A Bitter Chill: An Aurelia Marcella Roman Mystery (Aurelia Marcella Roman Series)

by Jane Finnis

  “Very. And we all know that Lucius hasn’t been here since last September. He came to stay for a couple of days then, didn’t he?”

  “Aye, I remember.”

  “Good. Now, will your Poppaea let me look at her pups?”

  It was a pleasant leisurely morning, with only a handful of customers in the bar, so we left Carina to take care of them. Albia and I checked our Saturnalia preparations, making sure we’d enough food and plenty of presents. Even the lowliest slave received a gift at this time of year. Then we compared notes over what we would wear at Chief Councillor Silvanius’ Saturnalia banquet, the social highlight of the holiday. We’d both had new tunics made, but we still had to choose the right shoes, brooches, and ear-rings. These were momentous decisions, because it would be a very grand affair. As Chief of the Oak Bridges Town Council, Silvanius celebrated all the Roman festivals in the most extravagant style, and expected his guests to do the same. I couldn’t help smiling sometimes, when I reflected that he was born here in Britannia, yet now as a Roman citizen and public figure he took Roman traditions even more seriously than people like us, who were born and bred in Italia.

  We only referred once to Lucius’ visit. We were in my study out of earshot of the household, and I said, “I suppose we’d better think about what we’ll do if we find ourselves with a guest who tries to spy on us. It’s a nasty thought.”

  “Yes, it is.” Albia was gazing at a large black spider that had stationed itself high up in a corner. “I must remember to tell the maids that this room needs a good clean.”

  “Don’t you dare! When they clean in here, I can never find anything afterwards.”

  She giggled. “You can never find anything anyway. A spy who seriously wants to go through your papers will spend the first few days trying to understand your filing system, until he realises you haven’t got one. Then he’ll give up in despair and go home.”

  “I knew the gods had made me untidy for a good reason. Your kitchen notes and records are all so neat, they’d make any snooper jump for joy.”

  “Except I can’t see what there is worth spying on in the kitchen, unless it’s a rival mansio wanting Cook’s recipe for honey cakes.”

  “I remember a trick Lucius told us once, for checking if someone’s been searching a chest or opening a cupboard. Put a single hair across the hinges, or the place where a lid or a door opens. Anybody snooping about won’t notice if they disturb something so small.”

  “Not a bad idea, if we get any visitors who seem too nosey. You know, Relia, last night when Lucius told us about the Shadow of Death, it all seemed very threatening. But now, in the daylight, with no spies in sight, it’s hard to take it seriously, isn’t it?”

  Just before noon Candidus arrived. We were in the bar by then, and he burst in, gave his fiancée a huge embrace, and called out, “You must all have a drink with me. I’ve got the most wonderful news!”

  His enthusiasm was infectious. “That’s the best offer we’ve heard all morning,” Albia said. “What shall we drink?”

  “A jug of the very best, because my news deserves a proper celebration.”

  He’s really a good fellow, I thought, as Albia fetched the wine, and he’s devoted to my sister. Why do I have these reservations about him? What makes me think that under all his boyish charm he’s somehow unreliable?

  I pushed the thoughts aside and handed round beakers to the half-dozen or so customers, as I listened to what he was saying.

  “You know that I’ve been looking for premises in Eburacum, for my new business. Oak Bridges is all very well, but I need a bigger town to work in. Now I’ve found just the place—a house by the river, with a warehouse building attached, and its own jetty. I’ve taken a lease on it, and I’m moving in straight away.”

  “That’s wonderful!” Albia exclaimed. “Let’s drink a toast….”

  “Not so fast,” I said. “Of course we will, but let’s hear more details first.“ He’d proposed various business schemes over the past few months, and I couldn’t be sure which one was his current favourite. “Now, tell us the whole thing, Candidus. This is your river trading venture, is it?”

  “Yes, and I’ve saved the best till last. I’ve gone into partnership with a local river pilot, and bought a half share in his boat. He’s a real old-time sailor, they all call him the Skipper, and he knows everything there is to know about the tides, and the safe channels, and the tricky shoals and sandbanks. We’ll be able to carry cargo along all the rivers that you can reach from Eburacum, probably even down to the sea eventually. He’ll handle the transport, I’ll do the negotiating. It’s perfect!”

