Junio supplied it for me. ‘This is Nutricia, Father. I believe you’ve met before. I’ll leave her with you while I go and pay the chair.’ And he suited the action to the words.
The slave woman waddled over – it was the only word for it – and bobbed a clumsy curtsy. ‘Why, citizen Libertus! I know your face, of course. I’ve seen you at the villa. Don’t you remember me?’
‘Nutricia! Of course!’ The name derives from ‘wet-nurse’ and I should have known. ‘I did not know that you were still …’ I tailed off.
‘Oh, they keep me out of kindness – or the lady Julia does. I help the household here with general chores and attend on my mistress – and that dear child of course – on the rare occasions when they come to town. But now I am to have another charge, I hear.’ She turned to Silvia, her fat face wreathed in smiles. ‘Though I see you are in mourning, my pretty little lamb.’
Silvia said nothing; she just glanced at me so I answered for her. ‘She is a widow, though she is betrothed again.’ I saw the look of scandal on the nurse’s face and added quickly, ‘Her husband’s brother is her guardian and he should be here, but he has somehow been delayed by snow, so Marcus has taken temporary potestas of her.’
Silvia smiled prettily at this, looking so attractive that she positively glowed and – since the nurse was clearly fond of Julia – I wondered if my explanation had simply made things worse. Nutricia, however, seemed entirely satisfied. ‘How like the master to be kind like that,’ she said. ‘Well now, my lambkin, you come along with me. Nutricia will see that you’re looked after properly. I’ve got the kitchen slaves to warm some water through, and I’ve got some rose petals that I’ve been keeping by, so you can have a nice warm scented wash for your poor feet. Citizen Junio tells me you’ve been travelling for miles!’ She went to lead my charge away from me.
‘I will accompany the lady to the apartment door,’ I said, rather nettled at having to insist, but I was glad enough when Silvia was safely in the flat, out of range of prying eyes and under the protection of the household slaves, so I could hasten back to Junio and the boys.
I found them waiting for me in the street. We hastened to the workshop, my son and I took off our togas while the two slaves doused the fire, and then – wrapped in the warmest cloaks and clothing we could find – set off at last towards our houses and our wives.
SEVEN
The journey home was every bit as demanding as I’d feared. The forest track – steep and treacherous at the best of times – was made even more challenging than usual by slush and standing snow: indeed it was still slippery with frozen ice in parts, so progress was difficult and slow, in spite of the impromptu walking staves we picked up on the way. Moreover, the sight of recent wolf tracks in several places near the path was an inducement to hasten where we could. We met no marauding animals, I am glad to say, and my young companions managed well enough, but I took several tumbles at steep points on the path, which left me bruised and shaken – not to mention soaked in icy water to the waist.
But we were all shivering and weary to our very bones by the time we reached the intersection with the better road and the adjoining clearing where our enclosures were. It was growing dark by now, so only the silhouettes of palisades and buildings could be seen, but I turned to Junio. ‘Isn’t that the most welcome sight that you have ever seen?’
He grinned wearily at me. ‘Your roundhouse in particular! I can see the glimmering of candles at the door – and isn’t that the smell of cooking in the air?’
I sniffed and realized that he was right. Mingled with the wood-smoke from the central chimney hole, a delicious hint of stewing chicken came wafting out to us.
This promise of warm comfort would have given us new heart to hurry on in any case, but before we’d taken another pace towards the house my outer gate flew open and Kurso, my little kitchen slave, was rushing out to greet me with a lighted brand.
‘Master! We thought we heard the sound of voices on the road. We have been watching and listening for you half the day. Thank all the gods you’re safe! And you too, Master Junio – and my fellow slaves, of course. The mistress says to tell you all to come in here.’
My son shook his head with obvious regret. ‘My own family and slave will be expecting me …’
But Kurso went on, opening the gate: ‘Master Junio, they are here awaiting you and we’ve been keeping a pot of stew warm on a trivet by the fire.’
