Rosemary Rowe - A Roman Ransom

Marcus was nodding thoughtfully. ‘And now he is bringing shame on the household once again. Yet it seems that they planned all this to ensure his release.’

I thought about what Philades had said. My brain was working only sluggishly, but something had at last occurred to me. ‘We can’t know that,’ I objected. ‘If the doctor’s right, this family seem unlikely candidates to plan a ransom note.’

My patron stared at me. ‘Well, who else could it have been?’

My inspiration failed me and I shook my head. ‘Perhaps the young man has associates, and wrote to them from jail? I don’t know. It’s just that, given the background of the family, it seems a most peculiar thing for them to do. You would expect them to take the legal route. Indeed, it seems they have — you said that Lallius had an advocate. Or simply pay the fine. But putting themselves beyond the law like this? When the father hopes to be a citizen one day? I can’t imagine what they’d hope to gain.’

Behind the pall of intervening smoke I saw Marcus shrug. ‘Isn’t it obvious what they hope to gain? Of course his family have arranged all this. Who else would take such risks? Numidius has money and thanks to that dowry he probably owns property elsewhere. Perhaps he simply planned to run away once Lallius was free. But they will not escape, you can be sure of that. I’ll put a watch on all the roads. There’s nowhere they can hide.’

‘So will you send down at first light and storm the house?’ The medicus had closed his box by now, and was wrapping it in a cloth with special care. ‘It is no secret where the coin inspector lives — indeed, I could take you there myself.’

‘Of course I shall do nothing of the kind! You can imagine what would happen to Julia and Marcellinus if I did.’ He paused, then went on in an altered tone, ‘But there is nothing to prevent my sending in the guards once Julia and the boy are safely home. Indeed, presumably she will be able to say where she has been and identify her captors afterwards.’

I said nothing. The more I considered the situation, the less I liked it. What Marcus had said was obviously true — his wife would be able to identify her kidnappers — but that only made the whole affair seem more sinister to me. I could see no way that Julia could be forced to hold her tongue once she was free — unless she’d been blindfolded throughout. However, I didn’t wish to mention that aloud. Marcus had quite enough to worry him.

It was the medicus who asked the question that was in all our minds. ‘So, Excellence, what do you intend to do?’

Marcus made a gesture of despair. ‘I don’t know. I’ll sleep on it. I imagine that in the end I’ll have to do as they demand. They’ve got Julia and the boy — what else can I do?’

I roused myself. ‘Be careful, Excellence, before you do anything at all. There may be other ways. If you give in to them it sets a precedent and they may make more demands. There are still some days, you say, before he comes to trial. Give yourself at least some time to think.’

He snorted. ‘And leave my wife and child in jeopardy? I can’t take the risk. But never fear. These scoundrels won’t make a mockery of me. Come, Philades. You have been telling me for hours that I should leave this man to rest. Junio, go to the gate and tell my litter-bearers that I’m on my way.’ He turned to me. ‘Goodnight, old friend. Sleep well, and mend your health. Gwellia, take good care of him.’ And he turned and disappeared into the night.

The medicus gave me a helpless look, then shrugged. ‘Try to rest,’ he murmured, then snatched up his box of herbs and scurried after him.

I do not know if it was the effect of the potion that the medicus had given me, or merely the shock and strain of the foregoing events, but I remember nothing more that night. I must have slid into unconsciousness and slept for many hours, because when I opened my eyes again the day was well advanced. Thin winter sunlight was streaming into the roundhouse through the door; there was the smell of warm oatcakes coming from the hearth and Junio was squatting by the fire.

I turned to look at him. That was a mistake. I groaned. My head felt like a cavern filled with aching stones.

Junio was quickly on his feet. ‘Master, at last you are awake?’

I nodded. Another error. He grinned down at me.

‘It’s good to see you back with us again. Would you like some breakfast? Are you well enough to eat?’

‘Perhaps one of those small oatcakes,’ I replied. ‘I see that they are hot.’ I smiled to myself, knowing that Gwellia would have made them to tempt my appetite. They are my favourites, as she is well aware.

He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, master. My mistress did make them especially for you, but the medicus has been here and says that you must not have them after all. Only some thin gruel or broth at first, he says, because the seeds of poisoning are in you still and liquid food will help to wash them out. He’s left another of his potions for you, too.’ He crossed to the table by my bed and picked up a drinking cup. ‘He said you’d have a headache when you woke.’

‘He was right,’ I said, but I submitted to the drink. This one was cold and yellowish and thick and tasted just as dreadful as the last, but to do Philades justice, I did feel a little better afterwards. My brain was still full of those confounded rocks, but at least they didn’t clash together every time I moved my head.

I propped myself up a little more. Gingerly. My head did not fall off. ‘Surely one little oatcake wouldn’t hurt?’

Junio grinned. ‘What, waste this barley gruel your wife has made? And after all the pains I’ve taken to keep it warm for you?’ He gestured to the little pot on the hearth beside the fire, just visible where he’d heaped the embers up round the sides of it. ‘Besides, I told you what the doctor said. I would not dare to cross his will. My mistress thinks he’s halfway magical, because of what he’s done for you. Though if you ask me, I think the potions that she made herself had started the cure before he came along. You were already beginning to sleep sound again, and be less raging hot.’ As he spoke he squatted down and raked the ashes from round the pot. Then he hooked the lid off neatly with a handy stick and, using a beaker as a dipper, began to serve up the steaming contents into a wooden bowl.

‘Gwellia was making herbal draughts for me?’ I said, warmed by the thought of her concern, and watching all this in a kind of daze.

‘Master, she has done little else since you were taken ill. She must have brewed a hundred recipes. All the ancient Celtic remedies — and some Roman ones as well — but of course you couldn’t eat or drink. All we could do was bathe your lips from time to time and try to force some drips into your mouth. It was not until that physician came and showed her how to press your tongue down with a spoon that she was sure you’d swallowed anything. He got a cup of potion down you then.’

‘A hot one?’ I enquired, suddenly making sense of all those fiery demons in my dreams. Poor Gwellia!

He had filled the bowl of gruel by now and was getting to his feet. ‘Up till then, every time we put water in your mouth you struggled like a landed fish and dribbled it all out. But of course once you began to drink you started to improve. So now she thinks the medicus has saved your life, and his every word must be obeyed. He said you needed gruel, and so she made you some.’ He took down a glazed pot from the shelf, and added a little honey from it to my breakfast dish. He waved the spoon at me. ‘Marcus sent this for you as well — a present from his bees.’

He brought the spoon and basin over to the bed. I expected him to hand them both to me but he did nothing of the kind. Instead he got to his knees beside me and prepared to feed me as though I were a child.