A Bitter Chill (12 page)

“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.

C
HAPTER
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, man 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….”

“Never!” There was a crash, as if he banged his fist on the table. “I’ll follow my own road in my own way. One day you’ll be proud of me. Till then, you may like it or lump it, but you can’t change it.” The door from the dining-room flew wide open, and Candidus strode out, red-faced and literally shaking with anger. Behind him Albia followed, calm but very pale. They walked to the main door and out onto the forecourt. Nobody broke the total silence.

But I wanted to find out what the lovers intended to do, so I followed them. They walked hand in hand across the forecourt to where Candidus’ horse waited patiently by the railings. There they stopped, and he took her in his arms.

I caught up with them, and said, “Albia! What’s happening? I heard most of that. What will you do now?”

She disentangled herself, and I saw there were tears in her eyes. “Candidus is going away.”

“Going away?”
Surely he wasn’t giving in to his mother now, after he’d stood up to her so bravely? “Candidus—you’re not leaving Albia?”

He laughed and put his arm round her shoulders. “Of course not. But I’ve got to be in Eburacum for a couple of days, while I sort out my new premises.”

“You won’t be at the Oak Bridges house at all?” Albia asked.

“Only now and then, for flying visits. I’ve such a lot to get ready in Eburacum, starting the new business, furnishing the house. I want everything perfect for you.”

“Our new home!” Albia was radiant with excitement now. “Won’t it be wonderful?”

“A friend is helping me move my things. He’s lending me an ox-cart and a couple of slaves, and two trips should do it, as long as the snow doesn’t get any worse. Then I’ll come back for you.” He kissed Albia. “If Mother and Father haven’t gone away, or at least seen sense, there’ll be nothing at all to stop you coming to live with me then and there. After all, if we can’t have a proper marriage, we needn’t delay setting up home together.”

I didn’t know whether to applaud him for his courage, or blame him for wanting to take my sister away even sooner than I’d anticipated, so I did neither. “There’s one thing, before you go, Candidus. I had a meeting with your father last night, and he wants to see you, to talk to you alone. Alone—he was most particular about that, and I get the feeling he’s more sympathetic to your situation than Lady Sempronia.”

“Father!”
He was scornful. “Don’t you believe it. He’s just a good deal more subtle than my dear mama, that’s all. She could bully a tiger into giving up its meal, whereas he’d talk to it so sweetly that it’d surrender a whole carcass without a growl.”

“All the same, it couldn’t hurt to have a quick talk with him, could it? If we can manage it without your mother being there?”

“Not a chance, Aurelia.” He released Albia and turned to lead his horse to the mounting-block. “Sorry, but the answer’s no.”

“Then have you a message for him?” I don’t know why, I felt it was important. “I promised I’d try and bring you to see him. If that isn’t possible, at least let me take him a message.”

He paused by the block. “Well, yes, you can tell him this. I’m going to live with Albia whatever he and Mother try to do, and I’m going to set up my business in Eburacum and make my own way and my own life there. Will you tell him that?”

“All right.” I shook his hand. “Good luck, Candidus. We’ll see you in two or three days?”

“You can bet your boots on it.” He hugged Albia, mounted his horse, and rode up the track and onto the main road. We stood and watched him out of sight.

“Come back soon, Candidus,” she murmured. “Oh Relia, I love him so much.”

“I know.”

“You should have heard some of the foul things his mother said. About him, and about me. She’s a monster!”

“She is. But you’ve both stood up to her, and she must realise you won’t give in. Surely she’ll leave and go back home now, won’t she?”

“I hope so. And meanwhile, I’ll have nothing to do with her. If anyone has to supervise meals, or deal with their silly complaints, I’m afraid it’ll be you. Perhaps I should go and stay with Candidus? Then I could help him move his things.”

“Don’t even think about it! I need you here, Albia, and Candidus wants to get everything ready for you. We’ll cope, don’t you worry. And talking of meals,” I glanced up at the sun, “it’s nearly time for their next one. How are things in the kitchen?”

“Surprisingly good. I thought we’d have no end of trouble with Cook, but he’s enjoying himself, amazing everyone with the wonderful food he can conjure up at short notice for such a big party. Timaeus and Margarita have both made a point of complimenting him on the meals so far, which helps.”

“Good, because if you can manage without me for half an hour, I’m going to take a bath and change. That’s the trouble with fire-fighting, you end up looking as if you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.”

She giggled. “That’s putting it kindly. You don’t exactly smell like the roses of Damascus either.”

The water was deliciously hot and relaxing, and I spent longer over my bath than I need have done. I admit I was putting off my next task, which was to give Candidus’ message to Plautius, and tell him in detail what was going on, though he’d probably have heard all about it already. But I didn’t want him to imagine I’d forgotten my promise to bring him news as soon as I could. He’d think less of me if I didn’t keep my word, and I needed as much of his good opinion as I could earn.

By the time I emerged, Sempronia’s party were midway through their lunch. Good, that meant if I went to see Plautius now, there’d be less chance of interruptions. Certainly the guest wing seemed to be completely empty as I entered it.