We followed him into the roundhouse where the smoky warmth enveloped us at once. Our wives rose to greet us from their stools beside the fire, though Junio’s wife, Cilla, held a finger to her lips to warn us against making too much noise, because the infant was asleep nearby. All the same she flung herself into her husband’s arms, while my Gwellia made her embraces with her eyes.
‘I am glad to see you, husband!’ That was all she said, but her expression told me how worried she had been. Then her dear face softened to a smile. ‘But don’t just stand there in those freezing clothes, or we shall have you dying of a chill.’ As she spoke she came forward with a towel.
There were clean woollen tunics and warm cloaks laid ready upon the bed, and Gwellia herself assisted me to dry and change my clothes while Junio’s slave boy did the same for him. (Normally this was a servant’s job, of course, but the unusual arrangement suited everyone tonight. It not only allowed my wife to show her care for me but also freed Kurso to help his fellow slaves.)
‘Now,’ Gwellia said, when we travellers were all fully dried and clad. She spoke in a hushed voice so as not to wake the child. ‘You can tell us what you have been doing since we met. I had a garbled message which put my mind at rest, saying you had some sort of contract in the town. I did not know that you had any work in hand.’
‘Neither did we,’ I whispered, with one eye on the babe. I squatted on the stool beside the cooking fire and warmed my hands and feet while Gwellia stirred the pot. Junio stretched out close by me on the sleeping bench, and together we explained how the unexpected commission came about. ‘He agreed a splendid price, provided that I finished it by the Agonalia,’ I finished. ‘I managed to do it, but he was not there to see that for himself, though fortunately I have witnesses to the fact.’
Gwellia nodded. ‘Well, that is a good omen for the new year,’ she murmured, as Cilla passed her a pile of wooden bowls and she began to ladle out the meal. ‘The money will be useful, certainly, after all this snow. Things in the garden plot are wilting with the frost.’
I shook my head. ‘It is to be hoped the fellow pays me, that is all. He was expected back in Glevum a day or two ago, but he has not arrived – though it is possible that he has gone to Dorn instead. Marcus knows about it. We are awaiting news.’
Gwellia shrugged. ‘This man is wealthy, from what you say of him, and a member of the curia – or he wants to be. People like him don’t perish in the snow, as poorer folks might do. He will have found some sort of shelter in an inn, or foisted himself upon some private house by boasting of his rank. Well, let’s hope he turns up with his payment soon. In the meantime, eat your food before it spoils.’
I didn’t persist in saying any more. I did not want to spoil either my dinner or the mood. For now it was time to pull more stools around the fire and enjoy the luxury of huge bowls of steaming stew. Maximus and Minimus, who had been given bowlfuls too, and were sitting on straw pillows a little further back, were almost tearful in their gratitude at not being required to wait until their master had consumed his own.
The Romans talk about ambrosia, but give me Gwellia’s chicken stew, with turnips, leeks and barley – and flour dumplings on the top! From the first tasty morsel I could feel the warmth suffusing my whole body like a magic charm, and with every mouthful strength came seeping back.
‘Wonderful!’ I murmured to my wife – and everyone agreed, with such enthusiasm that the infant stirred. After that we were content with smiles and nods, but they expressed our satisfaction as well as any words. In companionable sil
ence we finished off the stew and followed it with cups of steaming mead.
Then Cilla said to Junio, ‘Husband, I think that we should leave. You and your father are in need of rest.’
I would have protested, on my wife’s account – Gwellia dotes on our adoptive grandson as if he were her own – but she caught my eye and shook her head, so I commanded Kurso to reignite the brand and light the young family and their slave boy up the short path to their home. ‘And when you have finished bring the torch back here!’
Delighted by his new importance – everyone agreed it was not his normal role – Kurso took the torch, held it to the fire and brandished it with such gusto that I feared briefly for the thatch.
The child half-woke when his father lifted him and wrapped him gently in a corner of his cloak, but an instant later he closed his eyes again and there was scarcely a whimper as he was carried out into the dark and cold. The little party set off up the rise and I gave my red-haired slaves permission to retire in turn, to their own little sleeping house beside the outer door. Then I reached out a lazy hand towards the pan and poured myself the remnants of the hot spiced mead.
