The Ides of June

by Rosemary Rowe

  I assented. ‘Though don’t expect too much. I know that Eliana took her own supplies with her.’

  In fact, an exploration of the kitchen area revealed a small amphora which still contained some oil, and a large container set into the ground outside which held a few parched peas. These (with the discovery of an ancient cooking pot, much-patched) offered some promise of a warming meal – if we could only contrive to make a fire.

  I said as much to Gwellia, but she simply grinned. ‘I told you I’d sent Tenuis out to find some fuel. Come and see what I’ve got in my luggage roll.’

  When she unrolled it I saw what made her smile. ‘A box of half-charred linen and a flint and striking stone!’

  ‘I packed them while you were in Glevum for the cart,’ she said, ‘I thought they would be useful. And I’ve brought a spoon or two, a twist of salt and a bit of barley grain I stuffed into a pouch.’ She produced these treasures with triumph as she spoke. ‘There were other things I thought of, but I had no room for more.’

  ‘Well managed, wife!’ I could have hugged her for her thoughtfulness, but Gwellia does not care for such displays. Instead I tried a jest. ‘I’m glad you brought the spoons. Julia would not like to use her hands to dine.’ I grinned and squeezed her arm. ‘So there’s a chance of pottage?’

  ‘Even tastier, we could have broth, perhaps. The kitchen patch is wholly overgrown but there may be something edible still there beneath the weeds, and I can’t believe that all these fields are quite devoid of crops. I’ll show you what I mean.’ She led the way into the rear walled garden as she spoke and plunged her hands among the foliage. ‘Look, I told you – there’s a skinny leek.’ She gave a tug and held up the bedraggled thing triumphantly. ‘And that looks like borage!’ She waved a hand at it. ‘And I’m sure I saw some turnip-tops out on the field. Even if the roots are rotted we can eat the leaves.’ She sat back on her heels. ‘I’ll send the boys out on a search, and I’ll go on hunting here – between us we shall manage something nourishing, I think.’

  This was so encouraging I tried another joke. ‘All we need now is Marcellinus and his pigeon trap!’ I said and made her grin. ‘I’ll see if I can find the means to set one for myself. There may be something in the sheds that I could use. Though here comes Minimus – he’s been dealing with the ox – perhaps he’s looked inside the outbuildings.’

  But when I asked, the slave-boy shook his head. ‘There is almost nothing left in any of the barns – just some wisps of hay and a few frayed lengths of rope. All the sheds and stores are empty, except for where I’ve put the ox, of course. There is one small enclosure – it might have been for geese – with a trough that’s full of rainwater, so I’ve tied him there where he can reach a drink. It’s overgrown with grass and weeds, so he can graze on those. Tomorrow we can mend the wall and put him out into the field. Though we’ll have to find some water.’

  ‘Isn’t there a well?’

  ‘I couldn’t find one, so there must be a river or a spring somewhere – if we can find a container anywhere. There’s nothing in the land-slave quarters, because I’ve looked in there. This was the only useful thing that I found anywhere—’ he held out the broken pail which he’d been carrying – ‘and there’s a sort of barrel set into the ground, with a spindle in the middle and a heavy tree-trunk made into a press. I don’t know what it’s for. Crushing something, by the look of it – there’s a runnel at the bottom, so liquid can run out.’

  I glanced at Gwellia, who was collecting turnip-greens. I recognized a wine press when I heard one described. Marcus had once talked of having one installed. And Hebestus had mentioned that there’d been a vineyard here – though I hadn’t imagined anything so grand as to require a mechanical device. (Most vine-growers just use their slaves to tread the grape-juice out and leave it in a clay-pit for a fortnight to ferment – unless they aim to sell it, instead of drinking it. It’s an efficient system for a small estate, because the skins left over can be fed to animals – or, in same cases, even to the slaves!)

  ‘It’s for crushing grapes,’ I told the slave, and he answered with a grin.

  ‘Well, master, if you’re hoping that you’ll find a few amphorae that the owner left behind, you will be disappointed. That machine’s not been used for years – the pit is full of rotting leaves and spiders’ webs and the pulley ropes have failed.’

