by Jane Finnis
Albia took it stoically. “He must be in Eburacum, or on the way there or back, moving all his things. But he usually leaves a boy here to keep an eye on the place.”
“Maybe he has.” I put two fingers in my mouth and whistled, the way my father had taught me, and then told me I should never do anything so unladylike. The loud shrill note echoed round the buildings, and the door of one of the small sheds creaked open.
A skinny boy came out, followed by a large grey dog. Both boy and dog looked at us silently.
“Hello, Nasua. We’ve come to see Master Candidus,” Albia said. “Is he here?”
The lad shook his head.
“Has he gone to Eburacum?”
Nasua nodded.
“When will he be back?”
He opened his mouth and seemed to be trying to say something, but no words came out.
“Answer the lady!” Our driver strode forward and caught the boy by the tunic. “Show some manners to your betters, boy.”
“H - h - he said…” Nasua stammered, then broke off when Nestor gave him a clip round the ear. The dog growled, but the boy put a restraining hand on its head.
“Ow! P - p - please, sir….”
“Don’t do that, Nestor,” Albia said sharply. She went quietly up to the boy and smiled. “It’s all right, Nasua, we just need to find Master Candidus. When will he be home again?”
“I d - don’t know, M - Miss Albia.”
The driver raised a threatening hand, but Albia said, “No, leave him. He’s new. He probably doesn’t know much. Now, Nasua, when he comes back again, will you tell him I called to see him?”
The boy nodded. “He won’t be b - back today. He told me to feed the ch - chickens and d - d - ducks tonight.”
“All right. Now, if you’re feeding the ducks, I’ve got something here you might like.” She went back to the carriage and brought out one of the little cakes we’d bought in town. It was shaped like a duck, and the boy’s eyes lit up when he saw it. “Here. This can be your first Saturnalia present.”
“Oh, th - th - thank you, Miss Albia.” He ran back into his shed, clutching the cake as if it were made of gold.
As we drove away, I said to Albia, “I think I recognise that boy. Where’s he from, do you know?”
“He turned up on Candidus’ doorstep a couple of days ago. He was with that group of men who helped save our hay-stack, but they used to bully him because they thought he was stupid, so he ran away. Candidus realised he’s not stupid at all, he just has trouble speaking, as you heard. So he’s taken him on as a servant.”
“It’s a bit risky, isn’t it, leaving a new lad on his own here?”
She smiled fondly. “Candidus says if you trust people, they’ll show you they are worth trusting. It seems to be working with that little waif, anyway.”
“Quintus would say there’s such a thing as being too trusting. Candidus is honest and genuine, but you can’t assume that everyone else in the world is.”
“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned Quintus lately,” Albia teased. “Not missing him by any chance, are you?”
“Me? No, of course not.”
We drove home, and Albia talked happily about what it would be like to live in Eburacum, but I listened with only enough attention to say “yes” and “no” in the right places. I was still thinking about Quintus. Seeing other couples, even though their roads of love were twisted and uneven, made me realise how much I missed him. I knew he was working in the south of the province and couldn’t spare time to visit us for the holiday, and he’d promised to come in the spring. The weather would be better then, and we could take a little time off together. Spring was a much more sensible season to travel north. But I wanted him now.
The sky had clouded, and as we neared the mansio it started to snow again. Whipped by the north-east wind, it was unpleasantly cold. Despite the weather, a small handful of riding-animals were tied to the railings on the forecourt. Good—the market had brought us a little trade at least. Among the small native ponies there stood one vehicle: a light, fast gig. The horse-boys were just unharnessing two sturdy mules from its shafts.
“Army transport,” Albia said. “I wonder whose?”
“At least an officer’s, with a smart turnout like that.”
She giggled. “Handsome and dashing, with a bit of luck. Yes, I know I’m not interested in officers these days—but you’re footloose and fancy free. Or are you?”
I said nothing, because I didn’t know what to answer.
