A Roman Ransom

Chapter Six

It was not, after all, a snake — though it was almost as slippery as one. This was a child — a small, filthy and bedraggled child, coated from head to foot in grease. It was naked, apart from a piece of ragged cloth round its loins, and another stuffed into its mouth and tied securely round the lower face as if to prevent the infant from crying out — and the whole body, from the shoulders downwards, was covered in that shocking film of yellow grease, which gave off a strong and strangely pungent smell.

‘Who in the name of all the gods are you?’ I said aloud. I had heard of changelings — left among mortals by the gods — but I have never really believed in such things. Some pauper’s child, perhaps, thrown into the litter in the hope that someone would take pity on him and raise him as a household slave? Whoever he was, my heart went out to him. (It was a ‘him’, I saw. He was crawling rather listlessly about, and as he did so the tattered cloth round the lower limbs fell free, and put the matter of sex beyond doubt.)

Despite the stench which emanated from every part of him, I stretched forward to take him in my arms. My whole intention was to comfort him. I tried to free the bond round the face but to my alarm he tried to flinch away. His eyes grew wide. He stared at me, then all at once he screwed them up again. His face got very red and I guessed that without the cloth round his mouth, he would be screaming now.

All the same, I could not bear to see him gagged. I undid the tie as gently as I could and eased it from his mouth, but far from soothing him, my action seemed to enrage him even more. He took a shuddering long breath and let out a mighty howl.

‘Hush!’ I muttered, rather helplessly, holding him awkwardly and attempting to rock him in my arms. I was just wondering what on earth to do when the curtain of the litter was pulled aside and I saw the medicus looking in on me.

‘Libertus! I heard you call. What is it? Are you ill? I thought you were asleep. .’ He stopped, staring at the little bundle in my arms. ‘What in Hermes’ name have you got there?’ He came and knelt down beside me, letting the leather curtain strips fall round us as a screen.

For answer, I handed him the infant, which promptly kicked, arched itself into a rigid line, and launched into another fit of screaming howls. I had never realised how lustily a small child can bawl.

Philades held the wriggling apparition at arms’ length. He looked at it a moment and then stared from it to me. ‘Dear Zeus, it’s Marcellinus! How did you manage this?’

I was so startled that I almost leaped upright. ‘Marcellinus? Surely not? The kidnappers have already arranged for his return, and for his mother’s too — tonight when the villa gates are to be left “open and unguarded”, wasn’t that the phrase? Anyway, this isn’t Marcus’s child. Remember, I have seen him, medicus, and you have not. This child is far too big.’ Admittedly small children look much the same to me, but there was nothing about this one that I recognised at all.

The doctor looked long and hard at me. ‘You have seen the boy, you say? And how long ago was that? Before you were taken ill? That must be a moon ago at least — and children of this age grow very fast. Come, pavement-maker, don’t play games with me. This is Marcellinus — and we both know it is. Look, there is the tell-tale birthmark on his leg.’

I gawped. I remembered, vaguely, that there had been talk of such a mark — shaped like an eagle, a symbol of good luck — but I had never seen it, since the babe was always swaddled when I looked at it. But on this child’s thigh, beyond a doubt, was a purple stain which might (with imagination) look something like a bird.

I shook my head again. There was no sign of a bulla — the lucky charm that every Roman child is given a few days after birth, and never leaves off again until he comes of age. ‘But he has no bulla. Marcellinus had a gold one round his neck. I was at the naming ceremony when it was put on him.’

‘So I am led to understand. But in the circumstances I would almost be surprised to find it, wouldn’t you? Any thief would be delighted by the opportunity. No doubt it has been removed and sold by now.’

I murmured doubtfully. Of course the medicus was right in principle, but it was hard to imagine even the most hardened kidnapper deliberately snatching such a precious object from a child. To lose a bulla was to invite appallingly bad luck — to a Roman it is almost like losing one’s contract with the gods — and it would require the most extensive sacrifice and ritual to expiate the loss and create another one. I began to argue the point, but then I trailed off. I had to admit that the medicus was right — I had been ill for many days and a bulla is easily removed.

I stared at the greasy little form again. It was hard to reconcile this ragged, smelly apparition with the cosseted, perfumed and pretty little boy who had so often been held up for my admiration in the past. Yet, the more I looked, the more I realised that it was genuinely possible. Indeed, now I began to admit it to myself, I could see that there was an undoubted resemblance to my patron in this child: the same nose, the same colouring, the same fair, curling hair — though that was new to me! When I’d last seen Marcellinus he had been nearly bald! And there was undoubtedly the birthmark. Even to my weary half-drugged mind, it was clear that this was indeed the missing boy.

But I was not too drowsy to have a sudden thought. I had not recognised the child, although I’d seen him several times before, so how had Philades, who by all accounts had never met the boy, worked out so quickly who it was?

