by R. W. Peake
“I…I…I’m not! I mean…I’m not planning anything! I swear it!” He was holding both hands out, but I wrinkled my nose as I shot back, “That’s not what your prick says, because you just pissed yourself, you cunnus!”
It was the smell that informed me since, between his loincloth, tunic, and the folds of his toga, there was no way I could have spotted it; now, he flushed with shame and guilt.
“I…I might have…sent Menander on an errand,” he said weakly. I suppose that he calculated that if he said why, I would have ended him right there.
It was not an idea, so much as an impulse, but while I kept the tip of my blade at his throat, I turned to Septimus.
“Your friend Salinator here was planning to betray us, Septimus. What do you think I should do about that?”
“He’s not my friend,” he did not hesitate to reply, and I saw by the look in his eye, he understood where I was going. “And I think you should just gut him right here. Nobody,” he actually was addressing Salinator, “would blame us. Not with Tiberius Salinator. He’s cheated people before.”
“Is that true, Salinator?” I asked this with wide eyes, as if I was surprised. “Have you cheated people before?”
“No!” He actually was about to shake his head, but I suppose he was worried that he might accidentally slit his own throat. “Not,” he allowed, “that there have not been accusations. Groundless,” he insisted, “accusations. But that’s to be expected with anyone successful in commerce!” His eyes went down to the point of my blade, which had not wavered a bit, and I sensed more than saw his sudden surrender. He closed his eyes and said, “But, in the spirit of the goddess Concordia, I have a proposal to make.”
“Oh?” I looked over to Septimus with a grin. “Did you hear that, Septimus? He has a proposal!”
“And what proposal is that, Salinator?” Septimus asked coldly.
“As long as the principal is here,” Salinator replied miserably, “I’ll consider that sufficient to honor the terms of our agreement.”
“Why,” Septimus smiled broadly, and we exchanged a mirthful glance, “that is very generous of you. And,” he bowed with a mocking gravity, “of course we’ll accept. For the sake of Concordia, of course.”
It was less than a third of a watch later, well before any of Salinator’s gladiators could have responded, that Septimus and I left his villa to return home, walking ahead of the wagon carrying the remainder of the money. Most importantly, in Septimus’ hand was the deed to the villa that had been in Salinator’s possession, along with the deeds to the four remaining buildings in Arelate that Gaius had not already sold. Valuable in themselves, they were nowhere near the worth of the villa, so it was no surprise to either of us that the gates were open, where Gaius, Alex, and Bronwen had been joined by Birgit and Gisela, all of them smiling broadly.
As badly as I wanted to stay longer, I made it clear that night that we would be leaving in two days’ time. I would have insisted on it being the very next day, but Alex rightly pointed out that, given the time of year, there would be difficulties in procuring horses, both to ride and as pack animals. The fact that it also gave Miriam and her children, along with Scribonia and her baby to get word that we had returned safely and successfully meant that I was not hard to convince.
“Besides,” Birgit had pointed out, “we need to find Bronwen a proper traveling cloak, lined with fur.”
This was done the next morning, with Birgit, Bronwen, and Gisela going out to purchase a cloak, and as I was informed, other clothing that she needed. I would have been disposed to argue, but frankly, I was a bit distracted by the thought of Gisela and Bronwen spending time together. Alex left with them, but he had a different task, looking for animals that someone was willing to rent at this time of year, although it was not just the weather, it was the number of animals, because we had decided to use spare mounts. The bulk of the goods that had come with us from Alexandria were staying in Arelate, Alex had persuaded me to bring a smaller sack of peppercorns, and of course a roll of the silk in each color, although I was certain that very little of that would be sold and would end up as part of Bronwen’s wardrobe. She did remind me more than once that the undyed blended fabric I had insisted on buying was not going to be touching her skin, nor would she be responsible for how it would be used.
