accounts and business records. Believe me, she could count--'hungry soldiers are to join us for the festival.'
'Twelve,' stated Clemens. 'I've got a little servant who will be along presently.'
'Twelve!' exclaimed Helena, in a voice that would unman Hercules.
I released her and turned to Clemens. 'As you see, my wife--the most hospitable of women--is delighted that you and your men are to join us.' A couple of soldiers sniggered. I folded my arms. 'Here's how it will work. Everyone in my household--right down to my dog--will be treated with respect, or the whole bunch of you will be hogtied and thrown off the Probus Bridge. Two soldiers and the acting centurion's servant will be on a roster daily to assist the noble Helena Justina. They will escort her to market--take handcarts--and help bring home provisions as she directs. They will work in our kitchen, under her supervision. Helena, sweetheart, all soldiers can make bread and scrub vegetables.'
'Don't you have a cook?' asked Clemens. He looked amazed. He was also worried; a true soldier, on making camp he thought first about his rations.
'You will meet Jacinthus,' I assured him, smiling.
Jacinthus was new. I had had him a week. He was one of two slaves I had recently forced myself to buy, aiming for a last-minute Saturnalia discount as the markets prepared to close for the holiday. The other acquisition was Galene, who was to look after my children. Neither slave knew anything, but they had both appeared clean and fit, which was better than most specimens on special offer in December. Julia (aged three and a half) and Favonia (aged twenty-one months), were teaching Galene Latin, and how they wished to be looked after with late bedtimes and rewards of sweetmeats.
'Jacinthus,' Helena explained, with her neck as stiff as a javelin, 'will no doubt produce exquisite pork loins in fig sap sauce one day. His baked quince will be a legend all over the Aventine. Women I scarcely know will beseech me for his recipe for mushroom bread...'
'Once he has learned his craft?' Clemens caught on fast. He would fit in here. You needed nifty footwork and a clear head.
'Exactly. In the meantime, Jacinthus spends his time asleep.'
Clemens shot me a look as if he could guess which partner had purchased this treasure. He did not know it was my fifth attempt to buy us a cook. Sleeping was better than cooking, if Jacinthus cooked like his predecessors. All had been sold back at a loss within a month. 'I dare say my boys can help you wake him up,' offered Clemens. His tone had a pleasantly ominous timbre.
A small, shy voice now made itself audible: 'Hello, Falco. I bet you don't remember me!'
The soldier's name was Lentullus. Last time I saw him he was a raw recruit in his first posting in Germany. His most distinguished act on our expedition had been swinging on the tail of a giant bull while I tried to cut its throat with a small knife as the creature attempted to kill the rest of us. The youth had courage, but of all the ragged failures in all the least victorious legions, Lentullus was the daftest, silliest, clumsiest and untidiest. He had no idea. He had no luck either. If there was a large hole, with a great notice beside it saying Don'tfall in here; this means you, Lentullus! Lentullus would home in and tumble head first down the hole. Then he would wonder why he had been so unlucky. Any legion that included him had no hope. Sometimes in nightmares I heard his off-tune voice croakily singing an execrable and obscene ditty called the Little Mess-tin Song. I woke up shaking. It wasn't the Mess-tin Song that brought me out in a sweat.
'I bet I do remember,' I answered him. 'Have you learned to march yet?'
'No, he bloody hasn't!' muttered Clemens, with feeling.
I already had a queasy-gut feeling. My house had been turned into a scene from some mythical nightmare. Then Helena smiled grimly and told me that my mother-in-law was in our best reception room in a foul mood, and wanted to
'Twelve,' stated Clemens. 'I've got a little servant who will be along presently.'
'Twelve!' exclaimed Helena, in a voice that would unman Hercules.
I released her and turned to Clemens. 'As you see, my wife--the most hospitable of women--is delighted that you and your men are to join us.' A couple of soldiers sniggered. I folded my arms. 'Here's how it will work. Everyone in my household--right down to my dog--will be treated with respect, or the whole bunch of you will be hogtied and thrown off the Probus Bridge. Two soldiers and the acting centurion's servant will be on a roster daily to assist the noble Helena Justina. They will escort her to market--take handcarts--and help bring home provisions as she directs. They will work in our kitchen, under her supervision. Helena, sweetheart, all soldiers can make bread and scrub vegetables.'
'Don't you have a cook?' asked Clemens. He looked amazed. He was also worried; a true soldier, on making camp he thought first about his rations.
'You will meet Jacinthus,' I assured him, smiling.
Jacinthus was new. I had had him a week. He was one of two slaves I had recently forced myself to buy, aiming for a last-minute Saturnalia discount as the markets prepared to close for the holiday. The other acquisition was Galene, who was to look after my children. Neither slave knew anything, but they had both appeared clean and fit, which was better than most specimens on special offer in December. Julia (aged three and a half) and Favonia (aged twenty-one months), were teaching Galene Latin, and how they wished to be looked after with late bedtimes and rewards of sweetmeats.
'Jacinthus,' Helena explained, with her neck as stiff as a javelin, 'will no doubt produce exquisite pork loins in fig sap sauce one day. His baked quince will be a legend all over the Aventine. Women I scarcely know will beseech me for his recipe for mushroom bread...'
'Once he has learned his craft?' Clemens caught on fast. He would fit in here. You needed nifty footwork and a clear head.
'Exactly. In the meantime, Jacinthus spends his time asleep.'
Clemens shot me a look as if he could guess which partner had purchased this treasure. He did not know it was my fifth attempt to buy us a cook. Sleeping was better than cooking, if Jacinthus cooked like his predecessors. All had been sold back at a loss within a month. 'I dare say my boys can help you wake him up,' offered Clemens. His tone had a pleasantly ominous timbre.
A small, shy voice now made itself audible: 'Hello, Falco. I bet you don't remember me!'
The soldier's name was Lentullus. Last time I saw him he was a raw recruit in his first posting in Germany. His most distinguished act on our expedition had been swinging on the tail of a giant bull while I tried to cut its throat with a small knife as the creature attempted to kill the rest of us. The youth had courage, but of all the ragged failures in all the least victorious legions, Lentullus was the daftest, silliest, clumsiest and untidiest. He had no idea. He had no luck either. If there was a large hole, with a great notice beside it saying Don'tfall in here; this means you, Lentullus! Lentullus would home in and tumble head first down the hole. Then he would wonder why he had been so unlucky. Any legion that included him had no hope. Sometimes in nightmares I heard his off-tune voice croakily singing an execrable and obscene ditty called the Little Mess-tin Song. I woke up shaking. It wasn't the Mess-tin Song that brought me out in a sweat.
'I bet I do remember,' I answered him. 'Have you learned to march yet?'
'No, he bloody hasn't!' muttered Clemens, with feeling.
I already had a queasy-gut feeling. My house had been turned into a scene from some mythical nightmare. Then Helena smiled grimly and told me that my mother-in-law was in our best reception room in a foul mood, and wanted to
Similar Books
