The Ides of June

by Rosemary Rowe

  ‘That entirely depends on how much it will cost. And whether you can offer something suitable to eat.’

  She named a modest sum. ‘And I’m sure we’ll find you something. There is always bread and cheese – or a duck’s egg for the little boy if he would fancy that. Or there’s some vegetable broth that I could heat for you.’

  ‘Stick to the nuts and cheeses, citizen.’ Behind me the peddler was rising to his feet. ‘I wouldn’t trust the stew. I swear she only boils the same thing up each day and adds fresh scraps to it. But the cheese is fresh and the bread is not too bad.’ He gathered up his cloak and tray and left the room followed by his sullen-looking son. I saw them climbing up the staircase in the yard towards the upper floor.

  The woman frowned. ‘I don’t know what he means. Our broth is excellent – at least we’ve never had serious complaints. And it’s a great deal better than what you’d get at a hot-soup stall in town. But if you don’t want the soup I can do some duck eggs for you all – I’ve even got a bit of celery I can boil into a sauce. And nobody can say the eggs aren’t fresh, I picked them up from our own ducks today. I’ll throw in a bit of bread and cheese, goat’s milk for the children and a jug of watered wine. Let’s say a half-denarius for you all – what do you say to that?’

  I was about to agree that it would be excellent – in fact I was surprised that she had not asked a higher price – when we were interrupted by a strident voice.

  ‘What are you saying, woman? Do you want to ruin us all?’ The speaker was a tall, spare, shaggy man, who now shambled through the door, making no secret of the fact that he’d been listening in. He was a surly-looking fellow with suspicious eyes, and his flowing hair and beard and side-whiskers were unkempt and none too clean, like his grubby brown tunic and his country ‘boots’ (pieces of rawhide tied around his feet). With his tawny mane and thin distrustful face he reminded me of a mangy lion that I saw in the town arena once – and he looked about as friendly. Clearly the proprietor of this establishment.

  I muttered a greeting.

  He jerked a chin at me. ‘And who’s this, anyway? The owner of that wretched ox and cart outside? How does that entitle him to special rates?’

  The woman put her hands upon his chest and pushed him to a corner of the room, where she hissed at him, as though I might be deaf. ‘He’s a Roman citizen, and one with wealthy friends. You mind your business, Aonghus, seeing to the cart – and let me see to mine. And, while you’re at it, move your things into a cubicle. The last one on the right is free and the bedding’s fairly fresh. I’m going to let his family share my room tonight.’

  ‘Have you taken leave of all your senses, wife?’ He folded his enormous arms and looked askance at me. ‘This is no way to run a public inn.’

  ‘Aonghus, be quiet. I know what I’m about. We give him a good deal and see his family is well fed – in fact, his womenfolk and children can have the bed and I’ll sleep on the floor – and he’ll tell his acquaintances how well we treated him. He’ll make our reputation – or he would have done if you hadn’t come in here insulting him and spoiling everything.’

  ‘I’ll be happy to recommend you,’ I said, in a loud voice, making it quite clear that I was listening to all this. ‘If our accommodation is satisfactory.’

  ‘You see!’ She barely reached his shoulder but she shooed him to the door as though he were no bigger than a goose. ‘You go and bring the ox and cart inside. And see the guard-slave has clean straw to sleep on, too. Who knows what trade might come our way from this? I’ve always said we need a better class of people staying here – that’s where the money is.’

  The lion gave me a resentful look and shambled off to do as he was bidden. The woman turned to me. ‘So, citizen, you go and fetch your daughter and that lambkin in – the poor mite will be tired after travelling all day – and I’ll get the eggs prepared and show them where to sleep.’ She bustled off towards the courtyard, where I suppose the kitchen was.

  She had been charmed by Marcellinus, that was very clear, and in some ways that was very fortunate. But the boy was far too young to understand our plight, and – if he and his mother shared a bed with our hostess – I feared that he might start to talk too much. But there was nothing for it: at least we would be warm and safe and fed, and at a reasonable price. Most travellers on the road would have to settle for much less.

