A Bitter Chill by Jane Finnis Page B

like that.”
    “Thank you. Oh, but what about Gaius? Mother really will object if we take him as well. After all it may be better if she stays behind. You’ve probably noticed, my mother has no patience with small children. She likes the idea of having a page-boy, because it’s the fashion, but she forgets he’s—well, just a small boy.”
    “He can stay here on his own, if you like. One of my horse-boys has made friends with him—a good lad, he’ll keep Gaius amused. And quite safe, I promise.”
    “Thank you. I expect you think I’m making a great deal of fuss about a couple of slaves. But I’m very fond of her. Of both of them.”
    “Really?” I prompted.
    He smiled. “I love them, if you want the truth. And I hope that some day we can all be together as a family. But we need to be patient for now, and it’s not easy.”
    “Couldn’t you buy their freedom?”
    “My parents won’t hear of it. Mother says Margarita’s far too useful, but the real reason is that she and Father want me to make a political marriage. And even if Margarita were free some day, I could never marry her. You know the silly laws about who senators’ sons can and can’t marry.”
    “I do, yes. But you could take her as your concubine—a wife in all but name. You’d be together then.”
    “It’s what I dream of. Some day.” He looked at me wistfully, and then got to his feet. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be burdening you with all this.”
    “That’s all right. You can trust me to be discreet. And you can trust me to help keep Diogenes away from Margarita, whether you’re here or not.”
    “Thank you. And, as you say, if your sister’s fiancé comes….”
    “He’ll come. Love’s a wonderful thing, isn’t it?”
    “It is.” The smile he gave me lighted up the whole room.
    After he left, I found myself thinking over what he’d said, especially his remark about wanting to live with Margarita and Gaius “as a family”. He’d given the impression that he and Margarita had been fond of one another for years. Could Gaius be his son? They didn’t look much alike, but they both had blue eyes, and the child’s golden hair might turn sandy as he grew older.
    I shook myself out of these romantic ponderings, and remembered my conversation with Albia about being on our guard against spies. We’d even joked about it, but I didn’t feel like joking now. Sempronia’s party could well include the spy Lucius had warned us about. Not her ladyship or Plautius of course, but almost any of the others—perhaps Diogenes, who’d already been observed doing a little snooping. I couldn’t easily protect my everyday papers and notes, not without considerable inconvenience anyway. But I could at least be warned if anyone searched them. I laid a single hair across the hinge of my small oak document chest. The hard part now would be remembering to check it from time to time.
    I went to the front door to look at the weather. I was glad to see that the sun was doing its best to burn away the clouds. Candidus would surely be here soon. I stood quietly, breathing in the good air and savouring the peace and quiet which I knew would be shattered once he arrived.
    I remembered I’d a job for Taurus, mending a rickety bar-stool, and I stepped out onto the forecourt, which some of the farm boys were busily clearing of snow. As I got to the workshop, I almost collided with the big man as he came hurrying out, looking worried.
    “What’s up, Taurus? Something wrong?”
    “Mistress Aurelia, I can smell smoke.”
    “I expect you can.” I sniffed the air. “After all, there’s the bar-room fire, and the furnace. We’re burning more logs than usual with all these visitors.”
    He shook his shaggy head. “No, not wood-smoke. More like burning grass—or hay. That’s it! Saturn’s balls, it’s hay on fire!”
    I glanced round the stable area. “It’s not coming from near here. It must be in the rick-yard. One of the stacks must have