SIXTEEN
It was not the most comfortable night I’ve ever spent – what with the fleas and smell and the constant snoring from next door – and I was glad when the dawn came creeping through the ill-shuttered window-space. When I encountered Minimus in the yard, however, I learned that the stable had been snug and warm, and when Gwellia appeared a moment afterwards – as Minimus hastened off to take water to the ox – she told me that her party had been comfortable too.
‘Fairly primitive, but clean enough,’ she said. ‘Both Julia and Marcellinus slept, surprisingly, though the baby girl was fractious all night through.’
I murmured something about regretting that.
‘Probably still hungry, I’m afraid,’ my wife went on. ‘I did everything I could, gave her sops of milky bread that she could suck, but she did not take much of that. Poor little infant, she hasn’t even any teeth as yet. I hope this expedition won’t be the death of her. A child of that age really needs to nurse.’
I shook my head, unhappily. ‘That’s my fault, I’m afraid. I’m not really used to infants, and when Julia said that she’d been weaned quite young, I simply supposed it could be done.’
‘I know that, Husband, and so does Julia. The problem is that it should not be done so suddenly. But in the circumstances, you’ve done the best you could. Better that the child is here with us and has a chance, than stay to be discovered and be murdered in her crib,’ Gwellia said. ‘And Marcellinus and his mother had some proper rest, rather more than I expected – they are used to proper Roman beds, with stretched goatskins to support the mattresses, not straw-stuffed palliasses on the floor – not to speak of sharing bed-space with the woman from the inn. But Jul … Kennis … was tired out from travelling, and the boy was still half-drugged with poppy juice.’
‘But you didn’t give the baby any, so you could sleep yourself? There is a little of Marcus’s potion left, I think?’ I could see that Gwellia’s face was grey with wakefulness.
She shook her head. ‘I did not dare. The child is far too young to keep drinking poppy juice. But I was lying on a mat beside the door, in any case, so I took her down with me and tried to keep her soothed by dipping my finger in the milk for her to suck – otherwise she would have kept everyone awake. Even so, she’s very hungry now, and she needs a wash and change of swaddling. I came down for the water. I must get back to them. Juila has no idea of how to deal with such things.’ She waved a jug at me and hurried back into the inn.
I watched her go, and as I turned to dip my face into the trough I heard footsteps on the stone stair from above, and then a voice behind me said, in Celtic, ‘Good morrow, traveller. You rested well, I trust?’
It was my snoring neighbour from the night before – the one-eyed peddler – cloaked, dressed and apparently ready to depart and uglier than ever in the morning light. I returned his greeting. ‘Not easy to sleep here,’ I said, forbearing to mention that he’d prevented it. ‘But at least the children and their mother rested well. Fortunately the inn-woman was so enchanted by the boy, she volunteered to let them share her room.’
‘Is that what she told you?’ He gave a knowing laugh. ‘If you believe that, traveller, you are less intelligent than I supposed. No doubt she likes your toddler well enough, but that’s clearly not the reason that she let them share her room.’
I was genuinely puzzled. ‘I’m not sure I understand.’
‘Surely even a Vestal Virgin could work it out! Your daughter’s beautiful – and this way the woman could keep an eye on her, and be sure her husband did not visit in the night. Or anybody else, for that matter!’
Such a possibility had never crossed my mind – though if I’d really had a daughter perhaps it should have done. ‘But my wife would have been with her!’ I protested.
‘Exactly, traveller. And she was obviously a beauty once, as well! It’s clear you’re not accustomed to public hostelries. Without a slave to watch the door, even my ugly grandmother might not be wholly safe!’ He sketched a little bow. ‘And now, if you’ll excuse me, traveller, we must make an early start. My son is fetching our belongings from upstairs, and here’s the slave-boy with our horse, I think.’ He gestured to the open stable to one side, where our skinny servant of the night before was leading out a mangy animal. At the same time the sullen son came clattering down the stone steps from above, gave me the briefest of curt nods, and busied himself with strapping on the panniers and reloading trays.