‘I don’t know if you heard about the sacrifice today …’ I began, ready to share the scandal with my wife.
‘Not now, husband!’ she murmured at my side. ‘This is no time for telling tales and drinking mead. You are very tired and you forget that you are old. You should go to bed. Kurso and I will finish the last chores and then I’ll come myself.’
I would cheerfully have helped to rake out the fire and set tomorrow’s bread and cakes to bake, but Gwellia would brook no argument. I took off my outer tunic and lay down sleepily on the mattress of fresh reeds, under the woollen blanket and the furs.
‘I’m sorry you were worried,’ I murmured drowsily. ‘I hoped to spare you that. But at least you got the message, saying I was safe?’
She nodded, pausing in the act of kneading dough. ‘Several days ago. That farmer, Cantalarius, came here with his mules. He was full of grumbles, as he always is, boasting about some sacrifice he’d promised to the gods. I didn’t take it in. But I was glad to hear from him. I could not be sure you had not set off on the Kalends and been caught out in the cold – but once I knew that you were safe in town I was reassured.’
‘I’m not like Genialis,’ I said sleepily. ‘If I set off, I generally arrive.’
‘Husband, you know it’s not an idle fear,’ she said, not smiling at my teasing. ‘I’ve already heard of two people who have died. Poor old Lotta, who used to come round selling herbs, was found up at the spring – slipped in the ice and broke her leg and hip, and died of cold before they discovered her. Kurso saw the body when he went up with the pail. And you know that bit of marshy pond down in the woods?’
I did. There was a place in the forest where the land had once been ground, but the land was too waterlogged to support a crop and the effort was abandoned, leaving an area of swampy pools. It was a little distance from the track and in the summer it was screened by leafy trees, but it was easily visible at this time of year. ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘We passed it just today.’
‘There was a tragedy down there the other day as well. When that Cantalarius was here, he told me that he’d seen it from the road. Half a dozen people trying to retrieve a body from the lake. He almost stopped to help them, but it was getting dark. Some poor man who’d slipped and fallen in head first – either drowned or knocked his head and froze to death. The ice had formed around him and they were having to break it up to get the corpse.’ She shuddered. ‘What an awful way to go. And that’s just the two fatalities that we have heard about.’
I made a sympathetic noise. Of course she had been worried. Every winter there are several deaths like that – and this winter had been particularly cruel. ‘Never mind,’ I said. ‘It has begun to thaw.’
She gave a rueful laugh. ‘As soon as I saw that I was concerned again. I knew that you would try to come as soon as possible, but the paths are terrible and I’ve heard wolves howling in the forest on several nights. And Cantalarius said that something had been gnawing at that corpse.’ She shook her head at me. ‘Time we bought a mule, ourselves, so you don’t have to walk – it would make your life a great deal easier. It would save me nightmares, too.’
‘But what about poor Junio and the slaves?’ I said. ‘Or are you suggesting we buy mules for them as well? And what should I do with the animals while I’m in the shop? Leave them with a hiring stables and pay fees for them?’
She didn’t answer – usually a sign that she knows I am right.
I pressed my advantage. ‘Besides, how many times since we’ve been living here have you known the roads to be impassable with snow – let alone for them to stay that way for days?’
‘Cantalarius seems to manage to afford a mule,’ she said, shifting the subject in that way she has. ‘And he’s much worse off than us.’
‘You managed to pay him, I suppose?’ I said. ‘I know that two sesterces is a lot to give for simply bringing you a message, when he was coming this way in any case – but I felt it was worth it to stop you worrying.’
She rolled the dough into a ball and slapped it down on to the baking iron. ‘You’d squander money on a thing like that, but you will not think of purchasing a mule. But I paid him, certainly – I gave him the money from the sandal fund, as you sent word to do – but it wasn’t two sesterces, I’m afraid. I’d already spent the larger part of that, laying in some extra oil and kindling.’
I sat up in surprise. ‘How did you manage that? Surely you didn’t go walking into town?’ It was a foolish question – I knew the forest tracks had been impassable on foot – but Glevum was the only local marketplace for oil.
