A Coin for the Ferryman (14 page)

I went back to watching my gyrating nymph, who had now retreated by a foot or two, and found I was quite sorry when the music stopped and the performance came to a memorable end with a tableau that was stunning in its suggestiveness. Marcus was the first to lead the clapping and my son and I joined in – though Junio was too breathless even to shout ‘
Macte!
’

Lucius, too, was sufficiently condescending to applaud and he watched the dancers all the way as they shimmered and shimmied through the door. Perhaps he had enjoyed it more than he allowed. Marcus seemed to think so.

‘There, cousin,’ he said, with a triumphant smile. ‘Hispanic dancing girls, Britannia style. Not naked, as you will observe, but sometimes what’s half hidden is more exciting than a nude. And these are the best available, is that not so, madam?’

The flautist manager, who was collecting up the scarves her troupe had strewn about, gave him a mirthless smile. ‘I hope so, Excellence. We set our standards high. Turn down twenty girls for every one we take. They aren’t all genuinely from Iberia, of course, but the best ones are, because they teach them young. You can’t learn to dance like that when all your bones are set.’ She waited, politely, to see if Marcus spoke, and when he didn’t she went on, ‘And now, if you’ve finished with me, Excellence, I must round up the girls.’

She disappeared, like an outsize female sheepdog, and we heard her yapping in the courtyard as she herded up her flock.

It was late now, and time for us male diners to retire as well. Our wives would be sleepily awaiting us, huddling over braziers in a room nearby, and my little party had a longish walk before we found our beds. We got to our feet – some of us a little more unsteadily than others – and slaves emerged smoothly from the shadows by the wall to remove our lopsided banquet wreaths and escort us from the room.

Marcus and Lucius led the way, of course. I was the last to leave, and already slaves were brushing the floor and scraping the portions of uneaten food all together on to one big dish, to set on the altar of the household gods. I grinned. They must be hoping that the divinities had no appetite tonight, so that in the morning they could have a feast themselves.

I turned and followed Junio out to look for Cilla and my waiting wife.

When I got out into the atrium, it was to find Marcus and his cousin alone – apart from the usual attendant slaves, of course. The ladies were nowhere to be seen. Lucius was loudly complaining of the cold, despite the glow of a cheerful brazier which had been lit while we were lying down to dine.

‘The climate in this province is so unpleasant, cousin, that I don’t know how you have survived it for so long.’ He looked disparagingly round the handsome room, with its fine mosaic of aquatic scenes. ‘No wonder that your atrium is roofed, and you have opted for a pavement picture instead of a real pool. If the room was on the Roman pattern you would die of chill.’ He blew theatrically on hands. ‘Indeed, with your permission, citizens, I think I shall retire to my sleeping room.’

Marcus wore a smile which did not reach his eyes. ‘I believe you will find it a little warmer there. You seem to have been comfortable in it up to now. Of course, you have the bedchamber which used to be my own, and like the dining room it has a hypercaust.’

‘Of course,’ Lucius acknowledged, although he contrived to sound as if such luxuries as underfloor heating were commonplace. ‘My own slave will attend me; I need not trouble yours. If you will simply send me another jug of wine, and perhaps some oil for my lamp? I like to keep one burning – the mornings in this province are so overcast, and the nights so damnably dreary. So, I will say goodnight. My apologies to the ladies, naturally.’ He bowed distantly, and turned to where his slave was waiting with a taper to light him to his room.

Marcus watched him go. He said nothing, but from the way he tapped his hand against his thigh I knew that my patron was seething inwardly. I heard him mutter, ‘Insufferable man! They should have named him Odius, not Lucius, at his
bulla
ceremony.’

‘Excellence?’ I gave him an uncomfortable glance. There were servants in the room, and though Marcus’s household was commendably faithful on the whole, it was always possible that Lucius’s purse had bought a pair of spying eyes and ears.

Marcus seemed to realise what I was hinting at. He frowned. ‘I’m worried about him. I’m sure he has already written to my mother about this wretched corpse – he sent a messenger post-haste this afternoon, so half of Rome will know about it by the time we arrive. If we are not careful we shall be thought
nefastus
’ – he meant unlucky, if not downright out of favour with the gods – ‘and certainly inauspicious to do business with. That would work against me in all my dealings there, and it’s just the sort of thing that would please Lucius very much: I’d have to throw myself upon his patronage and make him look important by comparison. Cost me a fortune in propitiatory sacrifice as well. I might have to do that in any case, I fear. You haven’t made any progress with the mystery, Libertus, I suppose?’

