by Mike Ashley
The carriage drew to a halt and a dozen hands reached to help us down. Platters of delicacies arrived, as if by magic – sugared plums, and cheese and honeyed cakes. Lividius brushed them all aside. “Time for that later, where is my lady wife?”
She was in the courtyard garden, we were told. It was the first time she had left her bed since the confinement – such a lusty infant had taken its toll of her – but as soon as she had heard of her lord’s return she had insisted on rising and getting dressed to meet him. She was . . . but Lividius had already swept them aside with a gesture and was striding through the atrium and out through the passage to the courtyard garden beyond.
We followed.
She was no more than fifteen years herself, if her looks were any guide. She was sitting under a statue of Fortuna, and was dressed in a pale tunic and stola, with a woven blanket around her kees. She looked pale and shaken, as if this getting-up had been too much for her, and her smile for Lividius had a desperate fixity. She half-rose as we approached. “Husband! You have come. This is an unexpected joy – we did not look for you so soon!” She would have said more, have come to meet him perhaps, but the woman standing at her side restrained her.
“Good Monnia, do not over exert yourself.” She was beautiful, dark, with a lively intelligent face and a fearless bearing which – to my Celtic taste – made the little-girl blonde prettiness of Monnia seem vapid in comparison. This, clearly, was the female “doctor” Lividius had told us of. She was speaking now. “Most honoured citizen, can you not speak to Monnia? She should be resting – it was a long labour and she has lost much blood. But she insisted that she must rise and come to you. To beg you the indulgence of a resident wet-nurse, though I swore to her that you would grant her supplication instantly.”
Lividius preened. But he still said sharply, “Of course I shall do so, Claudia, if you ask it. But have we no wet-nurse in the household? No female slave who has given birth? It would be a pity to waste the opportunity.” He spoke dispassionately. The children of slaves were often exposed immediately, to save their owners the cost of raising them, and hiring the woman as a wet-nurse could be a valuable resource.
The girl he had called Claudia looked grave. “For your son, citizen? Suckled by a common slave girl? That scarcely seems fitting. Besides, there is no such female here. That is why I have recommended this girl – Sylvia, come – let the citizen see you.”
A buxom woman emerged from behind the arbour. Her ample form, only half-hidden by her tunic and shawl, suggested that she was abundantly equipped to undertake the task for which Claudia had recommended her. She smiled, a fat good-natured grin, dropped a quick curtsey and scampered back to the shelter of the arbour.
“She had a child herself not long ago, and she has raised a lusty family,” Claudia went on. “She has enough milk to feed a dozen infants. She has worked for me before: clean, honest, no disease. She has been feeding your boy since he was a few hours old, and he is thriving on it. But she must come and go here, constantly. If you would consent to finding her a room?” Claudia smiled, “As soon as might be possible, citizen. Your son is often hungry, and your wife . . .”
Lividius waved a lofty hand. “I should not expect my wife to feed the child. Well, I agree. As who would not? She shall have her room, here in the villa, near the child. Tonight, if she wishes it.” He nodded at the woman, who picked up her basket and hurried off. “Come Monnia, these gentlemen have come to act as witnesses. Where is the child?”
“He is asleep, citizen, in his cradle. Just in his mother’s bedroom, in the shade. It is not good for a new child to be brought out into the draughts and chills of the courtyard, even on a sunny day.” She nodded towards one of the rooms which led of the verandah around the court. “Monnia and I will fetch him for you now.”
“Well, see that you wrap him warmly when you do,” Lividius said sharply, obviously alarmed by all this talk of chills.
Claudia laughed, “He will have to be naked for the ceremony!” and taking Monnia gently by the elbow, she led the way slowly towards the mother’s room.
The scream that followed made the columns ring. Everyone stared towards the door. Monnia rushed out into the courtyard, looking paler than ever and gesturing wildly, but her voice seemed to have failed her entirely. It was Claudia, following her and clinging to the doorpost for support, who managed to articulate the words. “The boy! The child! Oh, Citizen Lividius, the child has gone!”
