'Have you been eating hazelnuts or swimming with the salmon, then,' he said, 'that you know the gods' minds so well?'
'No.' Senovara picked up the comb that lay beside her. 'But I know my own. That should be enough for anyone.'
'Aye.' Brocomaglos kissed her forehead. 'Well, and perhaps it is. And what does it tell you about the Romans?'
Senovara shrugged as she drew the comb through her sister's hair. 'That they're no different from anyone else. There are bad and good. Some of them are almost civilised.'
'Indeed?' Brocomaglos's eyebrows lifted. 'My daughter the Druid is generous with her praise.'
'Almost, I said.' Senovara's mouth twitched. 'Like your friend the commander's son.'
Matugena stood up. 'Listen to the wind! It'll be cold tonight. Ahteha, when your sister has finished your hair you can help me make the soup for supper.'
No one mentioned Tigirseno as they ate, nor when Matugena had fed Durnos the remains of the barley broth and banked the fire for the night.
There was no sign of him the next day, either.
9.
Trinnus brought the coach to a halt outside Uricalus's imposingly panelled front door. In Colony terms the place was a mansion, a sprawling single-storey building occupying a full half block, and tonight it was lit up like a candelabrum by a dozen torches set along its front. They hissed and sparked as they gulped down the stray flakes of sleet that blew in under the eaves.
'The beggar’s pulled out the stops tonight, hasn't he?' Aper grunted.
Severinus grinned as he opened the carriage door and climbed down.
'Watch your feet,' he said. 'The mud's an inch thick out here.'
It was typical Festival weather. The day's rain had turned the gutters to rivers, and the water formed standing pools where the gravel lay thin over the underlying soil.
Aper joined him, pulling the drawstrings of his hood tight around his face against the sleet.
'We won't stay late,' he said.
Ursina, following behind, adjusted her own hood as the wind caught it.
'Nonsense, Titus,' she said. 'Remember it's the Festival. It was very good of Uricalus to ask us.'
'Aye, maybe.' Aper's eye twinkled at her. 'Tell me that again after two hours of Bellicia.' He looked up at Trinnus. 'Be back for midnight, lad. No later, or I'll have your hide.’
‘Enjoy your evening, master.' Trinnus grinned.
'Less of your bloody cheek,' Aper grunted and turned away.
The door was already open, and Justus, Uricalus's door slave, was standing aside to let them pass.
'Compliments of the season, Commander,' he said.
'The same to you, Justus.' Aper undid his cloak and handed it over. 'We're not the first, are we?'
'Most of the other guests have arrived, sir.' The slave took the cloak along with Severinus's and Ursina's. 'They're in the main sitting room. You know the way?'
'Aye.'
'If you'll go through, then,' – he closed the door behind them – 'I'll take these to dry off.'
'Good lad.' As Justus left in the direction of the kitchen Aper cupped his hands round the flame of one of the dozen oil lamps that hung from the massive candelabrum next to the statue of Mercury in its wall niche. 'Mothers, it's cold!'
'Titus! Behave yourself!' Ursina was smiling.
'Just getting warm, Bear-cub.' Aper straightened and gathered up the obligatory armful of mantle. 'Now. Let's join the party.'
. . .
The sitting room was brightly lit and cheerful, its walls and ceiling hung with ribbons and spangles, and the braziers at each of its corners had been fed with chips of aromatic wood which mingled their expensive scent with the smell of mulling wine. As they crossed the threshold Uricalus hurried forwards to meet them.
'Aper!' he said. 'Delighted you could come!'
'A happy Festival to you, Uricalus.' Aper shook hands.
There were three other people in the room besides Bellicia and Albilla: the merchant Vegisonius, his wife Regulina, and the young tribune from the governor's reception. Agricola was in uniform. He looked bored and uncomfortable, and he seemed to be making no effort to hide the fact. Severinus raised a hand in greeting and got a sour smile in return.
Uricalus was beaming as usual. 'We're almost met,' he said. 'The governor, alas, had other commitments, but I expect the honour of the procurator's presence.'
'Catus is coming?' Aper paused in the act of taking a cup of spiced wine from the waiting wine-slave's tray. 'I thought he was in London.'