While they were gone, I sat down with Septimus as he tallied up the family account, which, frankly, I found extremely tedious and boring, but I also felt obligated to pay attention because it had a direct impact on me. Ever since Alex had informed me when we returned to Ubiorum the winter before that Septimus intended to use the family’s wealth so that I could qualify to return to the Equestrian Order, I felt both honored and under immense pressure. Watching him stacking the coins then incising the tally in one of the tablets gave me time to think, something that I had been assiduously trying to avoid. After all, I silently reasoned as I sat there, when Septimus made that offer, I was in the good graces of Germanicus Julius Caesar, and I had been informed that my father had made a personal plea to the Propraetor to help me, but that had been before all of this happened. At that point in time, I had not refused to return to Ubiorum immediately as I should have once I had been released by the Parisii, making it a decent proposition that any good feelings Germanicus held for me were gone. As the only sound was the quiet clinking of coins as Septimus stacked them, I was reluctant to break the silence between us, yet I also knew that I had something to say to Septimus, and that something was to release him from his vow. It turned out that it was not necessary, and I learned why when Septimus muttered a soft curse, then sat back to stare down at the tablet in front of him for a span of several heartbeats.
“Gnaeus,” he broke the silence, “I’m afraid I have some bad news.” Not as bad as mine, I’ll wager, I thought, but aloud, I asked what it was.
“Even recovering four hundred thousand sesterces, I’m afraid that, while the villa is safe, as are the other businesses, once I settle the debts owed by Gaius, we’re not going to have enough left for you to qualify for elevation.” I only realized then that I had been holding my breath, because I exhaled it one long gust as I slumped over the table, the cause for which Septimus mistook, because he leaned over to place his hand on my arm. “Gnaeus, I am so sorry. We…” he shook his head, “…I failed you.”
“What?” It was then I realized his error, and I assured him, “Septimus, I’m not upset. I’m relieved.”
Now his expression went from sorrow to confusion as he asked, “Why in Jupiter’s name are you relieved?”
It was this moment that I realized something, so instead of explaining, I shook my head and told him, “This is something everyone needs to hear. When we sit down tonight for our meal, I’ll explain everything.”
When Bronwen and the two Pullus women returned home, I pretended to be dismayed at all that they were carrying in their arms. Then, at long last, I finally showed Bronwen what a full Roman bath is like, Septimus having ordered the fire started earlier in the day, and while she found it fascinating, when it came time for the oiling and scraping, she refused.
“I scrubbed myself very well. I do not need to smell like a Roman. Besides,” she gave me a smile that was both sweet yet offered a hint of other things, “I bought some perfume today that I think you will like. Would you rather smell olive oil or that?”
One thing that I had forgotten to mention to Bronwen about a bath is that, once you are clean, you can find yourself incredibly drowsy, so Bronwen retired to our room for a nap, leaving me to spend time with Miriam, who had arrived with the children, and she told me that her husband would be attending the meal.
Obviously, I looked uncomfortable at the idea, which made her laughingly say, “Servius is going to hear everything anyway, Gnaeus. That,” she said mischievously, “is what it means to be husband and wife.”
“So I’m learning,” I mumbled, which the others thought quite funny, particularly Alex, who had already informed me that he was enjo
ying watching us immensely.
“Just remember all those times you laughed about something with Algaia,” he reminded me, although there was really no need.
Birgit and Gisela were busy in the kitchen, helped by the freedwoman who was the cook in name only, and the smell of roasting meat and baking bread filled the house, even into the triclinium, which we were using. When the family was trying to scrape the money together, they had been forced to stop paying her and her husband, the latter working around the villa doing repairs and things like firing the baths, the duties that had been seen to by Chickpea, but Birgit had not had the heart to evict them from the former slave quarters, so they were both happy to be told they could now be rehired. Every so often, Birgit would come in to listen to us talking, as did Gisela, but one time she did so, she caught my eye and beckoned to me. While I of course complied, I was a bit apprehensive, especially when, without saying a word, she led me to the short hallway that led to the stairs, which the year before, I saw was used to give family members a modicum of privacy.