  I laughed. ‘Most private wines will only last a month or two before they sour,’ I said. ‘One of the reasons I prefer my mead. So if there is a wine-store on the property the contents would be scarcely drinkable by now.’ I frowned. ‘Though there was talk of a wine-cave, somewhere, I recall. That might be cool enough to keep the vintage fresh, at least a little longer. After we’ve eaten and rested, I’ll go and look for it – it must be within the bounds of the estate. Perhaps in that hillock that we noticed from the road – and that’s also where any spring is likely to be found.’ I broke off as Tenuis came into the garden seeking us. His arms were full of assorted lumps of wood.

  ‘Look what I’ve found, mistress,’ he said, importantly – not waiting to be spoken to, as a well-trained servant should. He let go of his load, which clattered to the ground, on the broken paving of what had once been a path.

  Gwellia did not chide him for impertinence. ‘Well done! Now we can make a cooking-fire and eat! You take Minimus and go back into the field and bring back anything that’s edible.’

  I was already busy with the tinder and the flint, and using a handful of the straw-heap from the cart, I soon had a little fire burning in the kitchen cooking-hearth. It would be some time, of course, before the meal would be prepared, so I shook out the tunics and held them in the smoke – though fewer moths fell out than I had feared – then hung them on the broken wall to dissipate the smell. Then I joined the hunt for herbs while Gwellia warmed the pot – and was delighted to add a clump of wood-sorrel to our increasing store.

  The boys’ return brought turnip-roots as well as leaves – though many had been partly eaten by other creatures, first – and a few slug-ridden cabbages. But cleaned and chopped and thrust into the pot, with the peas and grain and a little water from the ox’s trough, it soon began to smell invitingly like soup.

  Julia clearly thought so, because she came out to us – full of apologies for sleeping while we worked, though it was hard to know what use she might have been. Now though, she was keen to help, so she supervised the boys as they cleaned the wooden bowls that we had found. Then she and Gwellia ladled out the broth, dividing it unequally between the two – one for the adults and the other for the slaves. There were no stools or benches, so we squatted on the floor and ate from our communal serving dish – in comparative comfort, thanks to Gwellia’s spoons.

  When we had finished, Julia turned to me. ‘That was more delicious than I thought possible. I don’t know how your wife contrived it, with such ingredients. When I get home, she’ll have to show my cook-slave what to do.’

  I could not answer. The poor lady had no idea at all of how her life was going to change – though, given her good looks and background it was possible that some other patrician husband could be found for her, especially if I could persuade the new authorities that the Corinium house was rightfully her own.

  ‘You’re thoughtful, husband!’ Gwellia remarked. She looked anxiously at me. She knew what I was thinking, but I shook my head at her. The time had not yet come to tell Julia what we knew. My wife, as ever, found a way to disguise what might have been an awkward interchange. ‘If you are worrying about the morning, husband, there is no need to fear. There’s still a little broth remaining in the pot – unusual, perhaps, so early in the day, but perfectly sustaining, and after that I’ll go and find a farm, or a roadside market that will sell us something more.’

  I shook my head again. ‘I was thinking that I ought to go and try to find a spring while there’s still light enough to see. It must be almost the eleventh hour by now, and it will soon be dusk. Now that we have a pail, I cou
ld bring fresh water back – better than using what is in the trough after the ox has been drinking out of that.’ I clambered to my feet. ‘I’ll take Minimus with me.’

  ‘And try to find that cave, if you have time,’ my wife suggested. ‘One never knows – there might still be some wine!’

  Julia’s eyes brightened. ‘A wine-cave?’

  I nodded ruefully, remembering the fine imported Rhenish she was accustomed to, and what Hebestus had told me about the bitter stuff that Eliana had brought from this estate. ‘Perhaps,’ I said, ‘but don’t expect too much.’ I repeated what I’d said to Gwellia earlier. ‘Wine from this province does not keep in storage very well, and I hear that the last vintage wasn’t good in any case!’

  Julia looked disappointed and ready to protest, but by this time Minimus was waiting with the pail, and I made a swift escape.

