Slave Princess. Juliet Landon

York, domina. I expect we’ll be staying at the legate’s house again. He’s quite a harmless old thing.’ Legates were not known for being harmless; they were of senatorial rank and very powerful. Florian saw the blank expression and laughed. ‘We shall not see much of him or his wife, I don’t suppose,’ he said, kindly. ‘We’ll stay behind the scenes until we’re needed.’

      ‘Is Lindum like Eboracum?’ Brighid said, trying to push away the thought that she might be needed.

      ‘Not now. There used to be a legionary fortress here, but that’s gone. They’ve re-used the buildings for retired army officers, so now they sit over their dining tables, reminiscing about their battles and showing off their scars and appointing themselves as local governors. All veterans, the lot of them. Quite harmless unless you happen to own a bit of land they want to build a basilica or a bath house on. Then they’re not.’ There was a distinctly bitter tone to Florian’s profile of Lindum’s senior citizens that Brighid chose not to enquire into. She did not intend to stay longer than she must with either Florian or his master, so there was little point in being curious, she told herself. Most slaves harboured some resentments.

      Seated at the back of the wagon, she was herself an object of curiosity, at first from those following who were intrigued by the transformation, then by those they passed on the busy road into the town. Quintus was also fascinated by the elegant young woman whose combination of tribal and Roman was not only unusual but rather more sensational than even he had anticipated, and Brighid could hardly help but notice how he and his two friends rode immediately behind the guards where they could keep her in view as they passed under the great arch of the north gate. The Tribune had expressed no opinion of Florian’s handiwork, but both slaves had recognised in his eyes a lingering approval as every detail was noted, though his curt nod was the only tangible sign he gave.

      Florian had been accurate in his assessment of the elderly legate at whose mansion they arrived after a laborious jostle through the crowds. He had not, however, passed a similar opinion about the legate’s wife who, just as elderly as her husband, had striven for many hours to remove the years from her well-worn face and figure. Sadly, her attempts had not had the desired effect, worst of all being the elaborate black wig that sat too far down on her brow, the knots of which were clearly visible. Left alone, her age-wrinkles would have made a fascinating map of emotion and experience, but the Lady Aurelia’s decision to fill them in with lead-based powder made Brighid pity her and Florian to mutter under his breath that it looked as if she’d fallen into the flour bin again. It was beyond funny, Brighid thought, standing well back behind the Tribune’s two personal slaves, noting at the first glance how the lady’s eyes dwelt greedily upon his handsome face, caressing him with melting looks.

      ‘Welcome, Tribune,’ she said. ‘Restored to health, I see. You were far from well when we saw you last. The Emperor has looked after you. And Tullus and Lucan, welcome.’

      They went to stand in the atrium of the legate’s mansion, now expanded and made more beautiful with painted columns and a tiled floor. A fountain caught the late afternoon sun before sparkling into the green pool; it was the cool lure of water that held Brighid’s attention as Florian nudged her into awareness. ‘Follow,’ he whispered. ‘Keep up. And keep your eyes lowered.’

      ‘She’s staring at me.’

      ‘So’s the old man, but you know better than to stare back.’

      Gliding ahead in a swirl of orange-and-yellow silks, the Lady Aurelia led her guests along cool corridors, past doorways that had once been offices and round to the far side of the block where rooms had been set aside for Quintus’s retinue. Brighid tried hard to make herself invisible against the green-painted walls, but the high-pitched voice of their hostess was meant to reach her ears as well as the Tribune’s. ‘There’s a room upstairs for your slaves,’ she said. ‘There’ll be food for them in the kitchen after we’ve eaten. We shall be ready to dine as soon as you’ve bathed, Tribune, and I can find a task for the girl, if you’ve finished with her for the day.’

      ‘Thank you, my lady,’ said Quintus, ‘but I shall be keeping her with me.’ There was an authority in his voice with which even the Lady Aurelia chose not to argue and, with a lift of her eyebrows and a stony stare sent like a dart in Brighid’s direction, she left the room with Tullus and Lucan, leaving a faint vinegary smell in her wake. Quintus put the back of his hand to his nose, but whether to cover a smile or to stifle the smell no one could tell. He did, however, glance at Brighid, his dark brooding expression making her wonder what thoughts were passing through his mind, and whether his sigh was one of relief or annoyance.

      Since he appeared to have all the assistance he needed, she decided to sit out of the way on a small day-bed by the wall and to take out her sewing, of which there was still plenty. It had not been easy to ply a needle in a jolting wagon, and here was a chance to make use of the last daylight hour. The Tribune’s order to one of his slaves took her by surprise. ‘Find your way to the kitchen and request a tray of food for the Princess. She’s not going to wait till midnight before she gets a bite to eat. And fresh milk, not wine. I want it in here by the time I’ve bathed. See to it.’

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      ‘Florian, you stay here with the Princess and prepare my clothes. You come with me, lad,’ he said to the other one. ‘You, Princess, will stay in this room. No exploring.’ She knew he must have read her mind, for the baths would be abandoned when the guests went in to dine. She doubted if Florian would stay here all that time, with a new friend waiting for him.

      The new friend had not been inclined to wait, and he found a way to the Tribune’s room soon after the guests had assembled and the sound of laughter had floated away into the spacious triclinium where the aroma of food mingled with the perfumed hems of robes. Brighid was eating ravenously, hardly bothering to look up as the discreet knock on the door broke the silence. Florian was on his feet immediately, as if that was what he’d been hoping for.

      ‘Come inside quickly,’ he whispered. ‘You can’t stay.’

      ‘I know.’

      At the sound of the voice, Brighid almost cried out and, had her mouth not been full of food, she might well have done so at the secretive half-smile sent over Florian’s shoulder. So, she had not been abandoned after all. Her prayers had been answered.

      Math, she whispered. Dearest brother. You came for me.

      But Math frowned her to silence as Florian turned to introduce him and her smile had to be reined in before the joy and relief showed in her eyes.