This would have been regarded as impolite, even on an ordinary day. Today it was particularly marked – no careful Kalends courtesy to be expected here – but I contrived to keep the New Year smile on my face. I have no special faith in Roman deities, but there is no point in courting their disfavour – just in case.
‘I am. Longinus Flavius Libertus at your service, citizen,’ I agreed, in my most silky tone. ‘Whom do I have the honour of addressing in my turn?’ I had deliberately used my full three Latin names to stress the fact that I was a citizen as well, and I’d adopted the most formal turn of speech – both things which I very rarely did. Behind me I could almost see my two slaves boggling.
The newcomer made a short, impatient noise. ‘My name is Gaius Mommius Genialis,’ he said, portentously. ‘I am a town magistrate from Dorn.’ He spoke as if this were a major town, instead of an insignificant small tax-collection centre further to the north.
As for his name, it was so incongruous it almost made me laugh. Genialis might be his given cognomen, but – since the word means ‘joyful, zestful and lustful’ – it manifestly did not describe him in the least. However, I recalled the conventions of the day and managed to ask, politely, ‘So what brings you to me?’
There was a silence while he turned the heavy ring-seal on his hand, as if he were deciding how he should reply, but after a long moment he deigned to answer me. ‘I have come to Glevum to claim myself a wife.’
It was hardly an answer to my question, but I was about to mutter something congratulatory when he held up a warning hand.
‘That is not a cause for special celebration, citizen. She is my elder brother’s widow, that is all. However, she is very young and has no surviving family of her own, and the courts have decreed that – for the time, at least – she should pass into my potestas. She would no doubt have other suitors, given time – although she is as ugly and wilful as a mule – but I have decided that I’ll marry her myself.’
I heard my son, behind me, make a strangled noise and I swallowed hard myself. The Roman attitude to young widows is not a pleasant one – a woman without children has no rights in law. Legally she is herself a child, and – if she lacks a father, who is more likely to consult her tastes – her guardian has the right to give her in marriage to anyone he likes, usually the highest bidder. Or, if he is single, he might marry her himself and so keep the dowry. This is regarded as good business, and even boasted of. The lady could, of course, decline to speak the vows – but then she is likely to be classified as mad and locked up for the remainder of her natural life. I did not envy this poor woman, whoever she might be. ‘But I thought you found her unattractive, citizen?’ I said.
He gave me a look that would have frozen fire. ‘I daresay I shall manage to do my duty by her, all the same – although once she is with child I shall not greatly trouble her.’ At the prospect he managed a bleak smile. ‘There are practical considerations, citizen. My brother was besotted with his Silvia, poor deluded fool, and has left her everything he owned to be a marriage portion if she wed again. By his will it will pass in time to any child of hers, but of course a husband would have the usufruct, meanwhile.’
The interest and profit on the capital, he meant. Of course! He was demonstrating his good Roman common sense. I wondered what this Silvia thought about these plans, though obviously – since Genialis was her legal guardian – she would have no choice at all. However, I made the conventional remark: ‘Then may good fortune smile upon you both.’
He gave what might have been taken for a smile. ‘Good fortune. Ah, indeed. That is exactly what has brought me here. The house that Silvia lives in – which is part of the dowry she brings with her, and which I hope to move into soon myself – contains a mosaic pavement in the entrance-way, which was commissioned by my brother when they wed. Unfortunately it depicts a boat, since that was the way he earned his wealth.’
‘I think we know the place.’ That was my adopted son, Junio, stepping forward to take up position at my side. ‘The house of Ulpius! I believe my father and I laid the original design.’
As he said it, I remembered too: a fine townhouse on the other side of town, and the excited Ulpius boasting of the lively dark-haired girl that was to be his wife. More contrast to this soulless brother it would be hard to find. ‘Of course we did!’ I said.
