A Roman Ransom

by Rosemary Rowe

  I tried to protest that Gwellia must be consulted before decisions could be made, but Junio had already gone to waken her. She came in looking tousled and rather bleary-eyed but she was quite alert, and to my dismay – once she had heard the old physician’s view – decided that this was a good idea. In fact I think that she was secretly delighted by the whole prospect.

  With very little further reference to me, it was agreed that a litter would be sent and I would be transported to the villa sometime after noon. The medicus would come back to accompany me, with Junio, and Gwellia would follow a little later on. Cilla and Kurso would stay here and mind the house, but would be available if called upon.

  ‘It’s all very fine for you,’ I muttered to my wife, after our distinguished visitors had gone. ‘Marcus will expect me to help him catch these men, and I think he’s made the task impossible. Everything that he has done so far is absolutely the reverse of what I would advise. He’s given in to their demands, without making the least attempt to find out who they are, and he has no guarantee that they will do anything they promise. We don’t even know how the kidnapping was done. He has consulted the chief priest of Jupiter, whom I can hardly contradict, and I don’t see how I can help at all. And my head is aching dreadfully, as well.’

  ‘My poor husband.’ She came over and patted my pillows with her hands. ‘It is time for you to rest. Don’t concern yourself too much. You just do what you can. Marcus cannot overtire you with his demands while Philades is on hand to take your part. And a few days up at the villa can only help your health. Philades as good as told us so.’

  ‘If that doctor had told you that it would improve my health to be dangled from the ankles in a stream, I believe that you would have it done at once,’ I grumbled. ‘I would rather do my resting here, with you and Junio to look after me.’

  ‘It will be a rest for me, as well,’ she said, and that so shamed me with my thoughtlessness that I made no more objections to the move. When the litter came (a substantial affair, a sort of bed suspended on a frame, with leather curtains all round it to exclude the draught), they brought it right up to the roundhouse door. I submitted to being bundled on to it – carried by four of Marcus’s slaves as though I were a sack of hay or corn – and wrapped in blankets like a newborn child. It was a lengthy business even then. The medicus fussed around me with his herbs, and I was forced to drink another horrid draught before I left. I did, however, score one little victory.

  ‘If I am well enough to leave the house,’ I whispered to Junio, as they prepared to lurch me to the door, ‘then I am well enough to have an oatcake. Give me one, and never mind what the medicus might think. I’m supposed to be your master, after all.’

  He vacillated for a moment, but then he grinned. He gave me a ferocious wink and as he tucked the blankets round me on the litter, he slipped a little oatcake into my hand and pulled the outer covers over it.

  ‘Don’t choke yourself,’ he whispered, as he dropped the curtain and gave the signal for the bearer-slaves to move.

  It is not more than a mile from my roundhouse to the villa, a pleasant enough walk on a summer day with the forest stretching round on every side, but this afternoon the journey seemed to take an age. A carried litter is a bumpy ride, even when the bearers are taking all the care they can. Today each rock and pothole and tree root in the path seemed to send a fresh shock through me, and even with my blankets I was shivering and cold. I was glad when we reached the junction where our little lane meets the main military road, and the worst of the swaying and the jolting ceased. We settled to a rhythmic steady bounce.

  After that it was just a question of enduring it. The doctor’s potion had numbed me to a dream-like state, but I did just manage to keep awake enough to work my right hand free and nibble at my oatcake till I’d finished it. I was not really hungry in the least and I hardly did it justice, but it was a gesture of defiance and somehow it made me feel a little more myself. Though a little queasy, too, in truth.

  I shut my eyes.

  At last the bouncing stopped. I felt a sudden draught and was aware of someone lifting the curtain, but by the time I opened my eyes again, the curtain had fallen back into place. I was in a semi-stupor by this time but I could hear voices some way off, and I assumed that we had halted at the villa gates. The impression was strengthened, a moment afterwards, when I felt the litter being lowered to the ground. I lay back, waiting for someone to come and lift me out.

