Free The Legatus Mystery by Rosemary Rowe Page B

There was nobody about. I frowned.
    I had expected my slave boy, Junio, to be attending customers.
    ‘Junio?’ I stepped over the piles of stone and tile which were my stock-in-trade, and went round the partition to the inner room.
    And stopped. I would hardly have recognised the place.
    The inner workroom had been scrubbed and swept. The dusty piles of coloured
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which usually lay in heaps around the floor had been scooped up and placed in what looked like brand-new baskets and my tools were now ranged neatly along the wall. The shelves in the alcove had been dusted and arranged, and the meagre contents – oil, candles, cheese and bread – looked even more meagre now. Even the table had been washed and the fire – which we’d had such trouble to ignite – had been damped down, the hearth stones had been swept of ash and something was bubbling in a clean pot on the embers.
    The place was sweet and clean, and like a home again, although I shuddered to think how much effort it had cost – and how much precious water must have been fetched to do all this. And there was still no sign of anyone.
    ‘Junio?’ I hardly trusted my voice.
    But he did not answer. Instead it was Gwellia who scrambled down from the makeshift space above, her hair full of cobwebs and her arms full of the reeds and rags which formed my customary bedding.
    ‘Is that you, Jun— Why, Libertus! Master!’ She looked around for somewhere to put down her load and made a sort of modest bob in my direction. It wrenched my heart. I hated this – yet it was a kind of progress in itself. When she first came back to me, she’d had a tendency actually to abase herself in my presence, as her previous owners had demanded. I’d persuaded her out of that, at least, and we’d come to this uncomfortable compromise. It was not a sign of slavery, she argued; many Roman wives greet their husbands in that fashion, and – since it made her comfortable – I’d reluctantly agreed.
    She bobbed again. ‘Master, I was not expecting you so soon.’
    That semi-curtsy still distressed me, when all I wanted was to take her in my arms. But I knew that would just embarrass her, so I said, ‘Where’s Junio?’ Suppressed emotion made me sound quite brusque.
    She misinterpreted it as a rebuke. I saw the look of horror on her face. I’d forgotten how vulnerable she had become. I tried to soothe the hurt. ‘You have been very busy here,’ I said, more gently.
    ‘It was the rats, master. I found another nest of them down here. I thought . . .’ She looked around helplessly. ‘I’m sorry, master. I wanted to make myself useful. Of course, I realise I had no right to touch your possessions or do any of this without your instructions.’
    I reached out a hand and touched her arm. ‘But you have done exactly as I asked you to! I insisted that you were still effectively my wife, and you have attempted to behave like one. If I did not wish my habits to be disturbed, I should have instructed you to keep your place.’
    She was still looking at me doubtfully. She looked so worn and timid standing there, and so proud of her handiwork, I didn’t have the heart to tell her that the first time we cut
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again the dust would be as bad as ever.
    ‘You have done well, Gwellia,’ I said carefully. ‘And I am glad you got rid of the rats. But where is Junio? I left him here cutting tiles for a pavement. He should have them ready for delivery by now. Where is he? Off buying honey-cakes again?’ I was getting too indulgent with that boy, I told myself. He knew that a scolding was the worst he could expect, though many masters would have had him flogged – the maximum legal punishment was death – for leaving the premises except on business for me.
    My attempt at teasing only made things worse. ‘Oh, master – husband.’ I could see confusion brimming in her eyes. ‘He has gone to the river for water.’ She glanced down at herself and rubbed her hands hastily on