Vibius blenched. “Dump the bones in the river? I’m not certain we should do that.”
“Never,” Gallus said. “His ghost would torment us forever. We must give him a decent burning.”
“We’re not his family,” the foreman objected. He was angry, but I sensed that his anger came of agitation and the usual uneasiness Romans had about dead bodies.
“It must be reported,” Cassia said. “To the cohorts or the vigiles.”
“Then they will think we killed him,” the foreman argued. His workmen edged away, knowing that any murder they were near could have all of them executed.
“Ten years ago?” Marcianus asked. “Even cohorts will know when a body isn’t fresh. If this man was murdered, his family should be informed, and he should be given some justice.”
The men and Vibius stared at him. Marcianus hadn’t grown up in Rome, I reminded myself. People were killed in the city quite often, either by robbers or brigands desperate for the few coins their victims carried, or in drunken brawls. The dead were often dragged to a common pyre, and nothing done to find the perpetrator.
Occasionally, brigands were rounded up and put to death to satisfy the fear and rage of the people. But not every murder or robbery ended in justice. Such things were only for those who could afford orators to speak for them.
“I will report it,” I said. The arguing ceased as everyone turned to me, only Cassia unsurprised. “None of you need to have anything to do with it. Should we cover him up again?” I asked Marcianus.
Gallus shuddered, and Marcianus shook his head. “If you help me lift him, I’ll take him to my house. An excellent opportunity to examine him further.”
He was the only one present excited about finding a long-dead body. Marcianus was always curious about what went on inside a person, which made him a good medicus. I’d watched him easily patch up wounds even Aemil thought wound finish off a gladiator.
Without a word, I fetched an empty handcart the workers used to haul around rubble and trundled it to the hole. No one else wished to touch the corpse, so Marcianus and I gently lifted it and placed it on the cart. The bones came apart, of course, but Marcianus fitted them in place before we draped a tarp over body.
Marcianus bade us a chipper farewell before he hoisted the cart by its handles and dragged it to the road. The load was light, and he trotted away with no trouble.
I had no doubt that if he was stopped by any cohort and the cart searched, Marcianus would have a very reasonable and believable explanation of why he was toting old bones to his workshop. Marcianus could win anyone over.
Gallus brought out a cloth to mop his face. “I will have to inform Sextus Livius. He might want to abandon the project.”
I thought of the very practical Livius, who’d risen from illegitimate slave to become one of the richest men in Rome. I did not believe the matter of a ten-year-old corpse would stop him if he thought this warehouse would increase his income, but I couldn’t be certain. Livius might have superstitions I knew nothing of.
“I will tell him,” I said. Livius considered that I’d done him a great favor, and he might take bad news better from me than the stammering Gallus.
Gallus did not argue. He rubbed his face again, ashamed of his hesitation.
“We should fill in the hole,” I said. “Put the stone back.” The foreman began to object but I continued, “Someone will question if we leave it open.” The oblong depression looked very much like the grave it had been.
Gallus waved an arm. “Do it, please. Vibius, you said your wife could lay any curse to rest?”
“Oh, yes.” Vibius beamed with pride. “She’s quite good at it, is my Aelia.”
“Have her come then, when she is able,” Gallus said. “I believe today, I will return home and lie down.”
Cassia assisted him to his feet. “I will help you.” She glanced at me inquiringly.
“Go,” I told them.
Gallus stopped to fetch his scrolls and put them into his bag—he’d never risk losing his plans and books. Cassia helped him then guided him away, back to the road in Marcianus’s wake.
I pointed to one of the workmen, who was strong and capable and spoke the best Latin. “You,” I said. “Follow them and make sure they come to no harm. You’ll answer to me if they do.”
While the man did not like me giving him orders—he belonged to Gallus, not me—he did see the wisdom in keeping his master alive. He turned his broad back without nodding and headed after them.
The rest of the workers, with reluctance, took up tools to fill in the hole, replace the block, and tamp earth back over it. I once more helped. I advised them not to bury the block too deeply, in case the cohorts made us dig it up again.
I examined the earth around the hole for anything that might tell us who the young man had been or what object had killed him. I found one short leather thong, which might have tied a purse to his waist, but anything else had either rotted away or been stolen long ago. No coins, rings, game tokens, or souvenirs remained. Any bag he might have kept these things in was long gone.
The foreman and the workers departed once we were finished, relieved to go. Vibius and I tidied up the tools and locked them into the shed erected for the purpose.
