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

by Jane Finnis

  I did my morning rounds, and stopped at the stables to make sure Secundus knew we wanted the large raeda ready two hours after noon. He asked if we’d like a couple of mounted men along as guards.

  “Yes, that’s a good idea, as things are. They can come back here in plenty of time for the party.”

  Our servants were holding their own Saturnalia feast in the evening. It was an annual event, and as usual Albia and I had been invited. As usual we’d politely refused, no doubt to everyone’s relief. I’d given them permission to use the bar-room, and a generous allowance of wine to make the party go well, with the customary warning to the senior servants—Cook, Carina, Secundus, and Ursulus—of the dire consequences they’d face if I found any damage in the morning.

  “Who do you want as driver?” Secundus asked.

  “I’d like to take Titch. But after the other night I don’t know whether to ask him. The attack on the hostages seems to have shaken him up. Do you think he’ll be willing to come?”

  “Of course he will, if you want him. He’s no coward, and I’m not going to turn him into one by mollycoddling him. I’ll tell him.”

  “No, just this once I’ll ask him myself. I won’t make it an order, he can choose whether he comes or not. So just tell him I want to see him, would you?”

  He nodded. “I’d bet any money that he’ll do it.”

  “He did well yesterday, helping Quintus Antonius. But I know he was upset about losing little Gaius when he’d so nearly got him back.”

  Secundus sighed. “He blames himself, though I’ve told him it wasn’t his fault. If Quintus Antonius couldn’t rescue them, then nobody could. Gaius was a nice little feller, a bit like one of my other sons who died young.”

  “Let’s not say ‘was’. There’s still hope. The gang won’t kill them when they can get good money for them.”

  Secundus would have won his bet hands down. When I eventually found Titch and asked if he’d drive us to the banquet, his face lit up.

  “Why, I’d love to! I thought you mightn’t want me to, after I let them kidnappers get away with Gaius.”

  “You’ve got that all wrong. It’s because you tried so hard to rescue him that I very much want you to. But it’ll mean you miss the party tonight. We’re staying over at Councillor Silvanius’ place.” The least I could do was give him a good excuse for not driving us, if he needed one.

  “But I don’t have to stay too, do I? I can drive you to your banquet, and then come back here for the night, and collect you again in the morning. I can be there whenever you want, real early if you like. Though if it’s a good party, you might not want reveille to sound too soon, eh?”

  “Neither might you. Right then, you can collect us from the villa at noon tomorrow.”

  Breakfast felt almost like a family affair. Albia and I joined Candidus, Priscus, and Quintus (Horatius was still asleep), and Cook had made some lovely little ginger cakes, shaped like animals—the same idea as the ones we’d eaten at the Golden Fleece, but much better done. I complimented him, and managed not to catch Albia’s eye when he told me they were all his own idea.

  He said he was making a large batch for the party—farm animals for the outdoor slaves, horses for the stable hands, and even a little dog for Titch. “Only I can’t think what to make for the young barmaids,” he grunted. “They’re not interested in animals, only men. Maybe I’ll do some small images of Priapus!”

  Gods, I thought, I don’t know when I last heard Cook make a joke, so even he’s getting into holiday mood. I wished I could have shared it. I tried to look forward to the banquet, thinking of Silvanius’ superb chef and the sumptuous hospitality of a luxurious villa. But I knew that though the dinner would probably be a spectacular party, the glamour and glitter of it all would be as fragile as ice on a lake, which entices you to step out onto its shining surface only to let you fall to destruction in the depths.

  After breakfast Priscus and Candidus sat in happy conversation by the bar-room fire. Quintus prowled restlessly about, apparently unable to settle to anything, which made me restless too. I went to my study to check the hair I’d put across the hinges of my document chest, though I realised there wasn’t much point now, with Diogenes and the others safely in Oak Bridges. But I saw with a shock that the hair was gone.

  I don’t know whether I actually spoke aloud, but Quintus came into the room and looked at me enquiringly. “Something wrong?”

