Read Online Murder in the Forum by Rosemary Rowe - Free Book Online Page B

Then he spoke again. ‘The body, I think, should be moved into a bedchamber. You, you, you and you,’ he indicated a line of waiting slaves, ‘go outside. Fetch a litter to place him on. The funeral arrangers will have one. Order the best they have, and bring the undertaker here. See that the
libitinarius
brings his anointers and pall-bearers and anything else that he needs.’
    The lads scuttled to obey.
    Marcus turned to the rest of us. ‘We have all been in the presence of sudden death, and therefore we all need rites of purification. Fortunately, we have the high priest of Jupiter among us. He will tell us what it is necessary to do.’
    That was a happy stroke. Even the Emperor himself was in awe of the gods. The old priest dithered out to the household altar, fussed importantly with his robes and said, in a cracked and faded voice, ‘I shall need water, wine and oil. And a flame, from the Vestal altar in the atrium.’
    Marcus gave a nod, and two slaves sidled away to fetch these necessities.
    ‘And then there are the candles and herbs to set at the bedside.’ More slaves departed.
    There was a pause, while the requisite fire and liquids were fetched. Then the priest lit the lamp before the votive statues and began a long and complicated invocation of the gods in general, and Jupiter in particular, not forgetting the Emperor – in his role as divine being – and the household deities. He ritually washed his hands of death, and poured out conciliatory sacrifice, sprinkling herbs and some crumbs from the feast upon the sacred flame.
    ‘Prayers too for the herald,’ someone called, and the old man repeated the process with a morsel of bread and watered wine, dropping his voice to an incantatory murmur. The gods, being divine, were doubtless able to hear it. More mortal ears, like mine, were unable to distinguish a word. No doubt that was intentional. Commodus assuredly had his spies amongst us and would hear every detail of this ceremony. The priestly balance of duties between gods and Emperor cannot always be an easy one.
    Nevertheless, the effect was impressive. When he had finished he blessed the ceremonial vessels, and the slaves moved among us, offering each person present first the bowl of cool water and then a dish of ashes from the altar. One by one we took the garlands from our heads, dipped our hands and rinsed our faces in ritual cleansing, and solemnly placed a fingerful of ashes as a mourning sign upon our foreheads. Not one of us, I think, would genuinely have shed a tear for the lifeless figure lying on the couch, but there was something reassuring about fulfilling the rites. Even I, who am not a believer in the Roman pantheon, felt vaguely comforted, particularly when the old priest at the end of the ceremony picked up a bronze salver and struck it ringingly – striking bronze is a well-known Roman specific against malevolent spirits.
    The slaves had by now returned with the funeral arranger, the most prestigious in the city, and he and his workers were loitering in the passageway waiting for the priest to offer the remains of the feast before the sacrificial altar. (Gaius’s slaves would be delighted by that, I thought, since there was a good deal left over and the servants are, by tradition, permitted in the morning to eat the remnants which the gods have not consumed. I am not a sceptical man but it has been my impression that the gods are rarely very hungry on these occasions.)
    At last the formalities were over and the
libitinarius
and his party were able to enter with the funeral litter, an elaborate couch affair on a bier, with gilded handles and an embroidered canopy. It was almost too wide for the entrance, but they brought it in at last, and set it down.
    Two of the attendants came forward and laid the body tenderly on it. ‘Keep the feet to the door,’ the undertaker said, ‘in case the spirit should wish to escape.’ I saw Gaius flinch, no doubt wishing we had thought of this