An hour! How did my patron expect me to calculate the time? There was not even any sun today, so that I could gauge its progress through the branches of the oak tree opposite. I would simply have to guess. And it wasn’t in the least convenient, of course. But this time, I had the wit to simply nod.
‘At least that gives me time to get my toga on,’ I said – as much to Junio as to the messenger. ‘It will have to be my old one, I’m afraid, although it’s patched and mended and frayed around the hems – my best one is wet and muddy from last night.’
‘Shall I take that to the fullers?’ my thoughtful son enquired. ‘I’ll ask him to be quick. You’ll want it if you’re travelling, no doubt.’
‘That would be kind,’ I told him. ‘I’ll fetch it out for you. Though no doubt I shall have to buy another new one quite soon – and have it specially bleached and whitened, at my own expense, if I am to be a candidate – it is what the very word means, after all.’ I spoke with bitterness. A chalk-white ‘toga candida’ is expected wear for anyone seeking election to the curia, though the moment they’re elected most of them return to whatever kind of purple stripe they are entitled to. (I, of course, was not of patrician Roman birth and therefore did not qualify for any stripe at all.)
Junio was giving me a startled look. ‘So you have finally agreed to be a candidate? Well, a good thing too, and I’m delighted, naturally. But I know how often you’ve refused the privilege. It must have been particularly potent wine!’
‘It’s only as replacement duumvir,’ I mumbled. ‘And only till the next regular election’s due.’
He grinned. ‘Or so you hope. Though – since it’s a joint appointment and the office will be shared – perhaps the duties won’t be very onerous.’
I snorted. Merely a responsibility for letting market stalls, the provision of water for the town, and the upkeep of all public spaces, fountains, roads, and drains! But I did not intend to be elected anyway, though I could not say that with my patron’s servant listening in!
I told the page to hurry back and tell Marcus I would come – not that there really was any choice, of course – then I turned to Junio. ‘I wonder what my patron wants me for? Changed his mind about this trip to Uudum, do you think?’
Junio shook his head. ‘Thought of more instructions to give you, more than like. So I had better leave you, and go on into town. Send for me if you need me. In the meantime where’s that muddy toga you wanted me to take?’
‘I’ll fetch it. I left it out to dry.’ There were no slaves about to help me, so I hurried off myself and brought the bundle back to Junio. ‘There you are. And there is something else that you can do for me. When you get to Glevum, make enquiries – see if any unfamiliar, fancy carriages were observed arriving at the town gates yesterday. Acacius Flauccus had a private one, it seems, which was seen to leave his house – and I’d like to know what had become of it. It was supposed to come to Glevum, so perhaps it did – though its owner was not in it.’
Junio nodded. ‘Of course I’ll do my best!’ I saw the sparkle in his eyes. He has often helped me with enquiries before, and was clearly delighted that I’d asked him now. ‘With luck I’ll find a sentry on duty that we know,’ he said. ‘Otherwise, I’ll ask the tanner’s wife next door – she makes a point of knowing everything, so if anything unusual occurred, like a carriage which contained no passengers, she will have heard of it. I’ll call in later on and let you know. But if I am to do all this, without a slave to help, I’ll go at once – there’s no time to be lost.’ And he set off, whistling.
Minimus had come back, panting, to wait for my commands. ‘The mistress says that I’m to wait on you. She says there is some wood we are to chop.’
I shook my head. ‘Another change of plan. I’m summoned to my patron’s as soon as possible. I suppose that after all, I’ll have to take the mule.’
I had to smile at the expression on his face though, with my thumping headache, this morning I was not easily amused. I went back into the roundhouse to explain to Gwellia.
She heard me out, and snorted. ‘I suppose this means that Kurso will have to chop the wood! And take all morning over it, no doubt. But if you’re going to Marcus’s you’ll need this, all the same. It’s an ancient recipe I made to clear your head. I thought you’d need it before you used the axe. I did not want you chopping fingers off.’