I was too tired and sick to play at guessing games, and I confronted the physician openly. ‘I accept that you are right. It is the missing child. But tell me, Philades, how did you know? About the birthmark, in particular? Marcus didn’t mention it to people, generally, and I thought that you had never seen the child.’

The doctor gave me a grim little smile. ‘Did you think you were the only one who knew that little secret, pavement-maker? I’m sorry to disappoint you, in that case. Marcus has been describing it to everyone, so that they could identify the boy if he were found.’

Of course! I should have thought of that myself. I nodded. ‘And you are in his confidence, I know — in fact you have become a regular Thersis, haven’t you?’ It was an attempt at flippancy, I know, a joking reference to that affair in Rome — but levity was obviously not Philades’ style. There was not the vestige of a smile: in fact if anything he looked grimmer than before, and I rather wished I’d left the words unsaid. ‘Well, thank Jupiter the child has been returned to us,’ I said, in the hope of covering the moment’s frostiness. ‘Though Marcus will be furious when he sees what they have done.’

I meant it. What Marcus would say when he found that his precious son and heir had not only been stripped of his fine clothes and golden bulla, but smeared with stinking grease and shut up in the dark like an animal in that basket, I did not care to think. I even feared he’d vent his rage on me, for bringing the child back to him like this: my patron has always had a tendency to blame the messenger for unwelcome news.

The doctor said nothing, but the boy squirmed sideways and began to squeal again. Philades expertly scooped him up against his shoulder and began to pat him firmly on the back.

At least, I thought — watching this procedure helplessly — my worst fears had not been realised. We’d received no word of Julia, but at least the boy had been returned to us alive. I’d feared that they were both dead, but the boy seemed generally none the worse for his terrible ordeal. Indeed, the medicus had performed a sort of miracle. Marcellinus had been red-faced and fretting visibly, but now he stopped howling, burped once, and then relaxed. The sobs subsided first to gulping gasps, and then to contented little bubbling sounds. Though these were muffled against the toga cloth, I recognised the hissing noises which had alarmed me so. I felt a little stupid recalling my earlier fears.

‘You are skilled with children,’ I mumbled awkwardly. ‘Do they teach you that in Greece? Or did you learn it somewhere, afterwards?’ Most Roman-trained physicians I had met, including the state-licensed ones in town, had learned what they knew either from army doctors or from people trained by them, and were more comfortable with wounds and fevers than with children’s maladies.

If Philades heard this feeble flattery he ignored it utterly. ‘There!’ he said, with brisk efficiency. ‘That was the problem. Digestive vapours. He’s obviously more comfortable now, and fortunately he seems to be more or less unharmed.’ He flashed me a swift, appraising look. ‘I’ll hand it to you, pavement-maker — you may be sick, but you are still cleverer than I gave you credit for. How in the name of Jupiter did you bring this about?’

At first I didn’t understand what he was driving at. ‘What do you mean?’

‘The boy’s return. I presume you did arrange it, somehow, with the kidnappers?’

I stared at him. If he had suggested that I’d had dealings with Hercules himself, I could scarcely have been more taken aback. I shook my head. ‘He was pushed into the litter in that container there. It was a surprise to me.’

‘But you must know who brought him here?’ He was watchful and suspicious, suddenly. ‘You saw the man?’

‘I don’t know any more than you do. Someone pushed him in against my back, and ran away into the woods. Or I presume he did. Odd, since there was already an arrangement for the child’s safe return. But that’s all I can tell you. I swear on the gods.’

Philades paused in the act of patting Marcellinus, as if some passing deity had turned him into stone. ‘Surely you must have caught a glimpse, at least? Since you were unaccountably awake?’ He was avoiding my eyes, I realised.

‘I saw nobody,’ I said. ‘I was lying on my side and looking out the other way. By the time I’d turned round it was too late.’

He was still gazing elsewhere with exaggerated care. ‘So you couldn’t identify the person even from the back? That’s most unfortunate.’

‘I was watching you dealing with the logs,’ I said. All this emotion was exhausting me. ‘You know I was. Besides, I’m ill. I don’t know why you — of all people — should expect me to be alert. It’s only chance I wasn’t fast asleep.’

He grunted. ‘If you say so, citizen.’ This time he sounded frankly sceptical. Did he suppose that I had chosen not to look, because I was sick, exhausted and preferred not to incur the troubles that witnesses invite?

‘I’m sure the litter slaves would bear me out on this,’ I went on grumpily. ‘They must have seen me leaning out to look.’

‘I doubt it, citizen. I instructed them to keep their attention on the task. We heard your cry, of course — but we all assumed that you were just shouting in your sleep again.’

I frowned. ‘But you came back?’