Genialis ignored this interruption totally. ‘But since her husband died by falling overboard she feels that it’s an evil omen now, and keeping it would be an invitation to ill luck. She won’t consent to marry anyone until it has been changed. Of course a widow’s sensibilities in such a matter are permissible – if only in consideration of her grief. Therefore I need someone to lay a different floor and fast – and you were recommended. I presume that you are equal to the task?’
Some instinct made me hesitate. ‘I already have a number of commissions to fulfil.’ It was an overstatement. All I had at present were mere enquiries, but my sympathies were all with Silvia. I judged that the lady was a most reluctant bride – and intelligent as well. Even her guardian could not force her into marrying if she could convincingly plead ill-omens before the temple priests. I mentally saluted her ingenuity.
Genialis’s dark eyes had narrowed with surprise at my reply. ‘I am prepared to pay you very handsomely, provided that the work is done on time. A gold piece, perhaps. A sacrifice to new beginnings, you might say – since that seems appropriate to the day. I want it finished well before the wedding date – which will be before the beginning of next moon.’
I found that I was nodding. No Roman – let alone a superstitious girl – would ever marry in Februarius, which is considered the most ill-starred of all the months. ‘Could it not wait until the month of Mars?’ That would buy Silvia an extra month or two, and perhaps I could find extra reasons for delay. ‘With these other contracts, it would be difficult …’
He interrupted me. ‘Citizen, I warn you, I intend to stand as an aedile in this town, as soon as I legally qualify for nomination to the post. You will find it in your interest to assist me in my plan.’
Meaning that I would regret it, otherwise. The aediles are elected officers with considerable powers, especially in relation to trades and market-stalls. But it made sense of course – the post is generally accepted as a route to nomination to the council later on – and explained why he was in such haste to wed the girl. Elections to public office still generally take place in March, on what was New Year’s Day on the ancient Roman calendar, before the Emperor Julius readjusted it. Candidates are required to have a dwelling of a certain size within the confines of the town and obviously this house of Silvia’s would satisfy the rule, but to achieve it he had to marry her. Besides, he would need a little time to build a reputation with the electorate – mostly by promising to pay for public works – and he would also have to find a serving councillor to stand as referee, though presumably that could be arranged, given a sufficient ‘fee’, or bribe.
I did not have the property requirement to vote, although today I almost wished I did – so I could cast my marble for anyone except my visitor. However, I kept my January face. ‘I do not think that in the time available …’
This time it was Junio who interrupted me. ‘We do have pattern-pieces, father, which we could install. Reasonably quickly if the price was right. It is only a small entrance lobby after all. Providing only that the customer could find a design that he was happy with. Shall I drag out the patterns and let him have a look?’ He led me over to the corner of the shop where all my pattern-pieces were stored upon a rack, and as we went he whispered in my ear. ‘I’ve just remembered something. He could be dangerous. I’m sure I heard that there was something strange about the way that Ulpius died. If we get into the house we might find out if that was true. And even if there’s nothing to be learned, an aureus is a lot of money after all. Better that we should have the work than it should go elsewhere.’
He had a point, of course. I could hardly help poor Silv
ia by turning down the job – there are several other people who would take it on at once, and more than likely make a far worse job of it. All I would do is lose a valuable fee. And Junio was right. If we managed to discover anything, we might yet put a stop to this marriage after all. I nodded. ‘Bring the slaves and take the patterns out there in the light, where our client can have a better look at them,’ I said aloud.
Genialis made a dismissive gesture as we hurried back to him. ‘That will not be necessary, pavement-maker,’ he said airily. ‘Anything that has not got ships in it will do. Something neutral – birds or flowers perhaps? If you can get it finished by the Ides, I will pay you that gold piece – double if you can get it done before Agonalia.’
That took my breath away. A single aureus was a substantial fee. Two of them would keep my family for months. But the feast he had mentioned was just nine days away – the Festival of Janus proper, when a ram was sacrificed, not just the votive crackers which were offered up today. That would not offer poor Silvia much respite – nor give me much time for my enquiries. ‘I do not know if it is possible, so quickly,’ I demurred.
