There was a startled hush. This was no idle threat. Marcus was famously an expert in the law. He prided himself on his reputation in the courts for being strictly fair and equally unmoved by tears or bribes, but he also knew what penalties he might exact. I have known him pass harsh sentence on a former friend. What he would do to the abductors of his family I did not dare to think.
‘Excellence . . .’ The doctor was still trying to interpose.
Marcus rounded on him. ‘What is it, Philades? Surely you’re not about to warn me, yet again, that I might catch the plague? I tell you, it hardly matters to me now. Besides, I don’t believe a word of it. I have seen men who were struck down by the plague. Believe me, I’d know it soon enough.’
Besides, I thought, you would face greater risks than plague if that would help to bring your family back. But even as I framed the thought, Philades was speaking, with a surprising dignity that belied his stained toga and dishevelled air.
‘Excellence, you pay me for advice, and I have given it. Now it is up to you. If you catch the sickness I shall do my best to treat you – but as you know, there is no certain cure. However, that wasn’t what I wished to say to you. It was about the family of this Lallius. It occurs to me that I might know who they are.’
‘Then why did you not mention it before?’ Marcus demanded snappishly. But he had taken heed. Having ignored all previous warnings from the medicus, he now perversely seemed to take the threat to heart. He moved away and went to stand beside the door, where he was at the greatest distance from the central hearth. Junio, who had been standing there, was now obliged to move.
Marcus ostentatiously arranged himself in the place where the smoke curled up between us to form the thickest screen, and then he spoke again. ‘Very well, Philades, I’ve done as you command. Now what have you to say?’
‘With respect, Excellence, I did attempt to tell you, some little time ago – but you refused to let me speak. I fear it took me a while to make the association with the name. The point is, I don’t know the man himself, but I think I might have met the father once – he visited the house where I was formerly employed. Numidius Tiberius, the old man was called – if, indeed, it is the same Tiberius family.’
Marcus was obviously startled by the name. ‘Numidius? But he’s a well-respected man. Even I have heard of him. He’s on every board and body in the town which does not actually require a man to be a citizen – and I’m sure he’ll get that status in the end. A few benefactions to the civitas – paying for some games or public works perhaps – and he would be certain to be recognised. No doubt he can afford it. Isn’t he some kind of weights and measures officer?’
Philades was packing his herbs away again. He nodded. ‘Chief coin and weights to inspector in the town. That’s lucrative enough. And he married well. His wife brought a large estate with her as a dowry, too.’
I found that I was grinning. Everyone knew the ageing, grim-faced officer who sat each day in a little niche inside the forum wall, with his steelyard and his weights and balances, ready to deal with any coins not issued by the state. The idea of his expending money on public spectacles was so incongruous it made me smile. Numidius was a very careful man.
Of course, he had to be. It was a post of honour. There were often foreign-minted coins around, and some old tribal ones, but the coin officer would weigh them, determine the amount of gold or silver used and so assess the value there and then, so that traders, even from outside the Empire, could buy and sell with ease. I have used his services in that regard myself.
But that was not the lucrative aspect of the job – that came from settling marketplace disputes. Roman gold currency itself was often brought to him by suspicious stallholders, and weighed to ensure that no rogue had filed the edges off and kept the precious metal for himself. Conversely, if a buyer of dry goods believed that he’d not received full measure from a certain stall, his purchase could be checked against a volume-stone: a large block of stone with a series of variously sized holes in it. All for an unofficial fee, of course. The coin inspector gets a small retainer from the state, but it is important for local traders to have him firmly on their side. No wonder that Numidius Tiberius was rich.
‘But surely,’ Marcus said, voicing my own thoughts, ‘Numidius is not the sort of man to have a son in jail, especially not on a charge of robbery like this? Dozens of people in the town are named Tiberius. What makes you suppose that there might be any connection here?’