  So accompanied by Tenuis (who had been standing by) I went out to tell the women the good news.

  FIFTEEN

  Julia (or Kennis, as I should call her now) was predictably appalled. ‘Share my bed with strangers? What were you thinking of …?’ she protested, but Gwellia put a finger to her lips.

  ‘Remember you’re a peasant and we have to sleep somewhere. You are being treated very well. Not many people find the landlord giving up his bed. Now here’s the man himself coming out to take the cart, so it’s time to go inside. Remember to be pleasant, and look grateful if you can.’

  Kennis nodded, though her cheeks were fiery red. She even submitted to the man’s rough grasp as he reached up to help her down, but she did not relinquish Marcellinus to the outstretched hands. ‘I’ll take him, or he’ll fret. He is tired and hungry and not used to strangers. I’ll look after him. Look after Gwelli … Mother, please, instead. She has the baby and may want some help with her.’

  But Gwellia was already on the ground, with the infant snuggled expertly inside her cloak, so when Kennis and her son had struggled down themselves, I left Minimus to oversee the cart and led my little group inside.

  At once the woman came bustling out and when she saw Marcellinus she bent down and tried to chuck him underneath the chin. ‘I’ve got a duck’s egg boiling for you. Won’t that be nice, young man?’ She had put on a special voice she seemed to think was suitable for dealing with the young.

  Mercifully, he was still so sleepy he was disinclined to speak and simply buried his head against his mother’s skirts, otherwise, who knows what affronted outburst he’d have made.

  ‘Dear little fellow. Gone all shy, have we? Tired out with all the travelling I expect. And no doubt the babe is, too.’ She turned to Kennis. ‘Perhaps you’d like to take the children straight upstairs – you’ll find some river water in the pitcher by the door so you can wash and change the infant straight away, and then I’ll bring a tray and you can eat up there.’

  It was a better arrangement than I could have hoped – less chance of anyone betraying who we were – and I agreed at once. I’m not sure that Kennis was particularly keen – I doubt she had ever changed an infant in her life – but Gwellia had brought a bag of rags with her in preparation for this very task. My wife looked meaningfully at me, then murmured graciously, ‘That’s thoughtful, tavern-keeper. We all are very tired. If you’d like to lead the way?’

  The woman lit a smoky taper from the fire and pushed open a small door, through which a narrow inner staircase could be seen, clearly leading into the private quarter of the house. ‘This way then, lady citizens! Come on, little man. You’re going to have the best room in the house.’

  Marcellinus did not look impressed but the little party went straggling upstairs.

  I could do nothing but let them go and trust the Fates. It was up to Gwellia to manage matters now. I could only hope the children would go back to sleep again (their father’s potion had been very strong, so there was every chance of that) and that Kennis would not say something that betrayed her rank in life. Meanwhile I would be forced to find a bed in one of the public cubicles elsewhere.

  However, there was first the matter of the meal. I’d hardly had the time to sit down on the bench (the same one that the peddlers had been using earlier) before a grubby slave-boy came sidling in with it – a plate of nuts and bread and soft, strong-smelling cheese. He thrust it on the board in front of me.

  ‘The master says that if you change your mind, there’s plenty of hot stew.’ The words were delivered in a lifeless monotone, and I wondered whether he just resent
ed customers, or whether his master had beaten all interest out of him.

  ‘I was warned against it, I’m afraid – to my slave’s regret, I’m sure,’ I replied, aware that Tenuis was wriggling with delight at the prospect of something warm to eat. ‘But we can’t risk upset stomachs while we’re on the road.’

  The inn-slave shrugged. ‘Well, you’d better tell my master, then, before he sends your servants some. He’s a stickler for seeing that nothing goes to waste, and if the guests don’t eat what they are served, he gives it to the slaves. There’s been at least one plate of stew sent back today.’

  ‘Is this just the servants of your customers? Or you as well?’ I asked. He was as skinny as a bird and his Latin was so halting that I spoke in Celtic now, guessing that he was more fluent in that tongue.

