‘I’ll see if he is available,’ the chief steward said, meaning, of course, that such an arrangement was a favour on his part: the gatekeeper would come if he was told to come — a slave has little choice. ‘In the meantime, I’ll get your water sent and two of the garden slaves will wheel the barrow out to you. You go to the garden and they will meet you there.’
I made my way around the outside of the house to the area of walled garden where the altar was. It was a lovely place, a small secluded spot, with a terraced walk fringed by tiny hedges of sweet-smelling herbs and a collonade of pillars up which creeping flowers had been trained to grow. The Apollo statue stood at the farther end of it, in its own special niche, with a curved space in front of it where the plaque was to be placed, and a low stone bench on either side of it. Tucked under one of these was a stout hempen bag. I knelt and retrieved it, since it was my own. It contained the tools and mortar box that I had left behind the last time I was working at the site, ready for the task which now awaited me. I had prepared the area with a roughened mix to help the mortar grip, and given it the faintest tilt towards the back, so if my careful measurements had been accurate, I could hope that the linen-backed mosaic would slot into the space and I could quickly build the missing edge to fit.
I was still eyeing all this up when two large slaves appeared wheeling the barrow — with insufficient care. They were trundling it far too much upright and were in danger of unshipping the fragile load it bore. I realized what a task Radixrapum must have had in bringing it so far along the public road without mishap, although he was accustomed to handling it, of course. I spoke to them sharply and they laid it down, then shambled off again, just as my friend the gatekeeper appeared, carrying my water in a wooden pail.
He was looking anything but friendly now, in fact. He put the bucket down and stood a little bit apart. ‘I’m told I have to help you, though only Jove knows why. I won’t be any use. It’s not my job to carry water like a kitchen slave, and I don’t know anything about laying plaques.’
‘The job I want you for requires no special skill. But I wanted someone strong and only you could answer what I want to ask, so I requested you. You are supposed to be off duty, I’m aware. I wonder if a half-sestertius would help to compensate?’
A greedy little glint came into the brown eyes, and he said at once, ‘A half-sestertius, citizen? What can I do to help?’
He was surprisingly helpful for a man who’d never dealt with tiles before. He fetched a board for me to mix the mortar on — I had prepared the right proportions of wet lime and ground brick dust in my box — and he kept it stirring while I drizzled water in until I felt the consistency was right. Then he helped me cover the back of the mosaic with the mix and slide it carefully into place, linen uppermost. It fitted very well — you could already see the pattern showing through the cloth — and a row or two of plain-coloured tesserae all round would fill the jagged edge. I inserted a layer of mortar in the gap and began the careful work of putting in the border to complete the plaque.
He squatted down beside me as I worked, handing me the colours as I asked for them. ‘Never gave much thought to mosaic floors before. Wonderful when you see how it is done. What about the linen — will you scrape that off the top?’
‘Not for a day or two, until the cement is set,’ I answered. ‘Then it will soak off fairly easily. It will look well, I think.’ I glanced up from my work to steal a peek at him. ‘I understand that I owe thanks to you, because you saw it in the lane and realized what it was. That was observant and intelligent of you.’ I saw him preening slightly at my words, and I went on at once, ‘I expected my messenger to bring it to the house. The chief steward told me that you thought you heard a knock.’
He scratched his tousled head. ‘Well, not exactly that. Just a peculiar noise. I peered out through the grille but there was no one I could see, only an ox-cart going lurching down the lane.’
‘But you went out yourself?’ I set another border tile into the wet cement. Only a few more large ones and the job would be complete.
‘I heard the wagon pause. Naturally, I went outside to see if it was someone coming here, but the man was simply stopping to rearrange his load. He grumbled that there was something cluttering the lane, so, of course, I went round to investigate and found the barrow there. I hadn’t seen it come, and he had no idea. He hadn’t seen anyone else along the road, he said, except a young man taking rolls of woven cloth to Glevum on his horse.’
‘I see,’ I said, although I didn’t see at all. This seemed to disprove my theory about Radixrapum getting a lift home — unless the cart-driver wasn’t telling us the truth.
But, it seemed, there was nothing more to learn, so I concentrated on placing the last few tesserrae. When I had finished, I clambered to my feet. Tomorrow or the next day I would wash off the cloth and the god Apollo would have his naming plaque. It looked impressive even as it was. Pedronius should be more than satisfied, I thought.
I gathered my tools together in the bag and tied it to the barrow, together with the tray, using the rag I’d wrapped the pieces in. ‘I’ll leave this here,’ I said, ‘and take it back to town the next time that I come. But if a turnip-seller comes and wants the barrow back, then you should let him have it — it is his property. I only meant to hire it for an hour or two, but it looks as if he got a ride home after all — if not on the ox-cart that you noticed in the lane, then something similar — and doubtless that saved him a long walk in the hills. Speaking of which, it’s time I left myself.’ I fished into my purse and brought out a silver coin. ‘Here is the half-sestertius which I promised you.’
The gatekeeper took it and tried it in his teeth, then tucked it underneath his tunic belt. ‘I’ll take good care of your possessions, citizen, you may be sure of that,’ he murmured with a grin. ‘That is what I call a very handsome tip. If you call again, I would be pleased to help: I’m saving to buy my freedom, if I ever get a chance — just as the steward is, though it will cost him a lot more. With this contribution, I am almost halfway there.’ He picked up the handles of the barrow as he spoke. ‘So may Janus, the god of gates and gatekeepers, smile on you and bring you safely to your own door this night — and your turnip-man as well.’
And with that he took the barrow and wheeled it swiftly through the court, leaving me to make my puzzled way towards the gate.
Nine
The failure of Radixrapum to meet me at the house and receive his payment had one unlooked-for benefit for me. I still had a half-sestertius in my purse, and that meant that I could afford the unusual luxury of hiring horse-drawn transport for my journey home — an unexpected bonus, for which I thanked the gods. The sun was already getting lower in the west, and if I had been on foot, I should have been overtaken by darkness long before I got back to my little roundhouse and my worried wife. I was anxious to tell the family about the loss of Minimus, and, to tell the truth, I was glad not to be walking on my own. I am generally sceptical about the tales of rebels in the woods, but, in the circumstances, I was not feeling sceptical tonight.
I hastened to a hiring stables that I’d had dealings with before, where I knew that they kept a cisium for hire — a swift and lightweight gig for single passengers. The gig was there all right; the problem was to find a driver willing to undertake the trip at such an hour, since there was little possibility of a finding another fare for the return. But the proprietor of the stables owed me a favour, and, after some bickering as to price, a deal was duly struck.