A Bitter Chill by Jane Finnis

trouble grew. If she wasn’t satisfied with every last detail of our service, she could get the Oak Tree closed down, or maybe she’d just have us thrown out and hand the mansio over to somebody else.
    The weaselly slave emerged through the bar-room door, followed by Albia and the fair-haired girl. He strode round to the open carriage window and announced, “I’ve looked over everything, my lady. It’ll do for two or three nights.”
    “I sincerely hope we shan’t need longer,” Sempronia answered.
    So do I, I thought, but however long she stays, we’ll keep her sweet somehow. We must. The alternative, a bad report carried back to the Governor of Britannia, didn’t bear thinking about.

C HAPTER IV
    Sempronia slowly descended from her carriage, helped by her secretary, who hovered close to her. She pushed back her hood and stood gazing around like a general assessing a battlefield. I tried to estimate her age, fifty-five at least, maybe sixty. She was thin and pale, with wrinkles and white hair, but her beady eyes missed nothing.
    I noticed Margarita had gone to stand beside the sandy-haired man, and there was a fleeting look between them, a quick smile. The weaselly secretary saw it too, and his face took on an unpleasant gloating expression, then his deferential mask slid back.
    Sempronia turned to me. “This is my son, Aulus Plautius Priscus.” She indicated Sandy-hair, who gave a supercilious nod. I couldn’t decide whether he was haughty, or simply shy. “Margarita is my maid and companion.” The girl smiled at me, and I reflected that it comes to something when slaves have better manners than their owners. “You’ve met Diogenes—” she nodded towards the Weasel—“my confidential secretary.” No smile there, and no manners either, but I already knew that. “The Lord Gnaeus Plautius, my husband, will go straight to his bed. I’m afraid he’s very unwell, and will keep to his room, but our physician, Timaeus, will look after him. Oh, and the child there is Margarita’s son Gaius.” The page-boy stopped stroking the horse, and looked round at mention of his name. “Keep an eye on him, and let us know if he gets into mischief. I won’t tolerate unruly children.” She glared at the boy. “Do you hear me, Gaius? You’re to behave yourself, or I’ll be angry. And you know what will happen if you make me angry.”
    “Yes, my lady,” the boy answered, lowering his eyes.
    “And Horatius.” Sempronia looked round. “Where’s Horatius got to?”
    Priscus gestured towards the second carriage. “He’s sound asleep inside. I don’t know how he does it. I’m freezing cold, and all my bones ache from bouncing around on the road, and he’s been snoring away most of the journey.” He banged with his fist on the carriage’s side. “Horatius! Wake up, or you’ll be spending the night with the horses!”
    “All right, all right, I’m coming!” A large florid man of about fifty came slowly out, rubbing his eyes and yawning. “No need to shout. Have we arrived? Jupiter, it’s cold! I need a drink.”
    “Ah, there you are at last. Horatius is my husband’s cousin,” Sempronia explained for my benefit. “Also our lawyer.”
    One look at his veined red face was enough to show how he’d contrived to sleep so soundly: with the aid of Bacchus, no doubt of it. And the wine he’d drunk hadn’t improved his temper. “I don’t know what I’ve done to offend the gods,” he grumbled, “that they give me clients who insist on trundling halfway round the Empire in raging blizzards, and because the clients are also my relatives, I can’t escape being dragged along with them.”
    “Oh do stop whining, Horatius,” Sempronia exclaimed. “If I can endure it, and my poor Plautius in his state of health can endure it, then you’ll surely manage to survive.”
    “I wouldn’t bank on it,” he growled. “This whole expedition is a complete waste of time, as I’ve said before, and if you ask