‘Of course. I was about to wake you from your troubled dreams and give you something to ensure that you relaxed. I have some dried herbs, ready mixed, here in my pouch.’ He gave me that appraising look again. ‘Which, after all this shock, you should have in any case.’

So he had genuinely expected me to be asleep, I thought. Or drugged into unconsciousness, perhaps. I was suddenly overwhelmed by a strong desire to avoid his sleeping mixtures at all costs.

I changed the subject with forced cheerfulness. ‘Why don’t we tell the bearers that the boy is found?’ I said. ‘They are still working on the logs, and we are inside the curtain, so they won’t have seen — they must be wondering why you have been so long.’

He wouldn’t look at me. Instead he examined the now-sleeping child with care: moving the limbs, and opening the eyes and mouth and staring into them. ‘Leave that to me. I’ll tell them presently. If I announce it to the servants now, they will come rushing back, and that will lead to even more delays. If you are right, the kidnappers must be still nearby in the woods. They may have other plans to slow us down.’

‘Other plans?’ I echoed, stupidly.

‘Of course. Who do you suppose arranged this blockage in the road? It must have been to ensure that they could hand him back.’

I was feeling worn and wretched, but I could see that he was right. If someone wanted to stop a conveyance which was on its way to the villa, this was the perfect method. A roadblock made a litter, in particular, extremely easy to approach. Any other sort of carriage would require some kind of constant attendance by a slave, if only to stand by and hold the horse, but litter-bearers would put their burden down and go to clear the road. So the kidnappers could put the basket in unobserved. .

Unobserved? I brought myself up short. Only if the occupant was more or less asleep! Most litter-riders would be wide awake while travelling — only an ill man would doze, as I had done. And in that case — I felt a little prickle of unease run down my spine — it was likely that the kidnappers knew exactly who I was, when I was coming, and what means were being used to convey me here.

And then it dawned on me. I must have been affected by those sleeping drugs or surely the idea would have come to me before.

Who had known that I was coming here this afternoon — and insisted on a litter as the vehicle? Who had decided to accompany me himself, and made no secret of the fact that he would give me a draught to make me sleep? Who — when the litter halted at the logs — was perfectly placed to push the basket in, while everyone’s attention was on something else? The answer was Philades, in every case! A newcomer to the household, skilled with herbs and drugs, who had turned up — as if by accident — immediately after the child and its mother had disappeared.

I shook my head. It was absurd. Why should the doctor be involved in anything like that? I must be rambling. I had no earthly proof that he was involved — and there were surely things my newly thought-of theory did not explain. For instance, he could clearly not have brought the basket here.

Though — I thought, uneasily — he could easily have picked it up from some appointed place, or given a signal to an accomplice in the woods. And he had expected me to be asleep — indeed, if I had not been nibbling at my forbidden oatcake and thus kept myself awake, it is almost certain that I would have been. Was that why he had questioned me so closely about what I might have seen — and why his manner had so abruptly changed? This roadblock was a bold and daring plan, but he had the intelligence to have thought it up. I stole a glance at him, and found that he was looking appraisingly at me, although he dropped his eyes at once and went on ostentatiously examining the child.

I felt a cold stab of alarm. We were outside the villa and I was in the doctor’s hands — a situation that I didn’t like at all. I was not at my most capable, I knew. My reasoning was slow. Junio was gone, and the bearer-slaves were under Philades’ command. My best defence was to get into Marcus’s house as soon as possible.

‘We must tell His Excellence the news at once,’ I said, emphasising the honorific title to remind Philades that I had powerful patronage. ‘It’s obvious the kidnappers have had a change of plan, though I shouldn’t be surprised if there were more demands to meet before there is a chance of Julia’s release. Poor Marcus. I know how I should feel, if it were Gwellia. I wonder what he will do now about the villa gates?’ I tried to keep my manner as calm as possible, but I was aware that I was wittering.

The look the doctor gave me would have withered iron. ‘You can give your version of events to Marcus very soon. I’m sure he will be as totally amazed as you and I. As to additional demands, was there any message in the basket with the boy? About how we are to ransom Julia, perhaps?’

I hadn’t thought of that. ‘I haven’t looked.’

The medicus gave me another of his looks. He said nothing, but stretched past me and with his free hand tipped the basket out on top of me. As he did so I saw what I had not taken in before, that there were cloths inside — not very clean or lovely cloths, but enough to form a sort of cushion between the child and the bottom of the container. I rummaged through them, not very expertly, realising how weak I had become.

‘Nothing there.’ I lay back, exhausted by my efforts.

‘Pity,’ he said tersely. ‘But it is good to know that someone has been caring for the child. He’s been kept moderately clean, at least.’

I forced my addled brain to work this out. Marcellinus was hardly what I’d describe as clean, but it was true that he had been snatched away without a change of clothes, and — as I understand it — with children of such a tender age these things are pretty frequently required. ‘Except for that stinking grease, of course,’ I added.