  TWENTY-ONE

  There was a spring – though it was sluggish at this time of year – which trickled through a reedy pond to form a pebbly stream. The water, though, was sparkling and we filled the pail. (It had no handle and was difficult to hold, but we contrived between us.)

  When we had finished I set it on a flat part of the bank and said to Minimus, ‘We’ll leave this for a moment and try to find that cave. If it’s a natural cavern it must be somewhere on this hill. There’s a rocky outcrop over there, which might conceal an opening, and another darker shadow over by those trees.’

  The dark patch yielded nothing but a fox-earth, but at the outcrop there was a sort of cleft between the rocks – wide enough to walk through, when one got close enough to see – and evidence that there had once been a well-worn track to it. The entrance was largely overgrown with weeds and brambles now, of course, but some of it was trampled down, as though some animal had been this way quite recently, using the rock-space as a lair, perhaps?

  That made me thoughtful. There are still wild beasts about in forest areas, and although this did not exactly qualify, there were thick trees nearby, where the orchard had degenerated into a tangled wood.

  ‘Aren’t we going in there, master?’ Minimus was clearly eager, rather to my shame. ‘You’ll want to tell the mistress that we have found the cave, if it is the right one, and we won’t know till we look.’

  His enthusiasm – and this latter argument – persuaded me to take a careful peek. When I poked my head into the space beyond (very, very cautiously and half-prepared to flee!) I could see that there was indeed a cave and something lying up against the wall.

  The place however did not smell of animals – and dens are very aromatic, as everybody knows. Instead there seemed to be a faint sweetish rotting smell, if anything. I withdrew my head, perplexed. This called for light – and though we had scarcely any tapers in the house, I was willing to sacrifice one or two for this.

  I explained my thoughts to Minimus and we struggled back, carrying the water – to Julia’s delight, though she was disappointed when she realized that it was not to wash her dusty feet. Instead we poured it out into the larger of the now-clean bowls, and when everyone had taken a refreshing drink from it, I turned to Gwellia and told her what we had found.

  She was more pleased than I’d expected, and bustled round at once. ‘If you need lights, let’s see what we can find. Here’s that little oil lamp that was standing in the niche; the spout is broken, but I’ve still got a little oil and we’ll find something that will make a wick. A piece of this old tunic will do very well.’ She tore a strip of linen from the hem and fashioned it into a tight twist even as she spoke. ‘There! Now we can light it at the kitchen fire, and here’s a piece of taper you can take as well – it’s the longest one we have. Save that till you need it and then light it from the lamp.’

  I was tempted to demur. ‘I was only proposing to have a glance inside. Tapers may be more necessary back here at the house.’

  She withered that suggestion with a look. ‘If it’s indeed a wine-cave there may be racks in it, or an old barrel in the Gallic style – something that will burn more slowly than those small logs we found, and keep the kitchen embers glowing overnight. If the cave is dry it might even be a warmer place to sleep. Shall I come with you, and have a look myself?’

  ‘It won’t be warmer, it is noticeably cool – ideal for storing wine, no doubt, though I didn’t see any,’ I said. ‘Nor any of the racks or barrels that you’re hoping for. But come with me by all means – there is no danger now, I’m sure. There have been animals at some stage, judging by the tracks, but it’s clearly been some time since anything was there.’

  Gwellia gave me an impatient frown and handed me my knife, which she had used to chop the stew ingredients. ‘All the same, you can carry this with you. And I’ll take that stone-mallet that you brought on the cart! We haven’t come so far to have you set upon by some drunken vagrant who is lying there asleep – or bitten by a nest of snakes that you’ve disturbed.’

  I hadn’t considered the possibility of snakes, though perhaps I should have done. ‘I don’t think that we’ll find vagrants,’ I protested mildly. ‘From what Hebestus said, the villa has a local reputation for ill luck. But we’ll take our makeshift weapons to make doubly sure and we’ll go and see what we can find.’