Genialis gave another of his unpleasant smiles. ‘Take it or leave it, citizen. That is the contract I am offering. Until the Ides to get the pavement changed and earn the basic fee. If you do not finish it in time, I do not pay at all. Do it before the Agonalia and I pay you twice as much. If you are willing, come out to the street – I have a pair of other citizens ready and waiting to witness the affair. If not, I will look for someone else.’
‘There is hardly time for anyone to take a pavement up, make good the foundation and lay another in its place!’ I retorted, rather piqued in my professional pride.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Laying pavements is your business, citizen, and I would not presume to offer you advice. But I don’t see why you need to take up what is there. The current pavement is well-laid and absolutely flat – thanks to your own excellent craftsmanship, I understand. Could you not simply lay the other one on top?’
Of course it is common practice, where the base is good enough. ‘But the lady Silvia?’ I protested. ‘Will she not feel the curse has not been moved?’
He looked pityingly at me. ‘And who will tell her? She will not be there – I propose to take her back to Dorn with me today. I am selling all her slaves and replacing them with mine – leaving just a guardian doorkeeper, while we are away. I shall most certainly not mention her anxiety to him and you won’t either, if you have any sense. All he needs to know is that you’re coming in to work and do not wish to be disturbed. Tomorrow, if you are minded to begin. Now do you accept the terms or not? Otherwise, as I said before, I’ll find someone who will. And I warn you, I am not a man who easily forgives people who thwart him. Make up your mind. I cannot linger here – the carriage will be waiting with Silvia at the city gates. I want her under my protection until our wedding day and we must set off very soon for Dorn. It will be two days’ journey at the best, and – as I say – it is already promising to snow. Fortunately it is a military road and the army doubtless will be sending out fatigues to keep it clear.’
So he was making sure that his bride could not escape. And nor could I. The promise of a mystery, and such a fee as well! I looked at Junio and he raised his brows at me. I turned to Genialis.
‘Then I accept the contract. Lead me to your witnesses,’ I said.
TWO
Genialis was right about the snow, as I saw when I went out into the street. The sky, which had been merely overcast when we came into town, had turned to leaden grey and as I shook hands with my customer, and we exchanged the legal formula in front of the pair of worthy citizens whom he had brought – and doubtless paid – to act as witnesses, I saw the first flakes start to settle on the rooftops opposite.
One of the men, Alfredus Allius, a minor official on the council whom I slightly recognized, was clearly anxious to be safe at home. ‘This weather is coming from the south,’ he said. ‘If you hurry, Genialis, you might beat it yet – and I can get home with my toga dry.’
The other – stouter – councillor agreed. ‘My villa is a dozen miles away.’ He turned to Genialis. ‘I’m not going there myself this afternoon – but of course, citizen, it lies upon your way and you and your lady are welcome to my hospitality if you should find the road to Dorn is blocked. I’ll send my slave boy with you, to explain that to the house.’
Genialis acknowledged this as no more than his right. ‘Thank you, Bernadus. Though I hope it will not come to that. Adonisius! Have you got the traveller’s offering for the altar in the arch?’
A handsome muscled youth with olive skin detached himself from the group of waiting servants lounging by the wall, looked at his master with sullen almond eyes and mutely showed the votive biscuits in his hand.
Bernadus said, ‘Then you can be on your way. As I say, treat my villa as your own. My slave will show your driver where it is. I shall ride out there myself within a day or two, if the roads permit. But you will be lucky to get that far this evening with a cart if you do not make haste.’ And he hustled my visitor away.
I glanced towards the sky. The councillor was right! This snow was coming quickly, and from the south as well – the very direction where my round-house lay. I ought to think of closing up and setting off before it was too late.
