Chapter 48
Aurelius and Uther had been at their training all day—the same as every other day since their return to the garrison. They burst into the villa just before sunset, shouting at the top of their lungs for me to come running. Fearing something terrible had happened, I dropped the linen I was folding and ran to the courtyard.
“Mother!” cried Aurelius, rushing to meet me.
“What is it?” I cried, seizing him and searching him for injuries. “Are you hurt?” I looked to Uther and did not see any blood or broken bones. “What has happened?”
“There’s to be a new legate!”
I met this assertion with somewhat confounded relief. “I know this,” I told them. “Did you not—” Then, I remembered that this might well be the first they had heard. So, I began to explain. “You see, the generals have been trying to decide and—”
“They’ve decided,” Uther crowed cheerfully. “The choice has been made!”
“Has it now?” I confess, I felt the ground shift slightly beneath my feet. “Come,” I said, leading them to the little bench where Aridius and I used to sit of an evening to discuss the day’s events. “Sit, both of you, and tell me all about it.”
Too excited to sit, both boys stood together before me, nudging one another, almost hopping from foot to foot.
“Well?” I said, composing myself to receive the news. “Who is it to be? Tell me.”
“You’ll never guess!” cried Uther.
I laughed, caught up in their childlike enthusiasm. “No—and at the speed of your telling, I suspect I’ll never know.”
Both boys looked at each other and Uther blurted out: “It’s Vitus!”
“Vitus?” I said, thinking I could not have heard correctly. “You mean our Vitus?”
“He was with the generals most all day and they announced their decision just a little while ago,” explained Aurelius. “We came to tell you as soon as we heard. Isn’t that good news!”
“Vitus is to be legate? You’re sure?”
“It’s true! He told us himself,” shouted Uther. “There’s going to be a ceremony and everything.”
Well, I was stunned. Uther was right: I never would have guessed that our dear friend Vitus would be chosen to replace Aridius. The two boys, still bubbling with the news, ran off to tell others, leaving me to contemplate what this turn might mean. It did not take long before I began to tease out the logic of the choice and then, of course, it made good sense. Indeed, Vitus was the perfect choice. A seasoned veteran and an able soldier, he knew each and every legionary and servant in the garrison from general to stable groom—most of them by name and tribe. Then, inasmuch as he was a centurion, the appointment to legate would be seen as a rare promotion and not a step down in rank and status such as the generals feared. Also, he knew as well as anyone, and more intimately than most, how the garrison worked and how it should be ordered. He had known Aridius and was well-acquainted with the legate’s duties and responsibilities and could emulate them. As legate, he could ensure the efficient functioning of the garrison and its various parts. Added to all this, Vitus was a man known and trusted by one and all, and promoting him meant that some unknown outsider would not be thrust upon the garrison.
Clearly, the commanders could not have chosen a better man for the job. Aurelius was right, this was good news—very good news.
It was not until the house was settled for the night and I was blowing out the candles that the realization hit me: now that next occupant had been chosen and would be eager to set up his own household, I would have to move out—and that right soon. The decision was made: I would stay in Constantia.
The next day, I redoubled my efforts to find a house for myself and the boys. I took myself off to the plain stone building that served as the Civitas House for the town to speak to Magistrate Martinus, whom I had known from various business dealings between the town and garrison. He had been to visit Aridius at our villa several times and attended the occasional function with other dignitaries.
Well, upon arriving at the house I was received somewhat grudgingly by the magistrate’s adiutor—a fellow I had never met before. “You can wait here,” said the man, waving me to a bench beside the door.
And there I waited. The audiutor left the room and another entered—barely of an age to shave, with a shock of black hair and sad dark eyes in a long face. He glanced at me and barked, “Come!”
I rose and followed him into what I took to be the magistrate’s chamber—a small, spare room dominated by a large table, with a chair on either side. The entire table top was taken up by a crude map of Constantia someone had drawn in charcoal on the bare boards.
The lad introduced himself as Solinus and took his place behind the table, but did not sit. He began abruptly, almost dismissively. “What is your business with the magistrate, madam?”
I touched my ear and asked him to speak more loudly and plainly. With an air of someone put upon, he repeated his curt request to which I replied, “I am the wife—I mean, widow of the previous legate, who was—”
His dark brows lowered. “You are the wife of Aridius Verica?” He paused and thought hard. “Ah, Renea . . . isn’t it?”
“Aurelia,” I corrected. “Have I seen you before—at the legate’s villa, maybe?”