“Gone?” We gasped in unison. Marcus added, “How could he have gone?”
Claudia shook her head. “I cannot answer that, Excellence. The child was there, only moments ago. Sylvia has just been feeding him. See – the cradle is still warm from his body. But the child is not there.”
“Was he not attended?” Lividius demanded.
“Always, most honoured citizen, until tonight. But then, with your unforeseen arrival . . . the household was concerned with your return. All the servants, and ourselves as well . . . But we were here, in the courtyard all the time, and there is no other exit from the room – except into your chambers, citizen, and that also gives out into the court.”
She broke off, shaking, while tears began to course unchecked down Monnia’s face.
“Gone!” Lividius said, and he looked as shocked and stricken as his wife. “Let me see there!” He strode into the bed-chamber. We followed, all of us – slaves, visitors, women – as he crossed to the cradle and thrust back the linen blanket as if he half-expected to find the child lurking there.
There was no sign of his son, but there was something in the cradle. A crude wax-tablet, such as tradesmen use, and on it had been scratched – in poor Latin and in poorer script – “CDENIIPROFILIOTUO” – “100 denarii for your son”.
I looked at Marcus and he looked at me. I had been inclined, until that moment, to regard this as some internal matter in the household – some servant exceeding his duty or playing some cruel trick upon his mistress, perhaps. This put an altogether different complexion on the matter.
Lividius had turned pale. “They have stolen him, for money.”
“You know who might have done this thing?” I was, perhaps, speaking out of turn, but Marcus’s glance had given me authority – I had often assisted him in inquiries before1 and his look had said, as plainly as if it had been written on the wax. “Find out, Libertus, before we are here all night.”
Lividius shook his head in bewilderment. “No,” he said, “A man of my wealth often has enemies – but this? A poor defenceless child. No, Libertus, I do not know who – and I do not understand how, either! The child was here one minute, and the next minute he was not – and the were witnesses in the court the whole time. It is impossible!”
“Yes,” I said, slowly. “It does seem so, certainly. Perhaps the child is in the villa still?”
“Then search!” Lividius bellowed. “And warn the gatekeepers. No one is to enter or to leave until the child is found.” Immediately a dozen slaves were scampering in all directions. Monnia began to falter after them.
“Monnia!” Lividius cried. “You are not strong enough . . .” but it was clearly hopeless. His wife turned such huge and frightened eyes on his that he shrugged his shoulders in resignation.
“I will attend her,” Claudia said, and the two women left together.
Lividius turned to Marcus. “Well, we shall search the villa – though we may be too late. Whoever stole the child could be a mile away by now. The back entrance, through the farm, is not well guarded. And the child should not be out in the air, so Claudia says. Please Jove that nothing happens to it.” He shivered. “I should have made a bigger sacrifice at the temple before I left Glevum, but I was in haste. This is the hand of the gods, I feel it.” He looked wildly about him, and then dashed out to join in the search.
Marcus raised an eyebrow. “The hand of the gods, Libertus? You do not believe that.”
I did not believe it, but I do not speak lightly against the immortals. “The hands of the
gods, I think,” I said, carefully, “would write better grammar.”
Marcus nodded. “But it is strange, is it not? The child disappearing so completely. And then – the message – it almost seems . . . supernatural.”
“Yes,” I said. “The message. That is the strangest thing of all.”
“Because of how it appeared?”
“Because of what it said. Or didn’t say.” It was tempting to go on teasing Marcus, but he was looking perplexed – which never pleased him – so I went on. “One hundred denarii to whom? And where? Lividius says he does not know. How, then, is he supposed to pay? And why 100 denarii? It is a large sum, certainly – but not a fortune. Far less, for instance, than the cost of what that priest demanded as a ‘due and ample sacrifice’. Surely a child-thief could have asked far more.”
Marcus’s face cleared, “So you think . . . what? That Lividius knows more than he admits?”
