Ruso and the Root of All Evils

6

‘Brother! What are you doing here? What’s the matter with your foot?’

‘Aren’t you supposed to be in the Army, Gaius?’

‘Uncle Gaius! Did you kill all the barbarians?’

The greetings and hot embraces filling the painted hallway gave no hint of the crisis that had brought him home.

‘Gaius, dear, is it really you? What a surprise!’

‘Mother!’ he said to Arria. He had practised the word until he no longer had to grit his teeth to say it. He thought it came out rather well.

‘You’re wounded!’

‘It’s nothing much,’ he assured her, and took Tilla by the arm. ‘Arria, this is — ’

‘Uncle Gaius! Uncle Gaius, I’ve got a loose tooth!’

He bent awkwardly, leaning on the stick. ‘Want me to pull it out for you, Polla?’

His niece frowned and backed away. ‘I’m not Polla, Uncle. That’s Polla.’ She pointed at a bigger sister. ‘I’m Sosia.’

‘Sosia? Gods above, you’ve — ’ He stopped himself just in time. ‘Of course. Sorry, Sosia. Good to see you. Everybody, this is — ’

Someone was prodding his shoulder. ‘I’m Marcia,’ put in a girl who looked alarmingly like a young woman. ‘I’m your sister. Remember me?’

‘No, really?’ said Ruso, who remembered only too well. Her embrace warmed slightly when he murmured, ‘I haven’t forgotten about your dowry, you know.’

‘I need it now,’ she hissed. ‘And I’m not going to marry some rich old goat with spindly legs and hair in his ears, understand?’

‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ he agreed. ‘Marcia, where are Lucius and Cass?’

His sister shrugged. ‘Doing something boring on the farm, I suppose.’

Still no clues. Evidently Lucius had not told their sisters about the letter.

He correctly guessed the names of two nephews and limped across the hall to greet the row of waiting staff like a general addressing his troops at a surprise inspection.

‘Hello, Galla.’ The nursemaid’s hair had turned grey in his absence. The kitchen-boy had expanded upwards, the laundrymaid widthways, and Arria’s personal maid in all the right places. The cook’s apron was now being worn by a sour-faced man, the stable lad still smelled the same, and the bath-boy, who had been ancient when Ruso was a child, managed to impress simply by remaining alive. ‘It’s good to see you all,’ he said.

He was dredging his memory for names when his stepmother’s voice rang across the hall in a tone he remembered only too well.

‘Gaius, dear, who is this?’

As he glanced round at the assembled company, all now surveying the slender blonde figure just inside the doorway, the absurdity of the notion that he would be able to slip Tilla into the household almost unnoticed became clear.

A small voice at nephew level announced, ‘She’s got a red face.’

‘She’s got blue eyes.’

‘Why is her hair like that?’

‘Because she’s a barbarian, stupid!’ explained one of the nieces.

‘She’s British,’ said Ruso, as if that explained not only her appearance but her presence. ‘Everybody, this is Tilla. She’s our guest, so I want you all to make her welcome.’

This had the unfortunate effect of unleashing more curiosity.

‘Can she talk?’

‘Can we touch her?’

‘Is she fierce?’

‘Aaah!’ This last was from a dribbling toddler who had evidently learned early that he had to speak up to be noticed.

‘Yes, she can talk,’ said Ruso, looking around in vain for his sister-in-law to get the small interrogators under control. ‘And no, you can’t touch her. We’ve had a long journey, and she’s tired.’

One of Ruso’s sisters whispered something to the other, and they both giggled. Tilla’s expression was one he could not read and dared not speculate upon, but the child was right. Her cheeks were even pinker than the sunburn on her nose. Tendrils of hair, dark with sweat, were stuck to her forehead. ‘Sorry about this,’ he murmured to her.

Tilla grasped his hand and whispered, ‘What did you tell them about me?’

‘I’ll explain in a minute,’ he assured her.

