A Bitter Chill (19 page)

“I think it’s a brilliant idea, if you’re sure you can cope with them all. There are nearly twenty altogether, counting slaves. Won’t your sister mind having to entertain so many people at short notice?”

“Clarilla will love it. She was saying only yesterday how she wished we had a house-party to help us celebrate Saturnalia. But I do realise that a group of that size represents—ah—a useful amount of income for the mansio at this slack time of year. So you’re sure you won’t be put out if I offer them hospitality?”

“Put out!” I laughed aloud. “Clarus, if you can take them off our hands and show them the delights of Oak Bridges, I’ll write a paean of praise in your honour and sing it on the basilica steps every time there’s a council meeting.”

He looked shocked, and then relaxed. “Aurelia, my dear, you are
very
naughty sometimes,” he chided gently. “And as long as you’re agreeable, there’s nothing I should like better than to welcome Plautius and Sempronia to my humble abode.” Smiling, he got to his feet. “Excellent! I’ll go and see them now.”

I don’t know what he said, or how gracious or otherwise Sempronia was, but within half an hour Silvanius was back in my study to tell me the visitors had agreed to do him the honour of moving to his villa the following day. I insisted on celebrating by pouring us each a large beaker of our best Gaulish red, the wine I keep strictly for special occasions.

“They’ll leave after breakfast,” he told me. “Unless the weather is too bad, of course.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure they get to you, if I personally have to clear snowdrifts off every yard of road from here to your villa.” I raised my mug to him. “Here’s to you, Clarus—thank you, with all my heart. You’ve no idea what a relief this is to us.”

“It’s I who should be thanking you. It’s a wonderful chance for me to get to know one of the most powerful families in Londinium. Not just because of Sempronia’s ties with the Governor, important as those are. Plautius owns a great deal of land in the south, and has estates in Gaul not far from my own.” He rubbed his hands together, a picture of satisfaction. “And because of Saturnalia, they say they’ll stay with me for several days, so that they don’t have to travel home over the festival. They’ll be here for my Saturnalia banquet. You and Albia are coming, aren’t you? And Lucius?”

I remembered to be cautious. “I’m not sure whether Lucius will be coming home after all. He may be delayed for a while. But Albia and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” That was putting it mildly. Clarus’ banquets were always superb, thanks to his having plenty of money and a brilliant Italian chef. Then I had a sour thought. “Won’t it be a little awkward though, with your new visitors staying? They won’t want to see Albia or me there, will they? So be honest, Clarus, and I shan’t be offended. Would you prefer it if we made a diplomatic excuse not to come?”

“Certainly not! On the contrary, I insist you both attend, and Candidus too. I think he’s a delightful young man. I’ve always liked him, even though I had no idea he came from such a distinguished family. He and Albia seem very well suited.”

“You said all that to Lady Sempronia, of course?”

“Perhaps not in so many words. She’s a little—ah—”

“Yes, isn’t she?”

“But I spoke at some length to Lord Plautius. I saw him in his room, which meant we could talk alone. He informed me he won’t return to Londinium until he’s been able to speak to his son once more, before deciding what to do about the matter of his will. And you’ve undertaken to bring his son to him?”

“I’m sure we can track him down. In time for your banquet, if not before.”

“Excellent.”

“I almost forgot to ask. Did you convince Plautius that Albia and I are innocent of the murders?”

Clarus nodded. “The public version is that the real culprit has confessed and committed suicide. And although that is not true, Plautius realises you two are not the guilty ones. In fact I don’t think he ever seriously considered that you were.
I
certainly didn’t. Even if you might be
capable
of murder, you would have assassinated the right man, and not allowed yourselves to be caught at the scene of the crime afterwards.”

“What a reputation we must have!” I poured us both more wine.

“I’ve reassured Plautius that I can keep him well guarded at my villa. He’s easier to protect there than in a mansio. But it’s a little worrying, nevertheless.” He gazed at me pensively. “Have you any idea who could be trying to kill him? Or why?”

“Not yet, but Albia and I are working on it.”

“You realise there could be danger in this, my dear? For Plautius, though as I say, I can guard him well at my humble abode. And possibly for you, when the killer becomes aware that you have not been convinced by the apparent suicide, and are still investigating it.”

