A Roman Ransom (13 page)

I shrugged back into the cushions. ‘I don’t know. He’s up to something, but I don’t know what.’

‘There’s something odd about it, certainly. This morning at the roundhouse he was all concern for you, but suddenly there’s quite a different mood. When I was waiting at the door I overheard him on his way here through the court tonight, asking Marcus if he’d known you long, and – when your patron said he had – muttering that high fever can affect the mind and make people act in unexpected ways.’

So I hadn’t been imagining it. ‘What did Marcus say to that?’

‘Not much!’ Junio gave a little laugh. ‘Told him not to be a fool and to concentrate on doing what he was paid to do, and getting you well as soon as possible. I was surprised he spoke so firmly, and so was Philades – Marcus is usually in awe of him, and I think the physician’s accustomed to being listened to. He was clearly not best pleased – he turned a shade of puce – though he could not say anything, of course.’ He had turned his attention to the pretty shoe-shaped lamp and was refilling it from the little flask of oil. ‘He seemed to want to keep His Excellence away from you, I thought. Said you were still weak, and needed time to rest. But Marcus wouldn’t listen to a word. Told the medicus to send some herbs to the kitchen and have them make another of his clever brews for you . . . Ah, and here it is!’

A pair of red-haired serving boys – so alike they almost looked like brothers – had suddenly appeared together at the door. They had divided the labour of carrying a small bowl by dint of putting it on a largish tray and taking one end each. When they spoke it was a kind of duologue, with each boy finishing what the other said. The effect was a sort of curious sing-song chant.

‘Please, citizen. We are sent to bring you this . . .’

‘It’s from the medicus . . .’

‘And we’re to wait outside . . .’

‘And take away the bowl . . .’

‘It’s a replacement for the other one he sent,’ the slightly skinnier of the two finished, with a triumphant air. He was a little younger than his companion, I realised, though he was if anything the taller of the two.

I grinned. Marcus’s careful matched-pair policy was going to be strained to breaking point as these two young lads grew up.

The slave-boy took my grin as an invitation to say something else. He looked at me, and blurted suddenly, ‘We’re not to put it on the tabletop this time!’

The other servant nudged him warningly. Obviously he had spoken out of turn.

This time my smile was really meant for him. ‘You heard about that little incident?’

A shy grin. ‘Everyone in the villa must have heard by now. Pulcrus was sent to throw it all away.’

‘And naturally he told everybody in the servants’ room?’ I said.

The boy gave an enthusiastic nod. ‘He thinks he’s really somebody, that page: the master takes him everywhere so he’s always boasting about the special jobs he’s asked to do. You can get tired of listening to him sometimes, talking about where he’s been and how he’s in the master’s confidence, especially when you’ve been stuck inside the house all day.’ It came out in a rush and earned him an even harder nudge.

Junio came to his rescue by picking up the bowl. ‘Anyway, master, here’s your sleeping draught.’ He wrinkled up his nose and gave an exploratory sniff. ‘It looks a bit dispiriting, but it doesn’t smell too bad.’ He brought it over and handed it to me. The two boys watched me, unwinking, from the door.

‘Dispiriting’ was a hopeful word for it, I thought. It was a darkish liquid, with dank herbs floating in its depths – and despite my slave’s assurance, it smelt like rotting grass. ‘I don’t think I shall be drinking it,’ I said.

He glanced at me sharply. ‘Oh, come, master. If it will do you good . . .’

‘That’s just the point,’ I said. ‘I’m not convinced that it will do me good at all.’

The startled glance became an outright stare. ‘But why? His other potions have restored you wonderfully – my mistress is convinced he saved your . . .’ He broke off, and a look of comprehension crossed his face. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘The medicus? You think . . . But surely . . .’

I shook my head at him, to warn him to be careful what he said, but the talkative young slave-boy caught me in the act. Fortunately he misinterpreted my gesture. ‘I’m sure the doctor didn’t mean to bring bad luck,’ he burbled. ‘I expect he just put the potion on the tabletop by accident. He isn’t very Roman in his ways. But he is awfully clever with his cures. The best for miles around. That’s why the master bribed him to come here. I heard him say so to the pontifex.’

