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

by Jane Finnis

  Titch whispered, “I think we’ve lost him.”

  “That was nicely done, Victor,” Quintus whispered back. “Thank you.”

  We waited a while longer to be certain, but there was definitely nobody chasing us now, so Titch navigated us safely to the mansio. On the way, he told us how he’d spotted Otus by sheer chance, drinking with a group of soldiers in a seedy tavern near the fortress. “And I think he must know the Skipper, from what he was saying. Oh, and I found out the Skipper’s name, too.”

  “I know what name I’d call him,” I remarked.

  Titch grinned. “Well, if you ever feel like being polite to him, his real name’s Ephialtes.”

  I stopped dead. “It’s what?”

  “Ephialtes. Why, d’you know him?”

  “I know it means trouble.”

  “Why?”

  “I despair of the youth of today!” I teased him. “The things you haven’t been taught that you ought to know at your age would fill several very large libraries.”

  “Aye, well, if they’re in a library, I can go and read ’em some day. Who’s this Ephialtes, then?”

  “He was a giant in an old story. He and his twin brother tried to storm Mount Olympus. Remember him now?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not very well up in that old stuff.”

  “Sometimes it’s useful. Ephialtes’ twin brother was called Otus.”

  He whistled. “Twin brothers! So that’s the way of it.” His cheeky grin appeared. “They do say twins are double trouble, don’t they?”

  I laughed. “Not very often, in my hearing. Now off you go, and thank you.”

  “Aye, I’ll be off. With all this messing about, I’ve not had time to steal anybody’s girlfriend yet.” He gave us a wink and a wave, and disappeared.

  “He reminds me of myself at his age,” Quintus said, smiling. “You’ll miss him when he joins the army.”

  We went to bed early, and I was so exhausted that I fell asleep straight away. Lying in Quintus’ arms I felt happy and safe, and slept through a long and restful night. In the morning before it was light, we made better use of our time together, and I finally let myself begin to believe that whatever had been wrong between us was now right again. I didn’t understand it and I didn’t have time to try. I was simply content to find happiness where and when I could.

  CHAPTER XVII

  The sun was burning through the morning mist as we set off for Candidus’ warehouse. The day was cold, but pleasant enough for walking, and I tried to push my foreboding of trouble to the back of my mind. At least we had Rufus and Taurus with us—two big men who gave us a reassuring feeling of safety. And we had Titch to guide us, and after last night we had reason to trust his knowledge of the town.

  Candidus had been right about Eburacum resembling a building-site. Everywhere we looked there were houses and shops being put up, pulled down, or re-developed. There was precious little actual work going on though. They must indulge themselves in an extended Saturnalia festival here, because the streets were alive with folk on holiday, but not blocked by delivery carts or towers of scaffolding. It didn’t take us long to reach the water, and that, too, was almost deserted, with only a few small native row-boats ferrying a trickle of customers across to the opposite bank.

  “We don’t need to go over the river,” Titch said. “The cargo-boat moorings and warehouses are all on this side.”

  I remarked how fast the brown, muddy water was flowing, giving the oarsmen a tough task to row straight across it. “That’s a strong current, isn’t it? Fine for boats sailing down-stream, but how do they manage to get back up against a flow like that?”

  Quintus said, “This is a tidal river. Most of the time it flows towards the sea as you’d expect, but when the tides flood in at the seaside, they raise the water level all the way up here too. There’s a strong current flowing up-river then, and the boatmen are experts at using it to help them.”

  “But we’re miles and miles from the sea,” Taurus objected.

  “A lot of rivers behave like that in Britannia,” Quintus said. “The sea is very strong here. You get used to it.”

  “It’s not natural,” Taurus muttered. “Imagine if our sea at home in Italia went up and down like that! You’d never feel safe walking along a beach, knowing it could be under water before night-time.”

  I agreed with him. I find it disturbing enough to think of the sea advancing on the land twice a day and then retreating again, but the idea of tides that could come up rivers as far inland as this—it was frightening. I sent a quick prayer to Neptune, asking for his protection, and another more general request to whatever gods guarded the river here.

