only four and five, that should be interesting.
He expected nothing from his stepmother, a woman whose interests were restricted to personal grooming and home improvements, about which she knew everything except how they were paid for. Publius dealt with all that, dear. Nor was he expecting a greeting from either of his half sisters, since he was not in a position to buy them anything they were likely to want.
Ruso had already missed his father's funeral when the news of the death came. The sea passage from Africa was a tricky one and it had taken him almost a month by ship via Athens, Syracuse, Ostia… Under different circumstances, it would have been an interesting sight-seeing cruise. As it was, by the time he reached Gaul, Lucius had started to unravel their father's affairs-or, more accurately, their father's affairs had begun to unravel around him.
According to their stepmother, Publius had 'investments.' The family had always assumed these investments were funding the very grand-and currently half-built-shrine to Diana the Huntress, which Publius had commissioned for the center of the town. 'Investments,' however, turned out to mean 'loans.' Examining the documents stored in the trunk to which he had kept the only key, Publius Petreius's sons soon discovered that everything their father did had been done on an elaborate system of credit.
Initially the brothers tried to keep their dreadful discovery secret while they quietly shored up the loans. But they found themselves in the position of the children Ruso had seen playing on a British beach on the day he arrived, building dams against the incoming tide: Every time they secured one area, chaos broke out in another.
Valens's letter telling him about the vacancy with the Twentieth at Deva had come as a gift from the gods. It was all arranged by post with surprising speed. Using the excuse of the move, Ruso sent instructions to have all his surplus belongings sold. A suitable buyer was found for both his housekeeper and his valet. When the deals were complete Ruso withdrew as much money from his account as the army would allow (they insisted on keeping enough to bury him, just in case) and used it to pay off one of the few creditors who genuinely needed the money.
While he was making these arrangements Lucius paid all the small-but-irritating debts. Then the brothers visited each of the large creditors individually, pointing out that slow payment was better than no payment, that the farm would produce a steady income, and that Ruso was earning a good salary. If they wanted their money back they must keep quiet, keep faith and keep funding the building of the shrine to Diana, which the brothers were obliged to finish as it was their father's dying wish.
This last was a lie. The truth was that six different lenders thought they were funding the building of a shrine, when in fact most of them had been funding personal grooming and home improvements. No wonder Publius Petreius's heart had given out under the strain. Within days of his return home, Ruso was glad he had missed the funeral. His grief was frozen beneath a hard layer of anger.
He clunked the chair back onto all four legs, cracked the seal on the box, and prized it open with his knife.
Over on the bed, the girl stirred, sighed, and settled back into sleep.
Ruso groped in the rustling straw. His fingers closed over a jar. He drew it out. OUR OLIVES was chalked on the side in Lucius's hand.
The next find was a rolled piece of white fabric showing a smeared charcoal sketch. It was a wobbly oval topped with a pile of sticks-or perhaps a range of mountains, or a storm at sea. The center of the oval contained an arrangement of blobs and in one corner of the fabric were two outlines of small hands. Ruso turned the picture to several different angles and could make no sense of any of them.
Next out: a pair of thick brown lambskin gloves. He brushed the straw off them and slid his right hand into the soft embrace of the fleece. Cassia had measured well.
Finally, the expected letter. Despite being sealed into the box, the writing tablet had also been closed and sealed individually.
'Greetings, brother,' announced black letters so closely crammed onto the thin wood that Ruso had to lean toward the lamp to make them out. 'I hope this finds you well. Cassia and the children send their good wishes and our stepmother… ' Ruso ran his forefinger hastily along the formalities and slowed down for, 'On the subject which concerns us all, you will be pleased to hear that there are no further adverse developments.' So, no more debts had come crawling out from dark corners. 'The girls have drawn a picture of you, which I trust you will enjoy.' That was him? Heavens. He must get his hair cut. 'The harvest has been as good as we hoped,' continued the letter, 'and you will be as delighted as I am to know that Cassia is expecting another child in the spring.'
As delighted as I am, indeed. A neatly ambiguous statement from the man who had earnestly requested the latest advice on contraception after the birth of the last baby.
'I pray that you remain in good health despite the climate in Britannia,' continued Lucius, 'and hope you will write soon, brother!' The final sentiments, having reached the bottom right-hand corner too early, performed a sharp turn and twisted up a narrow column of space between the ends of the previous lines and the edge of the letter. 'Do not forget our arrangement,' Ruso deciphered, turning the page sideways. The way the pen had skidded and fallen off the cut edge of the wood while forming the tails of the longer letters somehow added to the urgency of, 'We all depend upon you. Farewell.'
Ruso glanced around the shadowy walls of his small but relatively private bedroom, and knew he was lucky Do not forget our arrangement. Lucius was in charge of four children, a wife, a farm, a stepmother, and two goose-brained half sisters, and now there was another baby on the way. All Ruso had to do was carry out his work and send home all the money he could muster every quarter to help keep a roof over his family's head.
Outside, the trumpet sounded the change of watch. It was getting late. Ruso stood to put the box away. Then he lifted the unconscious slave girl and carried her to the kitchen, where he laid her on a rug beside the warm embers in the hearth. She hardly stirred as he slid a cushion under her head and put his own cloak over her for a blanket.
He leaned against the wall with his arms folded and gazed down at her. The surgery had been the easy part. If she perked up, she would have to be fed and sheltered through a long-and possibly unsuccessful- recuperation.
It was not difficult to see why some people threw out useless slaves. He had wondered briefly whether that was what Merula had done with Saufeia-the girl who 'wasn't really suitable for this kind of work'- but that would not have made sense. Merula had not suggested that the girl was physically incapable of working, just that her attitude was poor. There were all sorts of jobs that a fit slave could be coerced to do, whatever her attitude. The girl would have been salable to somebody, and her flight and subsequent death must have meant a financial loss to the business. Merula had received the news calmly not because she was indifferent, but because she had expected the worst and prepared herself.
Merula had made one effort to claim compensation-the complaint about the hair-but when that had failed, it seemed she had given up. Since the army provided most of her income, he supposed it was a wise decision. In fact the only person who had shown any interest at all in the question of who had murdered Saufeia was the girl with the ankle chain, the one they called Chloe. He had wished he could promise her that the army would find the culprit and punish him. But if Merula was not going to make a fuss, it was unlikely anyone else would make any effort to narrow down the suspect list from the several thousand men currently in Deva. Besides, now that he thought about it, the murderer might have been a woman.
The girl shifted and murmured something in her sleep.
Ruso's collecting women.
He was glad he didn't have to explain any of it to Lucius.
18
The gray light of dawn was making its way around the shutters of a house that contained three people. Two were asleep. The third was grappling with the problem of women's underwear. Where could a man get hold of some? Discreetly? As if that were not bad enough, there would be the monthly business to deal with at any moment.
