A Bitter Chill by Jane Finnis Page A

some of the most beautiful floor mosaics I’ve ever seen. He’s a widower, and his sister Clarilla keeps house for him.”
    “Does he have any decent wine?” Horatius put in. “Or does he drink beer, like most of them?”
    “He loves good wine, and prides himself on having only the best.” I would say that, of course. All his wine was supplied by us.
    “Very well.” Sempronia actually smiled. “You may inform this Silvanius Clarus that we shall be pleased to receive him. It can’t do any harm, and it might even be useful.”
    After the meal they dispersed, except for Priscus, who hung back, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. His sandy hair was untidy, and he looked tired. “May I have a private word, please?”
    Merda , I thought, someone didn’t enjoy his night’s rest. “Of course. What can I do for you?”
    “Is there somewhere quiet where we can talk?”
    This sounded more serious. “Yes, certainly.” I led him through to my study. “We won’t be disturbed here.”
    We both sat down, and he sat staring at the floor, as if he didn’t know how to begin. I hadn’t got all day to wait, so I grasped the bull by the horns.
    “Is everything satisfactory, Priscus? I hope you were comfortable last night?”
    “Oh, yes, thank you, quite comfortable.” Another pause. “It’s just—I’m not very happy about Mother’s plan to go and visit your sister’s fiancé.”
    You’re not the only one, I thought. “I don’t think it’ll be necessary. He’ll come to the mansio if he possibly can.”
    “May I speak in confidence?”
    Holy Diana, not another confidential chat! But I could hardly refuse. “Yes, of course.”
    “If Mother decides to go in search of this young man, I’ll have to go too. But I don’t like to leave Margarita unprotected here. My mother’s maid, you know? While I’m away trailing around the countryside, anything could happen.”
    “She’ll be safe at the Oak Tree. Our staff wouldn’t dream of laying a finger on her.” Well they might dream, but they wouldn’t do it, unless she encouraged them.
    “Oh, no, of course not! It’s Mustela—Diogenes.”
    “Ah. But won’t he be accompanying your mother on her travels?”
    “That’s just it, he’s told her he’s not well, and asked to stay here today. He says he has a stomach complaint. I don’t believe it—he seemed healthy enough at breakfast. I think he means to—to pester Margarita. She doesn’t like him, but she may find it hard to stop him if I’m not there.”
    “Couldn’t you take her along with you then?”
    He shook his head. “Mother’s already told her she’s not wanted on the journey.”
    “Not wanted by your mother, no. But if you want her to travel with you, what’s to stop her? Especially if Diogenes isn’t going. You two could have a little time to yourselves.” Yes, I know, I shouldn’t interfere in the guests’ business like that. But I felt sorry for Margarita, and there was no doubt she’d be safer with Priscus than at the mercy of the Weasel.
    He looked at me in surprise. I think it was the first time he really saw me properly. “Against Mother’s wishes? I mean—that is, she wouldn’t be very pleased.”
    I mimicked the famous line in the comedy about the forty sailors. “And do you always do everything your mother tells you?”
    He smiled as he recognised it, and gave me the next line in a comic falsetto: “Oh yes, sir, always, unless I don’t want to.”
    We both laughed, and I realised I was seeing a different side to Priscus. Maybe what I’d taken for haughtiness was just shyness, and all he needed was a bit of encouragement to stand up to his dreadful mother. “You’re right, of course. I can take Margarita with me. I will take her. Though the gods know what Mother will say.”
    “If you don’t manage it,” I put in, “I’ll tell my senior barmaid to keep an eye on her, and make sure she’s not on her own. She can help with the Saturnalia preparations, something