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

by Jane Finnis

  “What’s up, Taurus? Something wrong?”

  “Mistress Aurelia, I can smell smoke.”

  “I expect you can.” I sniffed the air. “After all, there’s the bar-room fire, and the furnace. We’re burning more logs than usual with all these visitors.”

  He shook his shaggy head. “No, not wood-smoke. More like burning grass—or hay. That’s it! Saturn’s balls, it’s hay on fire!”

  I glanced round the stable area. “It’s not coming from near here. It must be in the rick-yard. One of the stacks must have caught alight. Come on!”

  We set off at a run.

  CHAPTER VII

  The rick-yard, where our precious hay was stored, was nearly a quarter of a mile from the mansio, among a cluster of old buildings. Well before we reached it we could see the smoke rising into the still cold air. I began to be frightened. Those stacks of hay were our main store of winter feed for the animals, and it would be a disaster if we lost any of them.

  Suddenly a voice shrieked out, “Fire! Fire!” It was a man’s voice, high and panic-stricken. We ran faster, and I put two fingers into my mouth and whistled long and loud. My men knew that signal, and would come to help.

  Sure enough, one of the hay-stacks was well alight. The hay itself, and its straw-thatched top, were dry as tinder, except for the sides which had been dampened a little by the snow. Large flames and thick smoke shot upward from the stack’s base. It wouldn’t take long to burn through. Fortunately there was hardly a breath of wind, so the fire hadn’t carried to the stacks on either side yet. But small burning bundles of hay were floating about and scattering, so it was only a matter of time.

  I was relieved to see that half-a-dozen men were already on the scene, doing their best to douse the blaze. There was a well in the rick-yard, and they had formed a human chain for hauling and passing wooden buckets of water, but there weren’t enough of them. Taurus went at once to take over the heaviest task, pulling the full buckets up from the well. His huge strength made the job look easy. I stopped for a few heartbeats, taken aback to see that the four men and two boys who were fighting the fire were complete strangers, not our own farm hands. But there wasn’t time to wonder about it now, and I joined the bucket chain, standing beside Taurus.

  The native next to me looked up in surprise. “You sure you can manage?”

  “Yes.” We didn’t waste more words. It was heavy going, but I’m strong for a woman, not one of those feeble females who become exhausted when they have to lift a comb and mirror simultaneously. Besides I was frightened, and when you’re frightened the gods give you more than usual strength.

  Our own farm boys started arriving, bringing pitchforks and more buckets. Some joined the bucket line, and I wasn’t sorry when one of them took my place. I picked up a pitchfork and helped chase and extinguish the burning bundles of hay which continued to spew out of the stack as it collapsed in on itself. Soon we knew we had the blaze under control, but it seemed to take forever before it was completely out.

  I stood still, sweating and aching and stretching my sore muscles, and looked over the devastation. That one stack was gone, nothing but a soggy charred heap on the white snow, but at least the flames hadn’t spread to the rest of the hay. It was bad, but it could have been so much worse.

  I called out, “Well done, everyone, and thanks for coming so quickly. Make absolutely certain there’s nothing still smouldering. We don’t want it starting up again once we’ve gone.” Then I walked over to the group of natives I didn’t recognise, who were standing together near the well, taking it in turns to drink from a big mug of water. Their homespun cloaks were rough but serviceable, and they had good boots. They were prosperous Brigantian peasants, and from the way they chatted quietly together, men who knew one another well.

  “Thank you, boys.” I spoke to them in British. “I’m in your debt. If you hadn’t got here so quickly, we could have lost the whole yard. Did you see the smoke from the road?”

  A stocky man with bright red hair and beard, apparently their spokesman, stepped forward. “Glad we could help, Mistress. Fire’s a terrible thing on a farm.”

  I was still curious who they were. I shouldn’t have been surprised if neighbours had come to our aid. I know all the Brigantian farmers in our area, and whatever our differences, we always help each other in an emergency. But I definitely hadn’t seen these men. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Aurelia Marcella, innkeeper at the Oak Tree Mansio just along the road here. If you’ll come back to the bar-room with me, I can promise you as much beer as you need to get rid of the taste of smoke, and a good meal to go with it. You’ve certainly earned it.”