“Of course!” he said, the light of recognition blooming across his smooth face; he extended his hand and gave me a shame-faced smile. “I was sorry to hear about your husband. It is a loss for the garrison and for the town.” He shook his head. “A very great loss. I know he and my father became good friends over the years.”
I agreed that this was so, and said, “Speaking of your father,” I said, “it is him I have come to see.”
“Ah, well, if it is the magistrate you have come to see, then you are looking at him.”
“You, Solinus?”
“None other.” He gave me a modest little bow. “The plague, you see . . .” He left the rest unsaid. I knew. It did not need saying. Then, as if admitting a guilty secret, he confided, “There was no one else—at least until the governor appoints another.”
“It has been a hard year for so many of us.”
He nodded, then sat down in his father’s chair. “Now then, what can I do for you, Aurelia?”
I explained briefly about Vitus’ appointment and my consequent need to find new accommodations. “Since my sons are still in training with the legion, I think taking a house here in Constantia would be best for all of us.”
“Do you mean to say you will settle here?” I nodded and, to my utter amazement, he slapped the table in front of him and cried, “But that is the best news I have heard all day!”
His reaction and, moreover, the sudden shedding of whatever officious demeanor he had managed to maintain until then showed his true self: a boy trying very hard to do a man’s job.
“Oh, indeed? And why is that?” I wondered. “You must have more pressing matters claiming you attention.”
“Pressing, yes—that is one way to put it. Demands! That’s what they are. All day long, every day, citizens flow through this house with a flood of requests and petitions: fix this! Fix that! I need this, that, and the other. I have rats, send the rat catcher! My water is tainted! What are you going to do about cleaning the streets? When will the market resume?”
I nodded with more than a little sympathy. It was ever the same with my father, and I told him so. “How well I know it!” I replied. “My father was magistrate of Venta Silurum and I grew up working in his office. I know how difficult—” I nodded toward the crude outline of Constantia, “—all this can be.”
“It never ends,” he allowed. “Just now, deciding what to do with all the empty dwellings consumes most of my attention. See here. This is Constantia and the garrison.” He waved a charcoal-smudged hand across the simple tabletop map. “We have been charting all of the abandoned houses within the boundary of the civitas. Each empty house is marked with a black spot.” Solinus pointed to a row of sketched boxes of various sizes, more than half of which bore a big, black splotch in the center.
I glanced at the map. It was one thing to note the vacant dwellings on my informal rambles, but quite another to see all the black marks spread out before me. “There are so many.”
The young magistrate nodded sadly. “So very many.” He regarded his handiwork for a moment, then glanced up. “Are you saying you could be induced to take one of these?”
“Induced?” I said, not sure I had heard correctly. “But this is the very thing I came to ask—indeed, to beg if necessary.”
“I could offer you your choice of houses,” he said. “Within reason.”
“And I will gladly accept,” I smiled, and added, “Within reason. I do have a little money,” I told him. “I can pay.”
Solinus was already shaking his head. “No, no, we would not require payment. You would be doing the town a service. Abandoned properties are a very menace. A danger. Rats, to begin with. And looting—there is already some of that going on. The city elders—the few that survived and those newly appointed—are desperate to fill these abandoned houses and build up the population again.”
“Increase the tax base—that’s how it was often put to my Aridius.”
“I would not be so crass, but it is a fact that the streets must be cleaned and vermin exterminated and water . . . well, everything takes money.” He shook his head. “It is an enormous task in the best of times.”
I studied the map intently and located one or two areas I had noted on my previous visits. “What would happen if I chose a house where the owner expected to come back? What then?”
“I can assure you that would not happen. My father, before he died, kept very good records. We know that some owners have fled the town and taken refuge elsewhere in order to escape the pestilence, and we assume that they will eventually return to take up residence again. I hope they do, and soon. But we also know those dwellings where the owner is, shall we say, never coming back.” He regarded me hopefully. “All you need do is tell me which house you have in mind and I will have Julius search out the record.” He spread his hands over his charcoal drawing once more. “That is why we made this map.”
The sensible solution to this problem impressed me as much as Solinus’ generous attitude, and I told him so, adding, “Your father would be proud of you, I’m sure.”
“Coming from you, Aurelia, that is high praise indeed.”
We parted as friends and the young official bade me to make short work of finding a house and securing it before it was claimed by someone else or, worse, fell to looters and into ruin. I promised I would do just that. I went away feeling confirmed in my decision to remain in Constantia, and determined to make a good home here for myself and my sons.