  I was obviously right. He shot me a doubtful glance. He clearly wasn’t used to clients being interested in him. Then he decided I was harmless. ‘Mustn’t eat the profits. That’s what he always says.’

  ‘Then my slave would sympathize. When he was younger, and belonged to someone else, he often did not have enough to eat.’

  The inn-slave looked at Tenuis, then at me, and clearly concluded that it was safe to speak. ‘Mouldy bread and curdled milk sometimes – people are always complaining of the stew, but leftovers make a treat for us. He feeds his geese and chickens better – they give him eggs, he says – where me and the stable-boy are replaceable, and cheap.’ He turned away and dipped a jug into a vat beside the fire and brought it over, dripping, together with a wooden drinking-cup, considerably stained, which he attempted to polish on his sleeve. (Neither item was improved by this.) ‘And here’s the watered wine. I’ll dip a fire-brand in it, and warm it, if you like.’

  This was not an appealing prospect – wood-ash was unlikely to improve indifferent wine – but the offer was clearly an attempt at friendliness so I gave the lad a smile. ‘Thank you. I’ll commend you to your master for your courtesy.’

  A frightened look. ‘Oh, please don’t do that, sir – I mean citizen – I hear that’s what you are. He’ll only think that I have overstepped my duties and give me another beating.’ He thrust the burning stick into the cup of wine and handed it to me, steaming and full of little fragments of charred wood.

  ‘Your master isn’t kind?’

  He glanced round nervously. ‘I was often hungry where I was before, but I wish that I was back there and that’s the truth of it. Or that someone else had been in Aquae Sulis on that day, and come to the market looking for cheap slaves.’

  ‘You haven’t been with your present master long?’ My mind was racing now. He’d mentioned Aquae Sulis. ‘Where were you before? Not a servant of Eliana, I suppose?’ I spoke without much hope. I knew that she’d disposed of all her slaves quite recently, but that would be too much of a coincidence.

  It was. The slave-boy shook his head. ‘This master is my first. I wasn’t born in servitude. My father is a trapper, and there were seven children in the house, but we had a dreadful winter and not enough to eat. I was the eldest so he sold me on to feed the rest of them. I don’t know if it worked. The slaver didn’t give him very much for me – too small to be of any proper use, he said. And he was right. I was the last one left before the market closed, but then the tavern-owner bought me for a trivial price and here I am.’ He stopped and frowned at me. ‘Who is Eliana, anyway?’

  ‘Just an old woman with a rundown farm who had to sell her slaves,’ I said, carefully picking the black fragments from my wine. ‘She lived near Aquae Sulis, I believe. I simply wondered if you were one of them.’

  ‘I’m sorry, citizen.’ He flinched as though he might be slapped for being ignorant.

  His fear was so pathetic that I was moved to say, ‘It was only the remotest possibility. I understand the place is very large – the family was extremely wealthy at one time – so it is probably well-known in the vicinity. It was just possible that you had heard of it.’

  He glanced sharply at me. ‘You don’t mean that place where there was once a fire?’ He handed me a spoon to help me with my task. ‘The woman living there was widowed recently?’

  I stared at him. ‘So you do know of her?’

  ‘Only by repute. One of her land-slaves was on sale with me, and he was talking in the cell the night before they put us on the stall. Used to be a fine place, he was telling us, but gone to ruin in the last few years. Orchards, woods and grain fields – all neglected now – even a vineyard and a wine-cave once, although the wine was pretty poor. The slave-quarters had got so bad they couldn’t sleep in them and had to live in the stables in the end – but they never saw their owners from one Kalends to the next. The master was an invalid and she scarcely left the house.’ He was busying himself, with fetching nuts and cheeses from a barrel by the wall and arranging them on a wooden platter by this time.

  This was clearly Eliana’s farm. ‘Do you know where I might find it?’ I tried to sound as casual as I could. My plan had been to take my little party there – partly on the pretext of inspecting it on Marcus’s behalf – and hide them there, for a little while at least. The estate was currently unoccupied, I knew, and Varius’s heirs – whoever they might be – could take no steps until the will was read, giving me time to seek a different hiding place. But I had only the most vague idea of where to go and had been relying on asking people when I neared the site.