“I think . . .” I began, choosing my words carefully. I did not know what I thought – beyond an uncomfortable feeling that all was not what it seemed – but I was spared the necessity of saying so by the reappearance of Lividius at the head of his contingent of slaves. They had searched, he reported, everywhere – the public rooms, the gardens, the outhouses – even the ornamental pool, and the farm-labour slaves were even now searching the farm – combing the haystacks, the stables, byres and stres. And a pair of riders had been sent to scour the paths and lanes around.
“Yet no one working in the fields behind the house or the gardens in front of it has seen anyone nearby, on horseback or on foot, since we arrived ourselves.” He shook his head. “This is an enchantment, witchcraft, Marcus. Some malice of the gods.” He was punching one fat fist with the other, in a kind of frenzied frustration.
“A strange enchantment,” I said, quietly, “that asks a ransom.”
He looked at me morosely. “What other explanation is there? The infant was here when we arrived, and now he is not here – and the gatekeeper swears that no one has gone in or out of the gate since we did.”
That stopped me. “No one?”
“No one.” He stared at me.
“That woman,” I said, “Sylvia! Why am I such a fool? She was about to leave the villa. And she had a basket with her – a big straw thing she slung upon her back. I saw her with it. Where is she now?”
A young slave girl stepped forward, her face ashen. “Citizen, there is no mystery in this. Sylvia is in the slave quarters as we speak. I saw her there when we were searching. She goes there always, when she has fed the child, to wash her breasts – by Claudia’s orders. There is always perfumed water set for her. Claudia is with her now.”
“And Monnia?”
“Resting, as I saw her,” a small page-boy said. “In Claudia’s quarters. Claudia urged that she should lie upon the bed, and there were . . . gentlemen” (he gestured, blushing, towards myself and Marcus) “in here.”
My patron looked at me. It was true, of course, we had usurped her bedroom. “Well, Libertus? What say you now?”
“I say that I would like to see this Sylvia – and quickly too.”
Lividius nodded, and the small maidservant led the way across the courtyard to the crowded barn where the slaves had their beds. It was divided into rough sections by coarse, ragged sacking curtains, sagging from the beams. From one of these makeshift cubicles there came the sound of hushed voices and of splashing water.
“So you will come tonight? As soon as can be? Lividius has given his consent . . .”
I might have stayed to hear more, but Lividius, who had followed me, with his retinue (the first time, doubtless, he had ventured into this area of his domain) strode past me and wrenched aside the curtain.
Sylvia was there, rinsing her swollen breasts in a copper pan – in which, as everyone could see, dried heads of lavender were floating. Her heavy basket was lying on the straw which formed the bed. She turned at our approach and snatched up her cloak around her.
“The basket!” Lividius roared, ignoring her nakedness. “What have you in the basket? Seize it, slaves! Libertus thinks the child is hidden there.” At his voice, as if to prove the point, a feeble whimper issued from the basket. “Great Jove!” Lividius said. “He was right.” He whirled on Sylvia, who cowered away from him. “You have stolen my son. I shall have you whipped. If there is any harm to him, I shall have you killed.”
Slyvia dropped to her knees, imploringly, but it was Claudia who broke the silence – with an unhappy laugh.
“There is a child, citizen. That is true. But – I much regret – it is not your son.”
Lividius frowned.
“No,” Claudia said, “No – citizen, hear me out, I beg of you. This is my fault. I befriended this poor woman. Her husband is dead, and she has a child – she needed work, and I recommended her here, as wet-nurse. This you know. But she could not leave the child unattended – and sometimes she could find no one to sit with it. I persuaded her that it was safe to bring it here There was no harm, citizen, and the woman is innocent. Blame me, if anyone.” She looked from Lividius to me, and there was a high spot of colour in her cheeks. A formidable woman, and an attractive one.
All eyes were on Lividius, but he was not susceptible to this kind of beauty. “You are telling me, woman, that this . . . creature . . . has been smuggling an infant in and out of my house for days? And then my son mysteriously disappears? You expect me to believe this nonsense?”
