A Bitter Chill (6 page)

“My sister Albia is my housekeeper,” I said. “She’ll be pleased to show you our guest wing.”

“Of course.” Albia smiled at them. Albia is pretty, and her smile usually gets a favourable response, especially from male guests, but not from this toe-rag. The girl Margarita smiled back though, and murmured, “Thank you.”

“We’ve no overnight guests at present,” Albia continued, “so our seven guest-rooms are at your disposal, and there’ll be plenty of room for the servants in our slave quarters at the back.”

“And Margarita, tell them to make sure the bath-water is hot,” the disembodied voice called from the carriage. “You have got a bath-house suite here, haven’t you?”

“We have. And it’ll be hot, I promise.” Albia gestured for the Weasel and Margarita to follow, and took them round the outside of the building to the guest wing. The mansio is built around a big courtyard, like a hollow square. The bar-room is at the front, with two wings sticking out behind it—the guest wing on the right, and our private quarters to the left. The bath-house is at the back.

The door of the second carriage opened softly, and a slim young man with beautiful dark chestnut hair jumped down. Greek, from his appearance, and extremely handsome, with the sort of fine, regular features that sculptors like to model. He gave me a courteous nod, then walked over to her ladyship’s window. “How is his lordship now, my lady?” he asked, with just enough of a Greek accent to be attractive. “Shall I make up some more of his medicine?” Ah, so he was a doctor.

“He’s resting, Timaeus,” the gruff voice said. “Best thing for him. We’ll get him into a warm bed as soon as we can. Yes, you may as well go inside and get some of his mixture ready.”

The doctor turned enquiringly to me, and I beckoned one of the maids and told her to show him through to the kitchen. I could guess how Cook would react to a stranger trespassing on his territory, and hoped that “getting the mixture ready” didn’t involve anything more complicated than warming up a pan. But customers have to be humoured, especially rich ones, and this customer had made up her mind to stay at least for tonight, by the sound of it. But she wasn’t leaving her vehicle till her minions had gone through the motions of checking the rooms, so to get a look at her I strolled over to the carriage. I tried to peer in through the half-drawn curtain, but the interior was dark, and I saw her only as an indistinct figure wearing a red travelling cloak with a bulky fur collar and hood. As she noticed me at the window, she leaned closer, and I got an impression of a nose like a beak and sharp bird-like brown eyes. Next to her was another well-wrapped figure, his lordship presumably, lolling back against the cushions. All I could make out was a very pale face, with some wisps of grey hair showing under the edges of his hood. I caught the sound of his heavy breathing.

“May I bring you some warm wine, my lady?” I said into the semi-dark. “You and his lordship? It’s chilly weather for travelling.”

“That’s the first sensible thing anybody’s said to me since we got here. Yes, I will take a drop. And make sure it’s really hot. Nothing for his lordship, though. I’m afraid he’s far from well. The quicker we get him into bed, the better.”

“I can speak for myself, Sempronia,” came an old man’s growl from the depths of the carriage. “I’ll have some wine too. It will help to warm me up.”

“Now, you know what Timaeus says…” his wife began, but he made a disparaging remark about the medical profession, and she subsided. I hid a smile as I went into the bar and fetched some hot spiced red wine. I handed two beakers through the carriage window, and there was a muttered exchange from within, followed by satisfied slurping noises. Soon the lady passed back the empty mugs. “That’s better. What did you say your name is?”

“Aurelia Marcella. I’m the innkeeper of the Oak Tree Mansio. My brother and I….”

“Yes, yes, I got all that. I’ve got no memory for names these days, that’s all. My secretary tends to fuss sometimes, and he’s so conventional.
I’ve
no objection to a woman in charge of a mansio, provided she does a good job.”

“Thank you.”

“However, I won’t stand for any nonsense from innkeepers, male or female. I hope you understand me?”

“Of course, yes.”

The door of the second carriage opened again, and I saw that its driver had placed steps ready. Three people got out: a sandy-haired man of about thirty in a well-made cloak, an old grey-haired servant, and a small fair page-boy, only five or six years old. He was a striking-looking child, with fine features, huge blue eyes, and dark gold curls.

