — though they were by no means dainty. In fact, they were rather large and angular, and there was a bruise-mark on one finger where a ring might once have been — a tight one, pulled off forcibly, by the look of it.
It was rather a similar matter with the feet and ankles too. It was clear that the owner of that soft, clean, supple skin did not go barefoot as a general rule. The toes and soles were virtually unmarked by calluses, which suggested that they were usually encased in proper shoes or sandals (and probably expensive ones at that) rather than the makeshift boots of rags, or fresh hide bound around the feet and left to cure, which peasant women usually wear.
Yet these were not the dainty, aristocratic feet of which ladies like Julia were so justly proud — they were not as big as Junio’s or mine, but even my slave Cilla had smaller ones, and her ankles were less raw-boned and prominent. These legs were pale and muscular, and smooth as kidskin — as if they had been painfully pumiced, shaved or plucked.
‘Is there any other damage?’ Junio was bending to get a closer look.
‘We shall soon see,’ I said. I untied the waistband, and to Stygius’s obvious dismay, motioned him to help me to take off the garment so that I could see the body underneath. As I lifted up the hem-front, my fingers felt something hard hidden in the cloth. Something round and solid, like a largish coin.
‘Bring that light a little closer, Junio,’ I said, running my fingers further round the hem. And indeed, right by the clumsy side seam of the skirt, there was a spot where the stitching was undone, leaving a small opening to the space beneath and allowing the owner to use it as a kind of makeshift purse. I slipped my fingers down into the hole and with the other hand I worked the object round till I could take it out.
‘What is it, Father?’ Junio was watching me.
‘A coin!’ I produced it with a flourish.
He laughed. ‘For the ferryman, perhaps?’
This was only half intended as a jest. It is the custom, at Roman funerals, to slip a coin into the mouth of the deceased as payment for Charon, the boatman who is supposed to take the spirit across the Lethean stream — the River Styx, the Greeks would call it. If this girl was high-born, some such coin must be found, though a Celtic peasant woman would not have needed such a thing.
But this was no copper coin. Not even a silver denarius — a large coin for a pauper — as I’d expected it would be, hidden in the hemming as a precaution against thieves. This was a piece of solid gold. An aureus — so rare I had seen only a handful in my whole career. And, as my fingers worked along the hem, I found another coin, and a third and a fourth.
I pulled them out and held them up one by one in the candlelight. They were all different — provincial, foreign or tribal coins perhaps — and though they were all quite clearly made of gold, only the aureus was a standard Roman coin, and bore the image of a proper emperor. And that — perhaps — was the strangest thing of all, for the head was unmistakably that of ‘Little Boots’, or ‘Caligula’ as the Romans say.
I found myself staring in amazement at the coin. All coinage that bore the head of Little Boots had been officially withdrawn after his assassination and reminted with the face of his successor, Claudius. It was illegal coinage, rare and potentially quite dangerous to own — though still, quite literally, worth its weight in gold. I explained the circumstances to the other two.
Stygius frowned and Junio commented, ‘That’s very peculiar, master, isn’t it? Why bury her in a garment which had a fortune in the hem?’
I shook my head. ‘I don’t understand it. Perhaps the killer didn’t know. There is something very peculiar about this crime. Let’s take the garment off her, Stygius.’
It was no easy matter, but we half sat the body up and gently eased the gown away from it.