Uricalus's smile broadened and he leaned back on his heels. 'He arrived here two days ago,’ he said. ‘Urgent business with the governor, so I understand. In any case, he was gracious enough to accept the last-minute invitation.'
That certainly made sense, Severinus thought. The governor might get away with representation by proxy – why else would Agricola be here? – but not the procurator. Uricalus controlled too many of the province's growing trading interests to be ignored. Besides, Catus was a merchant himself, or he had been. Before the emperor had given him the procuratorship he had run a trading house of his own in southern Gaul. Catus, at least, would be at home here...
'Marcus! Have you had a good Festival?'
He turned. Albilla was standing beside him, looking stunning in a mantle of white Coan silk. They were alone: Uricalus had led Aper off to talk with Vegisonius, while Bellicia and Regulina had claimed his mother. 'Yes, not bad, thanks,’ he said. ‘You?'
Her carefully-made-up eyes sparkled. 'Father gave me this.' She indicated the mantle. 'He ordered it specially from Rome. Do you like it?'
'It's beautiful.' It was also expensive; not just Roman, but from one of the best shops. 'And it suits you.'
'Does it? I'm glad.' Albilla's nose wrinkled. 'There was a great clanking pair of earrings that came with it that I've left in their box. If I'd worn them I'd've had earlobes down to my shoulders. Father tries, Marcus, but sometimes his taste slips. You were right not to take him up on that glassware, it's completely hideous.'
Severinus was laughing: he liked Albilla. He liked her very much.
'Perhaps it's just as well I found Mother the brooch, then,' he said.
'Is that the one she has on tonight?' Albilla glanced round. 'It's nice. Where did you get it?'
'One of the native shops outside the south gate.' Severinus told her the full story. Albilla stared at him.
'You mean the girl actually offered to pay the man's debt with the bracelet from her own arm?' she said.
'That's right.'
'But why on earth should she do that?'
Severinus shrugged. 'She saw it as an obligation. At least that was what she said.'
Albilla laughed. 'But that's lovely! So sweet and unspoiled!'
'I wouldn't exactly describe Senovara as sweet.'
'How about unspoiled?' Albilla's eyes were mischievous.
'Perhaps. In a way. Who had you in mind as doing the spoiling?'
'Oh, us, of course! Us Romans. We spoil everything and everyone; we can't help it, it's the way we're made.' She looked over Severinus's shoulder. 'Isn't that right, Tribune?'
Severinus turned round to see Agricola standing behind him. He moved aside reluctantly.
'My apologies.' Agricola still looked bored. 'I really wasn't listening.'
'Of course you weren't.' Albilla was smiling up at him; like her father she was tiny, barely the height of Severinus's shoulder. 'But let's pretend you were. Don't you think we Romans spoil everything for the natives? I mean, wherever we go we take away their culture and destroy their traditional way of life and so on. It's sad, wouldn't you say?'
'Not at all.' Agricola spoke stiffly. 'Barbarians are barbarians. We have a duty to civilise them.'
'Really?' Her eyes widened. 'Wouldn't you like to be a barbarian, Tribune? Just now and again?'
Agricola frowned. 'How do you mean exactly?' he said.
'Oh, not a proper barbarian. I'm sure you're right, all those wives in co
mmon and things, it must be dreadfully messy.' Albilla smiled. 'Just a pretend one.'
Agricola's frown deepened. 'I'm not altogether sure, Arrenia Albilla, that I understand what–'
'Just for fun, of course.' Albilla's smile was radiant. 'Barbarian costume parties are all the rage at Rome. Didn't you know? The emperor's very fond of them, so I'm told.'
'Ah.' Agricola's brow cleared. 'Actually, I really don't think–'
'We could have one here. You'd look simply marvellous in trousers and a stick-on moustache. And we could have a buffet with whatever barbarians eat.' She turned to Severinus. 'What do barbarians eat, by the way, Marcus?'
Severinus had been happily watching the flush spread upwards from Agricola's neck.
'Barley porridge,' he said. 'And pike.' Agricola stared at him, eyes bulging. He smiled back blandly.
Albilla made a face. 'Well,’ she said. ‘I'm sure our cook could work something out. It's still a marvellous idea. I'll mention it to father. You'd come, wouldn't you, Tribune?'
