“The same place Alex did,” he replied,giving me a grin that seemed equally divided between teeth andempty space.
I offered my arm, which he took, and Icalled to Alex.
“Give each of them anotheraurei above what you’ve alreadypaid. Call it,” I added with a laugh, “an advance for futurework.”
Alex complied, naturally, although I couldsee he did not look happy about it, and I had to remind myself thathe was worried about the future, and whether our supply of goldwould be sufficient.
Birgit had clearly heard the disturbance,because she appeared from out of the villa, wiping her hands on acloth, reminding me that, despite the fact that there was no needfor her to do so, she insisted on running the Pullus household.This time, however, she did not run to Alex, but to me, envelopingme in a hug as she laughed and cried at the same time.
“So you’re free!” She kept sayingthis, and while it was certainly a nice and welcome feeling to seeher so relieved, I nevertheless felt guilty. Finally, she releasedher grip around my neck to run her finger along not just the scaron my cheek, but the one on my forehead that extends a couple ofinches from my hairline, and I heard the echo of her son’s voice asshe asked in what sounded to my ears was an accusing manner, “Andwhat did you do to yourself?”
“I didn’t do anything!” I protested,although she clearly dismissed this as some sort of nonsense. Then,she turned away from me, but she did not address Alex. “Who,” sheasked curiously, “is this?”
Of course, it was Bronwen she was lookingat, and I hurried over to help her dismount, then as proud as ifshe had been Cleopatra, I brought her to stand in front ofBirgit.
“This is Bronwen. She is a member ofthe Parisii tribe, and the daughter of a merchant namedPraesutagas. And,” I looked down at her with a smile, “she ismine.”
To her eternal credit, while I sawthat Birgit was completely surprised, she did not hesitate to say,“Salve, Bronwen.my name isBirgit Pullus, and I bid you welcome to our home.”
Bronwen responded as if this was the mostnatural thing in the world, dropping a bit by bending her knees asshe replied, “Thank you for your hospitality, Birgit.” Then, insomething of a surprise since we had not made any indication of theconnection, she went on, “Your son Alexandros is a good man, and Iowe him a great deal.”
I tried to keep my mouth from dropping open,yet when I glanced over at Alex, it was difficult for me to keepfrom bursting out laughing at his face, which was close in color toa Legionary’s tunic.
Birgit kept her composure, sayingsimply, “He is the son of Diocles, Bronwen. He is his father’sson.” Then she turned and, without waiting for us, she headed backinside, leaving me to thank Marcellus a final time, then ask him totake their mounts to the stable in the city where rented horses arekept. It meant that I had to trot to catch up, wanting to be withBronwen when she entered what, if the gods favored me, would remainthe ancestral home of our family. While I knew she had traveled toGaul on several occasions with her father, to whom I had learnedshe was exceptionally close, she had informed me that when theystayed at another merchant’s home, it had always been in the homeof a Gallic merchant and not Roman. Perhaps it was vanity, but nowthat I had seen the kind of dwellings that even the nobility of theParisii used, I wanted to see her face when she caught her firstglimpse of what came with being a Roman with a certain level ofwealth. I was not disappointed; she gaped at theatrium and its small garden, butwhen we entered the triclinium,and she saw the couches and low citrus wood tables, which, ofcourse, were polished to a high sheen that reflected the naturallight streaming in from the opening of the atrium, she came to acomplete stop, her mouth open.
She turned to me, her eyes very wideas she gasped, “This is yourfamily home?”
Before I had time to think, I heard my voicesay, “Now you know why it’s so important to me to go to Alexandriaand get that money back.”
She did not say anything, but I saw in hereyes that she now understood in a more visceral way why I felt sostrongly.
Her eyes went to the mosaic floor, which ispartially covered by carpets, and I took pains to point thosecarpets out, grinning at her as I teased, “Guess where these comefrom.”
She ventured, “Rome?” When I shook my head,she frowned, and in that moment, she exposed a streak ofcompetitiveness that is not common to Roman women, although mymother certainly is, as is my aunt Miriam. After examining themmore closely, she actually surprised me by correctly guessing,“They must be from the East, somewhere like Egypt.”
“That’s right!” I was not justsurprised, I confess I was a bit irritated that she had made thecorrect guess, but she did not know that I had one throw of thedice left. “But can you guess wherein Egypt? And,” I added, “who they belonged to?” At this, sheshook her head, and I tried not to sound like I was gloating when Itold her, “These came from the royal palace in Alexandria. Theybelonged to…”
“Cleopatra?”she gasped, beating me to it, looking up at me with, if anything,wider eyes. “These belonged to her?”
“Yes,” Alex spoke up for the firsttime, and I saw that he was as amused and as proud as I was. “Myfather Diocles stole them when the Prefect was with Divus Julius inAlexandria those seven months.”
“Your great-grandfather metCleopatra?” She asked this with a bit of incredulity, and my firstthought was, You have no idea.
But that could wait for later, so all I saidwas, “When we’re sailing to Alexandria, I’ll tell you all aboutit.”
With that, Birgit led us into the large roomthat, if the truth be told, is where the family spends most oftheir time, seated at the long table and alternately enjoying eachother’s company and arguing about something. In simple terms,