  But the servant could not help me. ‘No idea at all. Somewhere near the main road, that is all I know. Apparently you can still see the main house through the trees, though part of the roof is at risk of falling in. But there’s no one who can help you when you get there, I’m afraid. The steward bought his freedom and all the slaves were sold.’

  ‘And the place is unattended!’ I was unprepared for this, though from my perspective it was splendid news. I’d been expecting at least a gatekeeper or two – relying on Marcus’s sealed letter as my authority to move into the house, on the grounds that Varius and Claudius were dead. ‘Not even a guard? Were the new prospective owners not afraid of theft?’

  ‘I understand there was nothing left behind that would attract a thief. And the land-slave says the place has got a reputation for ill-luck – nothing but death and evil fate for years. Even local tramps and beggars will not sleep there, so he says.’

  ‘Tell me about that land-slave?’ I said eagerly. Finding someone who had worked on the estate would make my task easier, and a great deal more discreet. I’d planned to ask questions in the nearby town. ‘What became of him?’

  The skinny servant shook his head again. ‘I don’t know, citizen, he sold quite early on.’ He looked up from his task, and gave me what I realized was a hopeful look. ‘Are you looking for a servant-labourer of some kind yourself?’

  I had to disabuse him. ‘On the contrary. I can’t afford new slaves. But I heard that the estate will shortly be for sale and I know a wealthy Roman who might be interested. In fact we’re travelling down to look at it on his account.’

  He made a face. ‘Then I hope he’s not afraid of curses and bad luck. Though I suppose a new owner would have it ritually cleansed.’

  ‘Its evil reputation might reduce the price,’ I said, heartily. ‘So I’m pleased to hear of it – or anything else that you can tell me of the place.’ I reached into my purse (the drawstring one that dangled from my waist, not the heavy leather bag full of my patron’s gold, which was slung around my chest next to my skin) and pulled out a small coin.

  ‘Of course I’d help you, citizen,’ he said, regretfully. ‘But I’m afraid that’s all I know.’

  ‘Then take this, anyway, for your help so far,’ I said. ‘More if you remember anything.’

  I handed him the coin. Only a quadrans – any more would raise suspicions in the boy – and in his master, if it were ever found. From the eagerness with which it was taken from my hand, I knew it was enough.

  ‘Thank you, citizen.’ He slid it underneath his tunic. ‘If there is ever anything
…’ He broke off as his owner came in through the doorway from the court, and reverted to broken Latin. ‘Is that all, citizen?’

  ‘What do you mean by loitering, you wretch? Don’t keep the citizen waiting for his meal. Go out to the kitchen-block and fetch the man some bread. And mind it is the best bread, not the coarser stuff.’ He turned to me with an ingratiating smile as the slave-boy scuttled off. ‘I’ve made a bed up in the stable for your slave – so he can watch the ox. Do you want this one to go out with him, or accompany you?’

  ‘He can stay with me,’ I answered. ‘And he’ll eat with me, as well. And you can take a portion of my bread and cheese out to the other boy.’

  ‘But I’ve put some broth out for them.’ A frown accompanied this.

  I shook my head. ‘They both have nervous stomachs when we are travelling, and I dare not risk hot food. Give it to your own slaves – at my expense, of course.’

  The frown cleared instantly. ‘As you command, citizen, of course. Ah, here’s the bread and I see that you already have your wine. Enjoy your meal, and your young servant, too. I’ll see your other slave is given something similar, and than I’ll come and show you to your cubicle.’

  It was not luxurious, when we got to it. Simply a curtained recess with a mattress of cut reeds and rushes on the floor, a doubtful pillow stuffed with prickly straw and a pair of tattered blankets. From behind the curtain there were already snores – from the peddler, I suspected. But it would suffice. So after a brief visit to the latrine in the yard and a rub-down with some chilly water from the trough, I wrapped my cloak around me and settled down to rest, with my lumpy purse beneath my pillow and with Tenuis lying at my feet.