Free A Bitter Chill by Jane Finnis

subtly contemptuous, like a peach laced with vinegar. Priscus ignored the barbs, either through arrogance, or because he wasn’t sharp enough to realise what Diogenes was doing. Timaeus might have livened things up, but he took his meal in old Plautius’ room. The sick man himself kept to his bed and ate nothing but a bowl of thin porridge. Margarita and Gaius were cheerful, the little boy full of questions and unconcerned by the preoccupations of the adults, but his childish chatter soon annoyed Sempronia and she ordered him to be quiet.
    After it was all over, I went to talk to Albia and Cook in the kitchen about making sure we’d enough suitable food for the next few days. Nearly a score of extra mouths to feed at this time of year might pose a problem for some establishments, but Albia’s a brilliant organiser, and Cook is inventive and resourceful. And if you’re an innkeeper faced with feeding an unexpectedly large party without warning, then you’re lucky if they descend on you in the few days before Saturnalia, when there’s a bigger than usual store of fancy food and drink.
    Albia had as usual stocked up with enough to feed a legion, and we intended to visit the Oak Bridges market in two days’ time for vegetables and cheese, so our shopping list could be easily expanded. Meanwhile, I’d have a word with Hawk about bringing us extra game from the woods. Deer and hare would supplement our own animals and fowls nicely.
    As we finished our discussion, Timaeus came looking for me. My pleasure at the prospect of his undivided personal attention was short-lived though. “My lord Plautius would like to see you in his room, if you can spare a little time. He apologises that it’s so late, but it’s taken him a while to regain his strength after the journey.”
    Plautius was sitting up in bed, propped on a mound of pillows, with a wool shawl around his shoulders. He was thin, and his face was lined and almost as grey as his wispy hair. Yet the impression he made wasn’t of a pitiable invalid. His grey eyes were intelligent and full of life, and held mine in an intense gaze. He may be sick in body, I thought, but the mind behind those eyes is clear and formidable.
    “Sit down, Aurelia Marcella. Thank you for coming so promptly.” His voice was steady, but soft. I perched on a stool near his bed, and waited.
    “I believe Lady Sempronia has talked to you about the purpose of our journey here?”
    “Yes, my lord. She has asked me to help find your son Plautius Curio. I’m afraid I’ve not heard of him, but I’m going to make enquiries.”
    “Yes, yes, I’m sure you will do your best. And if and when you find any information about him, I want you to bring it to me first.”
    “First?” I was puzzled, and it must have shown in my face.
    “I’m not saying you shouldn’t tell Sempronia,” he continued quietly. “You’ve undertaken to do that, and I don’t want you breaking your word. What I do want is to be the first to know about whatever you find, before you report to anyone else. Just bring me word quietly, without troubling the rest of my household. And,” he continued, not giving me time to comment, “if you should find Decimus yourself, I want you to bring him to me. I’d like the chance to talk to him alone. This is important, and I should like your promise.” His bright grey eyes stared into mine, and for the second time that day, I realised I was being given an order, not a choice.
    “You don’t want much, do you?” The words flew out before I could stop them. Oh, me and my big mouth! Why couldn’t I have just said “Yes, my lord”?
    He didn’t seem offended. “You consider my request difficult?”
    “Well, yes. Lady Sempronia—what I mean is….”
    Suddenly he laughed. “Just promise me that you’ll do the best you can.”
    I didn’t like it much, but couldn’t think of any way of escape. “I promise.”
    “Good.” He moved slightly on the pile of pillows, still watching