This was too much for the other serving boy. ‘Hush, Minimus! Can’t you learn to hold your tongue? Slaves are expected to speak when spoken to, not start conversations with the master’s guests.’ He turned to me. ‘I’m sorry, citizen. This boy is only new, and he has much to learn. He gets us into trouble all the time.’

‘Don’t worry,’ I said gently. ‘I’m interested in what he has to say. In fact your friend – Minimus, is it? – can tell me more. Philades is famous for his potions, then? Do you know him well?’

Minimus had been silenced by his friend’s rebuke. He had turned scarlet and was gazing at the floor. He shook his head. ‘Hardly at all,’ he mumbled. ‘I never heard of him until he turned up here. The day after the mistress disappeared, it must have been. Maximus will bear me out. We were sent to let him in when he arrived.’

‘That’s right,’ the other boy confirmed.

I looked at him. ‘You’re Maximus? So you two are called Biggest and Littlest? But why are the names the other way about?’

He didn’t smile at all. ‘I was called Maximus before he came. He was bought to match me so they named him Minimus – partly because it seemed to fit my name, and partly because he was the youngest slave of all. But he’s grown a lot and now it’s turned into a sort of joke, you see. But Minimus is right. We had never set eyes on the medicus before that day – and we greet all the guests. Even Marcus did not seem to know him very well.’

‘Though he thinks most highly of him,’ I observed. ‘How did Marcus find him, anyway? He must have met him somewhere.’

Minimus appointed himself spokesman once again. He laughed. ‘Oh, we can tell you that, though the master would not like it advertised. Philades was working for a friend of his – someone on the
ordo
, the council in the town. Marcus was often invited there to dine – in fact he was there the day the mistress disappeared.’

I looked at him. ‘How do you know all this? From the page again?’

He nodded. ‘He was with Marcus at the time, of course. Half of the
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had been invited there to dine – mostly on purpose to meet the doctor. You know what these Roman feasts are like – you show off the clever men in your employ to impress your guests. Philades was asked to join the diners over wine to talk about his wretched Celsus scroll and generally show how intelligent he was. Marcus was rather laughing at it, on the journey home, but when he found out what had happened here he quickly changed his mind. He wanted you to help him, so he needed help for you. He went back to see the councillor . . . and that was that.’

I nodded. ‘More or less suggested that he made a gift of him?’ I’ve known Marcus use that strategy before.

‘He expressed an interest in the doctor, certainly,’ Maximus said carefully. ‘Of course, the councillor could not easily refuse.’

I grinned. ‘Nor Philades, I suppose? Not with a person of His Exellence’s rank?’

Maximus looked surprised. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. After all, although he’s just a Greek, the doctor is a proper citizen. I suppose he could have decided that he didn’t want to come – though I can’t imagine anybody daring to say that.’ He saw my grin and he was tempted to a sudden confidence. ‘Anyway, I think Philades himself was offered a lot of money, too. More than he was getting in the other house. That is what the page said, at any rate. The doctor never talks about himself. Even the master can’t persuade him to say much about his life – except the cases he’s been called upon to cure.’

Minimus made an affronted sniffing noise. ‘Now who’s making conversation to the guests?’ he muttered sullenly. ‘And, speaking of His Excellence, he’ll be expecting us. We were just to bring the potion in and take the bowl back to the kitchens afterwards. Then we were supposed to go and wait on him.’ He ran a nervous tongue round his lips.

I looked at the steaming bowl which Junio had placed carefully on the stool beside my bed. ‘It’s far too hot for me, in any case,’ I said. ‘You two run along. My slave will take the tray back. It will be all right.’

They looked at each other doubtfully, then Maximus said, ‘If you are quite sure, citizen . . .?’

‘Quite sure,’ I said. ‘And thank you for your help.’

Minimus flashed me another of his grins. ‘If you want anything at all, just send for us.’

Junio escorted them to the door, and shut it after them. He turned to me.

‘Well,’ I said. ‘What do you make of that?’

He moved the bowl and came to perch beside me on the stool. ‘One thing is certain, master,’ he said earnestly. ‘You must be wrong about this kidnapping. It’s clear that Philades can’t be involved. We agreed that those responsible were well known in the house – otherwise their arrival would have caused a stir and the gate-keepers would have remembered them. That obviously does not describe the medicus. He’d never been inside the villa till Julia was gone.’

