Back | Next
Contents

Chapter 10

Agnese sent us on our way the next morning armed with a pot of stuff to make the healing poultice and instructions on how to prepare more; she took pains to teach me how to apply it properly. I paid close attention to everything she said and, pressing her hands warmly, expressed my gratitude for all she had done. Tullius appeared better rested after a more comfortable night; he thanked her and Justina profusely and, in gratitude for their skill and care, bestowed the entire remains of his per diem allotment on the little settlement—much to the surprise and delight of the residents. With a last, lingering look, I climbed into the carriage and steeled myself for the way ahead.

A few days later, we entered Dobunni territory and came in sight of our destination. Road-weary, exhausted, provisions low and our mood lower, we reached Glevum at the end of another long day. Squalls of rain had made us damp and dejected, so that even the crimson sunset of a clearing sky did little to cheer us. That bright setting sun faded quickly—just like broad welcoming smile of Esico’s deputy when he learned that the proconsul and his wife were no longer to be numbered among the living.

Good man that he was, the assistant gave the our legionary escort money to buy themselves food and drink in the town inn, and invited Claudius, my father, and me to his home where his wife and servants prepared a simple, but comforting meal. Of course, he wanted to know all about the raid that had taken his superior’s life and listened intently—time and again shaking his head in disbelief and genuine grief—as Claudius and Tullius relayed a detailed account of the twin attacks that had taken Esico and Mona’s lives. They told him everything, including some things I had not yet heard.

Then they fell to devising a plan to retrieve the bodies for a funeral in the town and what that might entail, and so on. But when the talk turned to what was to be done to fill the sudden vacancy in the proconsul’s office, my thoughts began to wing homeward. When I finally could not keep my eyes open any longer, I quietly crept off to the pallet prepared for me by the adiutor’s servants.

Annoyingly, we spent the next day in Glevum, too. There was much that Tullius wanted to do and people he wanted to see. This took up the entire day and threatened to stretch into the night. I had nothing useful to do, so the day dragged on and the waiting grew wearisome while I idled around doing nothing, finding interest in . . . nothing. That was bad enough, but I saw that all these talks and rushing around was plundering my father’s limited store of strength. Each meeting, every discussion took a little more out of him. When I mentioned this toward the end of the day, he told me we would depart for Venta the next morning and he would rest on the way. And this from a man who had just journeyed all the way from Viroconium! As if travel was no more taxing than sitting in a chair by the hearth. Truly, just enduring the ruts and holes in the road for half-a-day is a labor worthy of Hercules!

Leave the next morning we did. The thoughtful adiutor allowed us to continue homeward in the proconsul’s fine carriage and provided the use of a driver and servant. So, all things considered, we made the last miles of the journey in whatever passed for comfort on the road. Nevertheless, between Glevum and Venta, something changed so that by the time the carriage finally creaked to a stop in the street outside our house, Tullius was clearly worn through like cheap cloth and in considerable pain.

Faithful Augustus came running greet us and welcome us home. Aghast at Tullius’ dreadful color and condition, he swallowed his questions and disbelief and instead busied himself helping me get my father into the house and into his bed; he paid the driver and servant, and arranged for their lodging. Then, he scurried around preparing a meal to celebrate our return. As it happened, Augustus had a woman friend who, I strongly suspect, had been staying with him in our absence. Since our return had not been anticipated—how could it? Tullius had not sent a messenger ahead to tell anyone—the two of them had not had sufficient warning to hide the tell-tale signs: a pot of scented ointment, a fine fringed shawl left on a chair, a second pair of sandals outside the door.

None of that mattered to me. Others might have made much over such, as I know only too well. Scandal mongers are a greedy lot and Tullius—forever mindful of his repute and careful to avoid any taint of misconduct or wrongdoing—would no doubt have frowned upon this sort of thing. Even so, Augustus was such an amiable fellow and had long since endeared himself to our little town that most people were prepared to overlook this indiscretion, or at least pretend not to notice.

Her name, I soon discovered, was Dorcas and she was a gray-haired widow who lived with her sister; similar in age to Augustus, she was a plump little woman with a sweet round face and a fluffy, somewhat dithery air. She appeared in the passageway leading to my father’s room looking a little flustered and uncertain. I think she had been in the cookhouse when we arrived and now tried to make it appear as if she had just called in to visit on her way to the market. She asked if there was anything she might fetch for us to better celebrate our return.