She forced me to sit down and swallow the concoction she’d prepared – whole raw eggs mixed with pepper and ground sage, washed down with more water from the spring than I could comfortably drink – while she and Tenuis wrapped wet cabbage leaves around my head. It was most unpleasant but perhaps it helped, for by the time I was ready to set off for Marcus’s I was feeling a little more like my accustomed self.
FIVE
I took Minimus with me to lead Arlina down the lane – Marcus would expect me to be accompanied by a slave – and we trotted to the villa as quickly as we could. There was a land-slave standing near the gate, guarding a large and beautiful brown horse, so I left him to deal with Arlina as well, while my slave announced me to the gatekeeper.
Once again I was swiftly let inside, but I was not shown into the atrium to wait, though there was a visitor already there (presumably the rider of the horse, since he was wearing the uniform of a private messenger) kicking his heels beside the family shrine. However, to my astonishment – and his – I was immediately ushered through and out into the courtyard garden at the back.
Marcus was out there, lounging on a bench, wrapped in a crimson woollen cloak against the wind. He was embarrassingly unaffected by the night before – more accustomed to Rhenish wine, perhaps – and apparently absorbed in watching his small son playing with a top, while the nursemaid bounced the baby girl upon her knee and Julia looked on. He looked up as I appeared.
‘Libertus, dear old friend,’ he said at once, holding out his ring-hand for me to kiss, while with his left he waved the little page impatiently away. ‘I wanted to see you before I went to town.’
I made the required obeisance, though I was on my guard. Doubly so, in fact. I had expected a meeting in the public rooms, not an informal audience in the peristyle. This studied lack of protocol was most unusual. And why was I admitted while others had to wait – people possessed of handsome horses, too?
‘Patron,’ I ventured warily. ‘Please excuse my mended toga. My other one has gone to Glevum to be cleaned, but – as requested by your page – I came as nearly to the hour as I could guess.’
He looked amused. ‘Don’t worry about time. And you need not have bothered to have your toga cleaned. You’ll need a sparkling one to wear as candidate, of course, but Titus Flavius has promised to look one out for you – the one he wore when he first stood for the curia himself. Finest wool and linen blend, he says, and he proposes to make you a gift of it – since he’s now elected to a permanent seat and obviously will not be requiring it himself.’
‘Then I must thank him for his kindness.’ I looked around. ‘Is he somewhere here? I understood that he was to stay here at the villa overnight?’
But Marcus shook his head. ‘Too late to thank him now. Titus Flavius and his litter set off just after dawn – immediately after I’d despatched that messenger back to Uudum to tell them to expect you there. Poor Titus Flavius. He hardly stayed to eat – he was so anxious to be at the basilica betimes. They’ve called an urgent meeting of the curia at the second hour, to determine what to do about the tax. Though there’s no reason for such urgency, as I’ve instructed Titus to tell them: Flauccus’s payment would not normally be due for several months. He was bringing it now only because he was planning to retire. We’re not required to render it until the usual date. I’ve suggested that the curia does nothing until you’ve made enquiries.’
‘That is hardly likely to assist though, Excellence, if Flauccus lost the money gambling.’
‘Ah that depends what he was betting on. I have every confidence in your abilities. If you can prove it was ille
gal – betting on dice, for instance, outside of the permitted period of Saturnalia – we may be able to force the winner to repay.’
‘If not, it will fall to the curia to make good the loss?’
‘You will not be liable to contribute, of course.’ He paused to kick back the wooden top, which had whirled towards us as the child whipped and whooped. ‘You’re not elected yet. Speaking of which, Titus will propose you formally today and make it known that I’m supporting you – no doubt he will have done so by this time, in fact. So now you are officially a candidate. We’ll arrange for you to address the populace, when you return from Uudum – though you need not do so, if you do not wish. The people expect it but it’s mere formality. From here on your election should be virtually secure.’
‘I am more than happy to address the populace,’ I said with truth. ‘But you speak of Titus nominating me. You are not attending the curia yourself?’
He gave me a sly look. ‘I shall go as soon as we have finished here. But something has arisen which I must discuss with you. Something of importance, which must be dealt with first.’