He sounded irritated and dismissive, but the wizened old physician stood his ground. ‘Excellence, I might be wrong, of course, but I rather think it might be the self-same family, because the story fits. Numidius’s wife was called Lallia – I heard him mention it – and there was a son, named for his mother because she died in giving birth to him. You recall there was a fashion a few years ago for calling sons some version of the mother’s name – so Lallius Tiberius would make sense.’
Marcus hurrumphed. ‘A tribute to his wife? It sounds uncharacteristically sentimental of the man, from what I know of him: but it is possible, I suppose, since she brought such a dowry with her. And her child would have been born within the walls, and so been a citizen although his parents weren’t. That also fits. How do you come to know all this, in any case?’
‘Numidius was calling at the house – paying court to my employer’s niece. As I say, this Lallia was dead. Numidius had lived alone for many years, but had decided it was time to wed again. And provide himself with another heir, I rather think. I was asked to check that the girl had no disease. Her father thought it would be a splendid match for her, although there is a difference in age, of course. The coin inspector is a wealthy man.’ He closed the lid and swept the table clean with his toga sleeve. ‘Numidius did speak about his son, as I recall – though not with great affection. The lad was causing trouble even then.’
Marcus was nodding thoughtfully. ‘And now he is bringing shame on the household once again. Yet it seems that they planned all this to ensure his release.’
I thought about what Philades had said. My brain was working only sluggishly, but something had at last occurred to me. ‘We can’t know that,’ I objected. ‘If the doctor’s right, this family seem unlikely candidates to plan a ransom note.’
My patron stared at me. ‘Well, who else could it have been?’
My inspiration failed me and I shook my head. ‘Perhaps the young man has associates, and wrote to them from jail? I don’t know. It’s just that, given the background of the family, it seems a most peculiar thing for them to do. You would expect them to take the legal route. Indeed, it seems they have – you said that Lallius had an advocate. Or simply pay the fine. But putting themselves beyond the law like this? When the father hopes to be a citizen one day? I can’t imagine what they’d hope to gain.’
Behind the pall of intervening smoke I saw Marcus shrug. ‘Isn’t it obvious what they hope to gain? Of course his family have arranged all this. Who else would take such risks? Numidius has money and thanks to that dowry he probably owns property elsewhere. Perhaps he simply planned to run away once Lallius was free. But they will not escape, you can be sure of that. I’ll put a watch on all the roads. There’s nowhere they can hide.’
‘So will you send down at first light and storm the house?’ The medicus had closed his box by now, and was wrapping it in a cloth with special care. ‘It is no secret where the coin inspector lives – indeed, I could take you there myself.’
‘Of course I shall do nothing of the kind! You can imagine what would happen to Julia and Marcellinus if I did.’ He paused, then went on in an altered tone, ‘But there is nothing to prevent my sending in the guards once Julia and the boy are safely home. Indeed, presumably she will be able to say where she has been and identify her captors afterwards.’
I said nothing. The more I considered the situation, the less I liked it. What Marcus had said was obviously true – his wife would be able to identify her kidnappers – but that only made
the whole affair seem more sinister to me. I could see no way that Julia could be forced to hold her tongue once she was free – unless she’d been blindfolded throughout. However, I didn’t wish to mention that aloud. Marcus had quite enough to worry him.
It was the medicus who asked the question that was in all our minds. ‘So, Excellence, what do you intend to do?’
Marcus made a gesture of despair. ‘I don’t know. I’ll sleep on it. I imagine that in the end I’ll have to do as they demand. They’ve got Julia and the boy – what else can I do?’
I roused myself. ‘Be careful, Excellence, before you do anything at all. There may be other ways. If you give in to them it sets a precedent and they may make more demands. There are still some days, you say, before he comes to trial. Give yourself at least some time to think.’
He snorted. ‘And leave my wife and child in jeopardy? I can’t take the risk. But never fear. These scoundrels won’t make a mockery of me. Come, Philades. You have been telling me for hours that I should leave this man to rest. Junio, go to the gate and tell my litter-bearers that I’m on my way.’ He turned to me. ‘Goodnight, old friend. Sleep well, and mend your health. Gwellia, take good care of him.’ And he turned and disappeared into the night.
