I asked the man on duty in the niche beside the gate but he shook his head. ‘I don’t know anything about a visitor. I’ve been here on duty all the afternoon — in fact, I’m due to be relieved at any minute now — and the only one to pass me has been that little slave in the blue tunic. Which reminds me, I don’t think I am familiar with your face. What did you say your name was, and what’s your business here?’
I told my tale again, and in the end he let me in. I looked around a moment, wondering what to do. When I had been there previously that day, there hadn’t been a gatekeeper — the chief steward himself had come to greet me at the gate. And tonight there was no one to meet me when inside or escort me to where I was to work, and no one accosted me as I walked through the stable yard. I went straight across into the outer kitchen court, avoiding the large amphorae let into the ground for the storage of the household’s oil and grain supplies.
I knew from previous visits where the chief slave had his room — in the front entrance of the servants’ quarters, a large shed-like building forming one side of the court. It was a stone-built, cheerless room, no bigger than a cell, but it was private and, being central, it gave him a useful vantage point, not only across the kitchen court and yard, but also over the separate sleeping areas which lay to either side: male slaves to the left and females to the right. The arrangement doubtless required vigilance, since slaves are the property of their owners, and any relationship between the sexes is not only frowned on but classified as theft.
The steward’s door was open and I could see him sitting there, on the straw mattress in his sleeping space, poring over something spread out on his bed. I could not see what it was, because at my appearance he bundled it away, put it into a stout brass-bound wooden chest and turned a key on it.
‘Well, citizen Libertus?’ His voice was not friendly as he greeted me. ‘You have come back, I see. We were not sure if we were expecting you or not. Your plaque is waiting for you in the stable block; I had them put it there where it was safe. Do I take it that you hope to do some work tonight? Another hour and it will be dusk.’
Something had disturbed him — the turquoise slave was right. The long thin face, which had been kind enough before, was cold and angry now. I wondered, from his welcome, if I was too late in more respects than one, and if the rumour about Lucius’s death had, by some accident, already reached the house. It was just possible. Quintus could have sent a message here himself. After all, the steward had once worked for him, and the decurion would have taken a perverse delight in sending word that Pedronius’s intended talisman was cursed.
But I dismissed the thought. The steward had not told me that the plaque was not required, or even complained that it would bring bad luck and demanded to renegotiate the price. Indeed, it seemed that he’d actually had it brought inside from the road. That much was promising.
I gave him a placatory smile. ‘I hope that I can make a start tonight. I should get most of it in place, even if I cannot completely finish it. Tomorrow there is the naming ceremony of my grandson at my house, so obviously I cannot absent myself from that, but I will be back to put the final touches on as quickly as I can.’ I had an inspiration and added, ‘I hear that Marcus Septimus is already on his way from Rome, and I’m sure that Pedronius would like this done before he comes. I understand he hopes to hold one of the welcome banquets here, and I know he places some value on the plaque.’
He looked down his long, thin, bony nose at me. ‘You are aware of how much store he sets by it? Then you have a most peculiar way of demonstrating that! It has been treated most disrespectfully.’
So that was the trouble! Perhaps I should have guessed, since I knew how superstitious Pedronius could be. I sent up a quick prayer to whatever gods there were that my apparent disregard for his favourite deity would not be enough to make the tax-collector change his mind.
‘Of course,’ I babbled, ‘I can see he might consider it inappropriate for an image of Apollo to be transported in this way.’ Wheeled through the streets on a street-vendor’s barrow by a ragged turnip-man, I meant, but I did not draw additional attention to the facts. ‘My own slave, I fear, was not available and it was the best expedient that I could devise.’ I tried the smile again. ‘Where is the fellow who delivered it? I promised him money when I got here myself.’
The disdainful eyebrows came down half an inch. ‘Citizen, that is unfortunate, but hardly my concern. You have a contract, and the price was fixed. If you were obliged to use the services of someone else and were thereby put to some expense, that is your own affair. But was it necessary to have him leave it outside the villa wall and not even send a message to say that it was there? If the gatekeeper had been a little less alert, it could have been stolen or damaged in some way — no doubt those forest bandits that we hear so much about would find a ready use for a sturdy handbarrow, if only to sell it in the marketplace.’
It was my turn to frown. ‘Left outside the wall?’ I was surprised at this, and slightly irritated with the turnip-man, but, on reflection, perhaps I was unjust. Manoeuvring that barrow with its fragile load over a mile or so of stony road would be no easy task but, as he promised, he had done that for me. If I was longer at the pie-oven than he had bargained for, perhaps he’d been obliged to leave and hurry home himself, since, like me, he would not wish to travel in the dark. He had assured me this villa was on his own route home, though he hadn’t mentioned how far out he lived. But, all the same. . ‘He left no message? Not of any kind?’
‘The gatekeeper did think he heard a noise outside, which might have been a knock, but when he looked out through the grille he saw no one at all, only the barrow leaning up against the wall. Fortunately, he took a closer look and, knowing that a pavement was to be installed, he realized what it was. He had the wit to send and tell me it was there, so I ordered a pair of slaves to go and bring it in. They’ve put it in the stables, as I said before.’
‘This all happened in the back lane, then?’ I said, working out that this must certainly be true. ‘And no one saw a turnip-seller? Not at either gate?’
He looked at me impatiently. ‘Not that I am aware of. Were you expecting one?’ He said it with such obvious disdain that I did not press the point. It was enough that the mosaic had arrived and was safely at the house. Doubtless I’d hear the truth from Radixrapum very soon; he’d want his money, and he’d earned it too, though I was surprised that he had simply left the barrow here and gone. Had he — my mind was racing now — seen something unexpected to lure him down the lane? A band of rebels in that stand of wood? Or someone who might have been described as a green man?
I shook my head. More likely that a waggoner he knew had passed and offered him a lift.
The chief slave had seen my movement and took it for dissent. ‘You are deciding that it is too late to make a start?’
‘On the contrary, steward, I will get to work at once, if I could have a slave to bring me water in a pail. What about the land slave who helped me last time I was here? If you could spare him, he could lend a hand. It requires someone lively, but there is nothing skilled — just passing things and keeping mortar mixed and wet — and then there is a good chance that I can finish this tonight.’
He looked disapproving. ‘I’ll see what I can do. But the land slave you mention is away on loan. My master often leases servants — just for a day or two — to help defray their price, and that one’s helping a decurion today to move his kindling pile. And all the other servants have allotted tasks.’
Suddenly, I had another of my little inspirations. ‘There is a rear doorkeeper who is due to come off duty, I believe. He will be fit and strong. Do you think he could be spared? No doubt he wants to eat. But tell him I will give him a substantial tip.’ It is not uncommon for visitors to give gratuities to slaves, who try to save their slave price and buy their freedom back, but gatekeepers rarely get very much at all. I could afford a half-sestertius as Radixrapum wasn’t here, and I might learn something to the purpose from the man — and earn an ally in the house as well.