A Roman Ransom Read online

  He gave the door-keeper a bad-tempered scowl, deepening the creases in his face. He shrugged. ‘Don’t ask me. I just do as I’m told. First I have to take the ox cart out and use the beasts to move a pile of logs that some confounded idiot contrived to leave right in the middle of the lane outside – well, I don’t mind that so much, it’s what the beasts are for – but then I have to bring this wretched litter in, as though I were a blooming carriage-driver if you please. And not even on the proper cart track either, but bumping all the back way through the fields. That’s the doctor’s orders – and he has to be obeyed. You know what Master has been like the last few days: anything the medicus decides is to be done at once, if not a little sooner. And all this while there were proper litter-bearers standing by. Don’t ask me why, ’cause I don’t know myself. I don’t even know who’s in the blessed thing.’

  So my surmise was right. It was Philades who’d ordered him to take that most unlikely route. Yet only hours ago the doctor had been arguing against my travelling. Had he sent me along this rutted track, used only by the ox cart and the land slaves for their work, in the hope that, in my weakened state, it would be too much for me? Well, I was not submitting to any more of this. It was time to make my presence felt.

  ‘Don’t worry, gate-keeper,’ I said. I tried to sound as stern as possible, but instead of sounding masterful, my voice came out as a sort of feeble bleat. ‘I am a client of His Excellence. You’ve let me in before. I think you’ll find that he’s expecting me and has a room prepared. And this child in my arms is my patron’s missing heir. I assure you that your master will be best pleased with you if you permit me to take his son inside as soon as possible and get him warm and washed.’

  ‘Great Minerva!’ The gate-keeper came close and stared at me. ‘I know that voice. It is the pavement-maker, isn’t it? I’m sorry, citizen, you are so thin and pale I did not recognise you for a moment there. Malodius, what are you thinking of? This is the master’s client and – dear Mercury! – the master’s son as well – what are they doing on the oxen cart? There will be trouble when he hears of this. Citizen, I apologise a thousand times. I’ll send for some slaves at once, and have you carried in. Wait here, Malodius. I’ll go for help myself.’ He dropped the litter curtain and I heard him running off.

  He had been positively grovelling, but the cart-driver was clearly not impressed. I heard him muttering to the ox as he unhitched it from the shafts. ‘Well, they can’t blame me,’ he grumbled. ‘I just do as I’m required. If they wanted a proper carriage for the job, they should have sent for it. It’s not as though there isn’t one to hand. Ready and waiting, too – I have to clean and polish it for hours every day. And what for, I’d like to know? It hasn’t been out since the mistress went missing. But do they think of that? Of course they don’t. They just put the litter on my cart and tell me to take it the back way through the fields to the gates – so that is precisely what I did. How was I supposed to know it was the master’s son aboard? Nobody ever tells me anything – and then it’s always my fault if anything goes wrong.’

  How long he might have stood there muttering like that I cannot guess, but at that moment a whole troupe of Marcus’s slaves arrived, all matched and uniformed, and suddenly there were more people to assist than there were jobs to do. Eager hands seized the child, wrapped him in scented blankets and bore him tenderly away. Others were on hand to help me down. I too was swathed in blankets and half carried, half supported through the gate, across the outer court and peristyle, and into the inner garden and the back wing of the house.

  It was the first time that I’d been fully on my feet since I fell ill, and though they asked about my welfare at almost every step, I found I was too weary and light-headed to say anything at all. I was content to go where they were leading me. It was obvious that they had their instructions on that score. Marcus has a pleasant inner garden, full of statues, fountains, flowers and herbs, quartered by paths and fringed by a verandaed colonnade that links the main block of the house with the sleeping rooms on either wing, and with the kitchen and storerooms at the back. The door to one guest apartment was ajar, and we paused outside it. I recognised the second-best bedroom in this whole part of the house: Julia herself had slept here until recently, when Marcus built a separate wing with new apartments for all three of them, set round a little courtyard of its own.