  Several of them looked interested, but the leader shook his head. “Thank you, but some other time. Of course I hope there won’t be another time.”

  Was that a threat? I couldn’t be sure. “Well, the offer’s there, next time you come by. May I ask your name?”

  “My name’s not important. But you may have heard of my boss, he’s called Otus.” He turned to his band. “Let’s go, lads.” And without more ado, they moved off, out of the yard and across the nearest field in the direction of the road.

  Otus? An unusual name. It reminded me of a Greek story about a giant who tried to storm Mount Olympus, but I didn’t know any living man who used it. And there was something disturbing about the way the group had behaved.

  Albia arrived just then, complete with her bag of ointments and bandages. “Is anyone hurt? No? Thank the gods for that! Who were those natives, Relia? Not very talkative, were they? And I can’t remember the last time I heard a thirsty man refuse beer.”

  “They were the first on the scene when it started. You didn’t recognise them either? I wish they’d let me give them a thank-you drink, at least.”

  Ursulus was prowling the yard, supervising his men as they tidied up the mess. He walked slowly all round the burnt-out area, his eyes on the ground, but having made a full circuit, he simply shrugged helplessly. “They were on the spot a bit too quick for my liking. There’s no traces here, but all the same, it makes you wonder.”

  “You think they started the fire themselves?”

  “Perhaps not on purpose, but maybe they took shelter here last night in the snow, and made a fire to keep warm, and it caught the stack.”

  “It’s possible. They were all strangers to me.” I asked our men, “Have any of you seen them before? Or heard of a man called Otus?”

  As they all shook their heads, Albia gestured to a small dark man who was helping to rake the charred remains of the hay into a pile. “Otho, what are you doing here? All right, I suppose you came to help, didn’t you? But you’re meant to be on the road, watching out for Master Candidus. It’s important that you stop him coming onto the forecourt till I’ve seen him.”

  “Sorry, Miss Albia. But I couldn’t just stand by doing nothing when I heard someone calling out about a fire.”

  “It can’t be helped. Get back there now, will you please?”

  He strode off, and Albia and I began to walk briskly towards the mansio. Now the exertion was over, I was starting to feel the biting cold. “There’s something not right about all this, Albia. I agree with Ursulus, those natives must have been very close by when the fire started. How did it start, anyway, in the dead of winter with everything covered in snow? Haystacks catch fire on their own in the summer, yes, but I never heard of one doing it in December. And that remark by their leader, ‘I hope there won’t be another time.’ Some kind of threat, do you think?”

  “Perhaps.” She was only half listening, her mind on Candidus and the prospect of a row with Sempronia.

  As we came round onto the forecourt, we heard hoof-beats on the road, and saw a rider trotting down the track towards us. He was muffled up to the eyeballs in a heavy sheepskin cloak, with a hood pulled well down to shield his face, and he and his horse had a covering of white snow. But all the same we knew him at once.

  “Candidus!” Albia called out, and ran
to him. “Candidus, my dearest, thank the gods!”

  “Now that’s what I call a welcome!” He threw back his hood, laughing as he dismounted. “Did you think I wouldn’t come? It takes more than a bit of snow to keep me away from my girl!”

  “You mustn’t stay out here,” Albia said. “Something bad’s happened, and I need to talk to you before we go inside. Come round into the stable yard where we can’t be seen. Quick, hurry!”

  “This is all very mysterious,” he smiled, but he got no further. Gaius came running out, yelling excitedly. “Master Decimus! Master Decimus!” and raced up to Candidus, who stared down at him in astonishment.

  “Gaius! What a surprise!” He picked the boy up and swung him onto his shoulder. “Well, how’s my little soldier?”