“I know. That’s one reason why I’m so grateful to you for offering hospitality to Plautius and Sempronia. The killer will be staying with you, not here at the Oak Tree.”

“Indeed. It must be someone in their party—the most likely culprit, to my mind, is a disgruntled servant bearing some kind of grudge.” He took a sip of wine. “Lord Plautius is a remarkable man, to be sure. He seems quite unshaken by the attempt on his life. And now,” he rose to his feet, “I must hasten home. Clarilla will need as much notice as possible to prepare for our guests.”

“And we’re off to the market at Oak Bridges.” I opened the door for him. “We may see your sister there perhaps?”

“Probably, yes.” He looked at me a little anxiously. “But you will be able to spare time to locate Candidus, won’t you?”

Despite all his enthusiasm for entertaining the Governor’s relatives, Clarus knew it wouldn’t be easy. “Don’t worry, we’ll find him. He’ll be at your banquet. It’s the least we can do, after all the help you’ve given us.”

He held out his hand. “My dear, you are most welcome. We shall meet again in two days.”

C
HAPTER
XIV

There’s nothing to beat a good market, especially just before a holiday, and Albia and I set off as soon as we could after Clarus left.

To our surprise, Priscus announced he would like to come with us, bringing Margarita and, best of all, little Gaius. “He says he’ll come if your horse-boy Victor will come too.” Priscus gave me his shy smile. “Could that be arranged, do you think? They seem to have struck up quite a friendship.”

So Albia and I rode in our medium-sized raeda, with Titch as driver, and Priscus ordered his mother’s largest carriage for himself, Margarita, and Gaius. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who was relieved to be told that Lady Sempronia didn’t care for markets and was staying in the mansio, “where at least I can keep tolerably warm.” Even better, Diogenes was remaining behind with her.

By the time we set off the sun had come out, the sky was clear, and the ride into town was a real pleasure. I say “town” from habit, but Oak Bridges is really just an overgrown village. It’s less than a mile from us, with good roads all the way, first through woods and then passing between fields and small farms. There was still snow on the highway, but there’d been enough traffic heading for the market to trample it down and make the going easy for the horses.

As usual, the market was in the forum, which is what everyone grandly calls the big open space in the middle of town. We parked the two carriages on one of the side roads nearby and walked the few yards to the centre. Nestor, Sempronia’s driver, stayed to look after both vehicles, so Titch could come with us.

The market was busy and cheerful, with plenty of stalls, and crowds of people doing their eve-of-holiday shopping. The snow and slush had practically gone from the paving-stones, but the shops and the big basilica still had white on their roofs. Most of the stalls were bright with sprigs of greenery, and loaded with produce of all kinds. I felt happy, ready to forget my worries for the next couple of hours. We were getting rid of our troublesome guests, and we were about to enjoy Saturnalia.

We began to spot friends among the shoppers and the stallholders, and waved back as people greeted us. “Let’s separate while we do our shopping,” I suggested, “and meet at the Golden Fleece tavern—just behind that vegetable stall, see? It’s the best place for food. Albia and I will be there in about an hour. Now Victor, keep Gaius with you, and make sure you stay in sight of Margarita or us.”

The lad nodded solemnly. He took Gaius’ hand, and said quietly, “Now you stay with me, and I promise nowt bad will happen. No running off, mind. If you’re good, we’ll get summat tasty to eat.” The two of them set off ahead of us, Gaius looking and pointing everywhere and asking innumerable questions, Titch clearly enjoying his role of elder brother. Margarita and Priscus strolled off a few paces behind the boys, holding hands and chatting happily. Albia and I began to make a circuit of the stalls, checking which traders were here, and comparing prices.

Albia consulted a wax note-tablet. “Cheese, cow’s and sheep’s. Lagus usually has a good stock.”

“And plenty of dates and figs,” I said. “Raisins too. The guests have gone through most of the treats we bought for dessert over Saturnalia. I was hoping Philippus would be here. He always has good imported fruit, even at this time of year. But I don’t see him.”

“Oh, he’s here, but he’s moved up in the world. There he is, look, right in the middle. His stall’s twice as big as usual, and if he loads those trestles any heavier, they’ll collapse!”