  “And when the level gets really high, there’s flooding all along the bank,” Titch put in. “Most of the buildings get a couple of feet of water in them once or twice in a winter, when the snow melts and the river’s full. Like now, I reckon. So best not to get ourselves shut into any warehouses. A friend of me dad’s got trapped in one once, stacking boxes and they fell on him and broke both his legs. Next morning there he was, drownded. And another time….”

  I cut him off. “Thank you, Titch, that’s quite enough! Concentrate on showing us the way.”

  “We’re almost there. The warehouses are just ahead, look.” Titch pointed to a row of low buildings seventy paces or so further down-stream. “There’s more now than when I was last here.”

  Each of the warehouses had a wooden landing-stage in front, where boats could load and unload, or tie up while they waited. Several were moored there now. I’ve not had much experience of boats, except for the big powerful military galley that had brought our family from Gaul to Britannia. Compared with a sleek seagoing trireme, these river craft were unimpressive, dumpy and rounded, built for roominess rather than speed. But I was being unfair, I realised. I might as well say an ox-cart isn’t as elegant as a chariot.

  I’d expected to see the place as busy as a hive of bees, but the whole bank appeared deserted. Well, if they could swing an extra day’s holiday, good luck to them, I thought, with a twinge of envy. The buildings were closed up, the boats’ decks were empty and their sails were furled. There were a couple of piles of boxes in front of one warehouse, and a stack of timber near another, but otherwise the wooden wharves were empty too.

  Only one vessel at the end of the row showed any sign of life. A short scruffy native was sweeping out its cargo hold in a lackadaisical fashion. Quintus called out to him, “Which boat belongs to Perennius Candidus?”

  The man returned a blank stare. “Never heard of him,” he grunted, and went on sweeping.

  “Perennius Candidus,” I repeated, in case the fellow hadn’t understood. Quintus speaks British with an atrocious accent. “He’s got a warehouse, and a boat named Albia that he shares with a pilot called the Skipper.”

  “Oh, the Skipper! Why didn’t you say?” The man pointed with his broom. “He has his boat further down. About two hundred paces. Likes to keep himself private, does the Skipper.”

  Quintus tossed him a coin and we tramped on. We were beyond even the outskirts of town now, with fields to our left, bordered by scrubby trees and a narrow cart track that ran parallel to the river. Along the bank itself the path was now just a muddy morass, which, as Titch helpfully pointed out, would be under water at high tide. The river was shallow near the bank, with reeds and rushes growing in it, though their leaves were brown and dead now. Occasionally a bird flew up as we passed, but otherwise it was a lonely spot.

  “I don’t like the idea of Albia living this far out,” I said to Quintus. “Candidus gave the impression his house was in the town.”

  “Candidus is too much of an optimist,” Quintus grunted. “He tends to see the world as he’d like it to be, not as it is.”

  Taurus pointed ahead. “There’s a boat there, Mistress Aurelia. And a building, but it looks a bit tumbledown.”

  As we drew near, we could see he was right. The warehouses we’d just passed had b
een workmanlike and solid, whereas everything here looked flimsy and barely finished. The boat wasn’t moored by the bank, but floated at the end of a long wooden gangway, like a narrow bridge. Even a nautical ignoramus like me could see why: there was no water near the bank, just smelly brown mud. Until the tide came in, the boat had to stay further out. But, thank the gods, it was the vessel we were looking for. It had Albia painted along its side.

  There wasn’t a person in sight. We walked to the warehouse building, which was little more than an overgrown shed. It was locked, and the lock, at least, looked new and secure. I knocked and got no answer, then Taurus hammered with his huge fist, making a noise like a thunder-clap. I called out. “Hello! Albia, Candidus, are you here?”

  “Relia! Oh, Relia!” Albia came running towards us round the end of the building, and flung her arms round me. “Oh, this is wonderful!”

  “Albia, we’ve found you at last!” I hugged her. “You’re certainly out in the wilds here. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. It’s so good to see you—all of you. This has made my day. It’s lonely here when Candidus is in town on business. He’s been away since first light, and I’ve been longing for some company.”