The fresh air and Gwellia’s potion had improved my throbbing head, but the children’s sudden laughter still went through me like a sword. I dropped my voice.
‘In that case, Excellence, perhaps it would be wise to find a place where we can speak more privately? There are so many slaves.’ I gestured around the courtyard, where at least a half-a-dozen of the household were busily at work, sweeping, weeding or picking kitchen herbs.
Marcus gave me a disbelieving look.
‘My own attendant knew exactly what had happened here last night, because it was common gossip in the servants hall.’ I went on, daringly. ‘The house-slaves had been talking about what they’d overheard. So …?’
‘Dear Jupiter!’ My patron looked quite genuinely shocked. ‘You may be right. We’ll find somewhere more secluded. Follow me.’ He rose and led the way towards an arbour set against the outer wall.
It is indeed secluded at other times of year, when it is half-screened by flowering shrubs and trees, but these – of course – were now completely bare so the place was hardly more private than the bench he’d left. At least, though, we were further from the peals of glee.
Marcus took the central place, ornately-carved and raised a hand’s-span above the bench on either side, and patted the place beside him, and – reassured that my head would be appropriately lower than my host’s – I sat down carefully.
‘There are some additional instructions which you wish to give?’ I enquired politely, after a short pause. ‘Relating to my erstwhile customer, perhaps?’
My patron gave a laugh. ‘Still disappointed in that contract which you lost?’ he said. ‘Don’t worry about that. When you are duumvir you’ll be awarding contracts, not accepting them – and that can be rewarding, if you choose aright. Not bribery, of course, but gifts of gratitude. When the time comes, I’ll advise you what to do. In the meantime …’ He gave that laugh again, ‘… since you’re going to Uudum anyway, there’s an extra little task that I would like you to perform.’
I said nothing, but my alarm must have been written in my face.
‘Nothing arduous, my friend – the contrary in fact. I wish you to represent me at a wedding feast, that’s all. It isn’t difficult. You’ve done it once before.’
It was true that I had done so, several years ago, but that was when Marcus was on his way to Rome – overseas and physically unable to attend. This was something entirely different.
‘It would be an honour, naturally,’ I murmured, wishing that my brain was clearer so that I could think. ‘But surely, Excellence, since this time you are here yourself …?’ His expression did not alter so I tried flattery. ‘It is your exalted presence which they are hoping for and I am clearly no kind of substitute, even if I bring your no-doubt handsome wedding gift. It would be the talk of Glevum to have you as a guest.’
My patron shook his head. ‘Ah but it is not in Glevum, that is the concern. And it’s taking place just when the Imperial legate will be here. He will be arriving within a day or two – as I believe I told you yesterday – and I must be here myself. You have heard of Portus Abonae, perhaps?’
‘Off the road to Aquae Sulis, I believe.’ I had only vaguely heard the name, in fact, but I made a daring guess, ‘A river port, I think?’ (That was not as clever as I hoped it seemed: ‘Avon’ – or ‘Abon’ – means ‘river’ in my native tongue, and ‘Portus’ was clearly the Latin word for ‘entrance port’.) Presumably that was where the legate planned to land.
Marcus – who does not speak Celtic – looked impressed. ‘Exactly so. A thriving little sea port settlement, though dependent on the tides. It’s not really in our general jurisdiction here – it’s too far south for that – but Glevum is the only court for many miles around that has the authority to deal with licensing.’
I could not see where this was leading, but I gave a little nod. ‘So there’s something for the Imperial legate to rule on when he comes?’
Marcus looked affronted. ‘Nothing of the kind. It lies within my powers to grant official licences, so when one of the local Celtic chieftains applied for one, a year or so ago, of course I heard the case.’ He paused, as if expecting some response.
‘Naturally, Excellence!’ I was still attempting to work out why this was relevant. ‘But there were objections?’ I ventured, finally.