“Not smuggled, no citizen. Until today she has brought it openly when she must. But when you arrived so unexpectedly – she feared you would be angry at her presumption. I gave her something – to make it sleep. It is not wise with infants, but it was the best we could contrive. And then someone played this foolish trick – and see what a dreadful position it has put us in.”
I had not been expecting this, I confess. I said, “There is, I suppose, some way that you can prove this tale? Who has ever seen her with this child? Except yourself, of course?”
Claudia looked at the assembled slaves. “Why, many people, citizen. The gatekeeper for one, and other servants too.”
There was a little murmur of agreement – the maidservant who had shown us the way said shyly, “I have seen Sylvia’s child often, citizens. I asked to dandle the child one day, while Sylvia was feeding the boy – but Claudia bid me let it sleep lest it disturb the household.”
What the girl had said struck me forcibly. “So you have seen both of the infants together, at one time? You are quite sure of this?” If this were true, my suspicions were unfounded.
The child turned big, liquid eyes on me. “Quite certain, citizen. Sylvia was suckling one, and the other was lying in the basket. And I had seen Sylvia’s child before – when she came to the villa even before Monnia’s child was born. A small baby, it seemed, compared to Monnia’s when it came – though I saw him only an hour or two after he was born. And only yesterday . . .”
So another of my theories lay in ruins. I would have asked the girl more, but Lividius had lost patience with my enquiries. “Lies, lies, all lies!” he exclaimed. “The child in the basket must be mine, and this wretched woman hoped to wrest money from me for its safe return. Well, she shall have her reward – though not the kind she hoped for! Take her away – and take my son back to its mother.”
Claudia prevented him. “Citizen, believe me, this is not your child.”
“How can you prove that?” Lividius sneered. “As I have never seen the child?”
“No citizen, believe me . . .” Claudia moved to the basket and lifted back the covers as she spoke – “there is other proof, more pressing than my word.”
And then, of course, I saw. I looked at Claudia. “You mean . . .?”
She met my eyes. “Of course.” She lifted from the basket a small, whimpering child, and unwrapped its limbs and body from the bandages which wrapped it, so as to preserve its strength and encourage its limbs to grow straight. I am no expert on babies, but even I could see that th
is was nobody’s son.
I felt a little foolish. Everyone’s eyes were now on me – accusingly, as if I had brought them to this embarrassment. “Excuse an old man, Claudia,” I said. “I see that I was mistaken. Pray, wrap the girl-child up again. As you have already said, it is not fitting for an infant to be exposed to cold airs.”
“Then,” Marcus said, “We are no further forward. The child is missing, stolen by some person unknown – demanding money for his safe return. Strange, as Libertus said, that they left no instruction where to send the coins.”
Lividius seemed to feel the need for action. “Well, we will continue the search. And this women – Sylvia – can go: we will not need her services again.”
I saw Claudia stiffen. “But, Lividius,” she said urgently. “Don’t you see? Your child must be safe. If he were dead, he would be worthless to his captors, whoever they are. Perhaps they will try to contact you again. I’m sure they will and soon.” Her voice was urgent.
“It is that priest,” Marcus said. “I would lay money on it. Seeing another way to seize money for his temple.”
As if in answer to the blasphemy, the first few drops of rain began to fall on the courtyard. “An omen!” Lividius said. “For speaking ill of the temple.”
I looked at the rain, and at Claudia, at Sylvia, and at the child sleeping again in the basket. The temple! Of course! “I think, perhaps,” I said slowly, “that I understand.”
Claudia looked at me anxiously, then glanced away. That confirmed it. I was correct, I was sure.
“It seems that you were right, Lividius, all along” I said. “This omen cannot be an accident. This was some ordeal sent you from the gods – a test of your loyalty to them. That 100 denarii – it is clear to me now. It is to be an offering to the gods. You must take it to the temple, straightaway. Yourself, in person. Meanwhile, have sacrifices offered here at every household shrine. But you have read the legends – you must trust the gods! Make everything here ready for your son’s return. Do you not think so, Claudia?”