The Price of Freedom

by Rosemary Rowe

  I shook my head. How could I answer that? ‘It all depends on what there is to learn. I want to talk to Loftus and see the house at least. Enquire about the gambling, as you yourself suggest. And perhaps examine Acacius Flauccus’s body too – just in case there is something I could learn.’

  Marcus shook his head. ‘I’ve already sent a message to the local army post telling them to hold Loftus until you arrive, and not to press him any more till then. I’m sure you would approve. And it should be possible to see the corpse, as well, unless of course the funeral has already taken place.’ He saw my startled look. ‘Acacius Flauccus had no family, and in the absence of the household slaves, I believe the state is taking care of it. Meaning the army detachment in this case. They asked permission in their message to the curia last night, and I was happy to agree – provided we are not required to defray the costs. But I’ll send word that you would like to see him first, if possible – Darturius’s slave can take it, it is almost on his way. Though you will have to hurry, they will not welcome much delay – they’ll fear an unquiet spirit, with a suicide.’

  ‘But it will take some time to make arrangements, Excellence, and if you require me to attend this wedding too—’

  He cut me off. ‘I’m going to provide you with my private gig – till you get to Uudum anyway. I will ask the army to provide you with onward transport then – they will have carts at their disposal, or they can requisition one. And I’ll furnish you with a little money for emergencies – though there should not be much expense – and with a warrant to use the military inns. It’s only a question of your going a little further on – so works out quite fortuitously, really.’

  Fortuitous? A visit to a man I’d never met, down roads I’d never travelled, at the wettest time of year, only to arrive at ‘swampy marshland’ in the end – but I dared not say as much. ‘Uudum’s hardly on the road to Abonae,’ I ventured, daringly.

  ‘Oh no doubt there will be all kinds of ancient tracks – though I don’t suggest you use them, at this time of year. Better to use the military road and take advantage of the mansiones – my warrant will give you access, and you’ll find one every twenty miles or so.’

  ‘An unfortunate time to leave my family,’ I went on. ‘I hope it will be possible to return before the Ides. One does not care to be away at Saturnalia.’ When slaves become the masters for a while, and everyone is occupied with feasts and merriment, public roads can be deserted and therefore dangerous.

  He affected not to understand. ‘Strange time to have a wedding, but that has been the choice. The bride was hoping for the January Kalends, I believe – new beginnings and all that sort of thing – but no Roman will marry a virgin on a festal day, of course. So they have settled on the day before the Nones. But if you have finished at Uudum before then, go straight on to the wedding. I have been offered hospitality whenever I arrive, for as long as I require it – which, of course, will equally apply to you.’

  And if I had not finished? I thought, privately, doing the calculation in my head. ‘The Nones? But that is only seven days away.’ It hardly gave me time to question anyone about the missing tax.

  ‘By which time the Imperial legate will be here.’ Marcus’s concern was only for the visitor from Rome. ‘Though you are right, of course. To get things done you will want to leave at once – just as soon as Titus sends this toga to your house. He promised he would do so before the day was out, so you could set off this very afternoon, if it arrives in time.’

  ‘This afternoon?’ I echoed, appalled.

  ‘My gig is swift so you could reach the nearest mansio, at least. Oh, and one other thing, when you get to the last mansio before Portus Abonae, report your arrival to the authorities. They’ll signal to Darturius and he’ll send a man for you – the area is so marshy that people have been lost, sucked into the sands or carried by the tide, so it requires a local to lead you on the track.’

  My heart sank even further, if that were possible. Bad enough to have to travel there at all, with weather, bandits, bears and wolves to think about, without the prospect of being drowned as well.

  Marcus was smiling. ‘I’ll provide you with a wedding gift you can present, and all the other items, when I send the gig. That won’t be until this afternoon, of course – I shall be using it to take me to the curia first – but I’ll send it back to you at once and arrange a hiring-carriage to bring me home again. But now I have this warrant to prepare, before I leave. And an answer to Darturius – you may have seen his messenger, he’s waiting in the atrium to take back my reply. And I’d better write a letter to the Uudum army post. It’s too complicated to require him to learn it all by heart. So, if you have no questions …?’

