‘Not if he did it himself, so close before he died that he couldn’t send for one. And Aeresius’s writing was so bad you could do it standing on your head.’
‘I’m not going to do it at all. Justin, have you any idea what could happen to us?’
‘Have you any idea what it would be like to be passed around like a piece of livestock, after you’d been practically free for a few years for the first time since you were ten?’ he asked viciously. ‘Well, have you?’
Hilarion regarded him speculatively, his thin, freckled face thoughtful under his dripping hair. ‘No,’ he said after a moment, ‘I don’t. But I have… a vivid imagination.’
* * *
Hilarion sat back, pushing the sheet of papyrus away from him together with the few scraps of Aeresius’s writing which they had been able to gather: a note of credit, an order for a pottery lamp from the legionary workshop, and a message to Justin saying that he and Gwytha had gone to the market and he would find the dogs shut in the storeroom.
‘There,’ the boy said. ‘I think that will pass. I hope so, for our skins’ sake. Now will you sit down?’
Justin snatched up the papyrus sheet and began to read. He had spent the past two hours alternately pacing the floor and sitting, drumming his ring on the table until Hilarion asked him to kindly get up and pace again, it was less distracting. He had also consumed a considerable quantity of wine, which Hilarion had given him in the hope, he said, of keeping him quiet, adding that forgery was not the easiest of tasks, especially with Justin peering over his shoulder every two minutes and pacing about like a penned wolf in the intervals.
‘“… and because she has served me faithfully and well, I hereby free my serving woman, Gwytha, a woman of the Iceni, who came to me as a debt from Morgan the Trader,”’ Justin read. ‘My boy, you have a great future ahead of you. Come on.’
‘Come on where?’
‘To the magistrate, of course. I found this by Aeresius’s bed when I went to pay my respects.’
‘Did you now? I hope the magistrate swallows it.’
Justin raised an eyebrow. ‘I doubt he’ll see fit to question a senior officer of the Legion.’
The magistrate did not. Not when the senior officer was a man with Centurion Corvus’s ability to pull rank. Justin refused to wait until morning, thinking of Gwytha alone in the wineshop with only the horror of a new master for company. Even Hilarion remarked as they were leaving the magistrate’s house that he hadn’t realized Justin was so adept at Favonius’s ‘now-see-here-my-good-man’ method of unnerving the lower orders, to which Justin replied airily that those tactics were occasionally useful.
They had certainly worked on the magistrate, a pleasant pink little man with a slight nervous twitch which was not in the least alleviated by Justin’s hailing him out of bed and chiding him for not having conducted a search for the will himself. The magistrate had no intention of putting himself at outs with a cohort commander from the fortress that loomed in his own backyard just to please an unknown wine merchant from the south. He had said ‘Yes, sir,’ and ‘No, sir,’ the will certainly seemed to be in order, sir, and wasn’t it lucky that the centurion had discovered it before any other steps had been taken in the matter of Aeresius’s death? and had seemed not at all inclined to question the authenticity of the document.
By the time they reached the Street of Neptune, Justin, who was still a little drunk, was feeling exceedingly pleased with himself. Hilarion was beginning to think that they might get away with it after all. He had also been a little drunk when he had agreed to undertake the project, but the last couple of hours had sobered him up considerably. It was still raining.
Licinius was sitting with his arm around Gwytha’s shoulders, unhappily trying to comfort her, when the two of them arrived. Justin felt mildly irritated that the girl seemed willing to accept the surgeon’s comfort when she had so far spurned his own. He pulled off his cloak and flung it down by the brazier to dry, leaving his hair, the appearance of which was not improved by its being wet, hanging damply in his eyes.
Gwytha looked up and managed a small smile. ‘You look ghastly,’ she said.
‘That’s a fine way to talk to someone who’s come all the way in this abominable rain to tell you you needn’t worry about a new master,’ Justin said indignantly. ‘Here.’ He pulled Hilarion’s handiwork, duly stamped with the official seals, from his tunic.
‘What is it?’
‘Aeresius’s will.’
Gwytha snatched it up and began to read, Licinius regarding the document with suspicion over her shoulder.