  Nothing happened. More voices. I used my free hand gingerly, and lifted up the curtain at my side to see what was delaying us.

  We were still outside the villa. Very close – I could see the wall and the leafless fruit trees of the orchard on the other side – but the gate was not yet in view and there was nothing on the left-hand side but woods. So what had halted us? A bear or wolf, perhaps? There were rumoured to be such animals still living in the forest hereabouts, and bands of brigands too, though I had never set eyes on any of these things. I lifted back the curtain even more, and – with due caution – craned my head to see.

  No snarling beasts confronted me, but there was something in the middle of the road. The litter-bearers had put down the chair, and gone to see what the obstruction was.

  I struggled up a bit and craned a little more. It looked for all the world like a pile of logs, just dumped in the middle of the road, as if someone had come here with a cart and simply unloaded it where it was most in the way.

  I had to lean a long way out to see, but when I did I saw that I was right. It was a pile of wood, and it completely blocked the route. The bearer-slaves were starting to haul parts of it away under the supervision of the medicus, but it was too big a pile for them to move with any ease. Junio, I saw, was clambering round the side and was obviously on the way to the villa to get help.

  But help was on the way. A donkey cart had reached the other side and the driver was getting down to see what was afoot. He was a big man and he was furious. I could hear a stream of oaths and curses even from where I lay, but he joined in the job of clearing up the road, lifting huge tree trunks in his burly arms and dragging them aside in a way which made the bearer-slaves look ineffectual, although they were used to lifting things, of course, and were strong lads themselves.

  I was so busy watching what was going on that I’d abandoned all pretence of lying still and was propped up on my arm, leaning halfway out of the litter on one side, with the right-hand curtain pulled completely back. Therefore, when somebody lifted the leather curtain behind me, and pushed something hard and bulky in against my legs, it took me a moment to realise that it was happening.

  I turned my head as quickly as I could, but already the leather screen had fallen back, and I could not swivel round at first because the object – whatever it might be – was pinning down my feet. I had to make an effort before I freed myself, and by the time I’d rolled across and lifted the other curtain up again, there was nothing to be seen. My visitor – whoever it was – had already disappeared into the trees. However, I could now see what they’d left behind: something large and hard and wicker-basket-like.

  Despite my aching head I sat upright to get a better view. A basket, certainly, but of unusual size – the kind of basket people use for storing foodstuffs. It had a sort of cover made of woven reeds and I stretched out an exploring hand to lift the lid. And then I stopped. There was a distinct sensation reaching me, a sort of rocking, as if something inside the basket had begun to move.

  I had meant to lift it closer so that I could examine it more carefully, but it was too heavy for me to move one-handed in my state of health, and I could not move without upsetting it – and I wasn’t at all anxious to do that. I was not at my most quick-witted, I suppose, but it was coming to me what other things are kept in woven baskets of this type.

  Snakes, I thought, feeling an unpleasant little chill run down my back. Or some other animal. In fact, I was becoming sure of it. The whole thing was wiggling by now, and there was a sort of mu
ted sound that might have been a hiss.

  And then I lost my nerve. I did what anyone in their senses would have done before. I let out a roar. ‘Junio!’ I bellowed. ‘Philades! Somebody! Come here!’

  But my cry must have disturbed the basket’s occupant. There was a last convulsive wiggle and the whole thing toppled on its side. Before any of my travelling companions could hurry to my aid, the lid fell off, the basket rolled, and I found myself staring with horrified fascination at what came half slithering and half crawling out of it.

  Chapter Six

  It was not, after all, a snake – though it was almost as slippery as one. This was a child – a small, filthy and bedraggled child, coated from head to foot in grease. It was naked, apart from a piece of ragged cloth round its loins, and another stuffed into its mouth and tied securely round the lower face as if to prevent the infant from crying out – and the whole body, from the shoulders downwards, was covered in that shocking film of yellow grease, which gave off a strong and strangely pungent smell.