The hastily assembled greeting party was evidently expecting a formal speech. Those eyes aren’t really blue, he wanted to tell them. Not up close. ‘Well,’ he said, searching desperately for something more appropriate. ‘Yes. Hullo, everybody. It’s good to be home.’ He was not sure it was true, but it was necessary to say it. ‘You all look very, ah — ’

The eldest nephews had lost interest and begun to roll across the floor, punching each other. A niece shouted, ‘Stop it!’ while Galla made a futile attempt to intervene. Ruso glanced at the bust of his late father, impassively surveying the chaos from its niche beside the garlanded household shrine, and wondered what the old man would have made of this performance.

‘Children!’ Arria’s voice rose again over the babble. ‘Your kind Uncle Gaius has brought a real barbarian home for us all the way from Britannia. Isn’t that nice of him?’

There were confused murmurs of assent.

Ruso tried again. ‘Tilla,’ he said, gesturing towards Arria, ‘this is my stepmother, Arria — ’

But Arria had not finished. ‘We must all set her a good example and look after her,’ she continued. ‘Galla, go and tell the driver to bring in the master’s luggage. Children, why don’t you all go and take — what do you call her?’

‘Tilla.’

‘Take Tilla to the kitchen and Cook will find her something to eat and drink. I expect she would like that.’ She turned to Ruso. ‘What do they eat, Gaius?’

The words ‘Small children’ were out before he could stop them. ‘Arria, where’s Lucius?’

*

The nieces and nephews were finally ushered away to the kitchen, taking both of Ruso’s half-sisters with them to protect them from the child-eating barbarian. Ruso, faintly ashamed of himself, was left alone with his stepmother.

‘Gaius, dear, what are you doing home? Are you on leave? What’s wrong with your foot?’

Evidently Arria knew nothing about Lucius’ letter. ‘Home to convalesce,’ he explained. ‘I need to see Lucius.’

‘I’ve sent one of the servants to fetch him. I must say, that’s a very strange young woman you’ve brought with you. Why is she dressed like that in this weather?’

‘Because those are her clothes.’ As far as Ruso was aware, Tilla had two sets of perfectly adequate second-hand clothes. These, if pushed, he could describe as ‘blue’. He could differentiate between them only as The One She’s Wearing and The One That’s Being Washed.

‘She can’t wear heavy wool like that here. I’ll ask one of the staff to find her something else.’

‘Is everything all right here? Where’s Cass?’

Arria sighed. ‘Who knows? As you see, the children are quite out of control. It’s such a relief to have you home, Gaius. Poor Lucius really has no idea. He’s letting everything go to waste — Gaius, dear, are you listening?’

Ruso rubbed his tunic against the small of his back to wipe away a trickle of sweat. ‘No.’

Arria sighed. ‘You must be tired after travelling. But I have to tell you this while I have the chance. You see how things are here. Your father would be so disappointed, after all that he did. I was hoping we would have your sisters married by now — Marcia, at least — ’

‘I’ll sort out the girls’ dowries now I’m home,’ promised Ruso, hoping Lucius was not going to tell him there was nothing to settle on either of their half-sisters.

‘In the meantime your brother and his wife do nothing but breed children who run around making sticky finger-prints on the furniture. The smallest one has no idea what a pot is for, and the staff are constantly sweeping up what they’ve broken. They’ve driven away three tutors already. Cassiana just indulges them, and Lucius is too taken up with his vines and his legal squabbles to notice. Galla’s worn out, and — ’

‘What legal squabbles?’ said Ruso, suddenly paying attention.

‘He keeps telling me we can’t afford to replace Galla, but I’m sure we could — ’

‘What legal squabbles, Arria?’

‘Do talk to him about it, dear, will you? It’s such a wretched nuisance. And now he’s got your sisters involved in it.’

‘Involved in what?’

‘Oh, something about a — seizure order, is it?’

‘Holy gods, Arria! There’s someone trying to auction off everything we own?’

His stepmother put one manicured finger to her lips. ‘Please don’t shout, dear. We’re not supposed to talk about it. Do what I do — just pretend you don’t know.’