A Bitter Chill (7 page)

I found the handsome Timaeus in the kitchen, warming up a disgusting-smelling potion in a small brass pan. To my surprise, not to say relief, Cook was chatting to him amiably, so at least someone in this bickering bunch knew how to be diplomatic. I watched him stir the pan. He had good hands, well-shaped and with long slim fingers, and he wore an iron ring. So he was a citizen, perhaps a freedman, one of Plautius’ clients. I’d taken him for a slave.

He gave me a dazzling smile. “I’m afraid we’re putting you to a lot of trouble.”

“Not at all. We hope you’ll be comfortable here. I’m only sorry his lordship is so ill.”

“It’s hardly surprising. He should be at home in bed, not careering around the countryside in the cold. Anyway, you can leave it to me to care for him.” His smile widened. “And of course, if any of you lovely ladies need any medical attention, you know where to find me. Now, this mixture should be hot enough, I think.”

“He can give me an examination any time he likes,” one of the maids commented when he’d gone.

There was general agreement from the kitchen slaves, and I thought, however troublesome most of the new guests are, the handsome doctor has only to whistle and everyone will come running. I might even come running myself.

Just before full dark I went out to the stables to make sure our lads were taking good care of the expensive transport, which they were, so I didn’t linger long. The wind was bitter, and the snow was a continuous curtain now. We were in for a cold night.

But the bar-room was warm, and empty except for Albia.

“All alone?” I asked. “Have we finally got everyone happily settled?”

She nodded. “Settled, anyhow—to say ‘happily’ might be overdoing it. I never saw such a quarrelsome lot!”

“Nor I. It’s probably a combination of the bad weather, plus having Sempronia barking at them all the time. And that little weasel Diogenes is a nasty piece of work.”

“‘Weasel’ suits him. Sly and cunning, with sharp teeth. But Margarita seems pleasant enough. And what a gorgeous little boy!”

“That doctor’s quite good-looking, isn’t he?”

She giggled. “I thought you’d noticed him. Oh yes, definitely fanciable. Not that I’m interested for myself, but there’s no law against looking. Well, Candidus will be here tomorrow to cheer us up. I hope it doesn’t snow too much tonight. If the roads are blocked, he might not be able to come.”

“Get on with you, it’ll take more than a few feet of snow to keep your gallant fiancé away! What’s worrying me is, if the weather turns really bad, Sempronia’s party might get snowed in here, and we’ll be stuck with them for days and days!”

She gave an elaborate shudder. “I’d like to know why she’s dragging them all across Britannia in the dead of winter. Her husband especially. I only got a glimpse of him, but he’s thin as a rail, and sort of grey and drawn-looking.”

“I’ll find out soon enough, I expect. She says she needs my local knowledge, so perhaps I’ll tell her this whole district is suffering from a terrible infectious plague, and she’d better move on tomorrow before she catches it.”

“Just say the word, and I’ll get all our slaves to paint red blotches on their faces, and sneeze a lot.”

In due course Diogenes came in and said, “My lady will see you now,” as if I were some petitioner going to ask a favour. We walked together to the guest wing, but he didn’t escort me into her ladyship’s presence. He went into her bedroom, leaving me standing alone outside the sitting-room door. This turned me into an unintentional but not exactly unwilling eavesdropper. I couldn’t help but hear raised voices coming from inside, so I stood quietly with my hand raised to knock, listening for all I was worth. Well, a girl can’t help being curious.

“How many times must I repeat this, Horatius?” Sempronia was exclaiming. “Being here in person is the only way to convince Decimus we mean what we say. All of us—me, Gnaeus, and you.”

“But if Decimus has decided to live with the girl, then he’ll live with her, whether they’re formally married or not, and regardless of what any of us say,” Horatius retorted.

“Over my dead body,” Sempronia snapped.

Timaeus came past just then, so I had to knock on the door, but I got no answer, and I whispered, “They don’t seem to hear me,” as if this was at least my third attempt to attract attention.

He murmured, “Go on in, I should. Her bark’s worse than her bite.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“Usually, anyway.” He grinned and went off to Plautius’ room, and I rapped extremely loudly on the door. This time Sempronia heard me and called, “Come in.”