  “He hasn’t left you here all alone?” Quintus asked.

  “I’ve got Nasua and his dog, and the Skipper will be here later, to take the Albia down-river.” She smiled at the boat. “Isn’t it wonderful, having a boat named after me? But come inside, let’s get you something to eat and drink.”

  The house backed onto the warehouse, so its front door faced away from the river, looking out over marshy fields and the same narrow cart-road we’d seen already. We stepped into a small, dark hallway, with a kitchen and a sitting-room leading off to the left, and another room, presumably the bedroom, to the right. Straight ahead was a stout wooden door which must lead directly into the warehouse.

  It wasn’t very prepossessing, any of it. I felt sorry for my sister, if this was to be her home with Candidus. But she smiled as she welcomed us in, and I determined I’d make the best of things for her sake.

  “Go through into the sitting-room,” she said, “while I get some wine. You two,” she beckoned Titch and Taurus, “come with me and I’ll find you something in the kitchen. Where’s your man Rufus gone, Quintus?”

  “He’ll keep watch outside. I’d like you there too, please, Victor. One of you guarding the back, the other covering the river.”

  “Right, sir. But if Miss Albia was thinking of giving us a drink of wine to keep the cold out….”

  “You’re posting sentries?” Albia asked, surprised. “Are you expecting trouble?”

  “Just being careful, that’s all. We saw Otus last night, and he saw us, so we don’t want to be taken unawares. But Victor’s got his priorities right. He and Rufio can have a drink while they’re on watch.”

  The sitting-room was shabby and smelled of damp, but there was a table set with bright new wine-beakers, and Albia soon had them filled with a good drop of Campanian white. We drank to wish her joy in her new home, but after only a short time of cheerful chatter, the mood became serious.

  “You don’t look well, Relia,” Albia commented. “You’re very pale, and I think your face is thinner. Are you ill?”

  So I had to tell her about the poisoned wine, making light of it so as not to worry her. “I’m fine now, just a bit tired. In fact I’m in much the same state that any girl might find herself in after a good Saturnalia party.”

  “Hardly a good party though, was it?” she corrected. “We heard about the banquet, and poor Lord Plautius being murdered. He wasn’t my favourite person, but all the same it was a dreadful business. I’d no idea you were in trouble. I’d have come to you if I’d known.”

  “Thanks, but as you see, I’ve been well looked after.” I smiled at Quintus. “He makes quite a reasonable doctor.”

  “Wait till I present my bill,” Quintus grinned. “But Albia, who told you Plautius had been murdered?”

  “Priscus. He arrived on our doorstep early yesterday morning, having ridden from Oak Bridges through the snow. His poor horse was practically dead from exhaustion.”

  “Is he here now?” Quintus asked.

  “No, he wouldn’t stay long, he said this would be the first place anyone would look for him. He said he’d get a room at one of the dockside taverns for now. He thinks Sempronia will send someone to town to find him.”

  “She has,” Quintus nodded. “Me. I’m supposed to be tracking him down and taking him back to Oak Bridges.”

  “Why? Does the old cow think he’s killed his father?”

  “He’s one of a number of people who could have done it. So, I’m afraid, are you and Candidus.”

  Albia frowned. “She’s bound to try and blame us, even though it couldn’t have been Candidus or me. It had to be somebody there on the spot, and we’d very publicly left the villa before the banquet.”

  “You could have sneaked back, though. Or you could have got someone else to help you.” Quintus looked at Albia gravely. “Albia, we don’t believe Candidus or you killed his father. But Sempronia thinks it’s possible, and I had to promise her that I’d question both of you about your movements the night of the banquet.” He continued to gaze at her steadily, and she returned his stare. “So tell me, did you or Candidus cause Plautius’ death, or have anything to do with causing it?”

  “No, we did not. I swear it. I’ll swear it by any god you care to name. So will Candidus, if you ask him to.”