She shook her head and laughed. ‘Of course not, husband! Would I come without alerting you? But when the snow began I feared that we would soon run out of heat and light, so I went to Marcus’s villa and talked to Julia. She let me have some from the household store, and a mobius measureful of flour as well. I insisted that I’d pay her – I don’t like to beg – but she’d only take a fraction of the proper price.’ She grinned at me. ‘But it still left only a few brass coins in the onion-pot. I gave them to Cantalarius. He seemed to think you’d promised him much more.’
‘I did. Poor Cantalarius. I’ll have to go and see him sometime soon and give him what is due. Supposing that Genialis ever does turn up. You know, wife, I’m not convinced he has sheltered in an inn. There’s more to his disappearance than you know about.’ I was about to try to tell her everything, all about Silvia and the messenger – leaving out my visit to the money-lenders, of course – but again she shook her head.
‘Tell me in the morning. You’ve finished your contract, so you can stay at home now for a day or two – especially as you say your client isn’t there to pay you yet. So there isn’t any rush. And you need to rest – you are exhausted, I can see.’
I thought of protesting but I closed my eyes, and there can be no doubt that she was right, because a moment later – as I thought – when I opened them again, there she was still fully dressed and leaning over me.
‘Have you not come to bed yet?’ I said stupidly.
She smiled indulgently. ‘Husband, it is very nearly noon. The slaves and I have all been up for hours, although we slept through till dawn. I was content to let you sleep – you clearly needed rest – and I am sorry to have to wake you now. But there is someone here. A page of Marcus’s – he wants you to accompany him as soon as possible.’
EIGHT
Already close to noon and Marcus’s impatient page awaiting me! I sat up, groaning, and flung the furs and blankets back. Of course my patron had warned me that he’d want to see me soon. Obviously he’d already come back from the town today, and that fact – more than anything – persuaded me how long I must have slept. ‘Dear gods,’ I murmured, rolling out of bed. ‘And I left my toga in the workshop yesterday.’
Gwellia nodded briskly. ‘Never mind
. You’ve got your old one here. I’ve sent the boys to hang it in the sun while you have some food. That will freshen it, at least. It’s frayed and mended, but it will have to do. Better than attending Marcus in a tunic, anyway. And you’ll have to wear a cloak in any case – it’s fine this morning but it is very cold. The water bucket had a full thumb’s breadth of ice on it, and when Kurso went up to the spring to get the day’s supply, he had to break the surface with a stick and wait a little while for it to thaw enough to flow.’
‘I trust that he was careful?’ I said, recalling the fate of the poor herb-seller.
‘It took him twice as long as usual. But he brought it back and there is some here ready for you in the jug. Wait and I’ll call Minimus to help you wash and dress.’
‘No time, if I’m wanted at the villa instantly.’ I had poured a little of the water out into the bowl, dipped my face and hands in it – though it was so cold it almost took my breath away – and was pulling on a cleaner tunic by this time. ‘Where is this toga?’
Gwellia shook her head. ‘You have your oatcakes first.’ She gave a knowing wink. ‘Don’t worry. You have sufficient time. Marcus’s page is in the servants’ roundhouse now, eating one that I had Kurso serve to him – and a cup of watered mead as well. Just as well you left some, when you went to bed!’
‘My clever wife!’ I laughed approvingly. Offering the messenger refreshment in this way would be regarded by my patron as a courtesy – honouring the slave is an established way of honouring the slave owner as well – but it also gave me the opportunity to rise and eat and dress without keeping Marcus’s servant waiting idly at the door.
Gwellia grinned and produced two still-warm oatcakes from a cloth beside the fire, and I ate them greedily, together with a little of the strong and crumbled cheese made from the summer milkings of the goats. A cup of fresh water and my meal was done. By this time my two red-haired servants had appeared and I was ready to be dressed in the sorry toga which they’d brought in with them. I rose and held my arms up while they draped it on. Maximus was especially dexterous at the task, but even he could not arrange the folds in such a way as wholly to disguise the patched and mended hems. All the same it was the best that could be done. I nodded my approval.
Dark Omens Page 8