  I had a thousand questions, but I dared not ask. My patron was already rising to his feet. This was a dismissal and I bowed myself away, leaving Marcus to admire his son’s increasing prowess with the top (I could only guess where he’d seen whipping skill exhibited).

  A page appeared from nowhere and accompanied me back through the atrium. On the way I glimpsed Darturius’s messenger again – a handsome sulky boy – who was standing by the altar to the household goods, moodily examining the remnants of this morning’s sacrifice.

  He scarcely bothered to glance up as we came in and – seeing only an aging Celt in a battered toga – he curled his lip and looked away again.

  I hurried out, retrieved my slave and mule and set off home to tell Gwellia the news. As we approached the roundhouse, two unpleasant things occurred. We were forced into the bushes by the sulky messenger, who galloped past us at deliberate speed and – almost at that moment – it began to rain again.

  SIX

  There was a pungent smell as we approached my gate, and clouds of billowing smoke. Not a conflagration, as a stranger might suppose, but Gwellia in the dye-house. ‘I see your mistress is at work,’ I murmured to Minimus as he helped me from the mule. ‘Brewing up the oak-bark and acorn-cups, by the smell of it.’

  ‘I hope there are enough,’ he answered, ruefully. ‘Otherwise she’ll send me out to find some more.’ He hunched down against the drizzle as he spoke.

  Gwellia is always grumbling that I permit the slaves to answer back but – since she was inside, simmering the yarn – I did not feel inclined to reprimand the boy. In fact, I actually laughed. ‘This is the final batch, she told me earlier.’ I said. ‘Besides, she is using Tenuis to help her now. You can hear her giving him orders. So you take Arlina off around the back to graze, then you can attend me in the house. I expect there will still be wood for us to chop.’

  Minimus nodded and hurried the mule towards the field, while I opened the enclosure gate and, pulling my cape-hood up against the rain, walked up through the evil-smelling steam towards the roundhouse door.

  Gwellia came out of the dye-house to greet me, her grey hair damp and her arms stained brown from handling the dye. Her face was red with perspiration but she summoned up a smile. ‘Ah husband, there you are! Kurso’s started on the wood-pile. What did Marcus want?’

  I sheltered under the doorway of the slave hut opposite and gave her a quick outline of what had just occurred. ‘So now – quite apart from this nonsense of becoming duumvir, and going to talk to Loftus about this suicide – I’m required to attend this wedding on his account, as well.’

  Her response surprised me. ‘Well, a good thing too. It’s high time that your patron sent you somewhere nice, where you’ll be treated as an honoured guest,’ she said. ‘Besides, if it’s part-Celtic, you’ll enjoy it, I expect. When is Marcus expecting you to go?’

  ‘As soon as possible,’ I said. ‘Possibly as early as this afternoon. He’s going to send his private gig for me.’

  Her face had fallen. Clearly she had not expected that I’d go so soon, but she rallied with her usual practical good sense. ‘Are you going to take a servant? Tenuis could be spared. If so, I’ll find him a cleaner uniform.’

  I thought of little Tenuis, who hated travelling, and h
ow embarrassing it would prove to be if jolting in my patron’s dashing gig caused him to be physically sick. I shook my head. ‘Marcus’s driver will guard me on the road, and when we reach a mansio they’ll have people there, specially detailed to look after guests. And at Uudum they’ll be specially anxious to take care of me – Marcus has sent to warn them that I am on my way, so they’ll be expecting me.’

  ‘And this famous salt merchant? Won’t he expect you to have brought a slave?’

  ‘They’ll no doubt provide an attendant for me while I’m there – Marcus would do that if he had a guest, and for his representative I’m sure they’ll do no less. Darturius is even sending someone to guide me to the house. So I shall have attendants everywhere I go. Better than having Tenuis crammed into the gig, where he would only have to crouch down on the floor. There’s only room for one proper passenger.’

  My wife looked dubious but she gave a nod. ‘No doubt you are right. I own I would be glad of his assistance here. I haven’t finished salting all the sheep-meat yet. And you won’t be away for very long, I don’t suppose? The wedding host won’t expect you to linger afterwards, so you should be home for Saturnalia.’

