Free A Coin for the Ferryman by Rosemary Rowe Page A

a cup of Falernian with us, and then he can escort you to the bath-house straight away.’
    Lucius was too much of a Roman to decline a glass of wine, and he permitted Niveus to pour a measure out. He sipped it thoughtfully – I am no connoisseur of wine, but even I could tell that it was excellent – and pointedly talked of other things, murmuring to Marcus about the coming trip to Rome.
    ‘There are so many splendid new constructions since you saw it last, you’ll hardly recognise the place. Triumphal arches, fountains, temples – everything. There are whole new suburbs springing up these days . . .’ I thought he was choosing the subject to exclude me from the talk, until I realised that Julia was feeling left out too.
    At last, he pushed his cup aside, and rose to take his leave. ‘Time for the promised bath, I think.’ He clapped his hands, and his bull-headed bodyguard instantly appeared, with an alacrity which suggested that he’d been listening at the door. Niveus was sent trotting off with them, first to lead the way and then to fetch the cleansing olive oil and the strigil with which to scrape it off again.
    ‘Odious man!’ Julia remarked, as soon as they had gone. She sank back on to her seat. ‘Are all your cousins so self-consciously superior?’
    Marcus leaned over and helped himself to figs, and – in the absence of the servants – poured himself some wine. ‘Lucius is the only cousin I have left,’ he said. ‘All the relations on my father’s side are dead. My mother had one brother, and he’s the only son. I did not see a great deal of him when I was young, or of his parents either.’ He rolled the wine pensively around his cup, as if he were reading fortunes in it. ‘It was not, I think, a very happy match – a matter of consolidating family estates – and once the heir was born my uncle put his wife aside, though he kept her in some style until she died, I understand. He never actually divorced her, in case she wed again. Wanted to keep her fortune, I suppose. She used to come and see us now and then.’
    Julia shuddered. ‘What a dreadful life for her.’
    ‘Not at all. She rather liked it, it seemed to me, though of course I haven’t seen her since I was very young. She had more freedom than most Roman wives – went to the baths and the circuses, and visited her friends, and spent a fortune on her clothes and jewels. I remember she always smelled of spice, and wore a lot of kohl on her eyes. As a child you notice things like that. I was sorry when I heard she’d died. I looked forward to her visits. She used to laugh a lot. My mother thought she was disgraceful – I remember that, as well.’ He popped a sugared fig into his mouth.
    Julia gave a sigh. It said, ‘Your mother disapproves of everything,’ as clearly as if she’d said the words aloud.
    Marcus looked at her. ‘You mustn’t worry, Julia. It will be all right. My mother is patrician, whatever else she is, and she would never be less than totally polite to any visitor. And you will charm her, as you do everyone. Things are a little different in Rome, that’s all. Here in the provinces, people take their cue from us. If you and I decide to set a trend, half of the populace will follow suit. In Rome it’s more . . . traditional, perhaps. Fashion does follow the Emperor, of course, but since the Emperor is . . . well . . .’
    He did not finish, but we all knew what he meant. Commodus’s extravagance and outlandish ways were the subject of rumour throughout the Empire. Doubtless Marcus’s mother thought him disgraceful too, though of course it would be suicide to voice the thought in Rome. Even here in Britannia it was dangerous: Commodus was as famous for his spies as for his opulent lifestyle – he was almost assassinated by a palace plot quite early in his reign, and now he is said to have paid eyes and ears in practically every corner of the Empire.
    Julia looked at Marcus with liquid eyes. ‘Do we really