  ‘Who in the name of all the gods are you?’ I said aloud. I had heard of changelings – left among mortals by the gods – but I have never really believed in such things. Some pauper’s child, perhaps, thrown into the litter in the hope that someone would take pity on him and raise him as a household slave? Whoever he was, my heart went out to him. (It was a ‘him’, I saw. He was crawling rather listlessly about, and as he did so the tattered cloth round the lower limbs fell free, and put the matter of sex beyond doubt.)

  Despite the stench which emanated from every part of him, I stretched forward to take him in my arms. My whole intention was to comfort him. I tried to free the bond round the face but to my alarm he tried to flinch away. His eyes grew wide. He stared at me, then all at once he screwed them up again. His face got very red and I guessed that without the cloth round his mouth, he would be screaming now.

  All the same, I could not bear to see him gagged. I undid the tie as gently as I could and eased it from his mouth, but far from soothing him, my action seemed to enrage him even more. He took a shuddering long breath and let out a mighty howl.

  ‘Hush!’ I muttered, rather helplessly, holding him awkwardly and attempting to rock him in my arms. I was just wondering what on earth to do when the curtain of the litter was pulled aside and I saw the medicus looking in on me.

  ‘Libertus! I heard you call. What is it? Are you ill? I thought you were asleep . . .’ He stopped, staring at the little bundle in my arms. ‘What in Hermes’ name have you got there?’ He came and knelt down beside me, letting the leather curtain strips fall round us as a screen.

  For answer, I handed him the infant, which promptly kicked, arched itself into a rigid line, and launched into another fit of screaming howls. I had never realised how lustily a small child can bawl.

  Philades held the wriggling apparition at arms’ length. He looked at it a moment and then stared from it to me. ‘Dear Zeus, it’s Marcellinus! How did you manage this?’

  I was so startled that I almost leaped upright. ‘Marcellinus? Surely not? The kidnappers have already arranged for his return, and for his mother’s too – tonight when the villa gates are to be left “open and unguarded”, wasn’t that the phrase? Anyway, this isn’t Marcus’s child. Remember, I have seen him, medicus, and you have not. This child is far too big.’ Admittedly small children look much the same to me, but there was nothing about this one that I recognised at all.

  The doctor looked long and hard at me. ‘You have seen the boy, you say? And how long ago was that? Before you were taken ill? That must be a moon ago at least – and children of this age grow very fast. Come, pavement-maker, don’t play games with me. This is Marcellinus – and we both know it is. Look, there is the tell-tale birthmark on his leg.’

  I gawped. I remembered, vaguely, that there had been talk of such a mark – shaped like an eagle, a symbol of good luck – but I had never seen it, since the babe was always swaddled when I looked at it. But on this child’s thigh, beyond a doubt, was a purple stain which might (with imagination) look something like a bird.

  I shook my head again. There was no sign of a bulla – the lucky charm that every Roman child is given a few days after birth, and never leaves off again until he comes of age. ‘But he has no bulla. Marcellinus had a gold one round his neck. I was at the naming ceremony when it was put on him.’

  ‘So I am led to understand. But in the circumstances I would almost be surprised to find it, wouldn’t you? Any thief would be delighted by the opportunity. No doubt it has been removed and sold by now.’

  I murmured doubtfully. Of course the medicus was right in principle, but it was hard to imagine even the most hardened kidnapper deliberately snatching such a precious object from a child. To lose a bulla was to invite appallingly bad luck – to a Roman it is almost like losing one’s contract with the gods – and it would require the most extensive sacrifice and ritual to expiate the loss and create another one. I began to argue the point, but then I trailed off. I had to admit that the medicus was right – I had been ill for many days and a bulla is easily removed.

  I stared at the greasy little form again. It was hard to reconcile this ragged, smelly apparition with the cosseted, perfumed and pretty little boy who had so often been held up for my admiration in the past. Yet, the more I looked, the more I realised that it was genuinely possible. Indeed, now I began to admit it to myself, I could see that there was an undoubted resemblance to my patron in this child: the same nose, the same colouring, the same fair, curling hair – though that was new to me! When I’d last seen Marcellinus he had been nearly bald! And there was undoubtedly the birthmark. Even to my weary half-drugged mind, it was clear that this was indeed the missing boy.