The bar-room was comfortably warm and noisy, with a dozen or so native customers, mostly peasants drinking beer. At a table near the fire sat Horatius, and with him were two Romans, clearly the people who’d arrived in the military gig. They were a handsome couple, a tall fair-haired man and a dark young woman.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. The man was Quintus Antonius. I didn’t know his companion, but she was one of the most stunningly beautiful women I’d ever seen.
“Quintus!” I called, overjoyed. I felt like a child who’s just received a most magnificent present, or had a prayer answered by the gods. Quintus was here! If he’d come to us for Saturnalia, my happiness really would be complete. I started towards him, and only the presence of the other customers kept me from running across the room straight into his arms.
But when he looked up at me, his dark-blue eyes were colder than ice, and he didn’t smile or stir from his chair. “Aurelia, how good to see you. And Albia too. Are you both well?”
I stopped in my tracks. I felt as if he’d thrown a bucket of freezing water in my face. His words were the kind of distant greeting you’d use to a mere acquaintance, not to someone you loved, and they cut me worse than a tirade of abuse.
But I’ve never thrown myself at any man if he wasn’t prepared to catch me. “I’m very well, thank you, Quintus Antonius.” I matched his distant, cool tone, and even produced a distant, cool smile to go with it. I hadn’t the remotest idea what was going on, but if he could play at being strangers, then so could I. “This is an unexpected pleasure. Won’t you introduce your companion?”
“May I present Fabia Jucunda, the fiancée of Decimus Plautius Curio.” He smiled and put a hand lightly on her arm. “I’ve had the pleasure of escorting her here to join Lady Sempronia’s party. Fabia, these are the excellent innkeepers of the Oak Tree, Aurelia and Albia.”
“Excellent innkeepers” indeed! Who does he think he is? Not the old loving Quintus Antonius, that’s for sure. But why? What have I done to deserve this coldness? Or is it because he’s sitting next to someone whose classic beauty probably has sculptors and painters standing in line begging her to be their model?
I stepped forward. The young woman extended a slender white hand, and I shook it. “I’m pleased to meet you,” I said. I’ve always been a good liar. This woman was the fiancée that Sempronia had chosen for Candidus! What was she doing here? Why was she with Quintus? And why, in Diana’s name, did she have to be so unbelievably, astonishingly gorgeous? Seeing her and Albia together was like comparing an attractive bright star with the golden sun.
“Thank you. I’m sure I’ll be very comfortable.” Fabia had a sweet voice—well she would, wouldn’t she?—and the lovely smile she gave me was charming, if rather reserved. After all, to her, I was just another innkeeper. And Albia…did she know who Albia was? Was she even aware she had a rival for Candidus’ affection?
Horatius was in his usual mellow state, but even he noticed the chill in the atmosphere, though he completely misunderstood it.
“I’m afraid we’re putting you to even more trouble, m’dears,” he said to me and Albia. “We’re going to be a bit short of space tonight, but we’ll squeeze in somehow. Margarita and Diogenes can move into your slave block, to make room for these two.”
“Margarita and Gaius can sleep in our wing, as they did last night,” I told him.
“Good, yes!” the lawyer exclaimed. “And tomorrow we’ll all be out of your way, when we
move to the Chief Councillor’s villa.”
“I might stay on here,” Quintus said. “The Chief Councillor is a splendid fellow, but a bit heavy going. I’ll probably be more comfortable at the mansio.”
“I don’t blame you,” Horatius smiled, reaching for the wine-jug. “They look after you very well, and there are one or two pretty little maids who can keep a man warm at night.”
“Are there? You’ll have to introduce me.”
So there it was. Quintus was making it absolutely clear that whatever had existed between us was gone. We’d been lovers and friends. I’d never deluded myself that he lived a life of celibacy when he was away from me, and I’d always considered myself free to do as I liked when he wasn’t around. But in the four years since we’d met, when we were together, we were a couple. Not any more.
Horatius was telling Quintus the story of how Priscus had found Margarita in a tavern, and they were making silly man-of-the-world jokes. I wanted to break up their silly male chatter, but couldn’t think how.