We spent an enjoyable hour and managed to buy all the provisions we needed, except for sheep’s cheese, which wasn’t to be had anywhere, so we made do with two different types of cow’s cheese instead. By the time we lugged our shopping-baskets to the tavern it was full and busy, crowded with laughing, noisy customers. But in a far corner Priscus and Margarita had managed to save us a small table and some stools. We pushed our way through and thankfully sat down, just as Titch and Gaius appeared, grinning broadly and chattering away like monkeys.

Margarita leaned over and said softly in my ear, “It’s wonderful to see Gaius so happy. Victor has made a terrific difference to him. I must find a way to thank him.”

“I’m glad. He told me Gaius reminds him of his little brother, who died of a fever.”

“I’ve been trying to order some food,” Priscus grumbled. “But they seem incredibly busy, and I can’t attract anyone’s attention. I think we must be invisible!”

I looked round for Afrania, the owner’s wife, and signalled to her to bring us wine and cakes. She’s a good friend of ours, so the refreshments didn’t take long to arrive. The wine was nothing special, though welcome because it was warm, but the cakes were something new: they were shaped like little animals, horses and pigs and cats and ducks, with raisins for eyes and slivers of almond for mouths. Everyone had some, but of course it was the boys who ate most of them. We all thought they were delicious, and I suggested we buy a basket of them to take home. They’d make excellent small Saturnalia treats for the younger slaves.

Albia had a better idea. “Let’s just take a few samples back with us and ask Cook to make a big batch. I’m sure he can, and if I handle it right, he’ll think it’s his own idea.”

Yes, I thought, Albia always has the right touch with Cook. How am I going to manage when she’s not there to get the best out of him?

As we ate, Margarita looked round the tavern appraisingly. “This is a nice place, but they could do with more barmaids. Their girls are struggling to keep up with all the orders. They’ll be losing trade if they’re not careful. They’re not the only tavern in the forum—I noticed a couple of others quite close by.”

I glanced at her in surprise, and she gave me an embarrassed smile. “Sorry, force of habit. I used to work in a tavern in Londinium. Until—until Priscus found me.”

Priscus smiled at her and poured her more wine, then belatedly remembered to serve the rest of us as well.

“I’d never have guessed you worked in a bar, Margarita. You don’t look like….” Oh, me and my big mouth! Telling someone they don’t look like a tavern slave is hardly the most effusive compliment, even if it’s true.

She wasn’t offended. “Thanks. But then you don’t look like an innkeeper.”

“Fair comment! Just as well for both of us, isn’t it?” Innkeepers are supposed to be raddled old hags, and tavern girls brassy young tarts. “And you’re right about this place being under-staffed, but they’re only ever this busy when there’s a market. The other twenty-odd days in every month, it’s a lot quieter in here.”

“Oak Bridges seems a pleasant little village,” she said, a touch wistfully. “Londinium is so big and noisy. It’s exciting of course, always something going on day or night. But when I see a small place like this, I know that deep down I’d prefer to be in the country.”

Priscus touched her hand. “One day we’ll have a house somewhere like this, if it’s what you want.”

“Perhaps. One day.” She turned to Gaius. “Now, let’s hear what you two lads have been up to. Have you seen anything interesting?”

Gaius told us eagerly about the stalls, the juggler, the flute-player, and the live birds and animals for sale, including a big tank full of fish. I suppose if you’ve always regarded markets as the stuff of nightmare and never even visited one before, the colour and excitement of the pre-Saturnalia shopping must be a marvellous surprise. Margarita and Priscus asked him all sorts of questions, delighted to find he had enjoyed himself so much. Titch sat back and let him rattle on, like a benign brother who’s much too old and wise to be impressed by a mere collection of stalls.

It was a happy, relaxed meal, enjoyed by all of us. But eventually Gaius had run out of chatter and breath, and he and Titch had demolished a whole farmyard of animal cakes.

“We’d better get you home before you burst,” Margarita said. “And I expect her ladyship will have found a whole pile of jobs for me to do. Aurelia, Albia, have you finished your shopping now? Shall we wait for you, or go on ahead?”

“You go on ahead,” Albia answered. “I’ve just a couple more things to buy. We shan’t be far behind you.”