Persona Non Grata by Ruth Downie Page A

seen to the drains. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
    “Why don’t we ask the original plumber to come back and fix the fountain?”
    “Because he’s gone off to join the army, dear.”
    Ruso hoped the army had posted him somewhere deeply unpleasant.
    “Diphilus is doing us a favor offering to look at it. I’m sure he’ll be very reasonable.”
    “We’ll have a better idea of what we can afford before long,” said Ruso, determined not to be sucked into discussing details. “If anything.” He knew from watching the way she had worked on his father that Arria would interpret any interest as agreement.
    “We don’t have to spend on cushions for the couches yet,” she assured him, as if that would make all the difference. “The staff could bring the old ones out from indoors just to tide us over. I’m sure nobody would mind.”
    A picture of a siege engine floated across Ruso’s mind: a great tower lumbering relentlessly forward, its covering of animal hides impervious to all weapons hurled at it by the beleaguered defenders.
    “Actually,” he said before Arria could start again, “money is what I wanted to talk to you about. I haven’t forgotten about the girls’ dowries—”
“Oh, the girls can wait.”
“But we can’t make any decisions till— what did you say?”
    “The girls can wait, dear. Young women are too impatient these days.”
    Ruso blinked. Arria had first started harassing him about the dowries over a year ago, and nothing Lucius said had hinted that she had changed her mind. “Well,” he said, aware that his sisters would be furious, “I’m glad we’re agreed.”
    “I’ve had a much better idea about how to get you boys out of trouble.”
    As usual, Arria was not put off by a wary silence. For some reason she was extolling the virtues of the amphora factory whose land adjoined the eastern edge of their own. “It’s a marvelous business, you know,” she said. “All the farms need them and nobody ever brings the empties back.” When Ruso failed to enthuse she added, “Do they?”
    “Not often,” he said, careful not to show any interest until he knew where this was leading.
    “Well, he’s dead now, so it’s all hers.”
    Ruso realized that something relevant must have drifted past him. “Who’s dead?”
    “Lollia Saturnina’s husband, dear. Do try and listen. At least a year and a half ago. Now here you are, a handsome young officer, single, just home from the Legions. What could be better?”
    There were many things that could be better, but Ruso could not think how to explain what they were.
    “Don’t scowl, Gaius, please. You would be such a nice-looking boy if you tried to look more cheerful. It would be quite a reasonable house with a little care and attention, and it’s not far to move. I was thinking—”
    “What about Tilla?”
    “The barbarian?” Arria glanced around in alarm, as if Tilla were about to pounce on her from behind one of the legs of the pergola. “I know you didn’t want to be lonely over there, dear, but really— is it fair to bring people like that back to a civilized place?” Leaning closer, she added in a stage whisper, “And especially not home with you, Gaius! What were you thinking?”
    “I was thinking you’d make her welcome.”
    The painted eyes widened in alarm. “Gaius, you haven’t done something very silly, have you?”
“Frequently.”
“Tell me you haven’t married her.”
“She wouldn’t have me,” he said. “She says I’m too foreign.”
    “Foreign? You? Well, thank goodness for that. Now then . . . I’m sure we can find a nice family to take her on if she doesn’t want to go home.”
    “She doesn’t need a nice family, Arria. She’s got me.”
    Arria let out a long sigh that seemed to express weariness not only with her stepson’s present stance, but with past years of argument, obstinacy, and mutual incomprehension. “Gaius, dear, please try and be sensible.” She turned away and wiped at an