Then Diogenes appeared, and for once he was a welcome distraction. He approached the table and bowed first to Fabia, then to Quintus.
“Lady Sempronia will be pleased to see you now, Miss Fabia, if you’ll be good enough to come with me. Master Antonius, her ladyship asks if you’ll join her later this afternoon?”
“Thank you, Diogenes.” Fabia gave him an impersonal nod. I thought, she called the Weasel by name, which means she must know at least some of Sempronia’s household. So she was rich, well-connected, attractive, and known to Candidus already! This situation was getting worse and worse.
Horatius got to his feet. “I’d better come with you, Fabia. Fill you in on the latest developments about Decimus.” He helped her up, and even in the simple act of rising from her chair, she was as graceful as a dancer. She took his arm and they walked towards the main door, and she made the customers’ heads turn as she passed. Diogenes followed at a respectful distance, but not before he’d cast a sharp sneering glance at Albia.
Quintus said softly, “There’s a man I shouldn’t trust an inch. He got thrown out of the Governor’s office for corruption. I don’t know what exactly he did, but it must have been something serious. Fabia says Sempronia relies on him, which if true, is a mistake on her part.”
I was shocked into forgetting my cool manner. “Horatius? Are you sure? I know he drinks too much, but….”
He started to laugh, then stifled it. “No, Diogenes, of course.” His purple-blue eyes lost their cold stare. “Horatius is a good lawyer, when he’s sober enough. Which is less and less often nowadays, I’m afraid.”
I began to relax a little. This was more like the old familiar Quintus, the man I’d worked with, laughed with, loved. Had his distant behaviour been only for Fabia’s benefit?
But when he leant back in his chair and said, “Will you join me for a drink, ladies?” the smile he gave us was as impersonal as Fabia’s.
I was tempted to tell him exactly where to put his drink, but resisted the impulse. I felt hurt and confused, but I couldn’t just walk off in a sulk without trying to find out what was going on. “Thank you.” I fetched myself a beaker and sat down opposite him.
Albia, with her usual quickness, realised why I hadn’t brought two mugs, and said, “I’ll join you later, if I can. First I’d better go and sort out the new sleeping arrangements for tonight.”
Quintus helped himself to more wine from the large jug on his table, and then poured some for me. A small but calculated gesture of rudeness that the Quintus Antonius I’d known before would never have committed.
But I said nothing, and raised my beaker to him. “Welcome back to Brigantia. What brings you to the Oak Tree at the worst time of the year?” Oh yes, if it’s polite impersonal chit-chat you want, I can do that till the cows come home.
He lifted his mug in response. “Sempronia asked me to escort Fabia up here to meet her fiancé, Decimus Plautius. I gather he’s run away from home and is threatening to marry a Brigantian peasant girl. Sempronia thought he needed a reminder of what his true fiancée is like. Quite a looker, isn’t she?”
“Yes, she is. Are you staying in Brigantia long?”
“I have business in Eburacum after the holiday, so I’ll be in the district for a few days. And I’m hoping while I’m here to get news of your Lucius. I’m told he’s been a naughty boy and isn’t working for the Governor any more. What’s he been up to? And what’s he up to now, come to that?”
“I don’t know much really. Some trouble over a woman, I gather.” I must tread carefully. Lucius had told us that nobody, not even good friends like Quintus, was aware of his real situation, and keeping that secret was easy enough. But Quintus would guess that Lucius must have got in touch with me to give me some sort of explanation.
“That’s what I heard. Pinched the wife of one of the Procurator’s men, they say.” Quintus smiled properly this time. “The husband isn’t best pleased, and he’s got powerful friends in Rome to back him up.”
“My brother’s been a stupid idiot. He wrote and told me the bare bones of it, but I don’t know where he is now, he just said he’d got to lie low for a bit.” I sipped some wine, relieved that Quintus seemed to have accepted the story.