The medicus gave me a helpless look, then shrugged. ‘Try to rest,’ he murmured, then snatched up his box of herbs and scurried after him.
Chapter Four
I do not know if it was the effect of the potion that the medicus had given me, or merely the shock and strain of the foregoing events, but I remember nothing more that night. I must have slid into unconsciousness and slept for many hours, because when I opened my eyes again the day was well advanced. Thin winter sunlight was streaming into the roundhouse through the door; there was the smell of warm oatcakes coming from the hearth and Junio was squatting by the fire.
I turned to look at him. That was a mistake. I groaned. My head felt like a cavern filled with aching stones.
Junio was quickly on his feet. ‘Master, at last you are awake?’
I nodded. Another error. He grinned down at me.
‘It’s good to see you back with us again. Would you like some breakfast? Are you well enough to eat?’
‘Perhaps one of those small oatcakes,’ I replied. ‘I see that they are hot.’ I smiled to myself, knowing that Gwellia would have made them to tempt my appetite. They are my favourites, as she is well aware.
He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, master. My mistress did make them especially for you, but the medicus has been here and says that you must not have them after all. Only some thin gruel or broth at first, he says, because the seeds of poisoning are in you still and liquid food will help to wash them out. He’s left another of his potions for you, too.’ He crossed to the table by my bed and picked up a drinking cup. ‘He said you’d have a headache when you woke.’
‘He was right,’ I said, but I submitted to the drink. This one was cold and yellowish and thick and tasted just as dreadful as the last, but to do Philades justice, I did feel a little better afterwards. My brain was still full of those confounded rocks, but at least they didn’t clash together every time I moved my head.
I propped myself up a little more. Gingerly. My head did not fall off. ‘Surely one little oatcake wouldn’t hurt?’
Junio grinned. ‘What, waste this barley gruel your wife has made? And after all the pains I’ve taken to keep it warm for you?’ He gestured to the little pot on the hearth beside the fire, just visible where he’d heaped the embers up round the sides of it. ‘Besides, I told you what the doctor said. I would not dare to cross his will. My mistress thinks he’s halfway magical, because of what he’s done for you. Though if you ask me, I think the potions that she made herself had started the cure before he came along. You were already beginning to sleep sound again, and be less raging hot.’ As he spoke he squatted down and raked the ashes from round the pot. Then he hooked the lid off neatly with a handy stick and, using a beaker as a dipper, began to serve up the steaming contents into a wooden bowl.
‘Gwellia was making herbal draughts for me?’ I said, warmed by the thought of her concern, and watching all this in a kind of daze.
‘Master, she has done little else since you were taken ill. She must have brewed a hundred recipes. All the ancient Celtic remedies – and some Roman ones as well – but of course you couldn’t eat or drink. All we could do was bathe your lips from time to time and try to force some drips into your mouth. It was not until that physician came and showed her how to press your tongue down with a spoon that she was sure you’d swallowed anything. He got a cup of potion down you then.’
‘A hot one?’ I enquired, suddenly making sense of all those fiery demons in my dreams. Poor Gwellia!
He had filled the bowl of gruel by now and was getting to his feet. ‘Up till then, every time we put water in your mouth you struggled like a landed fish and dribbled it all out. But of course once you began to drink you started to improve. So now she thinks the medicus has saved your life, and his every word must be obeyed. He said you needed gruel, and so she made you some.’ He took down a glazed pot from the shelf, and added a little honey from it to my breakfast dish. He waved the spoon at me. ‘Marcus sent this for you as well – a present from his bees.’
He brought the spoon and basin over to the bed. I expected him to hand them both to me but he did nothing of the kind. Instead he got to his knees beside me and prepared to feed me as though I were a child.
‘Junio!’ I protested. But he ignored my pleas.
