The door was imposing. I took a deep breath, put in the key. Half expected Brutius to come running and fling it open. No one heard me.
A chill ran up my arm and down my neck. It was quiet, too quiet, with a thick layer of dust on the hall floor. I threw open the door to my examination room. Nothing disturbed, but again, dust.
I backed out, walking straight into the triclinium. Gwyna should be sitting in front of a brazier, knitting or carding wool or something, Hefin should be quietly reading Greek, and one of the dogs should be lying at their feet.
No one was there. My breath was coming fast and shallow. What about the slaves-Coir was supposed to be cleaning the house, Brutius minding the animals, Venutius cooking, and Draco standing near by, looking strong. Where the hell was everyone?
I sniffed, and caught a whiff of sauce. Venutius. I rounded the corner of the triclinium into the kitchen and ran smack into my cook.
He somehow managed to perform a leap and a twist in midair, which prevented the honeyed coriander sauce from spilling on the floor. He set it down carefully on the counter and allowed himself a gracious smile in my direction.
“Welcome home, Dominus. Dinner will be served in approximately fifteen minutes.”
“Where is everyone? Where’s my wife? Hefin? The other servants?”
A guarded look crept into Venutius’s aristocratic face. “The mistress-I’m not sure. I expect in her bedroom. Her brother-the young master-is with Dominus Bilicho.”
“Bilicho? Why? And why is Gwyna in her room? She’s not ill-”
He shook his head. “No-no, I don’t think so.”
I grabbed Venutius by the shoulder, and he gave me a distasteful look.
“What do you mean you don’t think so? What’s wrong with her?”
He lowered his head. “I don’t like to speculate, sir. For the last six weeks, she hasn’t taken supper in the dining room. She won’t direct the servants and has stopped telling me what to buy. Master Bilicho came over, saw the state of things, and took the little boy back with him. His woman has come by to check on the mistress. I usually see her in the morning, and if I don’t, I leave the food out. Sometimes I find her in the middle of the night, in the bath chambers, or roaming the house.”
My mouth was dry, and I needed to sit down. “Anything else I should know, Venutius?”
He thought for a moment, considering.
“Yes, there is, Dominus. Brutius has been staying outside with the animals most of the day and night, because of Coir. She’s impossible, sir. Since the mistress started to-since she stopped giving orders, Coir has refused to clean the house, or do any work at all. Draco is very unhappy-he’s lost weight. She seems to have him and everybody else-even the mistress, if you pardon me, sir-under her thumb. I’ve kept up the food accounts, and make meals at the regular times, whether I’m told to or no. But not her, sir. That’s why the house is in the state it’s in.”
The edge of the kitchen counter steadied me. My legs were too strong to buckle, but I felt like I was going to vomit. Venutius put down the sauce and poured me some wine.
I threw it down my throat. The ripe red taste of the Tuscan flushed some color back into my cheeks.
“Where is she?”
“The mistress? Most likely-”
“No. Coir. I want this dealt with before I see my wife.”
“I believe she’s out, sir, with Draco. Perhaps at the baths.” He took a step backward from the look on my face.
“Are they usually home when you serve a meal?”
“For the evening meal, yes, Dominus.”
“Very well. I’ll wait.”
Venutius nodded and went back to his duties as if everything were normal. I pulled myself together from the pieces lying about on the floor and walked outside into the courtyard. The kitchen and herb gardens were tended, the well covered, even the altar dusted off. I figured I’d find Brutius sleeping in the kennel.
Pyxis heard my approach before she smelled me, and came out of the little building with the hair on her neck standing up, growling.
I murmured: “Not you, too.”
She sniffed and wagged, and three large dogs ran up the front of their fenced yard, barking like Cerberus with a headache. The puppies were grown up. A bushy-haired man crept out, squinted in my direction, and suddenly grinned. He ran up with a sidewise gait and grabbed the top of the fence in excitement.
“Dominus! You’re home!”
“You’ve been sleeping with the dogs, Brutius?”
He turned his head away, looking down. “Coir’s bad, sir,” he said flatly. “I won’t have nothin’ to do with her. I took care of the courtyard as best I could, and me and Venutius made sure the garden was all right. But with Coir actin’ like the mistress, and the mistress not actin’ like herself, beggin’ your pardon, sir, I was safer out here with the animals and they was safer with me.”
I rubbed my chin. “Thanks, Brutius. Get cleaned up, then come in and eat.”
He grinned again. “No need, sir. I’m not hungry. I had a bit of cheese before I laid down with the dogs.”
“Well, get cleaned up anyway. You’ll be sleeping inside tonight.”
I left, wondering if Brutius felt like he was being punished. Doubtless he enjoyed sleeping with the dogs, but I was determined to treat my slaves well even if they didn’t like it. Ah, and look where that policy led …
Something heavy leaned against my legs. Fera purred when I bent down to pet her. Her kittens-now cats-were nowhere to be seen. Seems everything grew up while I was gone.
Voices rose from the triclinium. Venutius wouldn’t have mentioned that I was home.
I entered the kitchen, peeking through the curtain. Coir was reclining on the couch, eating the trout and coriander sauce. Draco stood, his huge shoulders tense, his massive neck hanging low. He looked shrunken, his eyes hopeless and helpless, fixed on Coir. He kept his voice down. They were arguing.
“It’s wrong, Coir. It’s just wrong. I don’t see how you can go on, day after day. The master will find out-”
“And what have I done wrong? Tell me that! Were I given an order by anyone? Do I disobey an order by anyone? No. If I’m not told to clean, I don’t clean. It’s not my fault the mistress don’t care. I’ve not done nothing wrong.”
“You should have been the slave of a lawyer, Coir. You’ve got a real gift for argument.”
The knife in her hand fell to the floor with a loud clank, splattering some yellow-green sauce on the couch. Draco was as white as a spring lamb, if not quite as fluffy. He backed up and shrank against the wall.
Coir stared at me. Her brown skin was browner, and she’d grown her hair long. No fear in her eyes, but a kind of gloating triumph, like a general who knows he’s beaten the better man.
“Leave us, Draco.”
He bowed so low his head nearly scraped the floor, then retreated into the kitchen.
I walked over to her and raised my hand to strike her. I had never hit a slave. I’d slapped a woman once. She looked like she didn’t give a damn whether I did or didn’t. She’d already won. I lowered my arm and swallowed the bad taste in my mouth.
“You’re free, Coir. I’ll be going out of town again in a few days, and I’ll make it official when I return. Leave tomorrow.”
She’d expected-maybe even wanted-me to hit her, but this she hadn’t counted on. She’d asked me to free her before I married Gwyna, and a combination of cajolery and kindness persuaded her to stay. I thought that was enough. I’d never understand women.
She looked up, eyes flat and cold.
“What about Draco?”
I stared at her for a long moment.
“Draco!”
He ran in, bowing all the way.
“I’ve just freed Coir. She’s leaving tomorrow. You’re free as well, if you want to join her.”