  She nodded and then turned to Tenuis, who was hovering nearby. ‘You can spread some bedding-reeds for us while we are gone – somewhere in the villa where it’s relatively warm – and make a bed for you two slave-boys at our feet. Then bank up the fire, and help Julia select which of the tunics she would like as bedcovers. We’ll share the rest between us. Then help her to her couch – poor lady, she has enjoyed few luxuries of late. We’ll go to bed as soon as we get back, to save on candles – just in case there’s any problem in the morning getting more. We don’t know how far it’s going to be to find a marketplace.’

  The little slave-boy scurried off to start his tasks, and with Minimus proudly holding up the lamp, my wife and I and set off together for the cave. I was encumbered by the mallet and the extra taper-reed, which I thought superfluous, but I did not complain: I was anxious to complete our mission before it got too dark.

  In the event I was glad that Gwellia was there – and that I had taken her advice. Not that there was anything of value in the cave, as we realized when our eyes became accustomed to the gloom. Our shadows loomed enormous on the rock walls round about, but by the flickering oil lamp it was clear that everything portable and useful had been moved out long ago. There were indeed some wine-racks: but one was carved in stone beside the entrance way, so that amphorae could be safely stored upright – (though the floor was stained in patches, suggesting some had smashed) – while a smaller free-standing wooden version at the back – which might have been of use to feed the fire – had been reduced to fragments by a fall of rock, which had half-buried it.

  A fairly recent rockfall, I realized with alarm. I put down what I was carrying and took the oil-light from the little slave. Lifting it overhead revealed the fresh scar where the huge hunk of stone had fallen from above, bringing a tumble of rubble as it came, judging by the hundreds of pebbles and small stones which now lay in a ragged slope against the wall.

  The thought that more of the roof might suddenly descend was not a happy one, but otherwise the cave seemed quite a pleasant place. No bats, no snakes, no uneven lumps to trip one underfoot; one could see why it was chosen as a storage space. Even the pale shape that I had noticed from the entrance earlier proved to be nothing more sinister than a heap of foliage. The source of that vague, unpleasant smell, perhaps? I kicked it over, but nothing scuttled out, other than a startled spider.

  I thought I knew what it was doing there. ‘I was wrong about the vagrants,’ I called out cheerfully. ‘Obviously they come here, sometimes, after all – whatever the reputation of the place. Probably they think the curse does not include the cave – though you’d think that falling rock might persuade them otherwise. All the same, some beggar has made a bed here, by the look of it – perhaps they were simply des
perate for a place to sleep. But at least we can guess who trampled down the plants beside the door.’ I turned away to leave. ‘Let’s follow his example and go back to our beds. There’s nothing here of any consequence and we don’t want to be caught up in another fall of stones.’

  ‘Just a moment, husband!’ Gwellia had brushed past me and was stooping by the pile of leaves that I’d disturbed. ‘Let me have that lamp!’ I did as she instructed and she moved the dried plants with her foot to get a better look. ‘I thought as much. When you disturbed the heap I recognized the smell. Hyssop, myrtle, parsley … rosemary! This is no casual beggar’s mattress, husband. These are funeral herbs, and some expensive ones, at that.’ She straightened up and looked anxiously at me, her face shadowed in the flickering light. ‘You don’t suppose that Eliana laid her husband here, rather than in that family tomb we heard about?’

  I looked around the empty cave and shook my head. ‘I can’t imagine so. We know there was a pyre beside the house, not here, and Esa said that Hebestus had made an offering at the vault, on the road near Aquae Sulis. No one would do that if the ashes were not there, for fear of offending the spirit of the dead – and Hebestus would know where the cremation urn was put; he must have been at his master’s funeral. He probably arranged the details, in fact, since Varius certainly did not and I don’t think Eliana would have managed it alone – she seems to have relied on her slave for everything.’

  Gwellia’s silence acknowledged the truth of what I’d said, but finally she spoke. ‘Then I don’t understand the presence of these herbs. No one of any honour would bring their husband here to cleanse the body and prepare it for the pyre – the dead man’s ghost would haunt the place for years, if he’d been denied the dignity of lying in the house, and even there he’d want his feet towards the entrance so his soul could find its way – not to be lying in a darkened cave. Unless he died here?’