  It sounded fine, but Lucius’ warning about shady dealing forced its way into my mind. “What sort of cargo?”

  “To start with, building materials, which cost an arm and a leg to move by road because they’re so heavy. Just think of it—limestone from the quarries at Calcaria, timber from the woods around, iron, roof-tiles—they can all be brought in by water. And I’ve got one or two other good ideas, but I’m keeping the details under my toga for the present. Too much competition.”

  “And too many inconsiderate tax collectors wanting their share?”

  “Aurelia, how could you even think it?” He grinned broadly. “I have the deepest respect for tax collectors.”

  “And I’m the Queen of Brigantia! We’re honoured to have such a virtuous citizen in our midst, aren’t we, Albia?”

  “Stop teasing him and let him talk. Go on, Candidus.”

  “The point is, Eburacum is growing like a mushroom in a muck-heap. There are new houses going up everywhere, and workshops and warehouses. The whole place looks more like a building-site than a town. And people from the surrounding area are starting to buy town houses there.”

  I thought this was going too far. “Really? Anyone we know?”

  “Yes. Chief Councillor Silvanius has bought one for his sister Clarilla. Since she moved to Oak Bridges to keep house for him, she’s been fretting about not getting to town as much as she used to.”

  If our esteemed Chief Councillor was buying property there, Eburacum must surely be the coming place, and Candidus’ scheme had more to recommend it than some of his other ideas for turning a quick denarius. “Good. Then I wish you every success.”

  Albia beamed, and raised her beaker. “When we’re married, I’ll be able to help you with all the paperwork. Now here’s a toast—to Candidus, the successful businessman.”

  “And Albia, his successful wife,” he answered, and we all drank.

  We ate a cheerful midday meal, and just as we were finishing it, a sudden wild gust of wind drove a heavy shower of hail against the mansio walls. The customers in the bar drank up and headed for home, and Candidus decided to do the same.

  “I must start organising my move to Eburacum. There’s so much to do! But I’ll come again tomorrow, I promise.”

  Albia and I lazed by the fire, enjoying the luxury of a quiet afternoon, and the feeling of being snug and warm while the wind howled round outside. The hail showers came and went, and then turned into snow flurries. I roused myself to do my rounds before dark, and as I stepped outside I was surprised to hear a clatter of hooves and a rumble of wheels. I looked up towards the main road.

  Three of the biggest carriages I’d ever seen were turning off the highway and heading down the track to our forecourt. They rolled in a slow, stately procession towards me, and I stood there gaping for a few heartbeats, taken completely by surprise. I don’t think I could have been more astonished to see Caesar on a white elephant leading a parade of golden chariots.

  They were large, elaborate closed carriages, with ornate brass on their bodywork that would have been gleaming brightly but for the thin coating of snow, and some spatters of mud that had the effrontery to cling to them. They were pulled by beautifully matched chestnut horses, and accompanied by four well-mounted bodyguards. The guards and the carriage drivers wore dark blue cloaks which exactly matched the blue of the cu
rtains drawn across the vehicles’ windows.

  It was a thoroughly Roman procession, rich and powerful enough to crush anything or anyone that got in its way. I didn’t need the Delphic Oracle to tell me that whoever owned it would be much the same. What in the gods’ name was it doing here? My surprise turned to unease.

  Albia came out to stand beside me, smiling as she looked the entourage over. “Somebody rich, Relia. In fact very rich. And at this time of day, they must be intending to stay, not just dropping in for a quick drink and travelling on. Good.”

  “Rich, certainly, but I don’t know about ‘good’. I was looking forward to some peace and quiet, and rich guests are normally nothing but trouble, rude, demanding, and ungrateful, whatever you try to do for them.”

  “I know. But they’re still rich. Just concentrate on how nice it’ll be when they leave again, and we collect all those big fat tips.” Albia always looks on the bright side; it’s one of the things everyone loves about her, even me, when I can’t share her optimism.

