wine, and the sound of a lute and a plaintive song wafted from the triclinium. Lupus and Flavius, although unwilling guests, were evidently still enjoying the ‘light meal’ which Sollers had organised, presumably in Julia’s company. I shook myself impatiently. I had come to Corinium, at least in part, in the hope of continuing my search for Gwellia. Why should it matter to me where Julia was?
I walked through the atrium and out into the rear courtyard again.
It, too, was alive with industry. There were slaves everywhere: some scurrying past with serving dishes and lamps for the living, others clearly already preparing the memorial feast of the dead. Kitchen slaves were cutting sprigs of rosemary from the border, others were fetching water in wooden buckets from the fountain, or dried fruit and barley flour in brimming bowls from the stores. A brawny cook appeared, a brace of fat hens fluttering upside down in either hand, and as I watched, a party of slaves returned from the market stalls bearing between them a great side of bleeding meat, long strings of river fish and a dozen dead thrushes on a pole. The ghost of Quintus would not return vengeful from the afterworld because it had not been fed.
The rear court was smaller than the front, and was divided into quarters by walkways radiating from the pool. Each quarter was planted with its own selection of sweet-scented plants and herbs for the kitchen, with a fruit tree at its centre, and each had a small grotto in the corner nearest the pool, presumably with a seat and a statue of one of the gods set on a plinth. Anyone crossing the courtyard, or using the covered path which skirted it, was clearly visible from all sides, and the slaves collecting herbs were constantly in view, unless they were momentarily screened by the statues and the trees, or simply by bending down among the plants.
One figure, however, caught my eye. It was a female slave, with a cape drawn over her head and a jug in her hand, and her manner, as she came out of the kitchens, could only be described as ‘skulking’. She looked nervously to left and right, and then scuttled along one of the paths towards the pool. When she looked up and saw me, she dropped the jug and disappeared into a grotto. I was baffled. It was my presence, clearly, which she wanted to avoid – she had walked openly past the other servants.
I waited for a moment, but she did not reappear. I thought of marching in and confronting her, but the girl had seemed so embarrassed that I decided to finish my stroll around the perimeter walk, and explore the grotto later.
Like the rest of the house, the courtyard was built to impress, with fine mural patterns on the inner walls and a paved walkway linking the rooms under the sloping shelter of a roof. All the guest apartments, including my own, were on this side of the courtyard, and were self-contained. So were the kitchens, slave rooms, store rooms and latrines in the separate block at the back. Maximilian had once had a bedroom in the main block, in a small room near his father’s reception suite, reached by a second passage to the rear court. But Quintus, Julia and Sollers had their apartments in the wing opposite me.
I wondered if any of the apartments were interconnecting. Usually rooms in courtyard houses are self-contained, with a blind wall to the outside world and a single doorway opening onto the inner walkway. I stopped a passing slave who was rolling a cask of fattened snails towards the kitchen, and he confirmed my guess. The rooms in the farther block were arranged as two suites. Sollers had a sleeping room with a small adjacent study, and there was an interconnecting door between the apartments of Quintus and his wife. For moments when he hoped to make a son, presumably. Marcus would not find that thought pleasing.
I sent the slave about his business and continued my stroll. I kept glancing towards the central grotto, but wherever I stood, it was largely
I walked through the atrium and out into the rear courtyard again.
It, too, was alive with industry. There were slaves everywhere: some scurrying past with serving dishes and lamps for the living, others clearly already preparing the memorial feast of the dead. Kitchen slaves were cutting sprigs of rosemary from the border, others were fetching water in wooden buckets from the fountain, or dried fruit and barley flour in brimming bowls from the stores. A brawny cook appeared, a brace of fat hens fluttering upside down in either hand, and as I watched, a party of slaves returned from the market stalls bearing between them a great side of bleeding meat, long strings of river fish and a dozen dead thrushes on a pole. The ghost of Quintus would not return vengeful from the afterworld because it had not been fed.
The rear court was smaller than the front, and was divided into quarters by walkways radiating from the pool. Each quarter was planted with its own selection of sweet-scented plants and herbs for the kitchen, with a fruit tree at its centre, and each had a small grotto in the corner nearest the pool, presumably with a seat and a statue of one of the gods set on a plinth. Anyone crossing the courtyard, or using the covered path which skirted it, was clearly visible from all sides, and the slaves collecting herbs were constantly in view, unless they were momentarily screened by the statues and the trees, or simply by bending down among the plants.
One figure, however, caught my eye. It was a female slave, with a cape drawn over her head and a jug in her hand, and her manner, as she came out of the kitchens, could only be described as ‘skulking’. She looked nervously to left and right, and then scuttled along one of the paths towards the pool. When she looked up and saw me, she dropped the jug and disappeared into a grotto. I was baffled. It was my presence, clearly, which she wanted to avoid – she had walked openly past the other servants.
I waited for a moment, but she did not reappear. I thought of marching in and confronting her, but the girl had seemed so embarrassed that I decided to finish my stroll around the perimeter walk, and explore the grotto later.
Like the rest of the house, the courtyard was built to impress, with fine mural patterns on the inner walls and a paved walkway linking the rooms under the sloping shelter of a roof. All the guest apartments, including my own, were on this side of the courtyard, and were self-contained. So were the kitchens, slave rooms, store rooms and latrines in the separate block at the back. Maximilian had once had a bedroom in the main block, in a small room near his father’s reception suite, reached by a second passage to the rear court. But Quintus, Julia and Sollers had their apartments in the wing opposite me.
I wondered if any of the apartments were interconnecting. Usually rooms in courtyard houses are self-contained, with a blind wall to the outside world and a single doorway opening onto the inner walkway. I stopped a passing slave who was rolling a cask of fattened snails towards the kitchen, and he confirmed my guess. The rooms in the farther block were arranged as two suites. Sollers had a sleeping room with a small adjacent study, and there was an interconnecting door between the apartments of Quintus and his wife. For moments when he hoped to make a son, presumably. Marcus would not find that thought pleasing.
I sent the slave about his business and continued my stroll. I kept glancing towards the central grotto, but wherever I stood, it was largely
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