  I pointed at the hinge. “I put a hair across there. It’s gone now.”

  “Has anything been disturbed?”

  I opened the chest carefully and looked at the papers stacked inside it. Albia was right, my filing system left something to be desired, but I could tell if anything had been touched. “No, they haven’t been moved since I last looked at them.”

  “Which was when?”

  “Yesterday, before going out with you and Diogenes. I thought with all of them moving on, I could stop worrying about snoopers, but it seems I was wrong.” I felt a perverse sense of satisfaction that someone had fallen into my simple trap, but it was mixed with worry. Only a few of Sempronia’s party had been here at the mansio last night: Priscus, Horatius, and his slave. If the spy was among the visitors, it must be one of them. But then I reflected that the guests hadn’t fully moved out before Quintus and I left yesterday. One of them could have sneaked in after I’d gone. The only person who couldn’t have done was Diogenes, because I’d been with him the whole time.

  “You have nice hair,” Quintus said, smiling. “Look, Aurelia, we need to talk.”

  “Do we?”

  “I want to explain why—well, why I’m having to keep my distance from you when the others are about. It’s because of Lucius.”

  So that was it! Everything became suddenly clear to me. Lucius’ disgrace was the reason for Quintus’ change of attitude. He preferred not to be seen as my friend, now my brother had fallen from favour. He didn’t want his own reputation tarnished by association with us. Yet he wasn’t averse to stealing an occasional kiss when he got the chance. I supposed from his standpoint it made sense, but it was disappointing, and it angered me.

  “No explanation is necessary,” I said stiffly. “You’re a free agent, just as I am. You must behave just as you like. I quite understand.”

  “No, that’s just it. You don’t. You see….”

  “I don’t want to be rude,” I cut in, as rudely as I could, “but will you excuse me now? I’ve several important things to do before I leave the Oak Tree. We’ll meet again tonight.”

  He left without another word.

  Sempronia’s carriage arrived at noon and carried Candidus, Priscus, Horatius, and Quintus away to the villa. I waved them off with a show of cheerfulness, but I was glad to see the back of them all.

  As the echo of their wheels faded, Titch came up to me. “Mistress, I’ve got something for you, but it’s secret. I’ve hid it out of the way. It’s in the small hay-store, where the pups are now.”

  I went with him to the store, and waited while he crossed to a far corner and plunged his hands into a pile of loose hay. He felt around blindly, then pulled out a small folded note-tablet, scruffy and worn and without a seal. He handed it to me. “From Master Lucius. He was here this mornin’, and he gave it to me when I was down in the trees, far end of the big paddock.”

  “Here? I wish I’d known. Didn’t he ask to see me?”

  Titch shook his head. “He said it was too risky, with all the people about. He wanted to, that’s why he came, but he hadn’t reckoned on Priscus and Horatius being here. He couldn’t wait around for long, so he told me to give it to you when it was safe, and keep quiet about it to everyone else. Which I have, and I will.”

  “Good. Thank you, Victor. I wasn’t expecting to hear from him so soon.”

  “Is he in some kind of trouble, the master?” He looked at me without his cheeky grin. “People are saying that the Governor’s kicked him out in disgrace. And this is the second time he’s come h
ere secretly.”

  “I can’t tell you much. You know the sort of work he does.”

  He brightened. “I thought so. He’s on an investigation, then?”

  “All I’ll say is that he knows what he’s doing, and we can trust him. And he can trust us to keep his movements secret, I hope.”

  “Aye, of course. Sorry, I shouldn’t of asked, should I?” He went over and crouched down by the puppies, and stroked the bitch’s head affectionately. “I must get Poppaea fed. She’s hungry about six times a day. Oh, one more thing the master said.”

  “Yes?”

  “He said, ‘Send Aurelia and Albia my love and wish them a happy holiday.’”

  I went straight inside and through to my study. I glanced round to make sure nothing had been disturbed, but everything was where it ought to be. I sat down and read Lucius’ note.