In order to forestall an awkward situation, and save any further embarrassment, I asked her if she would be willing to stay on to help with my father’s recovery. I told her we would welcome any help she might be able to provide until Tullius was well again.

“Of course, I would be honored to aid the magistrate in any way I can,” she said.

“We will pay you, of course.”

“No, no,” Dorcas replied, raising her palms as if to ward off any suggestion of reward. “That is not necessary—”

“Please,” I said, “we could not permit it otherwise. My father could not have it said that he traded on his position as Magistrate of Venta to impose upon his citizens in any way.” She cocked her head to one side as she considered this. “Also, I am thinking I would like you to reside here in the villa with us. It might be easier that way—for you, I mean. There will be much to do until my father is hale and healthy once more, and I know I can use an extra pair of hands.”

“If you think it best . . .,” she replied uncertainly.

“I do.”

She nodded, and I saw something like gratitude come up in her eyes.

“Then it is settled,” I confirmed swiftly, lest she change her mind. “I will speak to Augustus at once and let him know that he can count on your help. And I’ll have him arrange a room for you.”

She gave me a smile went away happy and, I think, greatly relieved. I was proud of myself for turning a likely problem into a genuine benefit. Truth be told, it was not Augustus I was thinking about, but myself. After all, I was the one facing a lot of extra work until my father had recovered, and just the thought of all that would have to be done in the days ahead made me tired. Also, I considered that it would be no bad thing to have another woman in the house—someone who might more nearly share my thoughts and feelings.

In this, I was not wrong. For as the next days unfolded, my father failed to thrive. The first few days after our return to Venta, he rose early and attempted to paw through the heap of official business that had accumulated in his absence. Even with my help, the effort proved more difficult than either of us might have guessed because he tired very quickly and had to take frequent rests. On the third or fourth day, he did not wake until almost midday, complaining that he had not slept well. On the fifth day, he remained in his bed until the evening when he said he wanted to go stroll in the courtyard.

Our courtyard is small and would not afford much of a walk, but the day had been fair and they sky still alive with sunlight and swallows, so I helped him up and took his arm and we shuffled around our little square. “I should not have stayed so long abed,” he said, drawing air deep into his lungs. “Aurelia, you must not let me sleep so long tomorrow. There is much to do.”

“Perhaps you needed your rest,” I told him. “Anyway, Augustus and I can deal with most things—if you let us. The little things at least.”

“Oh, are you magistrate now?” he said.

“I am a magistrate’s daughter who has sat at the feet of a magistrate all her life. Besides that, I can tell my left hand from my right. What else is there to know?” Tullius laughed at this—a soft chuckle, only. But even that small movement sent a wave of pain through him. Yet, my heart warmed to think I had cheered him. “You have survived two attacks by Saecsen raiders, and a very serious wound. You can allow yourself time to heal. Why not rest while you can?”

“Glevum will not long remain without a proconsul,” he replied. “Constantine will not allow it. I must show myself to be ready.”

That again! Still uppermost in his mind.

“All the more reason to rest and let your injury heal completely before you charge into a new position.”

We spoke of it no more, and contented ourselves with enjoying the gentle evening air. Dorcas found us a little later, sitting on the bench together, Tullius absently stroking my hand. She had come to tell us that our meal was almost ready—a special meal, she said, of baked fish, beans with onions and greens, plums stewed in sweet wine and, of course, bread in small round loaves. I could tell she was making a special effort to impress her new employer as she stood wringing her hands expectantly. “Would you like some wine for the table?”

“Why not?” said Tullius. “I think I would enjoy sharing a cup with my wise and resourceful daughter.”

Smiling, the elder woman hurried back to the cookhouse and, a moment later, Augustus dashed through the courtyard on his way to fetch a jar of good wine from the merchant. “Wise and resourceful,” I mused. “Which daughter of yours is that? Have I met her?”

“Met her?” He gathered me to him and kissed the top of my head. “Only in a mirror.”

We did enjoy a meal with wine that night. My father was his best self—laughing, telling stories of his early days as an official and life with my mother and myself when I was an infant. And even though it was just myself, Augustus and Dorcas, he presided over the meal as if it had been a banquet for hundreds.

The next day Tullius did not rise again until evening. And the day after that he did not rise at all.



Back | Next
Framed