  Gaius hugged him. “I’m so glad you’ve come. Everybody’s been grumpy and miserable, because they didn’t know where you’d gone to. Lady Sempronia will be pleased. She wants to see you. Shall I run and tell her you’re here? Oh look, there’s Mustela.” Before any of us could stop him, he was waving to Diogenes, who’d appeared at the main door. “Diogenes, go and tell her ladyship that Master Decimus has come!”

  Diogenes gave Candidus a slight bow. “Good morning, sir. I’ll go and tell my lady at once.” And he turned back into the bar-room.

  “Oh gods,” Candidus groaned. He gently put Gaius back on the ground. “How long have you been here, Gaius?”

  “Since yesterday. If you’ve got to see my lady, I’m going back to the stables for now. I’m helping the horse-boys,” he added importantly, and trotted off.

  Candidus turned to Albia. “Are Mother and Father both here?”

  “I’m afraid so. And a lawyer called Horatius.”

  “They got my letter then.” He sighed. “Oh well, I didn’t expect them to be overjoyed, but I never thought they’d come looking for me. I was hoping they’d calm down after a while. Do they know yet that it’s you I’m going to marry, Albia? Is that why they’re here?”

  “Not yet. They just arrived to stay for a night or two while Sempronia searches the district for her runaway son.”

  “Decimus Plautius Curio,” I said. “Not a name we recognised.”

  “But I realised it was you,” Albia put in, “and I only wish you’d told me. You could have been honest about all this, Candidus.”

  “I’m sorry, love. I just kept hoping and hoping that I could persuade them.” He looked at her sadly.

  I said, “Let’s think what’s best to do, but for the gods’ sake let’s get out of sight of the house. We’ll go round to the stables. Then if you decide not to stay, Candidus….”

  “Not stay? You don’t think I’ll turn tail and run away, and leave Albia to face my mother alone?”

  “It might be a sensible move. It would give you a little time to work out what to do.”

  He shook his head. “I already know what to do. No, I’m not leaving. My mother—well, you’ve met her.”

  “We have.”

  “Then you know what she’s like. If we have to face her, my girl and I will do it together.” He took her hand.

  I was pleased by this show of strength. “Good. Then all we have to do….”

  “Decimus! Come here at once!”

  Sempronia stood framed in the bar-room doorway. As we all spun round to face her, I fancied I could feel fury radiating out of her, like heat from the haystack fire I’d just faced.

  Candidus muttered, “Wish me luck,” and winked at us. He added in a louder voice, “Good morning, Mother. I was just on my way in to see you.”

  He walked swiftly forward, erect and determined, like a standard-bearer marching to death or glory. Albia fell into step beside him, her head up and her chin out.

  As they approached her, Sempronia began to shout. “How dare you, Decimus, how dare you bring such disgrace on your family? Forcing your poor father to come traipsing halfway across the province, just because you’re so inconsiderate, so stubborn!” Candidus and Albia reached the door, and all three of them went inside, so I couldn’t hear any more.

  I wished I could do something—anything—to stop battle being joined. But I couldn’t, and I didn’t have enough nerve to follow them to watch what would happen next. I felt helpless, until I remembered there was one useful thing I could do. Yes, surely it was worth trying. I hurried away to the guest wing to tell Plautius his son had arrived.

  CHAPTER VIII

  I got no reply when I knocked on the old man’s door. Timaeus wasn’t in evidence, in fact the whole guest wing was deserted. Presumably everyone had followed Sempronia to meet Candidus, or more likely found some vantage point from which to observe the forthcoming row.

  So I knocked again. This time a grumpy voice called, “Go away and leave me alone.”

  “My lord Plautius, it’s Aurelia Marcella. You asked me to bring you news of your son Decimus as soon as I had any. May I come in?”

  “Not now, not now.” The voice was muffled, as if the old man had pulled a blanket over his head. “Come back later.”

  “Is everything all right? Would you like me to fetch Timaeus for you?”

  “No. Just clear off.” That’s a polite rendering of what he said. Have you noticed how swearing sounds even ruder when uttered in a patrician accent?

  Anyway, his instructions were plain enough, if rather surprising. He’d made such a point of asking me to report directly to him, and now he wouldn’t hear my news. It must be because he was feeling ill. I decided I would find Timaeus anyway. He’d know what to do about his patient’s tantrums.

