explanation of that cryptic remark, he breezed off to formalise his purchase, then returned to report, ‘It’s coming to you this evening. I shall try to be there to oversee delivery.’
Faustus waved goodbye, before leaving with Vibius and others.
Coming in the other direction, an unmistakable figure rolled up, signalling to me: Fundanus the funeral director.
‘What, Fundanus – you here? Hoping to see the famous wooden tomb? Thank you for cleaning it for us.’
Fundanus was an awkward character to deal with, big-bellied and full of his own ghastly opinions. His face was disfigured with pustules that suggested he had much too close contact with bodies that had been infected with plague. I had never seen any evidence that he practised necrophilia, but it would not have surprised me.
His opinion of the living was low. ‘Which of the disgusting types you have lured here today is the killer? I suppose he came. Couldn’t stay away. Might be anyone, by the look of their ugly faces. I wouldn’t want to plug any of their nasty arses. Your father needs to bring in a better crowd, then he’d make more money.’
I wished he would speak more softly, but Fundanus always boomed as if he were the only man on the planet.
I ran through with him what his pyre-builder had told me yesterday about the corpse. Fundanus sniffed at his lad’s effrontery in helping me behind his back − a member of the public, one who paid him money − though I noticed he made no corrections.
He was the worst kind of witness. He had no further facts, yet plenty of stupid ideas. ‘This boxed-up stiff has got to be a cheating husband who shagged one bloody-meat-stained floozy too many in the Cattle Market.’ Fundanus was inventing this so vividly he convinced himself it was all true. People in his line of business always think they have a special understanding of human nature, despite the fact most humans they encounter are incapable of self-expression due to death. Even the living, the bereaved, are in crisis so not themselves. ‘He was found out. The wife got her lover to suffocate him, and now those lovebirds are enjoying his money together. That lover wants to watch out. As soon as he runs through her cash, he’ll be in for exactly the same treatment.’
‘Well, that will give us a lead,’ I managed to interject. ‘Two deaths the same is always helpful. We could leave a chest with its lid up helpfully, somewhere in that granary storage place.’
Fundanus beamed with patronising approval. ‘Well, that’s better, girl. You’re learning!’
I was glad to see the back of him.
I lie: his padded rear, swaggering across the porticus as his fat legs bore him off to lunch, was a foul spectacle.
The thought of a man who had such intimate dealings with the dead eating lunch always made me queasy. He prodded human offal, then looked as if he never washed his hands.
The Boy Taking a Thorn out of His Foot
came up on offer again. Most of the punters were wandering away by now and took no interest. The man in the puce tunic plucked up his courage and bought the statue. That was all he had wanted, all along.
Apparently.
15
T he sun was high overhead. In the post-noon bake, I began to flag. The marble-clad porticus buildings sweated heat from every stone, until my heart was pattering uneasily.
Gornia noticed me looking flushed. His ninety-year-old frame was exhausted too. We conferred, carrying out an inventory by eye: there was enough stock to continue the sale tomorrow when staff and buyers would be fresh, rather than struggling on when everyone was past caring. So we finished for today.
I made Gornia ride Patchy back to the Saepta. Our people stayed in the porticus to guard the lots overnight. I left and walked wearily towards the Aventine. After passing the civilised Porticus of Octavia, the closed Theatre of Marcellus, the teeming vegetable and meat markets, I came level with the Circus Maximus and faced a choice. Maturity struck me.
Faustus waved goodbye, before leaving with Vibius and others.
Coming in the other direction, an unmistakable figure rolled up, signalling to me: Fundanus the funeral director.
‘What, Fundanus – you here? Hoping to see the famous wooden tomb? Thank you for cleaning it for us.’
Fundanus was an awkward character to deal with, big-bellied and full of his own ghastly opinions. His face was disfigured with pustules that suggested he had much too close contact with bodies that had been infected with plague. I had never seen any evidence that he practised necrophilia, but it would not have surprised me.
His opinion of the living was low. ‘Which of the disgusting types you have lured here today is the killer? I suppose he came. Couldn’t stay away. Might be anyone, by the look of their ugly faces. I wouldn’t want to plug any of their nasty arses. Your father needs to bring in a better crowd, then he’d make more money.’
I wished he would speak more softly, but Fundanus always boomed as if he were the only man on the planet.
I ran through with him what his pyre-builder had told me yesterday about the corpse. Fundanus sniffed at his lad’s effrontery in helping me behind his back − a member of the public, one who paid him money − though I noticed he made no corrections.
He was the worst kind of witness. He had no further facts, yet plenty of stupid ideas. ‘This boxed-up stiff has got to be a cheating husband who shagged one bloody-meat-stained floozy too many in the Cattle Market.’ Fundanus was inventing this so vividly he convinced himself it was all true. People in his line of business always think they have a special understanding of human nature, despite the fact most humans they encounter are incapable of self-expression due to death. Even the living, the bereaved, are in crisis so not themselves. ‘He was found out. The wife got her lover to suffocate him, and now those lovebirds are enjoying his money together. That lover wants to watch out. As soon as he runs through her cash, he’ll be in for exactly the same treatment.’
‘Well, that will give us a lead,’ I managed to interject. ‘Two deaths the same is always helpful. We could leave a chest with its lid up helpfully, somewhere in that granary storage place.’
Fundanus beamed with patronising approval. ‘Well, that’s better, girl. You’re learning!’
I was glad to see the back of him.
I lie: his padded rear, swaggering across the porticus as his fat legs bore him off to lunch, was a foul spectacle.
The thought of a man who had such intimate dealings with the dead eating lunch always made me queasy. He prodded human offal, then looked as if he never washed his hands.
The Boy Taking a Thorn out of His Foot
came up on offer again. Most of the punters were wandering away by now and took no interest. The man in the puce tunic plucked up his courage and bought the statue. That was all he had wanted, all along.
Apparently.
15
T he sun was high overhead. In the post-noon bake, I began to flag. The marble-clad porticus buildings sweated heat from every stone, until my heart was pattering uneasily.
Gornia noticed me looking flushed. His ninety-year-old frame was exhausted too. We conferred, carrying out an inventory by eye: there was enough stock to continue the sale tomorrow when staff and buyers would be fresh, rather than struggling on when everyone was past caring. So we finished for today.
I made Gornia ride Patchy back to the Saepta. Our people stayed in the porticus to guard the lots overnight. I left and walked wearily towards the Aventine. After passing the civilised Porticus of Octavia, the closed Theatre of Marcellus, the teeming vegetable and meat markets, I came level with the Circus Maximus and faced a choice. Maturity struck me.
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