A wild, trapped look had appeared in Agricola's eyes. He gave a stiff bow and without another word left to join Aper and Vegisonius in the far corner of the room.
Albilla watched him go. She was looking smug. 'I enjoyed that,' she said.
'So I noticed.' Severinus was trying very hard not to laugh.
'Well, the poor man does take himself so terribly seriously.' She giggled. 'And I wasn't altogether joking. I think the costume party's a lovely idea. You could ask your girlfriend to lend me a dress.'
'Girlfriend?'
'The one in the shop. What did you say her name was? Senovara?'
This time Severinus really did laugh. 'Albilla, she'd spit in my eye! And I don't know her at all!'
'Is that so?' Albilla smiled. 'Well, it doesn't matter.' She looked up. 'Oh, that must be Catus.'
Severinus turned round. In the doorway behind him was a small, dapper man, not much taller than Uricalus and impeccably dressed in a narrow-striped lambs’-wool mantle. The mark of rank apart, there was nothing particularly remarkable about him. Where Paullinus had stood out in the crowd, Severinus had the impression that Catus would escape notice, as much from choice as by nature; he exuded at the same time a grey anonymity and an air of self-assurance.
Money, Severinus thought. Money and power. And he knows he has both, without having to prove it to anyone.
'Marcus?'
'Hmm?'
'You're wool-gathering.' Albilla reached over and took his arm. 'Come on. Now the procurator's here we can finally eat. You're sitting beside me. I've arranged it.'
10.
The dining room was large and opulent: Uricalus had bought the furnishings wholesale through an agent in Rome at the auction of a disgraced senator's estate, and the couches and table – or so he liked to tell his guests – had once belonged to an eastern client-king. They waited for the major-domo to place them. Catus was in the place of honour, and as Albilla had said she and Severinus were sharing the couch nearest the door, along with Agricola.
'Well, now.' Uricalus lay down on the host's couch with Bellicia beside him. 'This is cosy, isn't it? I hope you're all hungry.' He held out his hands for the slave to wash. 'Delphidius!'
The major-domo snapped his fingers and the laden trays of starters began to appear. Uricalus's cook, like everything else the man owned, was the best in the Colony. Tonight he had obviously been told to impress, and he had succeeded.
'Holy Jupiter!' Severinus murmured to Albilla as the table filled. 'Are we supposed to eat all of this?'
'I'm certainly going to try.' Albilla was already reaching for a stuffed olive. 'I've been starving myself since breakfast.'
'Albilla!' Bellicia, reclining directly opposite between Uricalus and Ursina, gave her an icy glare. 'Remember the Emperor, please!'
Albilla drew her hand back quickly, and Severinus grinned. Even Albilla took notice of Bellicia. Uricalus's wife was a head taller and fifty pounds heavier than her husband, with a prize-fighter's jaw, eyes like bradawls and a voice like a legionary centurion's. As the daughter of Burdigala's richest wine shipper and the wife of the Colony's most prominent private citizen she had definite opinions on etiquette.
The last of the slaves emptied his tray and everyone waited in studied silence while the emperor's statue was brought in. While Uricalus sprinkled the pinch of incense onto its burner, Severinus glanced across at his father, lying on the third couch with Vegisonius and his equally large taciturn wife. Aper gave him a wink.
The statue was removed. Uricalus watched with satisfaction as the wine waiters carried round their jugs.
'Fine,' he said. 'This should keep us going for the moment.'
It was obviously a rehearsed remark. There was a ripple of answering laughter, but although Uricalus had had his eye on the procurator Severinus noticed that Catus did not join in. He wondered whether the man ever smiled, or reacted to anything in any way.
‘Arabian truffles, eh?’ Vegisonius had been inspecting the dishes with professional interest, prodding the nearest with his spoon. 'Where did you get these, Publius? Not from me, that's certain. I've been after them for months.'
'Quintus!' His wife nudged his arm. 'Not now, please!'
'Just a question, Regulina.' Vegisonius showed no embarrassment.
'From a London trader.' Uricalus was shelling a peahen's egg. 'A new man, Armenian. Name of Barates.'
'Armenian, eh?' Vegisonius's thick red eyebrows lifted in surprise. 'You don't see many of them west of Corduba.'