‘Aeresius couldn’t have…’ Her hands were shaking. ‘He was unconscious.’
‘We… uh, were hoping you wouldn’t mention that to the magistrate,’ Hilarion said diffidently.
‘Is this your doing?’ Licinius inquired. ‘Justin, where did you get this? Justin!’
Justin, who by this time had reached that pleasant state of drunkenness combined with self-congratulation wherein it seemed silly not to continue, was pouring himself a cup of wine. ‘I sort of found it,’ he said over his shoulder, replacing the wine jug and laying a coin on the table for Aeresius’s as yet unknown creditor. Then he got a look at Gwytha’s face and set the cup down as well.
She had gone a dead, chalk white, like a plaster casting, beneath the bright red-brown of her hair. ‘I’m obliged to you, Centurion,’ she said, ‘for your care for my welfare. Oh, Mother, what am I going to do now?’ She began to cry, choking, painful sobs that shook her whole body.
Justin was appalled. ‘Gwytha… oh, Gwytha, don’t do that. What’s the matter?’
Licinius regarded him with the expression he usually reserved for the most imbecilic of his patients. ‘Great god Mithras, what do you expect her to do? Aeresius didn’t write that will and you know it. He’d have made some provision for her. Did either of the precious pair of you stop to think that freedom’s not much use when you don’t have anywhere to go? What are you going to do, send her back to the Iceni as a poor relation? If they didn’t send her right back again?’
Justin was suddenly furious. Because he had given the girl her freedom, everyone now seemed to think him responsible for her future as well.
‘Damn it, you wanted to be free! Well, now you are!’
‘Thank you, Centurion.’ Gwytha turned on him a pair of blue eyes intent with loathing. ‘I’m sure you feel very noble. Have you any suggestions as to how I’m going to live?’
‘Couldn’t you go on as you were?’ Hilarion asked. ‘And work for the new owner, I mean?’
‘He’d rather have a slave,’ Gwytha said bitterly. ‘It’s cheaper. And he won’t be here for months, with winter coming on. The magistrate’s office will run the shop until then. And they aren’t likely to waste their fee hiring any help.’
‘Justin—’ Licinius began.
‘Then sell yourself back to someone!’ snapped Justin, who was rapidly working himself into a rage. Damn the girl.
‘No.’ Gwytha spoke so softly he could hardly hear her. ‘If you had come to me first, I’d never have let you do it. But now that you have done it, I’m free, and I can’t go back.’ She looked at him with such bitterness that he felt it drive like a knife into his stomach. ‘I’m free, Justinius. Do you know what that means? You’ve given me the only thing I ever wanted, and I have no way to keep it. But I won’t go back. I’ll die first.’
Justin’s anger deserted him. He was horribly afraid that she meant it.
‘Gwytha, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.’ He dropped down on his knees beside her and took her hands, but she pulled them back and turned her head away. He felt desolate. What had he done, with his damned interfering conceit and his vicious tongue? ‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated, and had an acute vision of his mother informing him tartly that being sorry was no doubt nice for his conscience, but it didn’t do much good for the person he had hurt. He was seized with a terror that this girl would go on hating him for t
he rest of her life. ‘Gwytha, please look at me.’ There was so much misery in his voice that she turned around. Her eyes met his for a moment, and she began to cry again, with her head, this time, on Justin’s shoulder.
‘Hilarion –’ Justin looked up at him helplessly – ‘can we do another page? Leaving the shop to her?’
The boy looked unhappy, but he shook his head. ‘Oh, no. You’ve already got me in a fair way to being cashiered. Gwytha’s one thing, but I’m not going to steal a whole wineshop.’
‘He has a point,’ Licinius observed. ‘You’ve already taken one highly suspicious will to the magistrate. How were you planning to explain just happening to find another one?’
Justin sat still as the enormity of the situation broke against him like a wave. Gwytha was still crying, but silently, her whole body shaking in his arms. He had done this. Somehow he had to undo it. Through the haze of wine and torn emotions, only one idea came to him. He pulled the girl closer before he spoke. ‘Well, then, marry me.’
She flinched and jerked her head up.
‘Gwytha, do you hate me that much?’ he asked.