  But I was not too drowsy to have a sudden thought. I had not recognised the child, although I’d seen him several times before, so how had Philades, who by all accounts had never met the boy, worked out so quickly who it was?

  I was too tired and sick to play at guessing games, and I confronted the physician openly. ‘I accept that you are right. It is the missing child. But tell me, Philades, how did you know? About the birthmark, in particular? Marcus didn’t mention it to people, generally, and I thought that you had never seen the child.’

  The doctor gave me a grim little smile. ‘Did you think you were the only one who knew that little secret, pavement-maker? I’m sorry to disappoint you, in that case. Marcus has been describing it to everyone, so that they could identify the boy if he were found.’

  Of course! I should have thought of that myself. I nodded. ‘And you are in his confidence, I know – in fact you have become a regular Thersis, haven’t you?’ It was an attempt at flippancy, I know, a joking reference to that affair in Rome – but levity was obviously not Philades’ style. There was not the vestige of a smile: in fact if anything he looked grimmer than before, and I rather wished I’d left the words unsaid. ‘Well, thank Jupiter the child has been returned to us,’ I said, in the hope of covering the moment’s frostiness. ‘Though Marcus will be furious when he sees what they have done.’

  I meant it. What Marcus would say when he found that his precious son and heir had not only been stripped of his fine clothes and golden bulla, but smeared with stinking grease and shut up in the dark like an animal in that basket, I did not care to think. I even feared he’d vent his rage on me, for bringing the child back to him like this: my patron has always had a tendency to blame the messenger for unwelcome news.

  The doctor said nothing, but the boy squirmed sideways and began to squeal again. Philades expertly scooped him up against his shoulder and began to pat him firmly on the back.

  At least, I thought – watching this procedure helplessly – my worst fears had not been realised. We’d received no word of Julia, but at least the boy had been returned to us alive. I’d feared that they were both dead, but the boy seemed generally none the worse for his terrible ordeal. Indeed, the medicus had performed a sort of miracle. Marcellinus ha
d been red-faced and fretting visibly, but now he stopped howling, burped once, and then relaxed. The sobs subsided first to gulping gasps, and then to contented little bubbling sounds. Though these were muffled against the toga cloth, I recognised the hissing noises which had alarmed me so. I felt a little stupid recalling my earlier fears.

  ‘You are skilled with children,’ I mumbled awkwardly. ‘Do they teach you that in Greece? Or did you learn it somewhere, afterwards?’ Most Roman-trained physicians I had met, including the state-licensed ones in town, had learned what they knew either from army doctors or from people trained by them, and were more comfortable with wounds and fevers than with children’s maladies.

  If Philades heard this feeble flattery he ignored it utterly. ‘There!’ he said, with brisk efficiency. ‘That was the problem. Digestive vapours. He’s obviously more comfortable now, and fortunately he seems to be more or less unharmed.’ He flashed me a swift, appraising look. ‘I’ll hand it to you, pavement-maker – you may be sick, but you are still cleverer than I gave you credit for. How in the name of Jupiter did you bring this about?’

  At first I didn’t understand what he was driving at. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The boy’s return. I presume you did arrange it, somehow, with the kidnappers?’

  I stared at him. If he had suggested that I’d had dealings with Hercules himself, I could scarcely have been more taken aback. I shook my head. ‘He was pushed into the litter in that container there. It was a surprise to me.’

  ‘But you must know who brought him here?’ He was watchful and suspicious, suddenly. ‘You saw the man?’

  ‘I don’t know any more than you do. Someone pushed him in against my back, and ran away into the woods. Or I presume he did. Odd, since there was already an arrangement for the child’s safe return. But that’s all I can tell you. I swear on the gods.’