The visitors had lost no time in rearranging the room. The bed had been pushed into a corner, and a couple of reading-couches and several chairs and stools were arranged around the walls. There were two tables, and two bronze lamp-standards. All of this furniture had been moved in here from other guest-rooms, and so had two big braziers, which were throwing out heat like furnaces, making the whole room hotter than a bath-house caldarium.

Even so Sempronia was wrapped in a thick shawl, and had a bright wool rug across her knees. A fluffy yellow-and-white cat sat in her lap, looking bored. Horatius was there, and Priscus, and Margarita. Diogenes was sitting calmly at one of the tables. The little toe-rag had entered the room through the bedroom door, which had given the impression that I was late in answering her ladyship’s summons.

“Aurelia Marcella! You’ve taken your time.” Her look would have curdled milk, but innkeepers are tough, and I just smiled and made a silent vow to get even with Diogenes later.

“Well, now you’ve deigned to appear, sit down, and let’s get on.” She waved me towards a stool, and glanced round the room. “Are we agreed then? Horatius?”

He sighed. “I suppose so. Yes, agreed.”

“Aulus, dear? You agree?”

“Yes,” Priscus said. “If we must.”

“Good. Because the quicker I can go back south where it’s warm, the happier I shall be. What do you say, Medusa?” She paused to stroke the cat, which stared disdainfully at her, and then began washing itself. “I can’t think how anyone survives in such a climate. Frost and snow and hail, and freezing winds! No wonder only natives and ne’er-do-wells live up here.”

Which category does she think I fit into? I wondered. “You get used to it, my lady. I’ve been in Britannia sixteen years now, and it doesn’t seem so bad.”

“Where are you from originally?”

“From Italia. Pompeii.”

Most people make sympathetic noises at this point in my life story, but all Sempronia said was, “There, Horatius, I told you she isn’t a native.”

“I only said she has native colouring,” Horatius objected. He was sitting next to a table piled high with scrolls, but I noticed he’d made room on it for a wine jug and beaker. “Easy enough mistake to make. She’s tall and fair, like all the natives. But now I look closer, her eyes are green, and the barbarians here have blue eyes. That right, m’dear?”

“That’s right,” I agreed, trying not to feel like a slave being auctioned and having my good and bad points discussed by potential buyers.

“And your housekeeper’s not a native either, I’ll bet,” Horatius went on, reaching for his drink. “All those brown curls, and brown eyes. Where’s she from?”

“My sister Albia? She’s from Pompeii too.”

“Your sister?” he said in surprise. “You don’t look much alike, the two of you.”

I wish I had a gold piece for every time I’ve heard that remark.

“We’re half-sisters. We had the same father, but different mothers.”

He sipped some wine. “She’s a pretty little thing. Nice smile. Is she married?” Another often-repeated question.

“Not yet, but she’s engaged. The wedding will be in the spring.”

“Pity,” he grunted.

I agreed with him.

“Now I trust I can rely on your discretion,” Sempronia said. “I don’t want every minute detail of our business to become common bar-room talk. So no tittle-tattling to the customers.”

“Of course not. Absolute discretion.”

She pushed the cat gently onto the couch beside her and held an imperious hand out to Horatius. “Pass me the letter, will you. The quickest way to give her the facts is to read it.”

The lawyer picked out a slim scroll and tossed it to Diogenes, who got up and brought it to her ladyship.

Sempronia cleared her throat as she unrolled the papyrus. “This is from my elder son Decimus. Now, let me see….” She paused for a couple of heartbeats, making sure she was the focus of everyone’s attention. She needn’t have worried, we were all ears. Even the cat looked interested.

Decimus Plautius Curio to his dear father and mother, greetings. I have some marvellous news, which I hope will make you both happy for me. I’ve decided to settle here in Brigantia for good, because I’ve met the most wonderful girl, and have asked her to marry me. She’s the kind of girl I’ve always wanted, beautiful, intelligent, and practical too, ready and willing to help me make a success of my new life in the north. We are both so happy, and plan to be married next year. Do say you’ll come to the wedding and give us your blessing.

She gave a contemptuous snort. “My blessing, indeed! Does he seriously think I’ll give my blessing to the marriage of my son to a native peasant girl?” She turned to me. “So you see the problem, don’t you?”