  The room was waiting for me, with a proper Roman bed – a stretched goatskin suspended on a frame which gently bore one’s weight. I was lowered on to it, tucked into the finest woollen coverings, and piled around with soft pillows to support my head. The floor was heated by the hypocaust beneath, as it was in all the public areas, but the room had been made additionally snug on my account. A cheerful brazier stood by, exuding warmth, and a bowl of something steaming awaited me on the wooden cabinet beside the bed, and another on the table by the door. An emperor could not have asked for more.

  Almost before I was properly ensconced, my patron came rushing in to me. As well as the usual retinue of slaves, including the young page whom I’d seen earlier, he was accompanied by a portly man in a flowing robe – whom I recognized as the high priest of Jupiter himself. Not only was I immersed in luxury, I seemed to be holding a sort of court as well.

  ‘Libertus, my old friend. What joyful news. The boy is back – and you, it seems, were there to rescue him.’ Marcus came right up to my bedside and held out his hand.

  My fears about my welcome were unfounded, it appeared. I struggled up and kissed his seal ring, then sank back again. ‘I was in the litter . . .’ I began.

  His free hand waved me into silence. ‘The medicus has told me what occurred. Do not distress yourself. I’ll hear it all from your lips a little later on – for now it is enough that you are safe, and that the boy is too.’

  ‘He’s well?’ I was still ready for an outburst at the indignities which had been visited upon the child, but Marcus merely gave a nod.

  ‘He has been washed and cleaned and Philades is with him even now. Jupiter greatest and best be praised, it seems he’s taken no harm.’

  ‘Though he’s lost his bulla – don’t overlook that fact,’ the chief priest put in, self-importantly, as if the very mention of the god required him to speak. He was newly appointed to the post, after the death of the previous high priest, but – being florid, short and plump – he did not have his predecessor’s natural air of gravitas and authority.

  Marcus looked more serious at once. ‘That is true, of course. I’d not forgotten it.’ He turned to me and smiled. ‘It means that I must leave you for a little while. My friend the pontifex’ – he indicated the priest – ‘instructs me that we must go to the main temple in the town and sacrifice a pure white calf at once.’

  I was surprised into a whistle and an irreverent remark. ‘A pure white calf? Without any kind of mark? That will cost you a denarius or two. At such short notice, in particular.’

  Far from upbraiding me for my impertinence, Marcus said gravely, ‘True, but it must be done as soon as possible. The pontifex knows where I can find one, at a price.’

  The high priest must have read my doubts, because he hurried to explain. ‘It is quite essential, I assure you, Excellence. Both to give thanks for your son’s return and also to expiate the bulla’s loss – and then with the ashes we can reconsecrate the boy, give him a new neck charm and begin again. We’ll have a ritual at the altar here, on the first auspicious day. Tomorrow, if you can get a new bulla made in time.’

  Marcus nodded. ‘I will try. I want it done as soon as possible.’

  The high priest looked at me. ‘You were at the boy’s first naming ceremony, I understand? Perhaps you will be well enough to attend the second one. The ritual will be more pleasing to the gods if we can duplicate the first as closely as possible.’

  I was about to answer, but Marcus shook his head. ‘We have the chief priest of Jupiter to officiate – that is sufficient to ensure success.’

  The chief pri
est looked as if he were unsure whether to plump up with importance at this compliment or to be affronted by the way his words were swept aside. Eventually he settled for the preen. ‘All the same . . .’ he ventured.

  My patron said firmly, ‘Libertus has been ill; he must be left to rest. The medicus was emphatic on that point. In fact, it is against advice that I have come to see him now – but I felt I had to thank him for everything he’s done and assure him that everything is well. But now we must leave him to his well-earned sleep. Philades has left a soothing draught for him somewhere.’

  ‘But it’s on the tabletop!’ the pontifex exclaimed, following the direction of his glance. ‘Your friend cannot drink that! Have it disposed of instantly! Surely even a Greek physician is aware that leaving a remedy on a table is a dreadful augury for anyone who takes it afterwards?’