'Claudius Barates is from Syria.' Catus spoke quietly, and his voice was as grey and anonymous as the rest of him. 'His family is from Palmyra originally, or so I believe, but they own an old-established trading firm in Antioch. I'm right, am I not, Uricalus?'
'Indeed you are, Procurator,' Uricalus said. 'And a valuable addition to the province he is, too. One of the many recently. You're working miracles in attracting new blood, sir.'
'I really have very little to do with it.' There were no overtones of modesty in the words, or indeed overtones of any kind. 'London sells itself. Give it another twenty years and at its present rate of growth it will be one of the largest cities in the western empire.'
'Is that so, now?' Vegisonius laughed and reached for the pickled scallops. 'Maybe we should all move down there, then.’ He nudged his wife. ‘What d’you think, Regulina? That please you?'
'I'm quite comfortable where I am, dear.' She sniffed. 'You'd agree, Bellicia?'
'Absolutely.' Bellicia's massive gold earrings shook as she nodded. 'The Colony's bad enough with all this new building, but London would be insufferable. All those dreadful warehouses.' She turned to Ursina. 'You'd hate it as well, wouldn't you, dear?'
His mother, Severinus noticed, had been keeping her head down. He didn't blame her: trapped between the two other women she had clearly decided to keep a low profile. She smiled and said nothing.
Catus's plate was still empty, and he had not touched his wine. 'You misunderstand me, Bellicia,’ he said. ‘Personally I envisage a partnership between the two centres with, for the foreseeable future at any rate, London playing the junior role. The governor, I'm sure, would concur.' He glanced towards Agricola. 'That's so, isn't it, Tribune?'
'Yes, sir.' Agricola had been looking bored. Now, with the procurator's eyes on him, he snapped to attention. 'The governor's most eager to encourage trade.'
Severinus hid a smile, noticing that Uricalus, too, had buried his face tactfully in his wine cup. Vegisonius grunted but said nothing.
'As every sensible man must be.' Catus selected a truffle and chewed with no obvious pleasure. 'Especially since Britain is an imperial province. The emperor expects a good return for his investment.'
'I'm not surprised,' Albilla said. 'Nero must be getting through money like a gannet through a half-pound loaf.'
There was an embarrassed silence. Agricola, on the girl's other side from Severinus, made a small choking noise which was not laughter.
'Albilla!' Bellicia snapped.
Albilla turned wide, innocent eyes in her direction. 'But that's what father always says. His exact words, in fact.' She looked at Uricalus. 'Isn't it, Father?'
Uricalus reddened and concentrated on the pea-hen's egg he was holding.
Catus looked unfazed; he had been reaching for another truffle, and his hand hadn’t paused.
'Possibly not in company, my dear,' he said calmly, transferring it to his plate. 'All the same, you're absolutely right. It's no secret that the imperial finances are at a low ebb at present, which does mean to say that even a new province like ours must be largely self-financing. The new silver mines will make an appreciable contribution, of course, and calling in payment of the native debts will help to some degree, but I'm afraid that even taking our latest prospective windfall into account we're still considerably behind target and liable to remain so.'
'You're going ahead with that, then, sir?' Severinus said. 'Recalling the debt payments?'
'Naturally.' The pale grey eyes turned in his direction. 'Or, in default of payment, with the necessary sequestration.'
Aper cleared his throat.
'Without prejudice to the emperor's powers of judgment, sir,' he said, 'foreclosing on the loans has always struck me as a most misguided course of action.'
Catus half-turned. 'Indeed, Commander?' he said. 'An interesting viewpoint.'
Aper didn't blink. 'Especially,' he went on, 'given your own very laudable desire for provincial prosperity.'
Severinus smiled: his father could be tactful, too, when he liked.
'That's a different kettle of fish altogether.' Vegisonius held up his wine cup for the slave to fill. 'The procurator was talking about us, not the bloody natives. These beggars are out of the picture. As far as the economy's concerned they're irrelevant.'
'I disagree.' Aper was still looking at Catus. 'A discontented native population's always a threat to peace, and trade needs peace to thrive.'
'That is surely the governor's concern.' Catus gave a thin smile. 'He represents the military arm. We've invested sufficient funds in the maintenance of a garrison force for civic unrest to pose no threat. The natives can be as discontented as they please.'
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