Leana had been on a brief tour of the house, investigating all the little nooks and crannies. There was a new cook who lived here also, a different one from when I lived here, and she had not left when my father died.
Her name was Bellona, named after a Maristanian goddess of food, which I took as a good portent. Older than me, she stood a shade shorter than Leana. Her nose was broad, her lips thin, her eyes gentle and intelligent – her pale, sweaty face had a welcoming demeanour. With a deep voice and a local accent, she spoke affectionately about my father and told me how handsome I looked.
I could get used to that.
After I confirmed I would of course keep her in my employment, she unceremoniously rushed forward to bow at my feet. Leana’s gaze was one of amusement, and I must admit to feeling rather uncomfortable. I helped Bellona up again and asked, if it wasn’t too much trouble, to prepare a little dinner before dusk.
‘Of course, master,’ she replied, before tentatively adding, ‘though we need some coin to replenish provisions.’
‘Oh, right.’ I reached into my pocket and handed over a couple of silver pieces that came to ten pecullas. She seemed to gaze at the coins as if they were god-blessed. ‘I’ll eat whatever you eat.’
‘I eat very poorly, despite my appearance,’ she said. ‘Cheap things, not food fit for the master of the house.’
‘Honestly, I’ll eat what you do,’ I repeated. ‘If that means you have to buy better food for yourself, then so be it.’
With a warm, toothy smile, she turned to leave.
‘And please, there’s no need to call me master,’ I shouted after her. When I faced Leana again, she gave me that look of hers. ‘You can stop grinning,’ I said.
‘Yes, master,’ Leana replied. ‘I tell you now, she will have you overweight within one month.’
‘I’ll be careful what I eat.’
‘I will have to train you twice as hard,’ Leana warned me as she stepped around leisurely, absorbing the place that was to be our home for the time being – not that it was known how long we might be staying.
It would only be a matter of time until her room became filled with skulls and tribal offerings, and I wondered what the upper classes of Tryum would make of such trinkets.
‘So, you grew up here?’ Leana asked.
‘I did.’
‘It is very different from that bottom-floor apartment in Venyn. I did not know your family was… so wealthy.’
I shrugged. ‘So, what do you think of the place?’
‘Far too many furnishings. Too many precious paintings. Such things make for a soft upbringing. It would at least explain your gentle nature.’
‘Among other things, I like to think. Anyway, I wouldn’t worry about it.’ I gestured all around me. ‘They’re just walls. And all this art does wonders for one’s soul.’
Without reply Leana meandered back into the house and, breaking the lingering silence, Bellona returned to ask what meat I’d like to eat. I exchanged a few more pleasantries with her, and enquired whether or not there were any other staff on my father’s payroll. Bellona replied negatively, but she seemed coy about the subject, so I didn’t press it any further. She must have been unhappy discussing money with a relative stranger and returned to the kitchen.
Only moments later, I could smell something wonderful.
I stood perfectly still in the hall, and closed my eyes to the paintings, statues, terracotta walls and slender pillars. Pots rattled in the kitchen. Water bubbled in the fountain outside. Just beyond the house – my house – carts clattered along the cobbled street. Vaguely I tried to match the noises with my youth: soon, layered above the ambient sounds, came my mother’s tender Loccon voice, her sisters, my cousins. My father, for whatever reason, seemed to possess no firm memory in my mind. No, that wasn’t quite true – I remembered him with a belt in his hands as he threatened to strike me over some misdemeanour. Then of course our foulest argument came back to me, when he betrayed my trust with regard to a girl I’d once known and loved.
Leana reappeared, without her doublet on, and her fitted white shirt was striking against her dark skin.
‘There is a room on the north side of the building. It is the one with many green cushions on the bed, also. If you have no objections, I will take this for my quarters.’
‘Why not?’ I replied. With a smile, I added, ‘Just make sure you don’t find all these furnishings too soft and comforting.’
My very first engagement back in the city was to identify and honour my father’s body at the temple, before making suitable arrangements for his burial. Over a green, silk shirt I wore a dark brown cloak, on which I pinned the golden brooch of my office.
Leana and I stood at the gates of the house, regarding the street. A vendor was frying meats nearby, while further along came the smell of pine-scented incense. The noises were startling now we were closer to the throng. Traders were packing up or travelling from the market at the forum – if I was of the right mind I would have rummaged among their wares to take advantage of the cheaper prices at this time of day.
‘Will you be all right on your own?’ Leana asked, pushing the hilt of her sword beneath her cloak.
‘I’m going to a temple not a battlefield.’
‘That is not what I mean.’
I shook my head. ‘I’ll be fine. Look, first, sell our horses – we’ll have little need of them in Tryum and we could do with the spare coin. Then go, explore, stay in Polyum or near Regallum,’ I replied. ‘Don’t head too far down-city, avoid Plutum and Barrantum after dusk, and don’t go finding any trouble, or you might need to ask your spirit gods for a little help.’
Leana snorted with derision. ‘It will be the locals who would require the help of their gods.’ As she walked slowly into the darkness of the adjacent lane, I could only agree with her.
I passed through the evening traffic towards the temple and found the humidity and crowds suffocating. Traders rolled their carts past, nearly knocking me over, before scraping their wheels on the walls or slightly raised kerb, while boys ran ahead ringing small bells to warn of the oncoming traffic. From nearby came the stench of decaying matter from whatever foods had not been sold and thrown in the gutters. Graffiti was to the point as always: no matter where one travelled in Vispasia, a hastily scrawled penis followed by a name was forever in fashion.
I walked down one familiar street where two good childhood friends had grown up, Clidus and Aetos. It was a wide, well-to-do street with a high pavement and cloth merchants folding away their wares, pulling down awnings. I lingered there for a while, half wondering what I’d say to them if they ever came by, but mainly observing who came out of the red and yellow doors from their big houses. It seemed neither them nor their families were to be seen. I asked an old man who was sitting in the sun with a cup of wine if he knew of them, and he said that he did, but they had long since left the area.
In a nostalgic mood, I continued on my way.
A farmer was attempting to drive five cows through the narrow lanes, and people had to press themselves against the wall to avoid being trampled. An attractive woman walked by and flashed me a bright smile before she was lost in the throng. Preachers leered or chanted from the relative sanctuary of decorative archways, a dozen dialects rising to my ears, whilst passers-by lit incense to offer to small statues of their gods. The sheer variety of people in Tryum was mesmerizing. From clothing to foods to the decorations on clay pots, one could almost walk the length of the continent in a single street.