“He’s certainly an idiot if he’s lost the Governor’s support. I’ve no time for investigators who let their personal lives interfere with their work.”
“Is that so?” The words were out before I could stop them, but he didn’t react, and I hurried on to a safer subject. “Lucius did say that he thinks one of the powerful men in Rome who’s stirring up trouble for him is the Shadow of Death.”
Quintus nodded. “Yes, I’d heard that. It seems he’s found his way into favour at Caesar’s court. He was always plausible, wasn’t he?”
“Aurelia, forgive me for interrupting.” It was Timaeus, approaching our table with his usual irresistible smile.
I returned the smile with enthusiasm. “Ah, Timaeus, let me present Quintus Antonius Delfinus. This is Timaeus, Lord Plautius’ physician. I’m sorry we couldn’t talk earlier, Timaeus. Is now a good time?” Let’s see how Quintus would like that!
He grinned. “Any time’s a good time, but first his lordship would like a word please, if you’d come along to his room.”
“Certainly. Excuse me, won’t you, Quintus Antonius?” I followed Timaeus out of the bar.
When we were in the hall, Timaeus turned to me, still grinning. “Is that the officer who brought Fabia up from Londinium?”
“Yes.”
He asked casually, “An old friend of yours, is he?”
“More a friend of my brother’s,” I said, hoping I sounded equally casual.
“I see.” He smiled and moved a little closer. Twenty-four hours ago if he’d made a pass at me I might have been only too pleased, but now I wasn’t in the mood.
I took a slow step back. “Does Plautius really want to see me?”
“Not just now. But I do need a word, if you’ve time.” He followed me into my study. “It’s about the murder of poor Leander.”
“Suicide,” I corrected. “Very sad, of course, but Albia and I have said all along that we were innocent.”
“It wasn’t suicide, I’m afraid. Lord Plautius showed me the note that was found beside Leander’s body. But Leander didn’t write it.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because I know who did.”
I felt a surge of excitement. “Who was it?”
“Gaius. I saw him do it.”
“Gaius? You’re mad! Gaius wrote a suicide note for Leander?”
“Of course not. Whoever killed Leander was clever enough to make use of something the boy had written which was a kind of confession.”
“A confession? To what, for the gods’ sake?”
“The first morning we stayed here, do you remember Gaius let out that dreadful cat of her ladyship’s? The fluffy yellow object she calls Medusa.”
“I remem
ber. Sempronia threatened that Diogenes would have to climb the oak tree to get her back. I’d have sold tickets for a spectacle like that, but the cat came down of its own accord.”
“All the same, Sempronia was pretty annoyed with Gaius, and was making her usual threats about getting rid of him. So Margarita told him to write out twenty times a message saying sorry and asking for forgiveness. It took him ages, poor kid, but he did it, and it mollified Sempronia. All the messages were written on old scraps of papyrus, and Leander’s so-called suicide note had been torn from one of them.”
“I thought the papyrus was an odd shape. Have you told Plautius?”
“No.”
“Are you going to?”
“Yes, but I thought I ought to talk to you first. After all, if Leander killed himself, then you and your sister are no longer suspects. But if he didn’t….”
“Thanks, Timaeus. I assume from that, you don’t think we are murderers?”
“I think my next line should be, you’re far too beautiful to be a murderer.”
“Who else besides you and Margarita and Sempronia knew about Gaius’ confession?”
“Well…Diogenes did, and Priscus. Some of the slaves too, probably. Is it important?”
“Not when as many people as that were aware of it, no. Look, I expect you know that Plautius wants me and Albia to find out who the murderer is. I could use your help there, if you’re willing. You know the family, but you’re not too close to them.”
He nodded. “I’ll help if I can. So you don’t think I’m a murderer either?”
“Definitely not. You’re far too beautiful to be a murderer.”
There was a tap at the door, and Diogenes stepped in without waiting to be asked. “So this is where you’re hiding. I wondered why you weren’t in the bar-room.” He gave me his supercilious sneer. “Getting a little medical advice, are we?”