‘You don’t intend to break your fast before you go?’ the little slave asked, using the awkward Latin that I’d noticed earlier.
The peddler shook his head and answered, with a fluency that put the boy to shame, ‘We have reserved some bread and cheese and we will eat that on the road. We must reach Glevum in time to sell our wares today or we won’t eat at all tomorrow. I’ve already paid your master what we owed, so now the horse is loaded it is time that we were gone.’ He nodded me a bow. ‘Your servant, traveller. Go well – and take good care of your handsome wife and daughter, that is my advice.’ He chuckled at the slave’s bewildered look and, accompanied by his offspring and unlovely animal, he went out through the arch and I saw them plodding off towards the north.
I did not altogether envy them the trip. It was a long way to Glevum – especially on foot – and the first hint of drizzle was already in the air. Very soon it would begin to rain in earnest, I could see.
‘Thank all the gods I have a covered cart,’ I said aloud, to no one in particular. ‘At least we won’t get drenched. Though rain will obviously slow us down and we won’t reach our destination before nightfall, as I’d planned. Mars knows where we’ll find to stay tonight.’ I shook my head, remembering the peddler’s warning about the womenfolk. And this was the best hospitium for miles around, he’d said. But there was nothing I could do about it, in advance. I turned back to the slave, who had picked up a broom-bundle and begun to sweep the court. ‘Tell me, young fellow, did you get your broth last night? I don’t want to pay your owner and then find he’d cheated me!’ I was using Celtic which was easier for him.
‘So that was your doing, citizen? The master did not say so, but we knew it had to be!’ The lad leaned on his broom, looked earnestly at me. ‘The stable-boy was very grateful too. He made sure your slave had extra straw and a nice warm blanket that the master uses for his horse. I’m only sorry that there’s nothing I can do myself, to thank you for your kindness …’ He broke off suddenly as the sound of the infant crying came loudly from within. ‘That child is hungry,’ he remarked. ‘I know that cry of old.’
I nodded, with a sigh. ‘Unhappily her mother has no milk for her.’
He brightened suddenly. ‘Then perhaps I can assist you, after all.’ He glanced around the yard. ‘I could not help hearing what you said just now. You were speaking Celtic …’
‘You were listening to my conversation with the peddler?’ I know I sounded sharp.
‘Not really, citizen. But I did hear you wondering where you might choose to stay tonight.’ He looked at me enquiringly, but I did not reply. I was still a little irritated at his eavesdropping.
‘Because you would not reach your destination, as you’d hoped?’ he urged. ‘Believe me, citizen, I only wish to help. I thought perhaps you might prefer to avoid a public inn. A lot of them are merely dens of pick-purses and whores – especially the taverns nearer to the towns. Even my master says so privately, though if you ask, he’ll recommend one readily enough – and expect commission from the owner by and by.’
‘You think you know of somewhere?’ I said, more kindly now.
He gave a little shrug. ‘I’m not sure if you would think it suitable. But I do have one idea. It’s just a simple roundhouse – small and cramped and smelly – but it would be safe. And the household would be grateful for any money earned. But you would not be cheated, citizen. I can answer for the owner’s honesty.’
‘You are thinking of your own home?’ I exclaimed.
He nodded,
placing a warning finger to his lips. ‘But be careful that the master does not hear me saying this. He’d flog me if he thought I was advising you against the tavern trade – as I say, he gets a tip for recommending people on. But I thought this might be better – for the children, specially.’
‘A roundhouse would be crowded,’ I demurred, though I was seriously considering the possibility.
‘There’s a storage roundhut outside the door where you could sleep, if you preferred, and there will be hot grain pottage, if there’s nothing else. There might not be much comfort, but it would be cheap.’ He had dropped his eager voice till he was almost whispering. ‘And then there is the child. My mother has suckled other people’s children once or twice before, and she has an infant so there will be milk – and some to spare. That might be a solution for the baby, do you think?’