  I walked out and round to the forecourt, and seeing the bar-room door still standing wide open, I went inside. A very odd scene confronted me. There was no sign of her ladyship or the young lovers, but a small crowd had collected—Priscus, Margarita, Horatius, Diogenes and several more of the visitors’ party, as well as a handful of our own people. They were all staring at the door that led to the private dining-room, which was partly open, and they were completely silent, like the audience at a poetry-reading.

  Sempronia and Candidus were in the dining-room, arguing violently. We could hear them clearly. As I came in, Sempronia was in the midst of a tirade, and I caught the phrases “unsuitable peasant girl”, and “ruin your life”. But I couldn’t give her my whole attention, because I wanted to find Timaeus, and he wasn’t here. I pushed my way through the listening crowd to Margarita, and whispered urgently, “Lord Plautius isn’t well. Where’s Timaeus?”

  She nodded towards the kitchen door. “Through there. Shall I tell him?”

  “No, I’ll do it.”

  The handsome doctor was in the kitchen, sharing a joke with Cook and pounding up some grainy dark powder in a mortar. I called out, “Timaeus. Plautius is ill, I think. I went to his room but he wouldn’t let me in, and said he wanted to be left alone. I thought I ought to tell you, just in case.”

  He put down the pestle and gave me his brilliant smile. “I’ll go and check. He gets these strange moods sometimes, but I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about. I’m due to take him his next dose of medicine soon anyway.”

  “Thank you. I’d feel happier if you made sure.”

  “I’ll be there soon.”

  I slipped back into the bar-room, where they were all still silently concentrating on the unseen quarrel next door. From the angry tone of the voices coming out, it wasn’t hard to picture what was happening. Mother and son were confronting one another, so intent on their argument that they had no thought of being overheard. Albia wasn’t joining in, but I assumed she was there too.

  “Mother, I’m not prepared to argue any more,” Candidus was saying, or rather yelling. “My mind’s made up. I’ve chosen how I want to live, and the girl I want to share my life with. I’m a free man, and I can do as I please. I don’t have to take orders from you, or father, or anyone else.”

  “You can’t marry this girl without our consent!”

  “That’s of no importance. We shall live together, m
an and wife in everything but name. We love each other, and love is enough.”

  “Then you will face the consequences.” Sempronia‘s voice had dropped, as her anger turned into the quiet, deadly rage that everyone instinctively knows is more dangerous than the loudest shouting. “You will no longer be part of this family. You’ll get no help or support from your father or me ever again, and you’ll inherit nothing from us when we die. You choose to abandon your duty? Very well. You also lose the privileges that go with it.”

  “What do I care about that? I can stand on my own feet. I can make my way in the world, and nobody can tell me what to do, or what to think.”

  “Think?” she said, in a kind of growl. “Think! That’s precisely what you haven’t done, Decimus! You’ve rushed into this ridiculous decision, your new home, your impossible liaison, and you haven’t given a thought to the future. So consider now, before it’s too late. You’ve always had the support of a wealthy family. Without that support, how will you manage? What will you live on? Even a peasant girl will expect a roof over her head and clothes on her back. And how will you manage when children come? Even little bastards will expect food on the table.”

  “When children come, I’ll treat them with more respect and kindness than you’ve ever shown me!” Candidus shouted. “I shan’t threaten and bully them all the time. And will you stop referring to Albia as a peasant girl. She’s no such thing. She’s a free citizen, a centurion’s daughter, born in Italia.”

  “Housekeeper at a mansio,” Sempronia sneered. “Not the wife for my eldest son! Oh, I know she’s pretty and pleasant, and I daresay she’s intelligent, if you tell me so. But your future isn’t with an innkeeper’s family. You know where your duty lies, to accept the marriage your father and I have arranged for you, with Fabia Jucunda. To follow in your father’s footsteps, in a public career. You’ll become a senator, stand for the various political offices, perhaps even the consulship….”