“I see that you don’t want your son making a marriage that you consider unsuitable,” I said carefully.

“‘Unsuitable’ is putting it mildly. Decimus is well aware of his duty. He must make a marriage that will help his political career. We’ve already arranged a future wife for him, as he knows full well, a girl from the Fabius family. Most of the Fabii still live in Italia, and he’ll join them in Rome. With their influence and money he’ll get into the Senate as a matter of course, as his father did.”

I wanted to say, maybe the poor boy doesn’t fancy a political career, if it means leaving Britannia and having his life, and his wife, organised for him by his mother. But apart from that not being my business, everyone knows that with these rich senatorial families, the marriages are nearly always arranged by the parents, often when the prospective bride and groom are mere children. What those children might or might not want didn’t count.

“Well, Aurelia Marcella,” Sempronia barked, “you’ll help us, I trust? You’ll tell me where my son is?”

So the runaway hadn’t given his dear mama his new address. I didn’t blame him. “He’s in this district somewhere?” I asked.

“Obviously. That’s why we’re staying here.” She absently stroked the cat’s head. “He’s got a house between Eburacum and some obscure little town—Stone Bridges, is it, Horatius?”

“Oak Bridges?” I suggested. “That’s our nearest town. About a mile from here.”

“Yes, yes, that’s right. I’m told it’s a small place. Nothing there.” Oak Bridges isn’t a bad little town, but if you’re a grand lady from Londinium, that’s how the place would strike you, I suppose.

“He says he’s going to start
trading!
” She almost spat the word out. “He says—where is it now? ‘Eburacum is an expanding town, with a lot of new property going up. I’m sure there’s a fortune to be made in trade, and I hope to move there….’” She threw down the scroll violently, making the cat twitch its ears. “I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous. Members of this family do not go in for
trade.
” She made it sound like the worst kind of abomination, treason, or cannibalism, or maybe both at once. “So we’ve come to find him and forbid this whole ludicrous enterprise, and insist that he returns home with us, and does his duty.”

“That’s where I come in,” Horatius added. “Forbidding and insisting are always more effective when they’re backed up by the majesty of the law.”

Now I saw why Sempronia had brought her lawyer and her ailing husband with her. The classic way to persuade a runaway son to do his duty would be to threaten that if he didn’t obey his parents, he’d be disinherited, cut out of his father’s will without a copper coin.

“What I don’t know,” she said, “is exactly where to find Decimus. It’s near here, so presumably you do. You’ll give me directions to his house, if you please, and we’ll go there tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know anyone called Decimus Plautius Curio.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! Or are you being deliberately unhelpful?”

“No, I’ll help all I can. But I don’t recognise the name.”

“Surely you’re aware what Roman settlers are buying property in these parts?”

“Many of them, yes. Especially if they’re unusually successful, or if they’re in trouble. But I haven’t a complete list. If an ordinary young man is quietly setting up as a trader, courting a native girl, and not attracting any special attention, I may not hear of him for years.”

She looked ready to explode, but said only, “That is
most
annoying. I’m extremely disappointed.”

“I told you this was a fool’s errand,” Horatius commented.

She ignored him and continued to glare at me. “Well then, if you haven’t the information yourself, you can make enquiries for us, can’t you?” Her sharp eyes bored into mine. We both knew she wasn’t asking a question, she was giving an order.

“Yes, I can ask around, certainly. My sister’s fiancé lives a couple of miles from here, beyond Oak Bridges. He’ll be likely to know about new settlers arriving between there and Eburacum. Of course it would help if you could offer a reward.”

“Pay for information that leads me to him?” She sighed. “Very well. I suppose the days are gone when people will do one a service because it’s their duty.”

Gone and good riddance. But I just said, “I’m sure your generosity will produce results. We’ll begin the search tomorrow. Albia’s young man is intending to visit us then, and if he doesn’t know of your son, I’ll send to the Chief Town Councillor.”

“You have a town council here? I’d assumed you would come under the military administration at Eburacum.”

“Oak Bridges has its own council. The Chief Councillor is Silvanius Clarus, and he’s a good friend of ours. I’m sure he’ll be pleased to help if he can.” He would, too, I was certain. As an important local magistrate with an eye to his town’s future, he’d do anything at all to earn the gratitude of people related to the Governor.