I frowned, reluctant to give up my suspicions. ‘He might have planned it, all the same,’ I said.

‘When he was working in the town for someone else? It seems improbable. How could he know anything about the place? You heard what the pages said. His employer was treating him as a novelty – inviting people in to show him off – so he obviously hadn’t been in Glevum very long. Not even long enough to learn Roman superstitions, it appears.’

Perhaps.’ I wouldn’t drink his potions, anyway, I thought – not because of where he’d put the cup, but because of what he might have put inside.

Junio had been following another train of thought. ‘Marcus seems to make a habit of acquiring staff by admiring other people’s servants and offering them a higher wage to come to him. The privilege of being rich and powerful, I suppose. I gather – from the maidservants that I was talking to – that’s how he acquired the wet nurse, too. Though not from the same councillor, of course.’

‘Ah,’ I said. ‘The wet nurse. She interests me a lot. What do you know of her?’

Junio shot me a triumphant look and began to reel off a list of facts, as if to prove that he was just as good a source of information as the red-haired boys. ‘Firstly, she is a freewoman, not a slave, it seems. Second . . .’

I interrupted him. ‘She’s not a household slave? You are quite sure of that? You’d expect that somebody of Marcus’s rank would have a wet nurse of his own. In fact, don’t I vaguely remember seeing such a girl? Before this fever struck? I’m sure there was a little slave who was the wet nurse then.’ I tried to recollect, but I had only glimpsed her once or twice. Wet nurses do not generally mix with visitors – especially males.

Junio grinned. ‘You are quite right, master. Marcus did buy one from the slave market at first, but Julia didn’t find her satisfactory. The girl did not give sufficient milk, she said, and had no experience of caring for a child. Apparently she wasn’t much more than a child herself. Some of the other servants thought it pitiful.’

I nodded. I had heard of this before – young women deliberately got with child by the slave-master, so that they could be put on the market as a nurse. There was always a demand for wet nurses, and, provided the girl had good teeth and no disease, there would soon be a willing customer prepared to pay a handsome price for her – though generally he would not take the child. The slave-trader would have to rear that at his own expense for sale, or else get rid of it. It seemed a vaguely unpleasant trade to me – quite different from the older women who offered their nursing services of their own accord. ‘So Julia had that slave sold on, and they engaged this other girl instead?’

‘That’s right. Myrna is not the class of girl they’d usually employ, but she came highly recommended by a friend. Well, more than that. As I was telling you, she worked for one of the councillors in town, a certain Grappius, and the family thought her indispensable. Marcus had to drop a lot of hints, and offer quite a bribe, before Grappius would agree to part with her. She’s a little older, obviously – seventeen or so – but otherwise she’s everything the experts recommend. “Good health, good habits, and good
habitas
” – a sturdy frame – that’s what they always say. And copious milk as well. Julia was very particular about that. Grappius’s wife was a friend of Julia’s, and has several children of her own. Fortunately the youngest is now old enough to wean.’

I remembered what the medicus had said about all that. ‘Surely Myrna can’t have been wet nurse to them all? If she is seventeen . . .?’

‘The elder sister served the household in the same role. A family tradition, it appears – the mother was also a wet nurse in her day and still acts as a midwife now and then. So there was plenty of experience to draw upon. Just what Julia wanted. Myrna has grown up with nurslings all her life. The family have nurtured children in their house for years.’

‘But Marcus did not send Marcellinus to her home so she could nurse him there?’ I knew that many wealthy Romans did farm infants out like this.

Junio made a face. ‘Marcus obviously prefers to have his servants come to him – whatever other people choose to do. Anyway, I gather that Julia would never have agreed to let the baby go. She’s rather . . . well . . .’

‘Protective of the boy?’ I could understand it if she were, I thought. I knew that she had lost a child years before, when she was married to a former husband, and for a long time Marcus had believed that she would never breed again. This son was a precious gift to both of them.

Junio nodded. ‘That was the real trouble with the earlier girl, they say – she was getting too fond of Marcellinus and of course she was with him all the time. So Julia got rid of her and took Myrna on instead. She wanted Marcellinus to herself.’