  ‘I’m sure he intended nothing of the kind,’ my patron said soothingly. ‘It is a purely Roman superstition, I am sure. All the same, I’ll have it moved at once. Page, see to it.’ The pretty young man did so immediately, and Marcus went on with a smile, ‘We’ll have another one made up for you. I don’t imagine there is any curse, but we won’t take any chances – there has been enough misfortune in this house already. And, speaking of propitiating fate, we must go at once and make that sacrifice. We will be back this evening, before – I hope and pray – Julia is returned to us as well. I have ordered my slaves to leave the gate open and unguarded, as I was told to do.’

  I doubted that his wife’s return would be so easy, but he was optimistic and since I feared to cross his mood I contented myself with murmuring, ‘And Lallius?’

  He smiled grimly. ‘I shall leave instructions with the garrison while I am in the town. Lallius will be arrested at his house, just as soon as I am certain that Julia is safe and send the word to them. I’ll have the guards round up all his associates and bring them in for questioning as well. Don’t worry, I have it all in hand. Now, try to get some sleep.’ He turned to his retinue. ‘Slaves, Libertus is to have anything he wants – subject to the doctor’s views, of course. But first he needs to rest. See that a watch is kept outside his door and that he’s not disturbed. Come, pontifex.’

  And with that he gestured to the priest to follow him, and left the room with his servants obediently at his heels.

  Chapter Eight

  To my immense delight, when the crowd of other servants had retired, I looked up to find Junio standing at the door holding a steaming basin in his hands. He came over, grinning, to my side, and put it down.

  ‘Well, master,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’m glad to have you to myself at last. I hear that you have brought Marcellinus home – but without his bulla, I believe. That will cost Marcus a cow or two at least!’

  I nodded. ‘My patron’s gone to Glevum with the priest to find one now and make a propitiation sacrifice.’

  He grinned. ‘And to present a defixio against the kidnappers, so the servants say. He’s going to nail it to the temple doorpost while the chief priest himself stands by. It’s the gossip of the villa, as you might suppose. Everyone is trying to guess what curses he will choose.’

  I gave a feeble smile. It made a kind of sense. Marcus was not usually a superstitious man – his religious observances were of the public kind, required of all important magistrates. Drawing down curses was not his general style. But there were always metalworkers outside the temple doors offering to make a defixio for you – a beaten tablet to be nailed up on the wall, consigning your enemies to ruin and calling down the vengeance of the gods – sometimes with appalling details of what you wished to happen to the victim’s vital parts. ‘It will help him vent his feelings, I suppose. He must feel pretty powerless, otherwise.’

  Junio grinned. ‘I gather the chief priest himself suggested it – and there’s to be a special blessing prayer for you. Does that not delight you?’ He winked. ‘Of course, you might have preferred a monetary reward, but . . .’ He trailed off, but I knew what he meant.

  I nodded ruefully. My patron always declined to ‘insult me’, as he said, by offering money for my services – an insult I could easily have borne. However, I was now his guest and I defended him. ‘Marcus has been very good to me – he’s seen to it that I have slaves, and property.’

  Junio laughed. ‘Which cost him next to nothing! I think the medicus was genuinely shocked when Cilla told him how she came to you as a reward for something really important that you did! However, if praise is what you want, you must be satisfied. Marcus has told everyone in the household how clever you have been in bringing Marcellinus home again.’

  ‘That’s another thing that worries me.’ I was happy to be able to confide my doubts. ‘I did nothing. I was simply there, and the child was put into my carrying bed on top of me.’

  ‘I heard that you’d claimed it was just a lucky chance. The household don’t believe it, on the whole, and I suppose it must sound a bit unlikely if you didn’t know all the facts. But I tried to convince them that you couldn’t possibly have arranged for it – that you have been far too ill to do anything of the kind, and I have been with you all the time. The chief priest seemed to accept my word for it – said that, in that case, you were clearly the instrument of the gods. But Marcus still suspects that you contrived it in some way and is hoping that you’ll do the same for Julia very soon.’

  ‘Oh, dear gods. And I had no chance to speak to him alone and persuade him otherwise! I’ll have to try again when he comes home.’ I remembered my suspicions of the medicus, and added, ‘I’d like to talk to Marcus about all this in any case, before Philades does.’