It was the first time he had mentioned the matter since we’d arrived to feast, and he said it casually enough, but I could see by his face that he had thought of little else.

I shook my head. ‘Unfortunately not. I have made a few enquiries but I’ve not got very far. I promised Aulus I would tell you that he tried to help.’

Marcus raised his eyebrows. ‘Let me know if he tells you anything of use. You can try again tomorrow. I am counting on your help.’ He sighed. ‘And, for Pluto’s sake, don’t mention to Julia what I told you about Rome. She is unwilling enough to go there as it is.’

‘Where are the ladies, anyway?’ I said, attempting to lighten the moment with a smile.

Marcus looked towards Niveus who was standing by the wall.

‘They have gone with my mistress to the other wing. I believe they were going to look in at Marcellinus while he slept,’ the page said earnestly. ‘Should I go and fetch them?’

Marcus looked a little disapproving. He and Julia were unfashionably besotted with their son, but cooing over children was not the Roman way.

‘Doubtless Gwellia suggested it,’ I said. ‘And Cilla of course was an attendant in this house when the child was very young.’ I turned to Niveus. ‘But it is long past dark and the night is getting cold – outside this warm villa at any rate – and we should make our preparations to depart at once.’

‘When you have spoken to the ladies,’ Marcus murmured to his page, ‘you can go and fetch Minimus and Maximus as well.’

I smiled as Niveus scuttled from the room. I had almost forgotten that the boys were lent to me, and would be waiting in the servants’ room to escort us home. I was just wondering whether I should ask for torches – bundles of small branches dipped in pitch and set alight – so that the slaves could light us on our way, when Marcus said, ‘The cart is standing by to take the dancing girls back to Glevum. Why don’t you ride with them? They will almost pass your door.’

‘Tonight?’ I muttered stupidly. Of course, with Marcus’s warrant the cart could use the military road, which was so well made that it was possible to travel quickly, even in the dark. In fact, with the prohibition on wheeled traffic in the town by day, there was often quite a queue of carts and wagons lining up at dusk – a mass of groaning wheels and shouted oaths, as red-faced men with torches jostled to get in through the gates.

Marcus was amused. ‘I did offer them accommodation here tonight, but the chaperon refused. Said it would be too crowded in our extra sleeping room, and they are moving on to Isca tomorrow anyway – the commander there has heard of them and wants them for a feast. Supposing Lucius hasn’t commandeered them for the Emperor, that is. But of course he pretends that he’s not interested in them, because they have much more exciting dancing girls in Rome. Though—’ He broke off as the door opened and our wives came in.

They were attended by Atalanta, the plain maidservant I’d spoken to earlier. She gave me a special, knowing smile, as if there was some understanding between the two of us, and then stood back against the wall where Niveus had been. Cilla shuffled in behind them, a little nervously.

‘I am sorry that we delayed you, citizens.’ Julia was as charming as always as she addressed me with a smile. ‘We have been talking about children, now that Gwellia officially has a son as well. The gods go with you on your journey home, especially Junio and Cilla on their first night not as slaves. Has Marcus suggested that you use the cart?’

I hesitated. ‘You are thoughtful, lady, but it would be a squeeze – I saw the number of people who got out of it before, and my wife and family are in their finest clothes.’

Gwellia had no such qualms. ‘A ride home in the cart? That would be wonderful. I don’t like walking along the lane at night, even attended by servants. There are too many robbers and brigands on the roads. And after they found that poor creature in the ditch, not thirty paces from the roundhouse door . . .’ She shuddered. ‘What does a little crumpling matter, in comparison to that?’

Julia smiled. ‘Then it is quite agreed. Maximus and Minimus can carry extra torches to light the way. It will help the driver on the unpaved road. Ah, here they come, I think.’

But it was not my servants who burst in as she spoke. It was Niveus – and he was looking a little pink-faced and dismayed. ‘Your pardon, Excellence. The lady who leads the dancing troupe . . .’ He paused, and glanced at me. ‘She seemed to think that she had not been paid enough.’