Philades glanced at me. ‘The hog’s grease, you mean, to keep off the cold? Don’t worry, pavement-maker, I had noticed that. I shall mention it to Marcus, never fear. A poor man’s remedy, but sound enough. Mixed with the warming herbs of Mercury: garlic, lavender and rue, if I am any judge. And he has obviously been fed, and recently. Is that a fair assessment, do you think?’

‘I don’t know,’ I muttered, feeling thoroughly confused. I could vaguely remember being greased myself when I was small, though I was sure that it hadn’t stunk like this. However, the memory prompted me to ask, ‘Did his mother do all this for him, do you suppose? The food and everything?’

He swept my words aside. ‘Oh, Julia couldn’t suckle him herself. I doubt she ever did. More likely she gave him to the wet nurse as soon as he was born — most wealthy matrons do — and then of course her milk would cease to come.’

I was too embarrassed by this mental picture to say anything beyond, ‘I knew he had a wet nurse, naturally. But I thought that he was suffering from hunger pangs. There was a piece of cloth bound round his face when he arrived. A twist of it was stuck into his mouth. He seemed to have been gnawing at it. I supposed. .’

The medicus said impatiently, ‘A comforter. Dipped in milk and poppy juice, no doubt, and given to the child to suck — since clearly he’s been drugged.’

‘Drugged?’ I was genuinely horrified. ‘Of course some Roman parents give their children sips of poppy juice to make them sleep — for instance when new teeth are breaking through — but I know that Julia did not approve of that. Marcus will be furious.’

I meant it. However, I could see now why Marcellinus had been so sluggish earlier, and why he had crawled so listlessly about. Even now, as the medicus examined him, I could see that the eyeballs were rolling back into the head: and as soon as the eyelids were released they drooped, and the child was ready to slide back into the arms of Morpheus.

‘Well, someone has been giving this infant poppy juice,’ Philades said, as if he had scored a point at my expense, ‘and much more of it than could be administered on that scrap of cloth. Possibly the drug was mixed with something soft to eat. It would have to be something sweet. Poppy milk is very bitter on its own.’ He had lifted the boy into the air and was smacking his face, quite sharply. ‘Come on, young fellow, we must wake you up.’

Marcellinus stirred and began to fret again.

‘So he was taking solid food?’ I said. Of course I should have known that for myself. Wasn’t the servant sent to get cooked fruit for him, the afternoon that he and his mother disappeared? ‘Why did he need a wet nurse, in that case?’

Philades looked incredulous. ‘Surely you know that children often go on suckling long after they are eating other food as well: sometimes until they’re almost three or four, when they can start to drink a little watered wine? But whether he’s been suckled while he’s been away, who knows? Of course, anyone can hire a wet nurse, at a price — but the watered milk of cows or goats would do if the child can manage through a piece of straw.’ He turned back to Marcellinus. ‘Just one burp more, I think!’

Philades put the child back against his shoulder — irrespective of the stinking grease which was leaving smears against his toga — and began patting him firmly between the shoulder blades. ‘There, that should answer your question, citizen. This boy has obviously been drinking milk, judging by the posset that he’s produced.’ He gestured to a mouthful of pre-digested goo, which the child had just deposited on his shoulder folds. ‘That’s better, little man.’

‘I see.’ I tried to look intelligently at the stain. It did not seem to worry him at all. Admittedly the toga was already none too clean.

Philades swung the boy down from his perch. ‘But enough of this. The lad is getting cold. Hog’s grease alone cannot protect a child from chilly winds. And you yourself should rest. Whatever else, you are my patient still.’ He was wrapping the now-gurgling Marcellinus in one of the cloths from the basket as he spoke. ‘Here! You take him in the litter with you and try to keep him warm. I’ll go and organise those lazy slaves.’ He handed the half-sleeping infant back to me, and moved the curtain strips as if to rise and leave.

All at once he seemed to change his mind. He turned back, opened up the pouch he’d mentioned earlier and poured a little of the dried mixture out into his hand. I had just opened my mouth to say something in farewell, when I found that he had deftly placed the herbs in it.

‘Chew these,’ he said. ‘They’ll help you sleep again. You’re looking pale. I’ll see you at the house.’ He stood up and raised his voice again. ‘Slaves, what are you doing there? Are you not finished yet? This man is sick. It is imperative we get the litter into the villa soon.’

There was a muffled answering shout from further up the track, but the medicus had already let the leather curtain fall back into its place. It screened the child from outside view, of course, but it also meant that I could not see what was happening in the lane.

Naturally, I didn’t chew the herbs. I spat them out into my hand, and simply lay there huddled in my makeshift bed, holding the child and hoping that something would happen before long and we could be safely on our way.