  Junio made a doubtful face. ‘In that case, master, I’m afraid you’ve lost your chance. The medicus is going to Glevum too – I’ve heard the servants say – though he’s left the strictest orders for your care. However, Marcus has said you can have anything you need – so I thought you might be glad of a restorative. I have one ready that I’ve prepared for you.’ He picked up the still steaming basin from the cabinet and lifted it gently to my lips.

  I drew my head back, ready to refuse, but then I caught the scent. It was not, as I had feared, another of the doctor’s brews. It was a bowl of mead, hot and mixed with spice, which my slave had obviously prepared for me himself. It has always been a favourite drink of mine, and today it tasted like the nectar of the gods. I took it from his hands and drained the bowl.

  Junio gave me another of his conspiratorial grins. ‘Don’t let Philades see you drinking that. You’re fortunate that he’s allowed you gruel. His patients are usually given oxymel, he says. Nothing but mixed vinegar and honey for days and days if they awake from fever. Apparently he was holding forth about his methods at the feast the other night. But obviously you were progressing well enough to make him change his mind, and you are to be moved on to a light food diet, with hydromel to drink. But I don’t think that he would approve of mead.’

  I had already made a mental resolution not to swallow anything further that the doctor made for me, unless it had been tested by a poison-taster first. Marcus had promised me one, after all. However, I did not say that to Junio. He would have volunteered his services at once – and his life was as precious to me as my own.

  ‘Hydromel is not too bad,’ I said. ‘Honey and water mixtures I can stand. But a light food diet!’ I feigned a playful groan. ‘Snails, green vegetables and vinegar? How could anyone get well on that?’

  Junio took the bowl away and laughed. ‘Well, you can have some fruit and seafood too. That’s what Celsus recommends, apparently, and Philades is a follower of his. He’s got all his prescriptions written in a scroll and he has been into the kitchens to instruct the cooks. But there is a long list of forbidden foods, I fear. No cheese, bread, poultry, meat or roots until you are safely on the mend.’

  I looked at Junio. I wondered about voicing my uneasiness to him. ‘I don’t altogether trust that medicus,’ I said.

  Junio clearly thought I was referring to the food. ‘I
’m not surprised. I know that you hate snails. But don’t despair. There are other recommended remedies which he has in store as well, some of them a bit more interesting. He is talking about visits to the steam room here, when you are well enough. Marcus has the bath-house furnace stoked in readiness. To cleanse the blood, apparently. And even carriage rides are good, it seems. I heard him telling Marcus that it’s “passive exercise”. A little rocking will improve your health, he said, that’s why he decided to put you on the cart this afternoon and give you a little outing through the fields.’

  I felt that stirring of alarm again. I had intended to complain to my patron about that uncomfortable ride, but clever Philades had got ahead of me. Of course, it was still possible that what he said was true – even I had heard of ‘rocking therapy’ – but earlier that very day he’d been concerned that I should avoid the jolt of carriages in my weakened state. I did not think he’d simply changed his mind. However, I did not wish to cause Junio alarm.

  ‘Well, I hope there are not too many treatments of that sort,’ I muttered. ‘That journey almost killed me. I confess that I prefer your remedy.’ I gestured to the bowl. ‘That mead has done me good. I feel stronger than I’ve done for days. And more clear-headed too. Though I don’t think our physician would much approve of it.’

  Junio gave me a look of wide-eyed innocence. ‘There was no mention of spiced mead on his forbidden list, so I did as I thought fit and made you some.’ He winked at me. ‘He didn’t mention oatcakes either, I recall. Not specifically. So if I should happen to find one in my pouch . . .’ He produced one, as he spoke, and handed it to me with a grin. ‘The one you had before has clearly done no harm, and I know how much you like them. Indeed, I think my mistress plans to bring some when she comes – she says that Roman kitchens never make them properly.’

  The oatcake was delicious, if a little crushed. I relished every crumb. ‘Thank you, Junio.’