She was chewing on her lip and looking down at the floor, reminding me that, while in a physical sense she was a woman, she was still in many ways a young girl, but I was completely unprepared for her to blurt out, “Gnaeus, now that I’ve gotten to know her, I really like Bronwen. And,” she did look up at me then, “you are blessed by Fortuna to have her love you.” I was relieved and a bit confused, but I did not hesitate to agree, and I impulsively pulled her to me to give her a hug. “I’m going to make an offering to Venus, Bona Dea, and Fortuna that you are both happy together and live long lives, with many children,” she whispered, and I found myself blinking rapidly.
“You,” I told her when we broke our embrace, “are going to make some man very, very happy yourself. But,” I raised an admonishing finger, “remember that he has to be worthy of you.” I grinned at her. “You don’t want me coming back down here thrashing him if he treats you badly.”
“I’ll be sure to tell every one of them.” She laughed, and I looked at her in mock surprise.
“How may suitors do you have?”
“A few,” she answered with a toss of her head as if it was a silly question.
Her mother called, and she returned to the kitchen while I went back to the triclinium, where Alex was eyeing me suspiciously.
“What’s Gisela up to now?”
“Nothing,” I assured him. “But,” I added soberly, or I tried to appear so, “you know she’s got a lot of young men sniffing around here.”
“How many is a lot?” He sat up now, frowning in concern, but I could not hold it in anymore and began to laugh.
“You should see your face.” Miriam was laughing as well. Then she patted Alex on the knee as she advised, “You need to trust your mother, your sister, and us. We won’t let her fall in love with someone who is wrong for her.”
I was a bit disappointed to see that this eased his mind, wanting to enjoy tormenting him a bit longer. It was not long after this when Miriam’s husband showed up, and I realized with a surprise that I had no idea what he would look like, but when he came into the triclinium and we were introduced, I was a bit disappointed that he was only of average height, with an average build. Very quickly, however, I saw two things: that he had a ready wit and good sense of humor, and Miriam truly loved him, and he plainly felt the same. With everyone present, I went to rouse Bronwen, and I had to hide a grin at the manner in which Miriam scowled behind her husband’s back when Servius practically fell over himself to kiss Bronwen’s hand. She was wearing her green gown, and her hair was pulled back and tied with a green ribbon, and as she had walked past me, I caught a scent that made me think of a garden of fragrant flowers…and other things.
Septimus, along with Miriam, had a surprise in store for us, but it was my aunt who announced, “Actually, Gnaeus, we were thinking that since this is our last night together, perhaps Bronwen would like to see how Romans are supposed to eat.”
At first, I did not understand, but then it hit me and I gave a small gasp of surprise that made her look at me curiously.
“You mean, on couches?” When Miriam nodded, I was about to say no, but Bronwen grabbed my arm, and asked pleadingly, “Please, Gnaeus? I have heard of this.” She turned to the others as she added shyly, “I thought that you were not eating in your normal manner because you did not want to make me uncomfortable since I have no knowledge of this.”
This produced laughter all around, and Miriam assured her, “Bronwen, I can count on one hand the number of times we’ve eaten in the formal dining room in the last ten years.”
“We only do it when we have someone important visiting,” Septimus agreed, “like one of the duumviri.”
Knowing I was outflanked, I offered Bronwen my arm, and we both moved to the formal dining room, which is directly opposite the atrium from the triclinium, yet another difference with this villa since the triclinium is normally used for dining, but the merchant who built it apparently entertained a great deal, although I personally believe he was just showing off by making the house larger by adding rooms. Naturally, I had showed it to Bronwen when we had been here earlier, but now it was markedly different, with the couches arranged, although instead of the three sides, it was a square of couches to accommodate all of us. The room was lit by several lamps, the low tables polished and the pillows recently plumped, and I did experience a pang of memory, since Quintus Volusenus had insisted that we eat in this manner throughout my childhood. I always had the sense that my mother was, if not indifferent, then somewhat ambivalent about this practice; it was not until last year, when all of the truth came out that she told me that one of her fondest memories of her time with my real father was the meal shared at one table.
