Free Requiem for a Slave by Rosemary Rowe Page A

too large to carry in that way. The piece was already mounted on its linen backing cloth, ready to be reversed and cemented into place, and I had that terracotta tray on which to carry it. That could be managed on the barrow, though it would take a lot of care. The mosaic was not quite finished at one edge, of course, but that was, if anything, a help. It made it slightly easier to move, since I could protect the edges in transit with a rolled strip of cloth, and a border can always be filled with larger tiles, or even with painted mortar if required.
    I had border tesserae already cut and quite a lot to spare; the extra pieces could be taken with it as they were, and I could put in the final touches when it was in place. I had already left the necessary tools and mortar at the site, when I put down the preliminary layer yesterday. So it was tempting to do as the turnip-seller said. But there was Lucius’s mother to consider too.
    Radixrapum saw that I was havering. ‘It won’t make any difference to his mother, citizen. She cannot help him now. If you go off and tell her, what are you going to do? Stop the army carting him away and ask her if she wants to take the corpse herself? That will just be an impossible expense, because she’ll have to provide the funeral – you and I are both aware that he would never have contributed to any guild. So you’ll end up paying for it all yourself. And you couldn’t decently just put him on a public pyre. If you’re going to stand as patron, you would have to do it right – with at least a funeral director and bier, and very probably a priest and some sort of sacrifice. It would cost a huge amount. To say nothing of all the cleansing rituals you’ll have to get performed before you can reopen your shop in any case. And you weren’t officially his patron, were you, citizen?’
    He was voicing the very thoughts that I’d had earlier. I made a groaning sound. With the loss of Quintus’s order, things were hard enough, without additional expense – especially if the Apollo piece fell through. ‘Not officially his patron,’ I said reluctantly. ‘Though he’d half-adopted me as one, this last half-moon or so. I simply feel an obligation to do something, that is all.’
    He cocked a brow at me. ‘If the corpse had turned up anywhere but here, it’s likely that nobody would have told the mother anything, and she would only have deduced that Lucius was dead when he did not come home. You will have saved her that, at least. This has been thrust on you, and you have done your best – you’ve lit candles for him and called three times on his soul. No reason why you should lose your customers as well. You can go and see the mother afterwards, if you feel you must, and offer her such consolation as you can. But if we are going to move this piece of work of yours, we ought to do it fast, or the army cart will turn up and catch us in the act.’
    It was no good arguing. The man was not such a turnip as he looked. He was obviously right. I nodded doubtfully. ‘We’ll do as you suggest.’
    He gave me another conspiratorial grin. ‘Of course, you’ll have to buy those last few turnips first, to clear the space. Shall we say another half-sestertius for the lot, and for the temporary hire of the barrow too?’
    Dear Mars! He almost seemed to be enjoying this. ‘Oh, very well,’ I said. ‘If you look behind the counter, you will find a leather bag I sometimes use to carry bread and cheese. Put the turnips in it, and we will make a start.’
    It did take a few moments to clean the barrow out, but, despite his protests, I insisted it was done – the mosaic would be balancing dangerously enough, without there being lumps of earth beneath the tray preventing it from lying properly. When we had finished, we went into the shop.
    It was my turn to feel disconcerted by the corpse. The tapers were still burning at Lucius’s head and feet (though the most pervading smell was not of smoke