Back | Next
Contents

Chapter 4

Leaving the forum, we walked out onto the street and soon came to an area of tall houses, each one higher than the next. At the end of this street, we turned down a narrow lane lined either side with cloth and leather awnings of craftsmen and merchants. Helena moved easily among them, and even exchanged a word or two of greeting with some of those we passed. We rounded a corner into another narrow street and stopped outside one of the first booths we came to: a bakery. Much like the ones I knew in Venta, this one had wide opening onto the street to reveal room containing a table with a stone top, walls lined with shelves and, against the far wall, a large hot oven. Inside, a fellow in a white linen tunic and a sweat stained brown cloth cap wrestled a mound of soft dough at the flour-dusted table. On the shelves were loaves of bread and many another thing he’d made. One entire wall of the room was taken up with the oven, next to which was a neat stack of firewood. The heavenly scent of baking bread wafting out of that shop brought the water to my mouth.

A wide sort of rail, or bar, fronted the open stall where patrons stood to conduct their business. A woman with an infant on her hip was just concluding a purchase and, as we stepped beneath the awning, the woman moved off and we took her place. A young girl stood at the rail to make the sales and collect the money. She dropped the woman’s coins into a little box and looked up at us with a gap-toothed smile.

“Hello, you,” Helena said to the girl, then called to the man, “Hello, Petus! Do you remember me?”

“Papa! Your friend ith here!” called the girl. Turning back to us, she said, “I’m Feli-thia.” The youngster’s lisp was pronounced and I had to work to understand her.

“Of course, you are. I remember now,” Helena assured her. “Hello, Felicia. You are helping your father, I see.” Again, I marveled at her easy way with people. “One day I hope I have a daughter like you to help me. Tell me, is he treating you well?”

The girl, who could only have been seven or eight summers at most, beamed proudly. “He tell-th me everything,” she replied. “All his theecreths.”

“Not all my secrets,” called the baker, glancing up from the stuff he was kneading. “Not yet.” He grinned and wiped his hands on his tunic. “Oh, Helena, it is you. Back again so soon?”

“Hello, Petus,” she replied nicely. “Busy as ever, I see.”

Stepping around the table, he came to the rail to greet us. “You’re well, I hope. And your good man? Atticus, is it?”

“Aridius,” she corrected.

“Ah, yes. What brings you to our town this time?”

“Official business—as usual. The conclave this time. There are delegations from all over, I’m told. You must have heard about it.”

Baker Petus made a face. “True, true. Serious business, it seems. They say Constantine himself is coming—maybe even here already. All I know is that the town is overrun with so many important people you cannot move about the streets without being jostled by a prefect or vicarius. They’ve been arriving for a week already—and for a week, I’m working night and day. Not a moment to sit down.”

“You complain about the work,” Helena chided lightly. “But never about the money. Why is that?”

Petus put back his head and laughed. “Is this the wife of Legate Verica? Or is it my wife who speaks to me like this?” He seemed to notice me standing silently beside my benefactress. “And who is this you have with you?”

“Forgive me,” replied Helena smoothly. “This is my new friend, Aurelia—all the way from Venta. She is newly arrived here with her father for the great conclave—”

“Like everyone else.” He glanced a smile at me and rubbed his flour-dusted hands. “What can I get for you? What would you like?”

By way of reply, Helena addressed the baker’s daughter. “Tell me, Felicia—what do you have for two hungry ladies who have not had a single bite to eat all day?”

“The pieth,” the girl replied without hesitation. “They’re my favor-ith.”

“You’re a very mind-reader, Felicia.” Helena laughed. “That’s just what I was thinking. Two pies, then. What kind do you have?”

The girl’s round face clouded in thought. She turned to her father and whispered, “What wath it?”

“Meat with onion,” the baker whispered back.

The girl repeated what her father had told her, and looked at us expectantly.

“It sounds splendid,” Helena told her. “One for each of us, then.”

“An excellent choice,” declared the baker. He nodded to his daughter who scurried off to select two freshly baked pies.