‘I would have overruled them if there were. No one else was likely to apply. The seawater’s too diluted by the river, in a general way, but he owns swampy marshland on the seaward side, easy to flood to salt pans and evaporate. The man explained it all when he applied. If he was convinced that he could make a saltern pay, I saw no reason why he should not try. I granted his petition, although I set the price quite high.’
I tried to look astute. ‘Half of the expense of salt is carting it around – and most of the useful salt works are miles away from here – so he might have done good trade,’ I said. ‘But the enterprise has failed?’
Marcus gave a laugh. ‘Libertus, what has made you such a pessimist today? The fellow, Darturius, has prospered vastly since – in fact, that is the point. He was so delighted with my part in his success that he sent to me some moons ago, inviting me to attend his daughter’s wedding, later in the year. As the guest of honour, naturally. I was sufficiently flattered to accept – though I confess that I forgot about it afterwards. But I’ve had word just this morning that the date’s been set, exactly at the period when the legate will be here.’
So that was it. Portus Abonae – or somewhere near it – was where the marriage feast would be! And he hoped I would attend it in his stead! I forced myself to smile. ‘But surely, patron, this was a personal reward?’
Marcus raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh, he’ll understand that an Imperial legate must take precedence. Sending a prospective duumvir will meet the case, I’m sure.’ He broke off as a little slave came hurrying towards us from the direction of the house, carrying a platter of fresh figs and bread and cheese.
‘Master, a thousand pardons. The kitchen has just learned that a citizen has called.’ It is usual to offer something to a visitor, of course, but my fragile stomach was rebelling at the sight. Fortunately, Marcus waved it loftily away.
‘Not now. My friend and I have important matters to discuss.’
I looked at him, relieved but more dubious than before. So I was ‘friend’ again! I am fond of Marcus, but friendship doesn’t enter into it. He is my patron and I am his humble client – as he was demonstrating by this interview.
‘What was I saying?’ he resumed, as the lad retreated to the kitchen block. ‘Ah yes, the wedding feast. You’re just the man to send. As a Celt yourself you will be quite at home.’
Despite myself, I felt a flicker of interest at that. The last time I had attended a Celtic wedding was my own – when I was young and first took Gwellia to wife. ‘It is to be a Celtic marriage then?’
I could envisage it: the ‘hand-fasting’, in which the couple’s linked hands are bound with cords, then the lovely ritual of the oathing-stone, where they jointly hold a pebble while they make their vows, then ‘liberate’ it to the ancient gods by dropping it into a running stream. All followed by a hearty feast of roasted ox and warm, spiced mead. There might be worse occasions on which to be a guest.
‘I shouldn’t think so.’ Marcus dashed my hopes. ‘She’s marrying a Roman citizen. Gnaeus something, I forget the details. Twice her age and widowed but looking for an heir – the girl’s freeborn, of course, so there’s no bar to wedding her – though I confess I’m surprised he chose a woman of no rank at all. Doubtless her dowry plays a part in it. Her father has extensive property.’
Another awkward moment, while I considered what to say. As a Celt the girl would have the right to turn her suitor down – unlike a Roman bride – and this was not a love-match, by the sound of it. But perhaps she hoped to help her father to preserve his lands by this strategic union with a wealthy widower. (That was quite possible. Portions of many traditional estates have been ‘required for army purposes’ and either purchased for a fraction of their worth, or simply annexed if the owner would not sell. It has been a source of friction with native landowners – not unconnected with the presence of rebels in the woods.)
‘It’s brackish marshland on the coast, of course,’ Marcus went on, answering my question before I uttered it. ‘Not much use for raising animals or crops. But with the salt licence …’
‘Its value has increased enormously,’ I said. ‘So both the father and this Gnaeus are grateful, I suppose?’
‘With reason! Their good fortune is entirely due to me.’ Marcus is not given to false modesty. ‘And my non-appearance will not alter that. So I’ll send their messenger straight back to them, with a letter explaining everything – and tell them that you’re coming in my place. The only question is when you will arrive. How long do you imagine you will need to be in Uudum on the way?’
The Price of Freedom Page 5