  WUXVWTKHLVKHUHWRKHOS

  I might have known he’d disguise it. He and I have played around with simple codes ever since we were children. I sometimes joke that he only became an investigator so he could get to use more complicated versions in his job. But this note, I knew, would involve a simple cipher, and the likeliest was the one that was invented by Julius Caesar—well, according to army legend, anyway, though I’ve always thought the Divine Julius must have been too busy conquering Gaul and altering the calendar and seducing other men’s wives to have time for codes. If he had that much energy, he deserved to be made a god.

  You treat the alphabet as a list of letters, and you replace each letter in your message by another one located a few places further down the list. Caesar was supposed to have favoured three places further along, so I tried that first. I took out a wax tablet and laboriously began to transpose:

  W. I counted three letters backwards and got T. Next U: that became R. X turned into U, and V into S. And another W, which meant another T. So the first word was TRUST.

  Soon I’d written out the whole message.

  TRUSTQHEISHERETOHELP

  TRUST Q HE IS HERE TO HELP

  I stared at it in a mixture of surprise and gladness. Q must stand for Quintus. Of course we know other people whose names begin with Q, but nobody who would fit the picture here. Trust Quintus? My brother was saying we could still trust Quintus as we had before. Not only that, he was going to some considerable trouble to say it. And if Lucius trusted Quintus, then so did I. Yet the message didn’t explain Quintus’ efforts to keep his distance—or did it?

  Yes, it did! I’d been right in concluding that his hostile manner, his rudeness, were all on account of Lucius. But not because he refused to let himself be tainted by association with a disgraced investigator. Quite the contrary! He’d said to me when he first saw me, “I’m told your brother’s been a naughty boy.” In plain Latin, “I know your brother’s in trouble, and I can’t be seen to help him.” Which wasn’t at all the same as saying he wouldn’t help him.

  I thought back over the short time since Quintus had arrived. He’d done his best to make it plain to me. Every time he’d treated me with disdain, we’d been in company with others. When we were alone, or had only Albia or Titch with us, he was much more like his old self. And in the carriage yesterday he’d been very much his old self. So he was on an investigation, and because of it he had to appear to be not just neutral towards our family, but positively hostile. But he was ready to help if we needed him.

  When I had the chance to show the note to Albia on her own, she smiled delightedly. “I’m so glad, Relia. If Quintus is Lucius’ friend, that makes him ours as well, even if he’s behaving like a bear with a sore tail.”

  I explained my theory on that score, and she nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, that makes sense. So he’ll presumably keep up his act as a boorish oaf, and you must pretend to be annoyed and hurt by the way he’s carrying on.”

  “That’ll be easy enough. However he feels about Lucius, he’s also here to accompany the fabulous Fabia, and he’s enjoying it a bit too much for my liking. But at least if we can co-operate over dealing with the Plautius family, I’ll be glad of his help.”

  Albia said, “I’m going to start getting ready. Do you know, I’ve spent the last couple of days dreading this banquet, but now I’m looking forward to it, in spite of everything. We’ll at least get some important things sorted out. Candidus and I will have faced Sempronia. You can find a private corner to make friends with Quintus again. You won’t be able to sit next to him at dinner, though.”

  “No. But now I know why he’s being so rude, I’ll rather enjoy giving him a taste of his own medicine.”

  She produced a small package from her belt-pouch. “Look, let me show you what Candidus has given me.” Her eyes shone as she unwrapped a silver ring with blue lapis lazuli set in it. “My betrothal ring. Isn’t it beautiful?”

  “It’s lovely, Albia. But you’re never going to wear it tonight, in front of everyone?”

  “Of course I am. Candidus insists on it.”

  “Good for you! And good for him.” That young man was proving to have more backbone than I’d given him credit for.

