A Bitter Chill (11 page)

“Couldn’t you take her along with you then?”

He shook his head. “Mother’s already told her she’s not wanted on the journey.”

“Not wanted by your mother, no. But if
you
want her to travel with you, what’s to stop her? Especially if Diogenes isn’t going. You two could have a little time to yourselves.” Yes, I know, I shouldn’t interfere in the guests’ business like that. But I felt sorry for Margarita, and there was no doubt she’d be safer with Priscus than at the mercy of the Weasel.

He looked at me in surprise. I think it was the first time he really saw me properly. “Against Mother’s wishes? I mean—that is, she wouldn’t be very pleased.”

I mimicked the famous line in the comedy about the forty sailors. “And do you always do everything your mother tells you?”

He smiled as he recognised it, and gave me the next line in a comic falsetto: “Oh yes, sir, always, unless I don’t want to.”

We both laughed, and I realised I was seeing a different side to Priscus. Maybe what I’d taken for haughtiness was just shyness, and all he needed was a bit of encouragement to stand up to his dreadful mother. “You’re right, of course. I can take Margarita with me. I
will
take her. Though the gods know what Mother will say.”

“If you don’t manage it,” I put in, “I’ll tell my senior barmaid to keep an eye on her, and make sure she’s not on her own. She can help with the Saturnalia preparations, something like that.”

“Thank you. Oh, but what about Gaius? Mother really will object if we take him as well. After all it may be better if she stays behind. You’ve probably noticed, my mother has no patience with small children. She likes the idea of having a page-boy, because it’s the fashion, but she forgets he’s—well, just a small boy.”

“He can stay here on his own, if you like. One of my horse-boys has made friends with him—a good lad, he’ll keep Gaius amused. And quite safe, I promise.”

“Thank you. I expect you think I’m making a great deal of fuss about a couple of slaves. But I’m very fond of her. Of both of them.”

“Really?” I prompted.

He smiled. “I love them, if you want the truth. And I hope that some day we can all be together as a family. But we need to be patient for now, and it’s not easy.”

“Couldn’t you buy their freedom?”

“My parents won’t hear of it. Mother says Margarita’s far too useful, but the real reason is that she and Father want me to make a political marriage. And even if Margarita were free some day, I could never marry her. You know the silly laws about who senators’ sons can and can’t marry.”

“I do, yes. But you could take her as your concubine—a wife in all but name. You’d be together then.”

“It’s what I dream of. Some day.” He looked at me wistfully, and then got to his feet. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be burdening you with all this.”

“That’s all right. You can trust me to be discreet. And you can trust me to help keep Diogenes away from Margarita, whether you’re here or not.”

“Thank you. And, as you say, if your sister’s fiancé comes….”

“He’ll come. Love’s a wonderful thing, isn’t it?”

“It is.” The smile he gave me lighted up the whole room.

After he left, I found myself thinking over what he’d said, especially his remark about wanting to live with Margarita and Gaius “as a family”. He’d given the impression that he and Margarita had been fond of one another for years. Could Gaius be his son? They didn’t look much alike, but they both had blue eyes, and the child’s golden hair might turn sandy as he grew older.

I shook myself out of these romantic ponderings, and remembered my conversation with Albia about being on our guard against spies. We’d even joked about it, but I didn’t feel like joking now. Sempronia’s party could well include the spy Lucius had warned us about. Not her ladyship or Plautius of course, but almost any of the others—perhaps Diogenes, who’d already been observed doing a little snooping. I couldn’t easily protect my everyday papers and notes, not without considerable inconvenience anyway. But I could at least be warned if anyone searched them. I laid a single hair across the hinge of my small oak document chest. The hard part now would be remembering to check it from time to time.

I went to the front door to look at the weather. I was glad to see that the sun was doing its best to burn away the clouds. Candidus would surely be here soon. I stood quietly, breathing in the good air and savouring the peace and quiet which I knew would be shattered once he arrived.

I remembered I’d a job for Taurus, mending a rickety bar-stool, and I stepped out onto the forecourt, which some of the farm boys were busily clearing of snow. As I got to the workshop, I almost collided with the big man as he came hurrying out, looking worried.

“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.

C
HAPTER
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?”