‘Doctor’s orders.’ He grinned up at me. ‘You are not permitted to exert yourself today, not even so much as to raise a spoon. I am to get you to eat as much as possible and report it to the physician afterwards. Open wide.’
Perhaps my patron and his medicus were right. It was exhausting swallowing the food, without attempting to hold the bowl and feed myself as well. I could manage only tiny sips, although – for some reason – it tasted quite ambrosial today. In general I’m not very fond of gruel.
‘Tell your mistress this was very good,’ I said, after a few minutes, leaning back to pant and rest my spinning head. ‘Or, better, I will tell her so myself. Where is she now?’
‘She has gone to have a rest.’ Junio held another spoonful of warm gruel to my lips. ‘The poor lady has scarcely slept since you fell ill. She has hardly left your side except occasionally to snatch an hour or two of sleep – and even then she always made sure that there was someone here.’
‘You?’
He grinned again. ‘Who else could be trusted to keep an eye on you?’ A shadow crossed his face and he looked serious suddenly. ‘Though it was worrying. You were hot and cold and shivering by turns, talking in your sleep – thinking that you were back in slavery again and that your wife was lost. You threshed about a lot as well – shouting out her name and struggling.’
I shuddered at the memory. ‘I kept dreaming that the pirate boat had come and the slavers were snatching us apart.’
He made a sympathetic face. ‘We tried to comfort you. Many an hour she has stood here by your side, whispering that you’d found her now, and everything was well – but you didn’t even know her when she spoke to you.’
‘Poor Gwellia.’ This time I said the words aloud.
He gave the grin once more. ‘Poor all of us,’ he said. ‘We servants had to sleep in the dye-house first of all – since it was obviously impossible to stay in here – but then Marcus sent down his slaves to help us build another sleeping room, next door to this. Kurso and I did most of it, but Cilla helped – once she had got the idea of how to weave the walls from osiers, and daub them with manure and clay to keep the water out. It’s very snug, with a hearth, a wooden bench and everything, so that those who were not watching you could sleep, or work or cook without disturbing you.’
Kurso and Cilla! I had half forgotten them. I was so accustomed to my little threesome here – myself, my wife and Junio – that for a moment I’d failed to rem
ember that I now had other slaves. Of course, I had acquired them in the last few months, much to Gwellia’s delight – though both times it had been more or less by accident, as a kind of payment for my services. ‘How are they both?’
‘Much as usual. They’ll come and see you, now you are awake. When they come in, that is. Kurso is out with the chickens now and Cilla is gathering kindling for the fire. They have been a great help while you’ve been ill – Kurso hasn’t broken anything for days.’
I grinned. Poor Kurso had been a kitchen boy before, but he had been so ill treated by his former owners that he was really too nervous to work in the house. He could still run faster backwards than forwards, and jumped every time you spoke to him – usually dropping any dish he held – but he had found a kind of contentment in tending our chickens, goats and kitchen crops, and helping in the workshop now and then. Cilla, on the other hand, was skilled. She was a gift from Marcus’s house, a plump, bright, cheerful little maidservant who helped with household chores and generally waited on my wife – when Junio wasn’t making eyes at her.
If they hadn’t been in servitude, there might have been a real romance between those two, I thought – but of course liaisons were forbidden between slaves. I had once or twice considered the idea of rewarding Junio with his freedom in the end, but when I had discussed it with the boy he had sworn that he would publicly refuse – which would make him my bondsman in perpetuity. Anyway, he was too young to manumit. That was a problem for another day.
I said now, ‘I shall look forward to seeing both the others soon, and my new sleeping hut as well. Marcus has been very good, it seems. You know he was even talking yesterday of having me moved up to his house? It’s almost a pity I’ve recovered quite so well. I might have enjoyed a day or two of luxury – Marcus’s slaves take splendid care of his guests – and the under-floor heating would have been a treat. But now I suppose he will not need my help.’
A Roman Ransom Page 4