  An hour later we were bathed and dressed in our best. Albia was wearing a new sea-green tunic with a paler green over-tunic, embroidered with a design of sea-shells and waves, and the silver ring Candidus had given her stood out proudly on her left hand. My tunic was pale peach, and my matching over-tunic had bronze coloured embroidery in a pattern of swirling curves. I’d planned to wear the gold ear-rings that Quintus had given me last year, but instead found some silver ones decorated with bronze coloured enamel.

  We came into the bar-room to tell Carina we were leaving, and yes, to show off our glad-rags to the customers there, including some of the servants who had decided to start their party early. We both looked good, though I say it myself, and we got a gratifying round of applause.

  As we were about to go outside, one of the young kitchen maids brought us beakers of steaming wine, “to warm you before you set off, Mistress.” She looked very neat and tidy and pleased with herself, and remembering what day it was, we sipped warily. Sure enough, the wine tasted disgusting, having been flavoured with fish sauce instead of honey. Everyone laughed as we pretended to be astonished by this hoary old prank, and the little rascal grinned widely, delighted to have caught us out. I knew what came next. I, as the mistress, was expected to wait on my slave.

  I went to the bar for a fresh mug of wine and said, “Well, now it’s your turn for a drink. Would my lady like to be seated, and have a beaker of our excellent spiced wine?”

  There were cheers and whistles from the slaves at the bar, and the girl sat down. “Yes, thank you, innkeeper. That is, if there’s anything drinkable to be found in this dreadful place. Which I seriously doubt!” It was a recognisable imitation of Sempronia, and got a good laugh. “I expect the wine will be very poor stuff. Is it really, really hot?”

  I handed her the mug. “Oh yes, my lady, it’s just come from the kitchen. Our kitchen maids are a lazy lot, I’m afraid, but they do know how to warm up a pan of wine.”

  Another round of applause followed us as we went out to our carriage. I felt my spirits suddenly lifted. Families could fight and feud, lovers could go and come, but Saturnalia and its simple pleasures were still there to enjoy.

  CHAPTER XX

  It was a pleasant ride to Silvanius’ villa, through Oak Bridges and out on the northern road. The afternoon sunshine gave us the illusion of warmth. We chatted about light, trivial matters, and in no time at all we were turning into Silvanius’ long drive.

  Clarus had built his villa five years ago, arousing a mixture of awe and envy. Feeling the dignity of his position, the Chief Councillor had gone to a lot of trouble to create the kind of large, elegant residence that a rich Roman gentleman would live in, whether he hailed from a province of the Empire or Italia itself. Since then yet another extensive wing had been added. It was far and away the largest and grandest villa for miles.

  The drive had wide gardens on either side
as far as the eye could see. There were no flowers at this season, but the winter dullness was relieved by some fine trees and statues. The whitewashed stone of the house walls stood out sharply against the blue sky, and in front of the main door was a large gravelled circle where vehicles could turn. Titch pulled our carriage up smartly and placed a set of steps for me and Albia. As we descended, a servant opened the house door and invited us to step inside while he fetched his master.

  The hall had been beautifully decorated. The mosaic floor was covered with thick red-patterned wool rugs, and there were dozens of torches in wall-brackets, giving out a rich golden light. The holly and laurel boughs were even bigger and more spectacular than ours, and the ornamental fountain, though it wasn’t flowing, had green garlands all around its marble basin. It looked festive and welcoming, and must be Clarilla’s work. Clarus had been a widower for many years, and his large, impressive home had lacked a woman’s touch until a year ago, when his sister had come to live with him after her husband died. She’d added just the right amount of warmth to the richness and luxury.

  Clarus came bustling through to greet us, and his beaming smile was infectious. Either he was a very good actor, or he was managing Sempronia’s visit with less trouble than I’d expected. “Aurelia, Albia—welcome, welcome. Come through into the large sitting-room. Clarilla is there, with Lady Sempronia and our other guests. Albia, I’m so very glad you persuaded your fiancé to join us today. This is a time for families to be together, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” I agreed. “And I wish my brother could be here too. He asked me to apologise to you. He isn’t able to get home for the holiday, as we’d all hoped.”