I found that I was nodding, all at once. Perhaps my ancient gods had listened to my prayers. And for once I did not think that Julia would object. Many citizens farmed out their children to the poor until they were old enough to wean, to save the mothers inconvenience. Only the very rich – like Marcus – could afford to keep a wet-nurse in the house. So this arrangement was a common one. Julia would almost certainly agree, if only for the infant’s sake. It was indeed an answer – from an unlikely source.
‘We’d pay her handsomely,’ I said. ‘If you think she’d be prepared …’
He nodded. ‘I think she’d be relieved. It was because the last one weaned and had to be sent home, that they were forced to sell me on to pay for food. But there is one problem, citizen. She does not speak Latin – no one does at home. Only my father has a word or two – just enough to help him sell the creatures that he traps.’
‘Yet you speak well enough.’
The slave-boy made a face. ‘He taught me what he knew before he offered me for sale, and the rest has been beaten into me since I’ve been working here. Another reason why they sold me cheap, of course. But you speak Celtic, so there’ll be no problem there.’
‘I do,’ I answered, ‘though not all the family does. The boy and his mother have lived in Roman households all their lives – as many slaves do nowadays – but I should be able to translate for them.’ In fact, that was a positive advantage of the scheme, I realized. In a Celtic-speaking household there would be no chance of Marcellinus – or his mother – accidentally saying something which betrayed their lofty rank. ‘A splendid notion, serving-boy. I think you have repaid me for your plate of stew – and more!’ I fished into my purse and produced another quadrans. ‘How do I find this family of yours? And how can I be certain that they’ll agree to this?’
He glanced around again. ‘Fifteen or twenty miles down the road, you will come to a crossroads by a twisted elm,’ he whispered, seizing the coin and slipping it into his tunic hem. ‘The house is a hundred paces up the trackway to the left. You’ll see my father’s traps outside the door, and skins and animals nailed up against the fence. His name is Esadur. Tell him that Caeder sent you – that was my name at home. And tell them too that I am safe and well and happy in my work.’
‘And are you?’ I was surprised at this.
‘I want them to think I am,’ he answered, ruefully. ‘But here’s my owner coming, I must be about my chores.’ He seized the brush again and began to sweep the court as if his life depended on its cleanliness. Perhaps it literally did!
I turned to greet the landlord – in Latin, naturally. ‘Good morning, innkeeper! Tell me what I owe – and add the price of breakfast for my party too. It would be wise for us to eat before we make a start.’
‘I’ll send some bread and watered wine in to your slaves, if that will do? Though you’ll be wanting cheese with it, yourselves, I suppose? I don’t have fruit and olives, or fancy things like that. My wife’s already taken goat’s milk and sops in for the child. That will be an extra … Let me see …’ He made a calculation on his fingers and then named a price – a lower one than I’d expected. He flashed a crooked smile. ‘And think of us if you are ever coming back this way. Now, have you made arrangements for tonight? Or would you wish me to commend an inn or two?’
‘I have a place in mind. So now, if you will see that we are fed, I’ll get my little party on the road again. I’ll settle with you, just before we leave.’ I glanced at the slave, but he was busy with his broom, so I followed the landlord back into the house.
The meagre breakfast did not take very long though the landlady still tried to make a special fuss of us, and Marcellinus in particular. I was anxious to move on before he said too much, so I paid the bill quickly – and within the hour we were on our way again, lurching towards Aquae Sulis on the cart.
SEVENTEEN
The day that followed was one I would be happy to forget: long nightmare hours of rain, mud, wind and cold. Everyone was wet and weary to the bone; the infant was hungry, and within an hour or two of starting – having eaten all our damp provisions – so were the rest of us. Marcellinus (who’d been protected from discomfort all his life) was awake and fretful now and added to our wretchedness by raging, weeping and whimpering by turns. The baby bawled. The women were exasperated and exhausted with it all. The slaves sat shivering in silent misery and even the ox and mule seemed unusually reluctant and intractable.
