Rosemary Rowe - A Pattern of Blood

I grinned back at him. ‘It seems that you do,’ I said jokingly. ‘She didn’t get around to telling my fortune. I don’t often consult soothsayers. And neither does Sollers, seemingly.’ A thought struck me and I added, more thoughtfully, ‘Though in that case, wasn’t it rather dangerous for Maximilian to choose to delay him with a soothsayer? There must have been a chance that he would ignore her and walk on.’

Junio shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Sollers talked about “the usual things” that soothsayers tell you. That sounds as if he’s talked to them before. And you stopped and listened to her, after all.’

That was well argued. ‘Yes, you are right. He would have stopped and listened if a fortune-teller sought him out, even if afterwards he dismissed it. Especially if the “promises” were what he wanted to hear.’

‘And no doubt Maximilian would have seen to that.’ Junio frowned. ‘Sollers believes that Maximilian killed his father. You saw that demonstration with the purse?’

I smiled appreciatively. ‘I did. And so, apparently, did you.’

Junio ignored the compliment. ‘You do not think the medicus is right, master? Maximilian had much to gain. He was the last to leave his father’s room yesterday. We even know that he spoke to Rollo last night. And now this robbery. You must suspect him, too. Yet you are not convinced.’

‘Not entirely. Or at least, I am not sure that it is all of the picture. Remember, there are those bloodstains on Lupus’s sleeve. They must have come from Quintus, don’t you think? Marcus is equally convinced that Lupus did it. And Julia blames Flavius for it all. After all, it was his dagger. And neither of them had any love for Ulpius.’

He smiled impudently. ‘It is like the curial elections, master. Everyone with a favoured candidate. Though my own vote would still go to Maximilian. Do you not wish to know, for instance, what he arranged with that soothsayer?’

‘I do. And look, the rain has stopped. Perhaps, when we have finished at the slave market, we could hear her version of events. Though Marcus will be getting impatient for our return by now.’

‘That bath attendant told us that she came to the forum.’ Junio looked around hopelessly. ‘I cannot see her anywhere, can you?’

I hadn’t seen her, though I’d been keeping my eyes open since we left the house. ‘There will be people who can guide us to her, no doubt,’ I said. ‘She must be a well-known figure in the town. “Warty old beggar-women” are instantly memorable. We will ask on the way to the slave market.’

I knew where the slave market was, at the back of the basilica. ‘Market’ was a flattering name for it, since it consisted of a small area behind a fountain where half a dozen slaves were shivering in a line, shackled together by chains at neck, hand and foot, and presided over by a surly fellow in a filthy tunic with a brutal whip in one hand. Only the adult slaves were left at this hour: the children and infants who usually make up the bulk of the merchandise (since they can be bought cheap or collected from temples and dumps where they have been abandoned) having presumably found a readier market.

The slave master himself, bronzed and prosperous-looking in a smart cloak and green tunic, was standing on a wooden chest nearby and vaunting the virtues of his remaining wares, while one or two townspeople showed a desultory interest, feeling the muscles of the younger men and looking at their teeth. No one wants a servant with dental problems.

The slave master saw me coming and turned his attention to me. ‘Strong slaves for sale, citizen. Nice little slave girl, now? Guaranteed free from diseases. One owner from birth.’

I shook my head. I have always hated slave markets. I have been on the wrong side of one myself.

He smiled a crooked smile at me. Several of his teeth were missing. ‘She’s young, she’s willing. No tendencies to lust, excessive religion or public spectacles.’ These latter were those defects in a slave which a trader was bound by law to disclose to any prospective purchaser.

The girl smiled at me hopefully. Perhaps I had a kinder face than many, or perhaps it was simply because Junio looked well fed. I shook my head again and her face fell.

The slave trader did not give up. ‘Only for sale because her master died. Come on, citizen.’ He named a price. ‘I shall be robbing myself.’

One of the muscle pinchers was beguiled by the offer. He went over and tested the girl for plumpness, and then, apparently satisfied, motioned to the slave vendor, who came down from his makeshift platform. I saw silver coins change hands, together with the certificate of ownership. The girl was unshackled from her comrades by the guard, and handed to her purchaser by the chain around her neck. He, I was encouraged to see, ordered the fetters removed before he led her away.

I took advantage of this break in proceedings to approach the slave trader and ask him my questions about Gwellia. Did he know of a slaver called Bethius who had sold a dark-haired Celtic woman in this market a year or so before? It occurred to me as I asked the question how hopeless the search appeared.

It was not the same man as I had spoken to on my previous visit, and I was not hopeful of the result, but he looked at me shrewdly. ‘What did she look like, this woman?’

I told him, as best I could. I realised that I could not even be sure that my wife’s hair was not grey, after so many years.

‘You want a dark-haired Celt, I can get you one, citizen. I have good contacts in the trade.’

I made it clear that it was this woman in particular that I sought.

He thought about it for a little while, and then his face brightened. ‘Of course,’ he said, eyeing my purse reflectively, ‘I cannot be certain.’

I blessed the gods that I had not been obliged to bribe information from the fuller’s men. I slipped him what money I had left and his memory, thus oiled, began to function less rustily.

‘Well, citizen, you’ve come to the right place. I am Bethius, as it chances. But the woman you are looking for. . I see so many slaves.’

‘It is an unusual name,’ I pleaded, ‘Gwellia. And she was beautiful.’ I did not dare to use the present tense.

He shook his head. ‘I could not swear to it. There was a slave, about the age you mention. She had a young man for sale with her, as I recall. Sold them together to some wool trader from the north. Near Eboracum, I think. He wanted an attendant for his mother. Or perhaps it was his wife. Or was that the man who bought the slaves from Gaul? I remember he paid me well. No, I think it was the Celt. But of course, it may not be the woman that you seek at all.’

It was, however, more than I had looked for. Gwellia, alive, in Eboracum? It was possible. I thanked the man and turned to move away.

He called after me. ‘Any time you want a slave, citizen, you come to me. Best value in the Empire. Gauls, Picts, Greeks, Armenians, Numidians — you name it, I have them all. Or if you want to sell that boy of yours, I can offer you a good price: British slaves are highly prized among the Belgic tribes.’

I walked away more quickly to hide my distaste. The fellow was only trying to be helpful: many people would have been glad of such an offer. I turned to Junio and saw that he was glancing at me nervously.

‘Don’t preen yourself that you are going to Belgium,’ I told him gruffly. ‘After all the trouble I have taken to train you to be half useful with mosaics. Besides, who else could make spiced mead the way you do?’

Junio’s face split into a joyous grin. ‘Do you want me to be useful now, and ask a few questions about this soothsayer of yours?’ He tried to sound his normal impudent self, but he could not keep the emotion from his voice.