The third carriage opened too, but nobody bothered with steps. Six slaves piled out, four lads and two girls, dressed in matching blue cloaks. All the travellers stretched and shuffled, gazing round rather nervously, and pulling their cloaks tighter against the wind. Nobody said anything except the page-boy, who went to pet one of the bodyguards’ horses, talking to it gently.

“Have you come far today, my lady?” I make no apology for always asking the same question, because it never fails.

“About eighteen miles, I think. Far enough, in this weather. We seem to have been travelling through this benighted back country for months! We left Londinium ten days ago, and mostly we’ve stayed in friends’ villas along the way. We spent last night on the coast, where an acquaintance of ours has an estate—of course he wasn’t there himself, and I don’t blame him. They did their best, but you can’t expect much in the way of civilisation this far north. I thank the gods we’ve got here at last.”

I didn’t feel like joining her in grateful prayers to the Immortals. That last sentence made it sound as if she’d be staying with us more than just the one night. Were we going to be stuck with her for the whole of the holiday? I asked, “Did I hear you say your nephew recommended you to stay here?”

“He didn’t precisely recommend, he said it was in the most suitable location for the business we have in hand.”

“Has he been a guest of ours?”

“Dear gods, no, he’s used to better than this.”

Well, naturally! But I supposed he deserved some compensations for having such a dreadful aunt. Come to that, why wasn’t
she
staying with friends or family tonight, instead of at a mansio? Maybe she wasn’t welcome among her nearest and dearest? “It was kind of him to think of us. Is your nephew coming to join you here?”

“No, he’s far too busy. Paperwork a mile high, court cases to try, petitions to deal with—not to mention all the preparations for next year’s military campaigning. He has to spend most of his time in Londinium nowadays, but mind you, he makes sure he’s in touch with everything that’s happening all over the province.”

So he must be quite an important nephew, or maybe his fond auntie just thinks he is. “He’s in Government service, then?” I asked.

“You could say that,” she declared triumphantly. “His name is Metilius Nepos.”

“The Governor!” Holy Diana, she was saying her nephew was the Governor of Britannia, the most powerful man in the entire province!

She gave a quiet, rasping chuckle. “Yes. I’m his father’s sister, Sempronia Metilia.”

“We’re honoured to have you here.” I actually meant it. Although she would be a colossal pain in the backside, she was genuinely as important as she made herself out to be. If we managed to keep her happy, we’d definitely be going up in the world. But, gods alive, if we didn’t…. My foreboding of trouble grew. If she wasn’t satisfied with every last detail of our service, she could get the Oak Tree closed down, or maybe she’d just have us thrown out and hand the mansio over to somebody else.

The weaselly slave emerged through the bar-room door, followed by Albia and the fair-haired girl. He strode round to the open carriage window and announced, “I’ve looked over everything, my lady. It’ll do for two or three nights.”

“I sincerely hope we shan’t need longer,” Sempronia answered.

So do I, I thought, but however long she stays, we’ll keep her sweet somehow. We must. The alternative, a bad report carried back to the Governor of Britannia, didn’t bear thinking about.

C
HAPTER
IV

Sempronia slowly descended from her carriage, helped by her secretary, who hovered close to her. She pushed back her hood and stood gazing around like a general assessing a battlefield. I tried to estimate her age, fifty-five at least, maybe sixty. She was thin and pale, with wrinkles and white hair, but her beady eyes missed nothing.

I noticed Margarita had gone to stand beside the sandy-haired man, and there was a fleeting look between them, a quick smile. The weaselly secretary saw it too, and his face took on an unpleasant gloating expression, then his deferential mask slid back.

Sempronia turned to me. “This is my son, Aulus Plautius Priscus.” She indicated Sandy-hair, who gave a supercilious nod. I couldn’t decide whether he was haughty, or simply shy. “Margarita is my maid and companion.” The girl smiled at me, and I reflected that it comes to something when slaves have better manners than their owners. “You’ve met Diogenes—” she nodded towards the Weasel—“my confidential secretary.” No smile there, and no manners either, but I already knew that. “The Lord Gnaeus Plautius, my husband, will go straight to his bed. I’m afraid he’s very unwell, and will keep to his room, but our physician, Timaeus, will look after him. Oh, and the child there is Margarita’s son Gaius.” The page-boy stopped stroking the horse, and looked round at mention of his name. “Keep an eye on him, and let us know if he gets into mischief. I won’t tolerate unruly children.” She glared at the boy. “Do you hear me, Gaius? You’re to behave yourself, or I’ll be angry. And you know what will happen if you make me angry.”