‘No, Centurion.’ She held his eyes for a moment, but he couldn’t tell what thoughts lay in those bright depths.
‘Gwytha, please,’ he went on desperately. ‘I know I’m not much of a prize, but I’d try to be a good husband to you. I got you into this…’
Across the table, Licinius and Hilarion regarded them with horror. ‘And you feel it’s your duty to marry me to get me out again?’ she asked.
‘No,’ he said finally. ‘It’s all I can do for you.’
Gwytha’s face was impassive, the barriers raised once more. ‘All right, Centurion,’ she said.
VII
Wedding Feast
Justin woke the next afternoon in the grey winter light with a violent headache and a vivid recollection of the previous night.
He still had one day’s leave left (having no relatives in Britain, he had chosen to spend his leave in camp, loafing) and he was going to use it to get married. Not strictly according to the letter of the law, but a marriage made in service was socially binding, and for Justin there could be no half measure. He had a sudden desire to start screaming and to keep it up until they came and got him and tied him up.
Licinius, coming to collect him half an hour later, found him resolutely shaving instead. The surgeon had come prepared to make a stab at putting a stop to this idiocy, but he didn’t think he had much chance, and he had also put on his parade uniform.
Justin laid down the razor when he saw him and managed a smile. ‘You look very fine. And yes, I remember what I did last night.’
‘Justin, are you sure you…’
‘And yes, I do intend to go through with it.’ He picked up a comb and concentrated on his cowlick. ‘And no, there doesn’t seem to be any graceful way to change my mind now, does there? If it’s any help, I know I was drunk last night – my head feels like death – but even cold sober with a hangover, I can’t think of anything else I could have done.’
‘You won’t get that transfer if you go through with this, you know.’ The surgeon’s dark face was serious.
Justin looked at him bleakly. ‘Are you under the impression that I don’t know that?’
‘Couldn’t you have just offered to take care of her? Men have taken mistresses before now, you know.’
‘So have I, if it comes to that. Gwytha’s just not the type. I tried once, did I ever tell you? She caught me a clout that left my ears ringing. It wouldn’t work, Licinius. I’d feel like a lecherous old senator fondling a thirteen-year-old every time I touched her.’ He twisted his scarf about his neck and knotted it carefully.
Licinius’s lip twitched, but he knew Justin well enough to know when there was no point in arguing. At least he was fond of the girl. He only hoped that wouldn’t make matters worse.
‘What is your mother going to say?’
‘She’s going to have a fit,’ Justin said. ‘But I don’t want Gwytha to know that. I’ll handle Mama.’
From what Licinius knew of Justin’s mother, she was going to take a good deal of handling. She was extremely fond of her son, and Justin was too fond of her to lie to her. She was not going to receive well the news that her son, in a fit of gallantry, had married a slave. All he said, however, was, ‘Well, if you’re determined, we had best get going.’
Justin flung his gold and scarlet parade cloak around his shoulders, and they set out for the magistrate’s house. A fine rain was still falling.
The magistrate was inclined to be amused. He wasn’t overly fond of Romans, especially Romans who woke him up at night acting like Caesar. So that was why the centurion was in such a hurry about the will, he reflected, as they went through the short ceremony, though he couldn’t see why he wanted to go and marry the girl. It was going to cause an unholy stink in the centurion’s family. Still, marriages of this sort could always be hushed up, if you had enough money. He didn’t suppose they did, though, or the bridegroom wouldn’t be in the Army. The centurion, he noted with a certain grim amusement, looked as panic-stricken as a horse at gelding time.
The bride, on the other hand, went through with the business stoically. Whatever she was thinking, it didn’t show in her face, and she kept her voice to the monotone of a child reciting a lesson in Greek. But she had bound her hair up Roman fashion, and she wore the Roman bride’s traditional flame-colored veil – whether in a desire to please him or in mockery, Justin couldn’t tell.
When it was over, Licinius and Hilarion lifted her over the threshold of the little house which Hilarion, with some difficulty and a great deal of bribery, had found for them that morning. And then, looking embarrassed, they left them alone.