The road was relatively empty, for which small mercy I still thank the gods, because the verges were becoming more sticky by the hour, until they were near impassable in parts. When forced off the main track – as happened now and then when we met a group of soldiers or supply-carts on the move – we were quickly axle-deep in mud and several times I feared the cart would break. By noon or thereabouts (in the sullen light it was difficult to calculate the time!) I was tempted to abandon travel for the day, and would have sought shelter in the first habitation that we happened on, if a man on horseback had not ridden by.
I would have paid no particular attention to this other traveller, but he reined his horse and turned to squint at me. ‘Greetings, citizen.’
‘What news from Glevum?’ I called out to him, recognizing him as a tax official to whom I’d paid my rates for the workshop once or twice – and cursing the fact that he’d identified me too. But best to sound as casual as I could.
‘Libertus, the pavement-maker, isn’t it? Bad tidings, I’m afraid,’ he shouted back. ‘There’s been a spate of sudden deaths in the colonia. Some of them people that I’m sure you know.’
Varius and his family, I thought. I decided to feign ignorance. ‘That is unfortunate. Something in the water, possibly?’
‘Not this time, citizen. This looks deliberate. Only certain people seem to be involved. The town is full of whispers – as it always is – and it’s difficult to know what to believe, but there are rumours of some sort of crazy vengeance feud, aimed at members of the curia and their families and friends. Three patrician citizens are already dead – that is a certainty – and there are stories of other victims, not discovered yet.’
I looked at the two women, and they looked at me. I knew what they were thinking, although they didn’t say a word. ‘Three patricians dead?’ Two I was prepared for, but who then was the third? Had Eliana already managed to starve herself to death? She was a patrician, certainly – but in such calculations of the dead, women were not usually included in the count.
I must have sounded genuinely shocked. The tax-collector smiled and nodded. ‘Varius Quintus Flavius was the first to die, I hear, and his brother Claudius did not survive him long. Those two I can vouch for with some certainty. Their funeral has already been publicly announced.’
‘And the other?’ I hardly dared to ask. ‘It wasn’t a woman relative by any chance?’
The horseman shook his head. ‘A senior member of the curia, I heard. Another councillor discovered him at home, apparently, stabbed, hanged or poisoned – it is not clear which. There’s some kind of mystery. The name and details have been officially suppressed until the magistrates have met and decided what to do – enq
uiries are already underway. But secrecy has caused a greater stir, of course. People are beginning to talk of leaving town.’ He paused and frowned at me. ‘Your name was mentioned, come to think of it, as someone that the curia wants to interview.’
‘Me?’ It shocked me to my veins. But I understood now why the man had paused to talk. Was he hoping to report me found, and ask for a reward?
‘There’s talk of an unsigned document in which your name occurred, found in the dead man’s hand – or that is what I heard, though I don’t know how reliable that is. Anyway, there’s obviously been some mistake. By yesterday you must have been already on the road.’ He gestured to the cart. ‘And perhaps you’re fortunate to be elsewhere! I’m not sorry to have business in the south, myself – and I must be on the way or I won’t get there tonight! Go well, fellow-townsman!’ He raised a hand in brief farewell and galloped off – still travelling away from Glevum.
I breathed out heavily. There would be no report – at least till he returned to the colonia.
‘What shall you do?’ my wife, beside me, muttered urgently. ‘Turn back and see the magistrates?’
I shook my head. ‘If I’m summoned formally, of course I will appear, but for the moment, I am on my patron’s business. This is only hearsay,’ I replied. I did not tell her what was really in my mind – and anyway, I was in no mood for talk.
Because I was certain that I knew why the curia wanted me: it could only be that Marcus was the murdered councillor. When I first heard of the third death, I had thought of Porteus – he had received that second warning, after all – but the detail of the unsigned document convinced me otherwise. The document named me! I realized what that had to be, of course: the warrant naming me as guardian, which Marcus had drawn up, and wanted Varius and his half-brother to witness at his house. Which raised a sudden thought. No one but my patron would have need of such a thing (most certainly Porteus would not) or even known that it existed. So why had Marcus brought it out before he died? Was it to get it witnessed and countersigned, perhaps?
The Ides of June Page 15