A pie, as I soon discovered, is a pouch made of a kind of puffy flat bread; shaped like a half moon and wrapped around some kind of filling—chopped pork, I think. These crisp parcels are brushed with fat or oil and baked until golden brown. Helena took one and passed the other to me and, as I can now faithfully avow, it was delicious. Then again, ravenous as I was, I could have happily devoured the whole pig raw.

Even so, my first tentative bite led me to believe that I had never tasted anything so good in my entire life. I had wolfed down half the pie before I knew it and forced myself to slow down and not to gorge.

“I expect we’re going to be here a few more days at least,” Helena was saying as she put coins into the box. “No doubt I’ll be seeing you again very soon. God with you both, my friends.”

We retraced our steps to the street, pausing only to buy a cup of wine mixed with honey water from a vintner. A little further along we found a small stone fountain, sadly dry, and perched on the rim to finish our pies and sip the cool, sweetened wine. Helena maintained a friendly chatter as we ate, and I felt better for having confided in her. At one point, she said, “Tell me about your family.” She remembered to raise her voice when not facing me.

“My family?” I said, and shrugged. “What would you like to know?”

“Anything,” she said. “Your mother. Is she here, too? Any brothers or sisters?”

“It’s only my father and me. I don’t have any brothers or sisters. My mother died when I was little.”

“I’m sorry to hear it. You must miss her.”

“It was a long time ago.” I took a last drink of the sweet wine and looked into the empty cup.

Helena offered a thoughtful nod. We finished our little meal in silence, then returned the wooden cups to the vendor and thanked him. We continued on, wending our way back to the basilica. “What will you do now?” she asked as we passed along stalls selling lamps and candles.

“Now?” I shrugged. “Go back to the lodging house and wait for my father. He should return soon.”

We talked of other things and arrived back at the basilica just as a party of delegates swept into the square. We moved to one side and scanned these new arrivals as they passed, but I did not see Tullius. We were still searching among them when someone called out, “Helena! Helena!”

A tall, well-made man strode quickly toward us. As he came nearer, I was surprised to see how young he was; his old-fashioned clothes made him seem older than his years. “Ari!” she shouted. Then, to me she said, “It is my husband.”

He joined us and was welcomed with a quick embrace and light kiss from his wife. Helena, taking his arm, turned him to address me. “Dearest, I want you to meet my new friend Aurelia. Now, her hearing troubles her, so speak up.” To me, she said, “Aurelia, this is my husband Aridius.”

His dark curly hair framed a broad, open face. “At your service.” He gave me a little bow. “Aurelia—what an enchanting name—I’m happy to meet you.”

That the legate of Deva Vitrix was a most imposing man, few would deny. Not the most handsome, no—his nose was too big, and hair, thick and tightly curled as it was, had seen neither brush nor comb that day. He had large hands that were always in motion, and his voice was a little too soft. But his dark eyes were quick and intelligent and he stood a head taller than most anyone else likely to meet him.

He looked around quickly. “There goes Gaius Marcellus. I must speak to him a moment—”

But Helena held firm. “Oh, no you don’t. You’ve had all day to speak to him, it is our turn now.” She nodded to me. “Aurelia is here for the conclave with her father. I told her you would know him.”

“Oh?” He stopped and looked at his wife, then at me. “Who is your father?”

I told him. “Tullius Paulinus . . .” he repeated, arching his eyebrows in surprise. “The magistrate of Venta? He is your father? Yes, I know him—not as well as I’d like, perhaps. But better than I did this morning. How not? I just spent the entire day with him.”

“Where were you all day then?” demanded Helena, a slight edge creeping into her voice.

“At a private meeting,” he said quickly. “A group of regional administrators went out to the villa of Maglus Tegern—the wine merchant. The procurator is staying at the villa and we wanted to meet with him in person to present our special concerns.” Aridius glanced at me. “Proconsul Esico and your father were with us. We broke bread together.” To me, he added, “Good man, your father. I like him very much.”

“There, you see?” said Helena, giving my hand a squeeze. “I told you my husband would know Tullius.” Indicating the group passing on down the street, she added, “But I didn’t see him with you.”

