has arrived. Still, you’re here now, citizen, and it will be all right, I’m sure. If you go through that gate’ – he gestured with his hand, almost gabbling in his desire to help – ‘you’ll find the chief slave there. He’s the one who told them where to put it when it came. I fear he’ll have a thing or two to say to you as well. But now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. I have a message to deliver before the town gates shut – the steward is displeased enough with everyone as it is.’ And without a backward glance, he ran off down the lane and disappeared in the direction of the town.
I was a bit nonplussed. I had hardly expected Radixrapum to take the barrow in, but perhaps he had been asked to do so by the gatekeeper.
I asked the man on duty in the niche beside the gate but he shook his head. ‘I don’t know anything about a visitor. I’ve been here on duty all the afternoon – in fact, I’m due to be relieved at any minute now – and the only one to pass me has been that little slave in the blue tunic. Which reminds me, I don’t think I am familiar with your face. What did you say your name was, and what’s your business here?’
I told my tale again, and in the end he let me in. I looked around a moment, wondering what to do. When I had been there previously that day, there hadn’t been a gatekeeper – the chief steward himself had come to greet me at the gate. And tonight there was no one to meet me when inside or escort me to where I was to work, and no one accosted me as I walked through the stable yard. I went straight across into the outer kitchen court, avoiding the large amphorae let into the ground for the storage of the household’s oil and grain supplies.
I knew from previous visits where the chief slave had his room – in the front entrance of the servants’ quarters, a large shed-like building forming one side of the court. It was a stone-built, cheerless room, no bigger than a cell, but it was private and, being central, it gave him a useful vantage point, not only across the kitchen court and yard, but also over the separate sleeping areas which lay to either side: male slaves to the left and females to the right. The arrangement doubtless required vigilance, since slaves are the property of their owners, and any relationship between the sexes is not only frowned on but classified as theft.
The steward’s door was open and I could see him sitting there, on the straw mattress in his sleeping space, poring over something spread out on his bed. I could not see what it was, because at my appearance he bundled it away, put it into a stout brass-bound wooden chest and turned a key on it.
‘Well, citizen Libertus?’ His voice was not friendly as he greeted me. ‘You have come back, I see. We were not sure if we were expecting you or not. Your plaque is waiting for you in the stable block; I had them put it there where it was safe. Do I take it that you hope to do some work tonight? Another hour and it will be dusk.’
Something had disturbed him – the turquoise slave was right. The long thin face, which had been kind enough before, was cold and angry now. I wondered, from his welcome, if I was too late in more respects than one, and if the rumour about Lucius’s death had, by some accident, already reached the house. It was just possible. Quintus could have sent a message here himself. After all, the steward had once worked for him, and the decurion would have taken a perverse delight in sending word that Pedronius’s intended talisman was cursed.
But I dismissed the thought. The steward had not told me that the plaque was not required, or even complained that it would bring bad luck and demanded to renegotiate the price. Indeed, it seemed that he’d actually had it brought inside from the road. That much was promising.
I gave him a placatory smile. ‘I hope that I can make a start tonight. I should get most of it in place, even if I cannot completely finish
I was a bit nonplussed. I had hardly expected Radixrapum to take the barrow in, but perhaps he had been asked to do so by the gatekeeper.
I asked the man on duty in the niche beside the gate but he shook his head. ‘I don’t know anything about a visitor. I’ve been here on duty all the afternoon – in fact, I’m due to be relieved at any minute now – and the only one to pass me has been that little slave in the blue tunic. Which reminds me, I don’t think I am familiar with your face. What did you say your name was, and what’s your business here?’
I told my tale again, and in the end he let me in. I looked around a moment, wondering what to do. When I had been there previously that day, there hadn’t been a gatekeeper – the chief steward himself had come to greet me at the gate. And tonight there was no one to meet me when inside or escort me to where I was to work, and no one accosted me as I walked through the stable yard. I went straight across into the outer kitchen court, avoiding the large amphorae let into the ground for the storage of the household’s oil and grain supplies.
I knew from previous visits where the chief slave had his room – in the front entrance of the servants’ quarters, a large shed-like building forming one side of the court. It was a stone-built, cheerless room, no bigger than a cell, but it was private and, being central, it gave him a useful vantage point, not only across the kitchen court and yard, but also over the separate sleeping areas which lay to either side: male slaves to the left and females to the right. The arrangement doubtless required vigilance, since slaves are the property of their owners, and any relationship between the sexes is not only frowned on but classified as theft.
The steward’s door was open and I could see him sitting there, on the straw mattress in his sleeping space, poring over something spread out on his bed. I could not see what it was, because at my appearance he bundled it away, put it into a stout brass-bound wooden chest and turned a key on it.
‘Well, citizen Libertus?’ His voice was not friendly as he greeted me. ‘You have come back, I see. We were not sure if we were expecting you or not. Your plaque is waiting for you in the stable block; I had them put it there where it was safe. Do I take it that you hope to do some work tonight? Another hour and it will be dusk.’
Something had disturbed him – the turquoise slave was right. The long thin face, which had been kind enough before, was cold and angry now. I wondered, from his welcome, if I was too late in more respects than one, and if the rumour about Lucius’s death had, by some accident, already reached the house. It was just possible. Quintus could have sent a message here himself. After all, the steward had once worked for him, and the decurion would have taken a perverse delight in sending word that Pedronius’s intended talisman was cursed.
But I dismissed the thought. The steward had not told me that the plaque was not required, or even complained that it would bring bad luck and demanded to renegotiate the price. Indeed, it seemed that he’d actually had it brought inside from the road. That much was promising.
I gave him a placatory smile. ‘I hope that I can make a start tonight. I should get most of it in place, even if I cannot completely finish
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