  ‘I hope so too,’ I told her truthfully. ‘I wouldn’t welcome spending the “misrule season” on the road – especially if it’s going to rain like this.’

  ‘Well, take your warmest cloak,’ she urged – as though I hadn’t intended to wear my birrus, anyway. ‘The one you’re wearing isn’t thick enough. And I suppose you’ll have to take your toga? Though it’s acceptable to wear more comfortable clothes when travelling, isn’t it?’

  ‘A toga will be expected if I’m representing Marcus,’ I pointed out. ‘Though it’s my second one. At least I won’t be trying to walk about in it. And there’s little else I’ll have to take. A marriage present to deliver, that’s all. His warrant will see that I’m supplied with everything, and he’s giving me a little cash, he says, in case of unexpected additional expense.’

  ‘I’ll find you a cleaner tunic, anyway – wear it under that one and it will keep you warm and you can change them over, when you get there, to look respectable. Your others are both washed and mended, so you can take your pick of brown or green. Don’t sleep in both, of course. You’ll want to keep one moderately clean till you arrive – though the gods alone know what your toga will look like in the end.’

  I nodded. I could wear the extra tunic while I was in the gig and remove it when I went to bed. ‘Let’s hope this weather clears a little, so I don’t get caked with mud. The gig is open, and these are not ideal conditions to be travelling.’

  ‘They are not ideal conditions for doing anything,’ she agreed. ‘Not even dyeing wool, although it needed to be done. And that reminds me …’ She picked up a piece of kindling and waved it with a smile.

  I sighed. ‘You want that wood chopped for the dye-house fire!’

  Gwellia nodded. ‘Kurso’s made a start. You take that toga off and I will air it by the fire, and I’ll look out both your tunics. Or rather Tenuis will. I daren’t touch your clothing with my hands like this. But while you’re working I will heat some soup – you’ll be glad of something warming if you are travelling later on.’

  The work itself was warming. There was still a half-tree waiting in the pile, and I vented my frustration on the task. Kurso was glad to help me move the logs and give me the stone from time to time to grind the axe-blade sharp, so I had a useful pile of fuel before I realised it. I straightened up and grunted. ‘Put the axe away,’ and Kurso proudly hurried off with it.

  Hard to remember, looking at him now, that he had been so frightened when he came to us, and so used to dodging blows, that he could move faster backwards. I followed him slowly to the roundhouse, aware that I’d unwittingly allowed the rain to soak me through.

  Kurso was waiting. ‘Master, I’m to tell you that there’s some soup there in the bowl. The mistress has gone back to the dye, before the colour gets too strong, and I’m to help Minimus fetch water from the spring, so she can rinse the wool.’ He flashed a grin and hastened out again, carrying a pail. He was as wet as I was, but he didn’t seem to care.

  I slumped down on the stool beside the fire and took off my dripping cloak, which was making little puddles on the earthen floor, though I decided that I’d eat my soup before I changed my tunic – to keep the fresh ones clean. They were laid out and waiting on the bed, while my toga steamed gently on a wooden frame nearby. Gwellia had clearly supervised all this.

  She was in the dye-house, now. I could hear her, giving instructions to Tenuis. ‘Take care! It’s heavy. Make sure you don’t drop it on the ground!’ I could almost see him, struggling with the stick, lifting the dyed yarn from the steaming vat into the rinsing pot.

  I grinned and reached for the bowl of waiting soup. It was delicious – flavoured with the bones of that same sheep from which we’d had the wool. But I’d hardly taken more than a few sips of it before my wife came in. She was wearing a frown which I recognised of old – something had displeased her, and I was responsible.

  ‘Husband there is a horseman at the gate. He says he has a parcel for you. I dared not touch it, I might cover it with dye – and Tenuis is worse. The other slaves are fetching water for the rinse, so I had no slave to send.’

  ‘Meaning I’ll have to go and pick it up myself?’ I put down the bowl and struggled to my feet. ‘I wonder what it is?’

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘The driver says you are expecting it.’ But you’ve not told me about it, her expression said.