  Quintus said, “That’s good enough.” I found I’d been holding my breath, and let it out with a rush. Though I’d always known in my heart that Albia was innocent, it was reassuring to hear her declare it.

  “Priscus was too upset to talk much about the banquet,” Albia said. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  She listened in silence while we described the evening. Quintus ended by saying, “Priscus is making things worse for himself by running away from everyone. Have you really no idea where he is?”

  “I truly don’t know. I’d tell you if I did. He told us he’d come to Eburacum to tell Candidus that Plautius was dead, and to go to the slave auction tomorrow to find Margarita and Gaius. So I suppose we’ll meet him there.”

  “Did he have any ideas about who killed Plautius?” I asked.

  She nodded emphatically. “He was certain it was Diogenes’ doing.”

  “That’s what I think too,” I agreed. “The Weasel thought Plautius was about to change his will, and he might not get his freedom after all. So Plautius had to be killed with the old will still in force.”

  “Or perhaps he was carrying out Sempronia’s instructions,” Albia suggested. “Maybe she ordered him to kill Plautius, and it was what he wanted to do anyway.” She frowned, then looked at me keenly. “Relia, you just said that Plautius was about to change his will. Didn’t he change it then, before he died?”

  “Yes and no.” Quintus produced a small scroll from his belt-pouch. “I’ve brought you a copy, so you and Candidus can see for yourselves. Sempronia tried to force Plautius to make some alterations, but he and Horatius were too clever for her.”

  He held out the will, but Albia said, “These legal documents get me confused! I’ll read it later. Just tell me in plain Latin. Has Candidus lost his inheritance?”

  “No.” Quintus smiled. “You’ll see there’s a codicil which appears to cut him out. It was put in under pressure from her ladyship. But Horatius only allowed it to be added because it isn’t valid.”

  Albia was silent for a few heartbeats. “So Relia was right about Plautius being more sympathetic than Sempronia. Apart from that, did she manage to add any other changes?”

  “Just one,” Quintus answered. “Diogenes doesn’t get his freedom now. He stays with Sempronia. It’s a kind of justice, isn’t it?”

  Albia sipped her wine. “I don’t imagine Diogenes sees it like that.”

  “He doesn’t know. He’s run off too,” Quintus said. “At
the same time as Priscus.”

  “Run off? Priscus didn’t mention anything about it. How odd! But I suppose just because they left the same night, it doesn’t mean they actually left together.”

  “No,” Quintus agreed. “We’re assuming he’s come to Eburacum and will escape either down south, or over to Gaul. I’m supposed to be pursuing him as well, but he’ll be much harder to trace than Priscus.”

  “So in theory, the murderer could be either Priscus or Diogenes,” Albia mused. “Or Timaeus, perhaps, as he was the one serving Plautius with food and wine?”

  “I think that’s unlikely,” I said. “Timaeus told us yesterday he’d been hoping that Plautius would get well, and would agree to alter his will so that Margarita would be given her freedom one day, not left to Horatius. He’s carrying a torch for her, it seems. So the last thing he’d do would be to murder Plautius, knowing that his will would put Margarita out of his reach for good.”

  “But I think,” Quintus put in, “it could well be Timaeus. He’s clever, and if he loves Margarita as much as he says, he might well have wanted revenge on Plautius for betraying her to the kidnappers. He might be gambling that he could persuade Horatius to free her eventually, or sell her to him.”

  We discussed the various possibilities for a while longer. I felt as if we were walking over well-trodden paths, which were no less confusing for being familiar. Eventually I decided to change the subject. “It’s not all bad news, though, Albia, is it? Plautius’ death cuts both ways, from your point of view. Once Candidus has proved he’s innocent, you’re free to marry whenever you like. Sempronia will still disapprove, but legally she has no say in the matter. So don’t feel too badly about this horrible business. Try to think of the happy future, not the sad past.”

  “I’ll try.” She put her head in her hands, and when she looked up again, I was surprised to see how tired and strained she was.

  “Albia, I thought you’d be overjoyed that the wedding will go ahead as you planned it. What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”