  “They probably won’t stay long,” I said, trying to find something positive to contribute. “It’s Saturnalia in two days. They’ll want to be in their own home for that, surely.”

  The carriages juddered to a stop in a neat line right outside the front door. They couldn’t have been better positioned to be in our bar customers’ way, if we’d had any customers, but that’s rich people for you. The guards dismounted and stood to attention beside their horses, trying not to shiver too obviously. The leading driver got down and opened the door of his carriage, and unfolded a set of steps, placing them ready for the passengers to descend. The other vehicles remained closed up. It was like a stage ready set for someone to make a grand entrance.

  An insignificant little weasel of a man teetered down the steps, glancing quickly around him. He was slightly built and sharp-faced, with a thin mouth, and touches of grey in his dark hair. Though he was neatly groomed and wore a good fur-trimmed cloak, he wasn’t the owner. My guess was a secretary or clerk, though a favoured one, to travel in the leading carriage.

  He looked at me like a senator who’s just stepped in a dog-turd. “You there! Young lady!”

  “Good afternoon.” I didn’t step forward. The grand personage behind the curtains might make me jump to it, but not this dogsbody.

  “We want accommodation for a night or two.” He came a couple of paces nearer. “My lord and lady will take your best rooms, and we’ll need rooms for the rest of the party too. I’ll look the place over first, of course, and have a word with your cook. I assume you have reasonable quarters for the slaves, and proper stabling.”

  “Certainly, it’ll be a pleasure. We’ve plenty of rooms at this time of year.” I started working out how many of them there must be: fifteen at least, maybe twenty. An unusually large group any time, and in winter, almost unheard-of. The extra trade would be welcome. Maybe Albia was right to look on the bright side.

  “Well then, don’t just stand there,” the weasel ordered. “Fetch the innkeeper.”

  “I am the innkeeper. Aurelia Marcella, at your service.”

  “Oh.” Not the most enthusiastic reaction I’ve ever had, but I’m used to it. I took a couple of steps forward, and even managed a smile. “Welcome to the Oak Tree Mansio. We’ll be pleased to provide everything you need.”

  He was distinctly put out. “You can’t be the innkeeper! Surely there must be a man in charge of an official mansio.”

  “My brother and I run the mansio. But he’s not here at present.”

  “When will he be back?”

  “Well,” I pretended to consider it, “next month maybe, or the month after that.” I enjoyed his baffled expression, and then took pity on him and explained. “My brother Lucius Aurelius and I are joint proprietors here, but he’s mostly away on army service, so I and my sister run the place.” I indicated Albia, but he barely gave her a glance.

  “I see.” He surveyed the wide forecourt with its thickening carpet of snow, and then he looked in through the open front door to the bar-room. I followed his gaze, trying to see everything afresh, as if for the first time. I thought, it all looks in good order, the walls white and clean, the room well-lighted and prettily decorated, and that big inviting fire must appeal to anyone who’s spent all day on the road. So if you’re thinking we’ve let standards slip because we haven’t got a man in charge, then think again.

  A gruff female voice called from inside the carriage. “Mustela! What’s going on? Are you proposing to stand chattering all day?” The curtain on the side window nearest me was twitched back a little way.

  wasn’t the only one who thought he looked like a weasel! I almost felt sorry for the poor chump, being addressed as one—almost, but not quite, because I caught a quick flash of anger in his black eyes when he heard the nickname, and saw the way he suppressed it and put on a smiling deferential mask as he turned towards the carriage. It isn’t only Janus who has two faces.Mustela? So I

  “I’m sorry, my lady,” the Weasel answered. “It’s just that…I’m wondering if we should stay at this mansio after all. There’s no landlord here, it’s very unorthodox. This young person says she’s the innkeeper.”

  “Oh, don’t fuss, Mustela,” came the voice. “The place doesn’t look too bad, and anyway you know my nephew said it was the only possible one in this area. Go and see if the rooms are acceptable, and be quick about it. I’ll die of cold if I have to sit out here much longer. Margarita, you’d better go with him.”

  “Very good, my lady,” the Weasel said meekly.