Justin ran his eyes over the house. It was constructed in Roman style, and had been built by a young tribune who had seen no need to be uncomfortable while putting in his obligatory year with the military. The central room, the atrium, was rectangular in shape, with a somewhat dingy pool in the center and walls of painted plaster. Of the two longer walls, one was windowed and faced onto a garden with flower beds which had been laid down under mulch, and, near the gate, a single tree, winter bare in the drizzling rain. What it would turn out to be when it budded in the spring, Justin hadn’t the faintest idea. The opposite wall was frescoed with a pleasant oceanic scene of nereids and dolphins, and the tiled floor was checkered in a pattern of blue and white. The other walls were of plain painted plaster, and there was a niche in one for the household gods, small figures in bronze, the wedding gift of Licinius. The room was furnished at one end with several chairs and a small desk, and at the other with a dining alcove of couches and a central table. Ranged around the atrium were a small bedroom, servant’s room, and a kitchen and storeroom. A hypocaust beneath the floor warmed the main house and the little bathhouse and latrine at the back, with the addition of a three-legged brazier in the atrium.
The house was a bit down at the heels now, Justin decided upon finishing his inspection, but the construction was good and it could be made comfortable.
‘Thank goodness,’ he said. ‘I was afraid we’d have to make do with much worse on such short notice. I wonder how Hilarion did it.’
‘I don’t know, but I expect he’ll send you an account,’ Gwytha said. She had flung her veil back from her face and was looking about her with uncertainty. ‘I expect you owe him a great deal of money,’ she added with a frankness that made Justin laugh.
‘I don’t doubt it. But nothing for you to worry about,’ he added. ‘I’ve a good many months’ pay accumulated, with nothing to spend it on.’ He put an arm around her hesitantly. ‘I’m afraid I’ll be rather an absent husband, but I’ll be with you whenever I’m off duty, and you’ll have Finn to keep you company.’ The big dog paused in his exploration of the house to wag his tail at his name. ‘As soon as I get a chance, I’ll find a good serving woman for you so you won’t be left alone so much.’
‘Nay, then, I
can see to the household myself. You forget it’s what I’m used to.’
‘Well, you’re going to have one anyway,’ he said, ignoring this. ‘I don’t want you left alone nights that I’m gone. Anyway, a fine thing it would be if I let my wife scrub floors… and Vesta knows they need it.’
‘You mean I’m to learn to live like a lady, Centurion?’
‘Precisely. Must you call me Centurion?’
‘I… I had got used to calling you Justinius. Now it seems a little strange.’
‘I suppose it does. I’ve gone from friend to husband rather suddenly, haven’t I?’ He smiled at her. ‘Try Justin then. It’s shorter.’ Gwytha was silent and looked, for once, as if she didn’t know what to say. Neither had as yet made any mention of the reason for their marriage, and both seemed grimly determined not to.
He came over and pushed her gently into a chair and settled himself at her feet. ‘Try and get used to me. I’ll do my best.’
‘I know you will,’ she said softly. ‘You always do. It’s just that I’m hoping you won’t be hating it.’
‘I promise you I won’t. It’s you that’s more likely to have cause to regret. I’ve gotten the best end of the bargain, I’m thinking.’ He leaned his head against her leg, wearily, because although he could not say it, he was hating it… hating her, and himself, and the malevolent Fates which had seen him posted to Britain and the ruin of everything he had ever wanted. And then he felt her begin to shake and saw that she was crying again. Conscience-stricken, because this was a reaction he had never seen in Gwytha until lately, he stood up again, taking her by the hand. ‘Come. We’re both feeling strange, I think. We’re going to collect Finn and go for a long walk, the way we used to. It’s stopped raining.’ And will that make everything to be as it was? a small voice inside him said.
* * *
Hilarion, seeing them walking up the hill, shook his head despondently, but by the time they returned to the house an hour later, they found themselves slipping unconsciously into their old untroubled friendship. And Justin had managed to kiss his new wife twice. The first time, he had felt her stiffen, but the second time she was calm. They stopped and ate meat pasties in a food stall in the town, because there was nothing in the house, and then walked slowly home, Finn gamboling ahead along the rain-washed road.
The Legions of the Mist Page 12