I was about to turn into the house when someone called my name. It was another Kalends well-wisher (this time the steward of a frequent customer) and there was a dusting of white flakes upon his cloak. He was bearing coins and figs. I could not in politeness refuse to let him in but I rushed through the civilities as fast as courtesy allowed, inwardly fretting because the man was garrulous and always wanted to pass on all the gossip of the town.
I had a sudden inspiration. ‘I’ve just won a contract at Ulpius’s house – putting in new pavement for his lady wife. The old one apparently reminds her of her loss. Poor fellow, did I understand he drowned?’ I winked at Junio.
The steward sipped the remnants of his New Year wine. He shook his head. ‘Most unfortunate. They say that the ship had just set off for Gaul, and he went to see the helmsman as he always did – but lost his footing and fell overboard. The rumour is he’d had too much to drink, but I don’t know if that’s the truth of it. Tell you who might know more about it – that’s the man next door. I understand that Ulpius had a cargo of his skins.’
I nodded. My workshop was between the candle-maker’s and a tannery. ‘It’s rather difficult for me to ask him anything,’ I hinted, cautiously. ‘I had an altercation with the tanner’s wife over an old slave she lost a year or so ago – she’s always thought I was responsible for that.’
He put down the cup and rose slowly to his feet. ‘Well, I can hardly call there – I’m on my master’s business and he’s never had dealings with the man. However, I’m to tell you he’d be glad if you would call. Something about a new mosaic for the atrium.’
I thanked him heartily and showed him out, but the moment he was through the door again we hurried round the workshop putting things away.
‘I’m already wishing that I hadn’t taken on this work for Genialis,’ I grumbled to Junio as we tied thick rags around our feet and wrapped our bodies in our warmest cloaks, ready for the long trudge back to our respective round-houses and wives. ‘Though if that ship was really setting off for Gaul, it doesn’t seem possible that Genialis was involved – he could not have been on it when it left the dock. But I wish I hadn’t taken on this contract all the same, though I suppose we’re stuck with it. In this weather it will be hard for us to come and go to town, and if we don’t complete it we shall not be paid at all. Besides, if there is no one living in Ulpius’s house it will be cold and damp, and then – no doubt – the mortar will not set.’
Junio stood up and pulled his cloak-hood round his ears. ‘Perhaps I should not have been so eager to talk you into it,’ he admitted ruefully. ‘But I did think that we could help the lady if we took the work. Moreove
r, I didn’t want that lovely pavement to be utterly destroyed and replaced by something second-rate. I hoped we could have lifted some of it intact and used it somewhere else – though I realize that it won’t be possible, in the short time we’ve got.’
‘It will be shorter still if we get snowed in on the road.’ I got to my feet and gestured to the slaves. ‘So, if you two are ready, we can start for home.’
Minimus leapt up and scurried to the outer door. But when he opened it, he stopped, appalled. ‘Great Janus! Look at that!’
I was already looking, in horror and surprise, though there wasn’t much to see. Even the little shops across the lane were hardly visible. The air between was thick with swirling flakes and a deepening white carpet covered everything.
Minimus looked doubtfully at me. ‘What do you think, master?’
I shook my head. ‘We can’t go home today!’
‘Thank Mercury!’ The boy looked quite relieved. ‘I hate the forest at this time of the year. I am afraid of wolves.’
I understood his feelings. Walking the ancient unfrequented woodland track was treacherous in winter, anyway – rain always turned it slippery with mud – but cold increased the danger of marauding animals, driven by hunger nearer to the towns. To go that way in this would be inviting accidents.
‘We’ll simply have to sleep here overnight,’ I said. ‘If this has gone tomorrow, we will try to go home then. Though it looks as if we might be stuck here for a day or two.’ I glanced at Junio. ‘We might make a start on that pavement, I suppose. I must say I feel rather sorry for our wives.’
He nodded. ‘They’ll obviously be worried, because they won’t know where we are. But there’s no help for it. There’s no way of sending word. And they would not want us to set off in this. We’ll just have to stay here until the weather clears.’
Dark Omens Page 2