  A pretty young woman in a cream fur cloak trimmed with black stepped down from the carriage. She had blue eyes, and long fair hair tied back under a fur cap. She was either one of the family or a favourite slave or freedwoman. The way she didn’t stand next to the Weasel told me she disliked him, so she had good taste.

  “My sister Albia is my housekeeper,” I said. “She’ll be pleased to show you our guest wing.”

  “Of course.” Albia smiled at them. Albia is pretty, and her smile usually gets a favourable response, especially from male guests, but not from this toe-rag. The girl Margarita smiled back though, and murmured, “Thank you.”

  “We’ve no overnight guests at present,” Albia continued, “so our seven guest-rooms are at your disposal, and there’ll be plenty of room for the servants in our slave quarters at the back.”

  “And Margarita, tell them to make sure the bath-water is hot,” the disembodied voice called from the carriage. “You have got a bath-house suite here, haven’t you?”

  “We have. And it’ll be hot, I promise.” Albia gestured for the Weasel and Margarita to follow, and took them round the outside of the building to the guest wing. The mansio is built around a big courtyard, like a hollow square. The bar-room is at the front, with two wings sticking out behind it—the guest wing on the right, and our private quarters to the left. The bath-house is at the back.

  The door of the second carriage opened softly, and a slim young man with beautiful dark chestnut hair jumped down. Greek, from his appearance, and extremely handsome, with the sort of fine, regular features that sculptors like to model. He gave me a courteous nod, then walked over to her ladyship’s window. “How is his lordship now, my lady?” he asked, with just enough of a Greek accent to be attractive. “Shall I make up some more of his medicine?” Ah, so he was a doctor.

  “He’s resting, Timaeus,” the gruff voice said. “Best thing for him. We’ll get him into a warm bed as soon as we can. Yes, you may as well go inside and get some of his mixture ready.”

  The doctor turned enquiringly to me, and I beckoned one of the maids and told her to show him through to the kitchen. I could guess how Cook would react to a stranger trespassing on his territory, and hoped that “getting the mixture ready” didn’t involve anything more complicated than warming up a pan. But customers have to be humoured, especially rich ones, and this customer had made up her mind to stay at least for tonight, by the sound of it
. But she wasn’t leaving her vehicle till her minions had gone through the motions of checking the rooms, so to get a look at her I strolled over to the carriage. I tried to peer in through the half-drawn curtain, but the interior was dark, and I saw her only as an indistinct figure wearing a red travelling cloak with a bulky fur collar and hood. As she noticed me at the window, she leaned closer, and I got an impression of a nose like a beak and sharp bird-like brown eyes. Next to her was another well-wrapped figure, his lordship presumably, lolling back against the cushions. All I could make out was a very pale face, with some wisps of grey hair showing under the edges of his hood. I caught the sound of his heavy breathing.

  “May I bring you some warm wine, my lady?” I said into the semi-dark. “You and his lordship? It’s chilly weather for travelling.”

  “That’s the first sensible thing anybody’s said to me since we got here. Yes, I will take a drop. And make sure it’s really hot. Nothing for his lordship, though. I’m afraid he’s far from well. The quicker we get him into bed, the better.”

  “I can speak for myself, Sempronia,” came an old man’s growl from the depths of the carriage. “I’ll have some wine too. It will help to warm me up.”

  “Now, you know what Timaeus says…” his wife began, but he made a disparaging remark about the medical profession, and she subsided. I hid a smile as I went into the bar and fetched some hot spiced red wine. I handed two beakers through the carriage window, and there was a muttered exchange from within, followed by satisfied slurping noises. Soon the lady passed back the empty mugs. “That’s better. What did you say your name is?”

  “Aurelia Marcella. I’m the innkeeper of the Oak Tree Mansio. My brother and I….”

  “Yes, yes, I got all that. I’ve got no memory for names these days, that’s all. My secretary tends to fuss sometimes, and he’s so conventional. I’ve no objection to a woman in charge of a mansio, provided she does a good job.”

  “Thank you.”

  “However, I won’t stand for any nonsense from innkeepers, male or female. I hope you understand me?”