“This,” I guided Bronwen to it, “is the lectus medius, the couch where the most important guests eat.” I raised my voice and assumed a haughty air as I pronounced, “Naturally, this is where we will be seated.”
“Her, yes; you Legion scum,” Septimus hooted, pointing to the lectus summus, “are over there.”
“And who’s going to be sitting on either side of her?” I challenged, and I was not a bit surprised when he grinned and pointed to himself.
“Don’t pay any attention to them,” Miriam commanded, falling into the spirit of the game as she said loftily, “I am the one who decides who will sit where, just as it’s always been.”
“She’s always been like this,” Septimus complained to Bronwen, rolling his eyes. “When we were young, she was a tyrant to Gaius and me.” The instant the words were out of his mouth, I saw the flash of pain in his face, as did Miriam, and I saw her give his arm a surreptitious pat, but she addressed Bronwen. “Don’t believe him, Bronwen. I was the best sister in the history of sisters.”
Septimus was a bit pale, but he made a retching sound as he clutched his stomach, and I know that only those of us who had been present at that terrible moment noticed. Bronwen was laughing so hard, her eyes were sparkling from the tears as she allowed Miriam to guide her to her proper spot, but when she tried to step over the couch so that her legs would be on the table side of the couch, I stopped her. Flopping down onto my stomach on the couch, I reached out for her hand, but she was having none of it.
“I do not believe that you eat on your stomachs,” she scoffed, but when we all assured her that this was exactly how it was done, she shook her head in amazement, then in an exact copy of me, fell down onto the couch as the rest of us erupted in cheers.
Miriam had not been lying, as she very efficiently moved people into their spots, but as she was guiding Gaius to the fourth couch, I called out to her, pointing to Bronwen’s other side.
“He’s eating with us,” I told her, and it was difficult for me not to laugh at the sudden rush of color to his face, or how quickly he moved, then lowered himself very carefully onto the couch.
“I will not bite you, Gaius,” Bronwen laughed as he settled himself down, then I heard her voice turn serious, “un
less you try to steal my food.”
He grinned and assured her that he would not; then the food arrived, but the surprises were not over yet, when Birgit appeared with the first course, which was being served by the couple, both of whom were beaming, presumably at the news they were once again employed.
“Today, when we went to the market, I stopped at one of the spice merchants and asked him for advice on how to prepare dishes that use those peppercorns and the kinnamon you brought back from Alexandria.”
This got our attention, but when I glanced over at Bronwen, I saw the look of consternation on her face, and I nudged her.
“I’m sure that Birgit didn’t just drop peppercorns in the food,” I teased.
She had not; in fact, there were only two dishes of the seven or eight where the peppercorns had been used, and as I guessed, the peppercorns had been crushed and sprinkled into the garum that covered the fresh fish. The skin of the roasted pork, which Birgit had proven was an expert in cooking it so the skin is quite crisp, had been coated with a honey concoction that used it as well, and it was not long before I was groaning from both pleasure and the discomfort of a swollen belly. By unspoken consent, the topics were light, mainly about all that we had seen in Alexandria, but when we did not mention Aviola’s fate, it was actually Miriam who brought it up.
“I want to know everything,” she said this with a quiet intensity that was impossible to misinterpret, but I turned to Septimus, indicating with a nod that he be the one to inform his sister that the man who had led Gaius Pullus down a path that led to his death had been removed from this world.
I have to say that it was a bit unsettling when she openly expressed her disappointment when Septimus told her that Demeter had been advised by us not to flay the man, as she said flatly, “He didn’t suffer enough.”
This caused me to glance over at Servius, who gave me a wry smile, shrugged, and said, “I learned a long time ago that making Miriam angry isn’t a good idea.”