  I frowned. ‘It can’t be my best toga from the fuller yet, and … Oh, of course! It will be that toga candida, from Titus, I expect. He promised me he’d send one.’ I glanced at Gwellia as I hurried out and saw with satisfaction that she was mollified.

  It was indeed from Titus, a parcel wrapped up in a leather cloth and tied with hempen cords. I prised the folds apart without undoing it and saw the cloth within: finest quality, chalked to a whiteness that took my breath away. I nodded to the man who had brought it to the gate.

  ‘Tell Titus Flavius that it’s more than I deserve and I thank him sincerely for the gift.’

  He raised a brow at me. ‘There will be no opportunity for that. My instructions were to bring it here to you, return to the villa and collect some documents and a wedding gift that you are to present, and then come back for you. I am to drive you for the next few days, it seems.’

  So this was the gig-driver my patron promised me? I bowed acknowledgement. ‘I should of course have known the uniform, but I did not recognise your face.’

  It was a face you would remember, in a general way. A big, broad, bearded, flat-nosed countenance – as if its owner had been in a fight – under a mop of unruly dark brown curls. But the massive shoulders, deep chest and muscled arms suggested that this gig-slave would win any such affray.

  He smiled, revealing a full set of perfect teeth. ‘I’m a recent acquisition by his Excellence,’ he said. ‘He only bought me half a moon ago. I had a birth name, but they call me Victor now.’

  So someone else had thought that he would win a fight! I could not suppress a smile. ‘I shan’t forget,’ I told him, truthfully. ‘Thank you for the parcel. Now go, as you’ve been told, and I’ll see you at this gate again when you return. Though, where’s the gig? You didn’t come on foot?’

  He shook his head. ‘I’ve left it down there, where I could tie the animal.’ He gestured with a huge, rein-calloused hand. ‘We shan’t be taking that horse, anyway. I’ve pushed him hard today. There is a fresh mare in the stables which I’ve been told to use – I’ll get her in the shafts. Apart from that I should not be very long. Nearer a half-hour than a whole one, I would guess.’

  In fact it was much sooner. I had hardly drunk my soup before Victor and the gig were at the gate again. He had arranged a sort of cushion on the seat and tied on a kind of awning on a frame to cover me – obviously these were luxuries that Marcus sometimes used. I would ride i
n more comfort than I had supposed – especially as the rain had almost stopped by now.

  ‘The wedding gift you are to carry, citizen, is underneath the seat. Watch how you handle it. It’s very heavy, I suspect it’s made of gold.’ I looked at the package – it was circular, leading me to guess it was a platter of some kind. I placed my precious clothing-parcel beside it on the floor, where they were (fairly) sheltered from the rain, and Victor helped me up into the gig.

  He had other things to give me, though, before we left. There was the promised little drawstring purse of bronze and silver coins – not a fortune, but welcome none the less – which I fastened on my belt where it was conveniently disguised. And finally, the travel document inside a special leather pouch.

  It was an open warrant, necessarily, since I would have to use it several times – meaning that Marcus had not devoted a sheet of precious vellum to it, but scrawled on a writing-tablet (the kind which folds in half to make a box) and simply pressed his seal-ring hard into the wax – literally his signature – and affixed another impression in sealing-wax onto the tie. I would have to be careful, as the days went on, to preserve the seals intact – though his crest was burned with poker-work into the outer case, so there could be little doubt as to whose permission it contained. I placed it very carefully beneath the seat as well.

  ‘Ready, citizen?’ Victor had climbed into the driver’s seat.

  I nodded, and waving farewell to Gwellia and my slaves, I sat back in the gig. Victor urged the horse into a trot and we bowled quickly out along the lane and joined the military road that took us south.

  SEVEN

  I have ridden in a variety of gigs – including a previous one of Marcus’s – but this was different.

  ‘Based on a pattern from the Eastern Provinces,’ Victor told me as we bowled along. ‘Marcus was driven in one, briefly, when he was in Gaul – during his recent abortive trip to Rome – and he was so impressed that he commissioned one himself when he got home. And bought me to go with it,’ he added with a smile. ‘Takes a practised hand to manage one of these.’