Lindsey Davis - Enemies at Home

‘He made no mention of that to me,’ I said.

‘He didn’t like having to do it,’ replied Gratus. ‘Polycarpus had a lot of loyalty to his staff. He would never show any annoyance with his master, but I know he thought it was his job to knock them into better shape and he ought to have been given a chance to do it.’

‘Do you agree with that?’

‘Yes. Yes, I do.’

‘So was there bad feeling between Polycarpus and his master?’

‘I wouldn’t go that far.’

‘But he was siding with the disgruntled slaves?’

‘It was his own fault they were disgruntled. He should never have let them find out in advance that some were to go,’ said Gratus. ‘He needed them that evening. He thought he was being kind and honest, giving them a warning.’

‘But it made no sense to have them all stirred up?’

‘No.’ Gratus shook his head. ‘You can imagine the rumours. The ones who thought themselves safe were gloating, and others were very distressed.’

Unnoticed by us at first, Gratus and I were being closely observed by another difficult slave. Myla had been hovering near us, in that nosy way of hers. As soon as she saw me looking at her, she edged away.

To my surprise, she then suddenly marched across the courtyard. I had never seen her move with so much determination. She went straight to where Galla Simplicia, her cousin and son were talking in a small group, interrupting them in such a rude way that Gratus sucked his breath sharply through his teeth. ‘That’s not acceptable!’

Myla addressed Sextus Simplicius. ‘Am I to be sent to that sale next week?’ she demanded loudly.

Simplicius looked flustered but he answered coolly, ‘It will be sooner than next week. As Valerius Aviola’s executor I can say that all the slaves whose freedom has not been specifically given in his will by their kind master will be going to market, yes indeed.’

Myla had gone red. Her next target was Aviola’s son: ‘You know that’s wrong! You know that was not what your father wanted!’

‘A decision had been made,’ Valerius said quickly, more positive than I had ever seen him.

‘I deserve better than this!’

‘You have always had good treatment.’

‘I was made promises.’

‘I think not. You must accept what has to be.’

‘Oh, young master, you have a kind heart — save me!’

‘No,’ said Valerius. Unable to bear her begging, he turned and walked away.

‘I have a child! What about the child?’ wailed Myla.

‘Do not worry about your offspring!’ Galla Simplicia blocked Myla from following her son. Her voice, normally so light in timbre, became hard: ‘It is not wanted in this household. You shall go together, mother and baby − “Buy one, get one free”.’

Beside me, Gratus gulped. I cringed too. ‘Galla was winning me over today, but that was a cruel put down!’

Gratus turned to me with an odd look. ‘Has anybody told you about her?’

‘Galla Simplicia?’

‘No, the slave woman.’

I mimicked the regular comment around here: ‘Oh, she’s just Myla!’

There was a moment of stillness. I gazed at the steward. He raised his eyebrows expressively, then also shrugged his shoulders in that elegant way he had.

‘I see there is a story. Please tell me?’

‘I could not possibly comment,’ replied Gratus.

‘Oh no! You cannot leave it there, Gratus. I know how things work. There is nothing to single out that slave as special, certainly not diligence at work. Yet normal household management is never applied to her. She herself implies she is untouchable. She does what she likes — normally very little. Polycarpus, though a good steward, use to let her get away with it.’

‘So what does that tell you?’ Gratus whispered secretively.

‘She had a protector. One who cannot protect her any longer.’ I gave Gratus a long look, then put a theory to him. ‘Try this: was Polycarpus the father of Myla’s children?’

‘Oh, strip me naked and whip me round the Forum of the Romans, Flavia Albia! Where did you get that from?’ I was slandering a fellow-steward and Gratus was raring to set me straight. Anyone would think stewards had a guild (not legal, since so many were not free). ‘I had reason to dislike the man but I had known him for years and Polycarpus would never have touched that dangerous piece of mischief.’

‘The man was too savvy?’

‘He had a decent wife and children-’

‘That never stops some people, Gratus.’

‘Not in his case. He was faithful — more or less — and, give him his due, he had far better taste!’

I let a slow grin creep across my face. ‘Well. Settle down, my friend. I was just testing. Part of my job. I saw Polycarpus’ attitude towards Myla for myself. He looked irritated by her, and annoyed at having to put up with her in his well-run establishment. I thought little of it at the time.’

Gratus reluctantly came down from his agitation. He would not demean himself by asking who I really thought Myla’s lover was, though I believed he wanted me to know.

I put him out of his misery. ‘Once you think about it, it’s obvious. She has been here for years. She has borne several children. Nobody ever enquires who their father is. Simplicius views her with distaste. Galla and Valerius Junior are vicious to her. Valerius will not hear Myla’s pleas; he absolutely wants her gone. Anyone but Myla herself would know it was stupid to ask him. Can there be any doubt, Gratus — Myla sees herself as special because she was singled out by the one person nobody else could question? It was Valerius Aviola who slept with her.’

‘Flavia Albia, I bow to your powers of conjecture!’ replied Gratus. He was pretending he had known nothing about it. But that was only because he was a very good steward, and very good stewards are impervious to gossip.

After seeing that those who held power over her had now all ganged up against her, Myla stomped off, heading towards the kitchen.

Gratus left me, needing to be among his staff. I waited a moment, gathering my thoughts, then I followed Myla.

I would have liked to corner her alone, but Galla’s younger daughter was there ahead of me − Simplicia, a thin young woman in decorous dark funeral clothes. Her mother’s daughter, she also had several pieces of gold jewellery and such immaculate face colours I wondered where she had her makeup done. She was probably painted by a slave at home, so I did not bother to ask.

When I came in, she had only just arrived and was addressing Myla. ‘I heard a baby crying.’

‘He’s watching her,’ replied Myla gruffly, nodding at the youth Cosmus who was with her. ‘Supposed to be.’ He was peering into food stores like any ravenous young boy. Unlike the sharp knives in my family, he had no notion of stopping and looking innocent on the approach of adults.

Simplicia was indignant, though not because the baby had been left to cry. She pointed to the child, who was no longer lying in the basket I had seen before, but in an elderly wooden cradle. Despite its age, it was well-made, perhaps by the family’s estate carpenter. ‘I have been searching for that!’ Simplicia exclaimed indignantly. ‘It was ours — we all had it, my sister and brother and me. It is now wanted for my sister’s baby. You have no right to it; please remove your child at once.’

A married woman even though still young, she spoke forcefully and with obvious annoyance, but Galla had brought her up to treat slaves politely. Simplicia clearly knew Myla, and made no threat of punishment.

Truculent but mute, Myla lifted the child, then took her out of the kitchen.

‘You can go!’ snapped Simplicia at Cosmus. She seemed to know him too. From her tone, she may have been afraid he would refuse her instructions.