Caveat emptor

44

She had swept the floors and filled the lamps with the last of the oil. Back in the kitchen, Tilla wrapped a cloth around one hand, steadying the steaming pot over the fire. Then she hooked a tangle of dripping cloths out of the first rinsing bucket with a stick and lowered it at arm’s length into the hot water. She could hear someone moving about and chased away a fleeting sense of dread. Camma’s behavior at the funeral had been caused by grief and shock. Time and kindness and the favor of the right gods would restore her.

Moments later she heard footsteps in the corridor. Camma was disheveled but bright eyed. She was clutching a wooden box with fancy metal hinges. It could have been a funeral cask for a newborn child.

She said, “I caused trouble for everyone this morning.”

“Yes.” Tilla was eyeing the box.

“I was wrong.”

“It is forgotten.” There was no sound from the baby in the front room. “What is that?”

“I think Andaste sent you to save me so that I can see Asper and Bericus avenged.”

“Sister, what do you have in that box?”

Camma placed it on the table and wiped dust off the lid with one hand before lifting it. “We have money.”

Relieved, Tilla gave the cloths a final poke with the stick and went to stand beside her. Inside, three small leather bags were resting on some sort of burned tile. Camma undid one of the drawstrings and tipped the bag over. Silver coins tumbled and rolled onto the table.

Tilla’s eyes widened. “This is the money all the trouble is about?”

“Oh, no!” Camma seemed shocked at the suggestion. “This is not stolen.”

Hoping she was right, Tilla ran one forefinger along the table, leaving a wake through the pile of coins. “This is a miracle!”

“No, it’s his savings. Hidden under the bedroom floor. This is what those thieves were looking for.”

The heaviest bag contained bronze and the third, the smallest of the three, a few more silver denarii.

When they had all been emptied, Tilla lifted out the fat tile. “And this?”

Camma frowned. “I don’t know.”

There was something odd about the feel of the underside. She turned it over. The surface was pocked with a series of holes arranged in rows. She ran her finger across, counting them. Six rows, seven holes in each. Each hole about big enough to hold the top joint of her little finger.

Camma said, “I have never seen that before.”

“It’s been burned,” said Tilla, turning it sideways and peering at the rounded edges to see if there was anything that looked like writing. The tile was clumsily made. “Why is it in the treasure box?”

Camma sat down and reached for one of the empty bags. “I don’t know.”

Watching her, Tilla felt a sense of relief. Money was a nuisance that her own people had not needed before the Romans came, and greed for it was a curse, but she had to admit that the discovery of Asper’s savings was useful. Not only that, but seeing Camma seated at the table calmly counting forty-seven silver coins back into a bag was a comfort. The frightening events of the funeral seemed a long way away, and perhaps best forgotten. She said, “I made porridge.”

“In the middle of the day?”

“That was before you told me there was plenty of money.”

A small wail from the front room announced that the baby would be joining them for lunch.

Tilla placed the bowl of porridge on the corner of the table so Camma could reach it without moving and glanced across at the baby with approval. “He is feeding well.”

Camma picked up the spoon without having to be persuaded. It was a good sign. She said, “What will happen to Caratius?”

Tilla reached for her own bowl and began to drizzle an uneven golden spiral of honey around the surface. She said, “Tell me about him.”

“He is the son of chiefs,” Camma said, “but he has no sons of his own. He is old and angry, and he is not interested in women.”

“Why did he marry?”

Camma shrugged. “I think because having friends among a neighboring tribe might give him a stronger voice here. But instead of living in the grand town he told my people about, I had to stay out in that house miles from anywhere with the servants and the horses and his terrible old mother.”

“His mother’s mind is going.”

“Some days she knew who I was. Other days I had to keep away from her because she was frightened of me.”

It could not have been easy to avoid her in that lonely house. In such a place, with such a husband, why would any wife have wanted to stay?

Camma said, “I tried to be friends, but it made her worse. Did she talk about the silver?”

“She thought we’d come to steal it.”

“She thinks that of everyone. She thinks her father’s savings were buried under the floor when his workshop burned down.” She pointed with her spoon toward the door. “It was just along the street, near where the market halls are now. From the way Caratius likes to stand and watch whenever the men dig up the drains, I think he half believes her himself.”

Tilla cut into the honey spiral with the edge of her spoon. She shifted the spoon sideways to make a half-moon crater in the porridge and watched as the milk flowed in. As the morning wore on, she had grown increasingly uncomfortable about her speech at the cemetery. “Caratius was not how I expected,” she said.

Camma’s smile was bitter. “If he looked like the man he really is, I would never have married him. Now, I curse him!”

Tilla busied herself blowing ripples across the milk. “I hope you’re right, Sister.”

“You have doubts?”

“If he wanted revenge, it would have been easier to catch Asper alone in town.”

“Of course. But if his enemies could say Caratius had killed a tax man, they might throw him off the Council. So he sent a secret message and invited him to his death and everyone thought the brothers had run away.”

It was a good reply. “Somebody sent a message,” Tilla agreed. “Caratius says it wasn’t him.”

“Of course he does! He thought he was safe because nobody here would believe what I told them. He never thought I would dare go to the procurator.”

At that moment the outside door opened. A small figure stepped into the kitchen. “ She said you wanted me back,” announced Grata, pointing an accusing finger at Tilla. Her bag landed on the table with a thud, making the treasure box and the porridge bowls bounce. Before anyone could speak she added, “I never liked working in that bakery anyway.”

Whatever she had thought of the bakery, returning to housekeeping seemed to give Grata no pleasure, either.

Silent and tight lipped, she threw a faded old tunic over her clothes. Then she crashed the kitchen stools up onto the table, grabbed the broom, and began to sweep the floor as if it had just insulted her.

Camma said, “I am sorry about Bericus.”

Tilla said, “And so am I.”

“You never met him,” snapped Grata.

Camma said, “You were not to know Caratius’s message was a trap.”

Grata carried on sweeping the floor as if she had not heard.

Camma and Tilla exchanged a glance over the legs of the upturned stools. Camma said, “I am feeling stronger now. There is money, and I would like to go out in the sunshine and buy food. Come with us, Grata.”

“She needs the right food to make her strong again,” put in Tilla, pleased to see Camma taking an interest in someone else’s troubles. “Eggs and lentils and honey and butter and bread. And pigs’ feet to thicken the milk, and while we are out I want to find a scribe to write a letter.”

Camma said, “Grata, I shall need your help to carry everything.”

“I’m busy.”

“The stalls will close soon. The floor will still be here when we get back.”

Grata flung the broom back into the corner with a cry of exasperation. It bounced off the wall and clattered down against the table. Camma retrieved it and put it away. “I did not know you were so fond of Asper and Bericus.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Come with us.”

“What for?”

“Because we need more vegetables and meat and cheese.”

Grata snorted. “Nobody will talk to us, you know.”

“Are you afraid of them?”

Grata straightened up. “A few gossiping women?” She wiped her hands on the old tunic. “No. There are far worse things to be afraid of, believe me.”