“No.” Her husband shook his head. “He and some of the others stayed behind to speak privately with the procurator—about more local matters, I should think. Still, I don’t expect them to be far behind.”

That was some comfort at least, but not as much as I had hoped. I thanked Helena again for the pie and drink, made my farewell, and started away. I had not gone far when I heard Aridius shout. “Aurelia!”

I turned to see them still standing in the street, watching me. “Where are you lodging?”

“With Betys and Seno,” I replied.

“Do you know the way?”

“I think so.” I paused and indicated the way by which I had come.

“Wait,” Aridius looked around, then, raising a finger, said, “One moment.” Some of the group from the villa meeting were lingering nearby, and he called out as he approached them.

I glanced a question at Helena. “Just wait,” she told me. “He knows what he’s doing.”

I watched as he spoke to a thin young man with the scraggly beginnings of a beard and a large cloth bag slung over one shoulder. They exchanged a word, then Aridius returned with the youth in tow.

“This is Rhin—one of Prefect Alban’s men,” he said when they had joined us. “He will conduct you safely home.” He handed the youth a coin and said, “Make sure you see her in the door. Understood?”

The fellow peered at the coin dismissively, but tucked it quickly away. “Understood.” Turning to me, he held out a hand indicating the direction. “It’s this way. Follow me.”

I thanked the two for their help and we parted, pledging to see one another again soon. The shadows were already thickening, melding into one another as we started off. “Do you know my lodging place?”

Rhin said something I didn’t catch.

“What?”

Without looking at me, he repeated what he’d said, but with the street noise and his mumbling speech, I still couldn’t make sense of it. I asked him to say it again. He stopped walking and turned to face me. “What are you—deaf?”

I cupped my hand to my ear in my habitual gesture, and said, simply, “Yes, I am.”

He rolled his eyes and muttered something.

“I only asked if you know the way to the lodging house of Seno and Betrys . . .”

“I know it,” he grumped. “I know all the lodging houses.” He started walking again and I hurried to catch up. “It’s near Watling Gate.” He gave me a sideways glance. “Come on.”

Clutching my cloak around me, we hurried on, the shadows deepening around us. Rhin was not the most agreeable or forthcoming fellow—but at least he didn’t try to rob me. We passed through the town at a fair pace, eventually arriving at a lane where we turned and . . . there was the house with its iron gate on the street.

“Here,” Rhin said, pointing down the lane.

Before I could thank him, he was gone, leaving me standing in the street. “Don’t worry about me!” I shouted after him. Then, seeing as I was alone and it was getting dark, I dashed the last little way and was soon through the gate and into the tiled courtyard. The villa door opened as I came near, and Betrys looked out, saw me and looked beyond me—but, seeing no one else with me, shouted, “Dear girl, are you alone?”

I nodded. “My father was called away on another errand. But he said he would join us for dinner.”

Betrys allowed that was often the case with official functions, and hurried off to see about preparations for the meal. I went to our room to rest a bit and wait for Tullius to return.

Well, we were still waiting long after the meal was finished. As my father had not appeared when everything was ready, Betrys called her husband and said we would sit down together now and the latecomer—who had probably eaten with his friends—could have something when he finally turned up.

So that is what we did. I confess it was a little awkward at first, but as the meal progressed we grew more easy in one another’s company. They delighted in telling me all about Viroconium and it was clear they were well used to housing strangers and making them feel welcome—and even if I sometimes struggled to hear everything they said, I was grateful for their hospitality. Yet, as the meal concluded and my father had still not arrived, it was suggested that I must be exhausted and longing for bed.

What could I say? I was already so tired I could hardly see, and the food and wine had me yawning. The thought of putting my head down somewhere peaceful and quiet was simply irresistible. I thanked Betrys for a wonderful meal and accepted her kind offer and went off to our room. A servant had lit a rushlight for me and I fell into bed and into a sound sleep—and likely would have slept the whole night through if not for a hand hard jostling me and a voice loud in my ear. “Wake up!” The voice was urgent, frantic, and loud.

“Girl, wake up! You are needed!”



Back | Next
Framed