Ruth Downie - Ruso and the Root of All Evils

‘Girls!’ ordered Arria, seizing her chance. ‘Go and help Galla put the children to bed.’

The demands of ‘What?’ were almost in unison.

‘Your mother asked you to put the children to bed,’ put in Diphilus, with more gallantry than sense.

Marcia said, ‘We don’t have to do what you say.’

Hearing echoes of his childhood, Ruso looked into the hazel eyes and said, ‘You have to do what I say. Apologize to your mother, and to Diphilus.’

Marcia opened her mouth to answer, then closed it as understanding dawned. Her brother and official guardian had been to the gladiator barracks. What followed was not gracious, but it was an apology.

After the girls had gone Ruso had piled the splintered remains of the table in a corner beneath a cheerful cupid who was driving a chariot pulled by two goats. Returning to the couch, he took refuge in his wine while the staff scoured the floor for potsherds and testicles and while Diphilus explained in detail to the three remaining diners why fixing the drains would involve digging up most of the garden. Arria was so intrigued that she did not notice the glass in her hand gradually tilting and tipping its contents across the floor.

To Ruso’s alarm, Lollia glanced across at him and winked.

Arria brushed a stray olive aside and sank on to the couch while the cleaning girl and the laundrymaid lit more lamps and bustled around her with cloths and brooms. ‘We can’t go on like this, Gaius. Those wretched girls!’

‘Lollia said it was a very entertaining evening.’

‘I don’t want to talk about it. And that child! At this rate we shall have no furniture left.’

‘There’s too much of it anyway.’

Arria picked at a piece of fluff on the cushion. ‘I know you and your brother aren’t interested, but your father always wanted us to have a nice home.’

‘At the moment we’re lucky we’ve got a home at all.’

She looked up. ‘Well, I’m sorry to have to say it, dear, but whose fault is that?’

Ruso stared at her.

‘Your father was wonderful with money!’ she said. ‘And always so generous. I can’t understand how you two have grown up the complete opposite. He worked so hard to set up all those investments, and neither of you seems to have the faintest idea how to manage them.’

Ruso started to laugh. ‘Father didn’t have investments, Arria, he had loans! Loans to pay for all the things you insisted on buying. All the plans that got bigger and bigger — ’

‘He agreed to the plans. I never bought anything without consulting him first.’

‘He never intended to build a temple that was going to cost a fortune to run for ever and ever. And he didn’t live long enough to agree to all these cupids.’

‘He would have liked them!’ cried Arria. ‘Do you want us to live in a mud hut like your barbarian?’

Ruso took a deep breath and reminded himself that he was no longer nine years old. He was a grown man and he was responsible for what was left of the family. ‘No,’ he said, wondering how many times Lucius had already tried to explain this to her, ‘I want us to live within our means. I know Father didn’t tell you all the details, because he didn’t tell us either, but a lot of the money was never really there. Now we have all this …’ He glanced around the dining room. ‘We have all these things, and we have to find a way to survive while we pay for them.’

Arria’s hand crept to her mouth. ‘Are you saying your father lied to me?’

‘I’m saying,’ said Ruso, trying to remember what Cass had told him and wishing she were here to deal with this, ‘he was very fond of you and he wanted you to be happy. Now you won’t be ordering anything else, will you?’

Arria sniffed. The paint in the outer corner of one eye had smudged, giving her a black streak like an Egyptian. ‘It isn’t my fault, Gaius,’ she insisted. ‘Not all of it. Not the court case and everything. And all those children!’

‘We’ve all contributed,’ Ruso conceded. ‘But you have to listen, Arria. The only way out of this is to stop spending money.’

‘Not even a little outdoor dining room? It won’t cost much. Diphilus is such a nice man.’

‘No. We have to concentrate on keeping things going while Lucius and Cass are away, and we have to get these wretched investigators off our backs.’

Arria shook her head. A pin tumbled out of place and landed unnoticed on the couch. ‘There never was any money? Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘No more lovely things?’

‘Just enjoy the lovely things you have.’

She was saying sadly, ‘Poor Diphilus will be so disappointed,’ when a voice from the doorway announced, ‘Never mind poor Diphilus. When are you going to make Gaius give me a dowry?’

Ruso growled, ‘Not tonight.’

‘Then what about Tertius?’

Ruso said, ‘Tertius made a choice,’ at the same time as Arria said, ‘Who is Tertius?’

‘I need money, Gaius.’

‘So do we all.’

‘Then Tertius is going to die!’ cried Marcia, bursting into tears. ‘And all you want to do’ (this was addressed to Ruso) ‘is to make money out of cutting him up! It’s all your fault, Gaius! I hate you!’

‘Then you shouldn’t have summoned me home,’ said Ruso.

After a restless night throughout which one of them waited in dread for mice and the other for spiders, Tilla was relieved to open her eyes and find she could make out the hump that was Cass’s shoulder. Beyond it she could see the outline of the shutters. She closed her eyes again and slid her hands up over her ears in case the movement she was about to make should disturb anything with four paws and a tail and send it scuttling across her face. Then, with a move sudden enough to scare it away, she sat up.

Beside her, Cass muttered and groped for the blanket, pulling it over her head. Tilla peered at the floor, decided there was nothing moving down there and padded across to open the window.

The chilly air out in the yard smelled of dung and woodsmoke. A donkey shifted and stamped, banging its bucket about in the hope of food. Somewhere beyond the walls, a bird chirruped an early call.

‘Wake up!’ she hissed, shaking her companion by the shoulder. ‘Wake up. We have to go and find Phoebe’s bar.’

The sun had risen by the time they had tidied themselves, rejected the woman’s offer of breakfast and made their way through the waking streets to join the early traffic crossing back over the floating bridge. Safely on the opposite shore, they headed downstream to where the merchant ships were moored along the wharf.

A swaying crate was being guided into a hold by men shouting instructions to the crane operators. They dodged out of the path of a slave lugging an amphora just as a long train of laden mules began to pass along the road in front of them. An old man wheeling a trolley of boxes of fish plodded by in the opposite direction. As they approached, the screech of metal on stone signalled the opening of warehouse doors.

Cass was muttering something that sounded like ‘Oh dear, oh dear …’

Tilla said, ‘I hope this Phoebe serves breakfast.’

They were barely past the first warehouse when she stopped.

‘Is it here?’ Cass was gazing around her. ‘I can’t see it.’

‘Something else.’

The sight of chained slaves was not unusual. What Tilla had not expected was that the grimy and dejected figures slumped on the dockside ready for loading would be dressed just like the people she had left at home. She hurried forward, ignoring the guard who was busy chewing and examining his own teethmarks in a hunk of bread.

Kneeling by the nearest woman — the trader had at least had the decency to chain the men separately from the women and children — she whispered in her own language, ‘I am Darlughdacha of the Corionotatae amongst the Brigantes. What is your name, Sister?’