Saturnalia

I walked on, still aware of being followed-but now only by three wistful gazes.

XV

Dear gods, I hadn't been invited to a nymphs-and-satyrs party since I was seventeen. The only time I plucked up the courage to go to one, my sister Victorina (who had organised it) inadvertently let out the secret, so all our aunts turned up. As a result it was not quite the occasion Victorina had hoped.

Feeling old, I carried on home. Lunch with the wife. To whom, though I told her all about the traders and the ex-bodyguards, I somehow made no mention of my newfound happy mends. Still, I could tell Petronius. Or perhaps not. He would want the address of the party 'for security reasons'.

Helena Justina had had a useful, though frustrating morning. She had started by providing Clemens with a map of the city, which she divided into segments for his men to search. Since none of them had ever been to Rome before, she tried to show the soldiers where they were in relation to the map: 'You would think that would be easy,' raged Helena, 'since we live beside the river-I had marked the river in blue ink, and put a big cross byour house so they could find their way back… I could tell they didn't understand it. Juno, I don't know how legionaries survive on campaign!'

'A tribune tells them where they are,' I explained gravely. 'They are given orders when to march, and when to stop, and when to eat, and when to sleep, and when to fart and when to blow their nose.'

'They will never find Veleda.'

'Even if they do, darling, will they find their way back home with her?'

'I notice you didn't involve yourself in telling them anything, Marcus. '

Quite right. I had met legionaries before.

'Maybe we'll never see them again,' growled Helena hopefully. 'They will be home for supper,' I said. 'Will there be any?' Luckily there would. After the map episode, Helena had worn herself out further taking two soldiers and Jacinthus, our sleepy so-called cook, to market for provisions. I had exempted myself from that task too, again with foresight. As I had promised her, the two soldiers then proved themselves perfectly happy left in the kitchen with big knives, pans and buckets, preparing food. With a strange kind of patience, they were showing Jacinthus how it was supposed to be done. He just stared, as po-faced as ever. Galene, however, our other new slave, had abandoned the children and was watching, entranced, everything the soldiers did. When I looked in, she was examining a long curl of apple peel. Gaudus was elbow deep in pastry, complaining that our milled flour was gritty, discussing the virtues of cinnamon (if you could afford it), and arranging for Galene to escort him to the local baker so he could get his pies baked. Scaurus was searing meat in a pannikin and did not wish to be disturbed.

A tray had been made up with our lunch on it, so I grabbed the tray and carried it to our dining room. Obviously we householders were expected to set an example by eating formally. How formally was a surprise: slices of cold meat had been laid out with military correctness on a serving platter, decorated with neatly halved eggs; each knife was set at a thirty-degree angle on a folded serviette with a bread roll; there were six black olives per person, plus two gherkins; the water jug had been buffed like a lady's hand mirror.

Helena calmed down grudgingly. We found the children. Julia was playing farms with Favonia's little horse-shaped pottery feeding bottle. Favonia was gnawing the leg of a stool. In her own room, our foster-daughter Albia was laughing as she read through a letter; I had no idea who her correspondent was, but if a teenaged girl has a smile on her face instead of the normal filthy scowl, in my view you think yourself lucky and leave well alone. Helena acquired a thoughtful expression, however, rubbing her forehead abstractedly with the back of her hand, like a woman who already has enough to cope with. I grinned reassuringly. As usual, that made her look more anxious.

'Where's the dog?'

'Hiding. Probably in your bed.'

Helena and I then assembled with Albia and the children in the dining room, though we did not start to eat. Helena sat silent, and I knew why she was uncomfortable.

'Something is not right here, Marcus.'

'Too perfect. They are taking us for idiots.'

'I'll go-'

'No, leave it to me. I'll deal with it.'

'Oh I love it when you play-act as the father of the family…'

I went back to the kitchen. Nobody heard me coming, so I found them all stretched out on benches, ensconced with mounded bowls of double rations, clearly set in for a siesta they expected to extend all afternoon. A flagon that did not contain water slid its way back on to a shelf and looked innocent, just as I entered. I pretended I had not noticed. Gaudus, for one, was sharp enough to know I had seen it.

'Now look here. In our house we don't have "them and us". I run a benevolent democracy. Our slaves are loved and part of our family; so are army visitors. Helena Justina and I would like to implement a slight adjustment, therefore: Galene and Jacinthus, Gaudus and Scaurus, either you four come and join us decently for lunch, or I'll have to bring the tray right back and the rest of us will come down here.'

Four pairs of hostile eyes stared back at me. I stood my ground and told them to collect cutlery. They knew I was on to them.

I was a Roman. Just as Helena kept the keys to the store-cupboards-which from now on, she really would have to hold in a bunch on her belt-I was the master: father of all the household, priest, judge and king. I would not allow ganging-up in the kitchen. There were damn good reasons for running an establishment the Roman way: it prevented riot and bankruptcy.

We all had lunch very pleasantly together as a family.

Helena warned me afterwards, we must ensure that none of those four won the bean to be King-for-a-Day at Saturnalia, or they might retaliate with more misrule than we could handle. I returned a genial smile. I was king all the other days. And I myself was determined to allocate that bean.

XVI

Helena needed rescuing from domesticity. I told Galene to watch the children, and Albia to watch Galene. Albia agreed readily; she was a born tyrant. We showed Gaudus where the local bakery was; I reckoned that if Galene took him she would be pregnant before the pies coloured in the oven. I was barely coping with ownership of my first generation of slaves; it would be some time before I could face the idea of a dynasty.

I had warned everyone we would be back in half an hour, though we were planning to bunk off for longer. (Next time I would imply I was going out for ages, but then return unexpectedly after ten minutes… )

Suddenly I understood why there were so many suspicious masters. I also understood why they were bad-tempered; I hated the slaves and the soldiers for putting me-a fair-minded, friendly, relaxed character-in that position.

Helena and I stood on the Marble Embankment and slowly inhaled the cool December air like captives drinking in the fresh breath of freedom. Then we set off together on foot for our next enquiry. Always thinking ahead, Helena had persuaded Zosime from the Temple of JEsculapius to give directions for finding Mastarna, the physician Zosime had quarrelled with, who had looked after the young man Gratianus Scaeva until somebody segmented him.

Knowing only that Mastarna lived 'somewhere by the Library of Pollio', it took us a while to identify his house, though I knew that area well and found an apothecary nearby who told us where to go.

'Presumably you have dealings with him.' I like to find out a few facts in advance.

'Not that one. I always thought Etruscans favoured roots and shoots. You know-gathering herbs by moonlight, pounding bulbs, assembling folklore potions.'

'Mandrake and religious magic?'

'Bloody dogmatist.' The apothecary spat. It was an insult rather than for medical relief 'All he wants are scalpels and saws. I need the ones who prescribe ointments and laxatives. He'll always have idiots with too much money pleading for him to slice bits off them, but how am I to earn a living? Give me a decent empiricist prescribing purges any day. I may as well live near the beast market as across the alley from Mastarna. At least then I could hope the real butchers would give me free oxtails…'