“Yes, my lady,” the boy answered, lowering his eyes.

“And Horatius.” Sempronia looked round. “Where’s Horatius got to?”

Priscus gestured towards the second carriage. “He’s sound asleep inside. I don’t know how he does it. I’m freezing cold, and all my bones ache from bouncing around on the road, and
he’s
been snoring away most of the journey.” He banged with his fist on the carriage’s side. “Horatius! Wake up, or you’ll be spending the night with the horses!”

“All right, all right, I’m coming!” A large florid man of about fifty came slowly out, rubbing his eyes and yawning. “No need to shout. Have we arrived? Jupiter, it’s cold! I need a drink.”

“Ah, there you are at last. Horatius is my husband’s cousin,” Sempronia explained for my benefit. “Also our lawyer.”

One look at his veined red face was enough to show how he’d contrived to sleep so soundly: with the aid of Bacchus, no doubt of it. And the wine he’d drunk hadn’t improved his temper. “I don’t know what I’ve done to offend the gods,” he grumbled, “that they give me clients who insist on trundling halfway round the Empire in raging blizzards, and because the clients are also my relatives, I can’t escape being dragged along with them.”

“Oh do stop whining, Horatius,” Sempronia exclaimed. “If I can endure it, and my poor Plautius in his state of health can endure it, then
you’ll
surely manage to survive.”

“I wouldn’t bank on it,” he growled. “This whole expedition is a complete waste of time, as I’ve said before, and if you ask me….”

“I am
not
asking you. I am simply requiring you to help me by doing the work I need you to do. You know why we’ve come here. If there were any other way to find my son, do you think I’d be trailing round this appalling countryside to look for him?”

“I expect so, yes, just to spite us all.” He glowered at her. “Oh well, at least we’re at journey’s end now. I’m going to get a drink. I assume you’re not planning on doing any work today, Sempronia?”

“Then you assume wrongly, Horatius. I shall have a hot bath, and yes, probably a little refreshment, and you can do the same if you like. After all it must be at least two hours since you had anything to drink.” He opened his mouth to answer, but she waved him silent. “Then I shall start our enquiries. Be ready for a meeting in about an hour. Now that we’re here, I want to make good use of the time. The quicker we start, the quicker we can finish, and get home to civilisation.”

“I agree with you there, at least.” Horatius headed for the bar-room, adding in a loud stage whisper, “Rush, rush, always rush! We’ll all be dead before our time at this rate. Or one of us will,” he added, but the last bit was a real whisper.

“Now don’t stand there day-dreaming, the rest of you,” Sempronia boomed. “Diogenes, get the luggage unloaded. Aulus dear, make sure the boy doesn’t go wandering off. Nestor,” she nodded towards her carriage driver, “make sure the animals are all properly cared for, and get the carriages cleaned up. We’ll need them first thing in the morning. Hector,” she indicated the leading bodyguard, “make sure the accommodation for the slaves is adequate. Margarita, you come with me, and we’ll investigate the bath-house. And you, Aurelia Marcella,” she rounded suddenly on me, “you’ll oblige me by joining me in my room in about one hour.”

Gods, what now? “Of course, if I can help.”

“I need someone with local knowledge. We have business in this district, and you’ll be able to give us directions, I daresay. I’ll send for you when I’ve had my bath. Kindly be ready.”

Sempronia took the largest guest-room, and adopted a smaller one adjoining it as a sitting-room. Her husband chose the next biggest, which adjoined the sitting-room on the other side. Timaeus helped him to bed, making it clear his master needed rest and quiet and no interference from strangers. Priscus, Horatius, Diogenes, and Margarita and Gaius took the other rooms. Timaeus said he would sleep on a couch in the sitting-room, so he could be near his patient. There was plenty of space in the slave block for the other servants.

But even getting the sick man settled caused a squabble. Horatius wanted that second-best room for himself, and so did Priscus. They both complained to me loudly in the corridor outside that his lordship could have managed with a smaller bedroom. I was wondering whether to fetch Sempronia to arbitrate, when we all heard the old man say, “Sempronia, tell them I’m taking this room, and there’s an end of it.” He didn’t raise his voice, but they stopped protesting at once.