‘Tell her that she is to put her people on the cart, but make sure that they leave a decent space for this citizen and his family – for the first part of the journey, anyway. As for the other matter, I will see to that, as soon as the cart has come round to the front.’

‘As you command.’ Niveus looked unwilling to face the dancing mistress with this news but he disappeared into the court again. Gwellia and our little party made our last farewells, and when the red-haired slaves appeared – with torches at the ready – we said goodnight and Atalanta took us to the gate.

The smell of onions and bad breath told me that Aulus was on duty still. He came out, all solicitousness, to usher Cilla and my wife into the shelter of his cell ‘while they are waiting for the cart’, he told me with a smile.

Aulus’s smile was even less attractive than his scowl, and I noticed that while ushering Cilla into his nasty little niche he found it necessary to touch her several times, although she was smart enough to move away from him. However, it was not very long before we heard the cart, and saw the flaring torches which the driver had set in the metal holders on either side of him. There would be a bucket of glowing embers somewhere in the cart, with a pierced lid, from which he could light another pitch-dipped torch when and if the present ones went out. I only hoped I wasn’t going to have to sit too close to that bucket on my journey home. Warmth is a pleasure, but – even set inside a larger pot – an unstable brazier on a moving cart is not particularly comforting.

I need not have worried. There was room for us – the dwarves and the acrobats had presumably accepted the offer of a servant’s mattress for the night – and the girls were huddled together, giggling, at the far end of the cart, under the stern eye of their chaperon and the skinny musician-conjuror who seemed to be her husband. They had somehow managed to herd the girls so that we had room enough to stand, and by holding on to the framework of the cart we could keep our balance as it lurched away, though I found myself jammed uncomfortably face to face with the dancing woman.

She glared at me, her face ghastly in the light of the torches. Maximus and Minimus were trotting at the wheels, so I was able to make out her expression.

I countered with a smile. ‘You must be very proud of your performers,’ I remarked, though the words came out in little jerks in rhythm with the cart. She made no reply, but we were forced into uneasy intimacy by our position, and I tried again. ‘It is quite an honour to be chosen by His Excellence.’

That stung her into speech. ‘Honour! I suppose so. Just as well. Two rotten
denarii
– that’s all he’s paid tonight. And I was fool enough to fall for it – all on the promise that we might get invited to serve the Emperor. But one look at that patrician and you could tell it was no use, and of course by then it was too late to ask a higher fee. So our clever magistrate gets a bargain at his feast. I wouldn’t have been much worse off if I’d agreed to pay the bribe! Two
denarii
– I ask you! For girls who dance like that.’ She spat contemptuously. ‘It doesn’t even pay me for recruiting them.’

‘They do dance very . . . well,’ I said. I had been about to say something else, but I remembered that my wife could overhear. ‘Girls who move like that must be difficult to find.’

‘You would not believe the trouble I have.’ Her tongue was loosened now. ‘Not in finding candidates – there are always willing girls. We’ve had three people want to join us since we’ve been staying here. But they’re so rarely suitable. One looked very likely, a nice-looking girl. Nicely spoken, too: it was obvious she’d been properly brought up. I asked her to pick up her
stola
so I could see her legs, and she was horrified. I could have asked a hefty fee for her, but the next day her father came and found her and took her home again. Turned out she didn’t like his second wife and simply wanted to get away from home. Just as well we didn’t try to use her in the show. Caused enough trouble as it was – he behaved as if we’d taken on a slave that ran away.’

‘Does that happen often? Fugitives, I mean?’

She shook her head. ‘More often girls who think it’s glamorous – simply want to do something different with their lives. Of course, it isn’t glamorous at all. The training’s very arduous, and they get too old for it and there’s little chance of marrying afterwards.’ She smiled. ‘We do get one or two who get an offer, though, when we put on a show for someone rich – not as wives, of course, but as concubines and slaves – and I usually won’t stand in their way, although of course I expect a recompense. What I can’t put up with are the ones who get themselves with child, spoil the troupe, waste all those training hours, and not even a financial reward to show for it. Unfortunately there’s always someone who is fool enough to fall for that.’