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The next morning Amarantus kneels beside Potiscus, who is reclining on the floor of his bedroom. He is gently bathing the mule’s welts in wine and olive oil. |
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‘Poor old boy,’ he murmurs.‘That Nico really likes to beat you.’ ‘Amarantus!’ cries Pompeia Camilla from the doorway, ‘Is that a mule in your bedroom?’ Quickly he hides Coquus’s best sea-sponge and turns. ‘Yes, Mistress. He was terribly beaten and I’m applying wine and oil to his wounds. I’m going to keep him in here with me. See? I’ve put in a manger and a wooden bowl full of water if he gets thirsty.’ ‘Who will pay for the wine?’ She points at an amphora of wine propped up in one corner of the dim room. ‘Superbus won it in a game of dice,’ says Amarantus. ‘But no- body will drink it, not even this wine-loving mule. It’s only good for medicinal purposes.’ Pompeia smiles and shakes her head. ‘And who will pay for his food?’ ‘His owner, Nico, our newest tenant. He’s giving me a sestertius per week, on top of the rent he’s paying you.’ Her smile vanishes. ‘Only he isn’t paying me. That’s why I came looking for you. Your friend Nico has been here more than a day and I still haven’t had as much as a quadrans from him.’ ‘Don’t worry, Mistress. I’ll collect the money now. I think he’s in the bar.’ Amarantus tips the last of the wine into Potiscus’s water bucket in order to make a kind of posca. Then he hurries out of his bedroom and across the atrium. The atrium has no roof and cold drizzle is falling around the rainwater pool as well as into it. Amarantus heads for a door in the wall near Superbus’s bedroom. It leads to the seating area of the bar. |
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Amarantus opens the door just in time to see a fight brewing. The mule’s owner, Numerius Popidius Nico is on his feet and glaring across a table at another man, their neighbour Mestrius, the good-looking perfume dealer. Two wine cups, four dice and a pile of copper and silver coins show what they had been doing. Superbus stands near a brazier full of glowing coals, holding an amphora. Mestrius glowers at Amarantus. ‘Your friend Nico cheated! He says he had the Venus throw but one of them was four not six.’ ‘I threw a one, a three, a four and a six!’ The old ferret-faced salesman points to the dice. ‘There they are. You can see for yourself!’ ‘You moved one with your finger!’ says Mestrius. ‘I saw it.’ ‘I did not move it! I made a good throw.’ ‘Did not!’ ‘Did, too!’ cries Nico. Then he calls Mestrius a rude name. The blond perfume merchant pulls back his fist and Amarantus notices a big bronze ring with his name backwards, for stamping his products. Before Amarantus can intervene, Mestrius punches the figurine-seller. Nico staggers back and sits down hard. The ring has left an imprint on his left jaw and Amarantus can actually read the letters Q.MESTRI.MAXIMI. ‘You perfumed Sybarite!’ shouts Nico, struggling to his feet. ‘Stop it, both of you!’ Superbus steps between them. ‘Otherwise, I’ll call the aedile.’ ‘You can’t call the aedile, master,’ hisses Amarantus. ‘The Saturnalia doesn’t start until tomorrow. Gambling is illegal until then.’ Superbus has just caught sight of the stamp mark on Nico’s jaw and is trying not to laugh. Amarantus can smell wine on his breath and frowns. ‘Who’s tending the bar?’ As if in answer to his question, Grata appears at the doorway that leads into the main part of the bar. Her reddish hair is coming unpinned and her cheeks are flushed. ‘A man says I gave him the wrong change,’ she says to Superbus. Amarantus is shocked. Grata is Pompeia’s personal slave, sometimes loaned out to Fabia but never meant for waiting in a bar. If his mistress knew, she would be furious. ‘Grata, your mistress is looking for you,’ he lies. ‘Go to her now.’ She shoots him a grateful look and hurries past him to the main house. Amarantus turns to Superbus. ‘Why don’t you use Scumni to serve at the bar?’ Superbus scowls. ‘Fabia’s borrowed him to be her bodyguard. She’s gone to visit her friend Claudia,’ he adds. ‘Besides, the customers much prefer a pretty slave-girl to a grumpy barbarian.’ He hurries into the main bar to talk to the man with the wrong change. ‘We still haven’t sorted this out,’ says Mestrius, pointing at the pile of money on the table. Amarantus nods and starts counting the coins. ‘Why don’t you split the wager between you? Here.’ He hands half the coins to Mestrius and drops Nico’s share down the front of his own tunic. ‘Just enough to pay a month’s rent.’ Mestrius takes his money and hurries out of the room. But Nico remains, the name of his attacker still visible on his jaw. Wanting to distract the merchant, Amarantus picks up something like a small clay perfume jar, ‘Say! Is this one of your dice-boxes? It’s good. I’ll bet you could sell dozens of these. But you’d better get them out today, as there’s no business allowed tomorrow.’ Nico’s scowl turns to a frown. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ he mutters. ‘Why don’t we load up your mule and take them to one of the covered porticoes in the forum? Your baskets are in the stable with Potiscus. After you’ve sold your wares I’ll take you to my favourite baths so we can get warm.’ |
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‘All right,’ says Nico, and slings his scrawny arm around Amarantus’s neck. ‘You’re a good slave.’ Amarantus forces a smile. As they step outside, Nico points to the narrow stairs leading to the upstairs bedrooms. ‘I’m just going to get my bath-set,’ he says. Amarantus nods and stands beneath the dripping overhang of the roof. Rain has made the street a torrent. The wet pavements are mostly empty. A gust of damp wind hits Amarantus’s face and a distant rumble of thunder makes him shudder. A visit to the steamy laconicum will be nice, but he has a dozen things to do before the Saturnalia, including delivering gifts on behalf of his mistress and Fabia. He also has to drape greenery around the triclinium and make sure all the lamps are full of oil and the wicks trimmed. He will have to stay up well beyond sunset. He sighs deeply. Oh, to be free! |
