Cast Not the Day (2 page)

I craned my head over the cornice to see, and found myself looking straight into the face of Sericus.

‘Come down this instant, Drusus,’ he cried, ‘and be quick; your father is waiting.’

He was standing in front of the tall windows of his study when the slave admitted me, half turned away, staring out across the barley fields. Though he must have heard me enter he gave no sign; and so I waited, standing formally with my hands at my sides as I had been taught, feeling the cold of the marble floor beneath my feet and remembering that, in my haste, I had forgotten to fetch my sandals from my room. He would have something to say about that, and my dusty tunic too. He always remarked on such things.

The pause lengthened. I shifted uneasily on my feet. Eventually, when still he did not move or acknowledge me, I said, ‘Father, I am here.’

I heard him draw in his breath, and then with a sudden movement he turned. His face was in shadow, dark against the sunlight; and, as if seized by some sudden purpose, he strode across the floor, so swiftly that I almost thought he intended to strike me. But I knew that was not his way. When he reached me he suddenly dropped down on one knee and gripped my shoulders, and touched my hair and brow like a man deranged. I stared down at the white inlaid marble, confused and afraid. For never in my life had I known him show such feeling, either of joy or anger; not even when he beat me, when he was always calm and precise, like a man who breaks horses.

He made to speak, and his voice was so strange and broken that I looked up and stared. His eyes were shimmering, and there was water on his cheek. I think I even gasped out loud, for it shocked me beyond all reason to see my father crying.

Whatever he saw in my face caused him to master himself. He took a long breath, and after a pause released me from his grip and stood to his full height. When he spoke again it was in his usual voice, measured and businesslike.

‘You are too young,’ he said, ‘for what I have to tell you. But it cannot wait, and I want you to listen carefully. Today I had two visitors, men bound by bonds of old friendship. They brought me a warning. Our new emperor, it seems, is no longer content merely to remove me from office. I am summoned to Gaul, to the court at Trier, to answer certain . . . questions.’

He paused, and his face twisted in irony at this final word.

In my innocence I asked, ‘When will you be back, sir?’ I had not yet come to know the language of the court, where every horror bore a pretty name.

He looked from me, casting his eyes over the stacked books of his library, and the little faded picture of my mother on the shelf.

‘I cannot say . . . I expect to be a long time. There are certain arrangements that must be made. I shall send you to your great-uncle in London, Lucius Balbus; he is of your mother’s bloodline, and he will take care of you.’

I had never heard of this man Balbus, and did not want to be sent away. ‘But, sir!’ I cried, ‘Sericus and the slaves can look after me.’

He shook his head. ‘You cannot stay. I have instructed Sericus to accompany you, for your studies. Do not neglect your education. Such things are of no great concern to Balbus, by all accounts; but there is no freedom without it. How old are you now?’

‘Fourteen.’ It was something he never remembered.

‘Well, I believe Balbus has a son about that age, who will be a friend to you. Now stop staring like a fool, and attend to what I say. I suspect, in the future, you will encounter difficulties: a man like me has enemies as well as friends, and only at times such as this does one discover which is which. You will have to face them as best you can; and through it all, Drusus, I hope you will remember you are my son, and bear yourself accordingly. It is in your own hands now to make yourself a gentleman, and to learn what that means. Now prepare yourself. You leave today, before nightfall.’

I stood in silence, while he talked on, details I cannot

recall. But then, seeing my eyes on him, he broke off and drew a long breath.

‘Listen then,’ he said, ‘and hear the truth, though by the gods I would spare you this. Someone at court, some intriguer, has brought a charge against me, and I must go to answer it. Such are my enemies: small men, who dare not show their faces, who have worked in the shadows to bring me down. In the meantime you will be safer elsewhere. Is that clear?’

‘But, Father,’ I cried, ‘what have you done?’

‘Done?’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘I have done my duty and served the emperor. And now that he is dead, his sons squabble over their inheritance, like dogs fighting for a bone. My loyalty has been my undoing, for loyalty to one is treason to the other—’

He ceased, and with an impatient motion of his hand turned away, and stood with his back to me, beside the great onyx desk.

‘Now go; the slaves are already packing your things, and Sericus is waiting.’

So ended my childhood. I never saw him again.

W
E CAME TO
L
ONDON
through the open suburb of farmsteads and villas to the south, halting at the watering-place by the bridge, where the carters and litter-bearers gather.

The house of Balbus lay in the heart of the merchants’ quarter, off the Street of the Carpenters, close by the Grove of Isis. Everywhere was crowded. The hot air smelled of dust and unwashed bodies. Behind the street the workshops sounded with the noise of hammers and saws and engravers’ chisels.

An old house-slave admitted us. He asked after our things, which we had left with the wagon, and said they would be fetched. Then he took Sericus off, leaving me with a sullen-looking servant-girl. She led me past rooms hung with bright silk draperies, and cluttered with fussy, gilded furniture. But my room was elsewhere, on the uppermost floor below the rafters, bare and low and whitewashed.

‘The Mistress says you must sleep here,’ mumbled the girl, avoiding my eye and stepping past me to open the shutters. I glanced about. There was a narrow bed with a grey coverlet, and, in the corner, below a festoon of cobwebs, a washstand. But otherwise it might have been some old attic store. It was not the kind of room my father would have offered to a guest, however humble.

Just then the girl let out a small, smothered cry. The breeze had snatched the shutter from her hand, sending it banging against the outer wall. It was a small enough thing; but she glanced back at the door, biting her lip.

‘It’s just the wind,’ I said, smiling to put her at her ease. ‘Here, I’ll help you.’ I leant out and secured the rusted catch, saying, ‘See, it is done.’

She nodded, then turned to the washstand and busied herself with the few things there, brushing off the dust.

I asked brightly if my aunt was at home, and at this she stiffened and paused. She was as timid as a snared bird. The Mistress, she said, staring down at the floor, was resting in her private rooms, and must not be disturbed.

‘And my cousin?’ I asked, frowning. ‘What of him?’

‘Albinus is out, sir. He is at the bishop’s.’

Her voice was so low that it took me a moment to realize what she had said. ‘But what,’ I asked, staring, ‘has he to do with such a man?’ I had heard my father talk of Christians to his political friends. They were meddlesome zealots, he said, always stirring up trouble. And I knew the farm-hands drove them off with sticks, whenever their whey-faced wandering preachers came onto our land.

The girl looked quickly at me, then looked away, her mouth setting firm, as if I had lured her into saying more than she ought.

‘You must ask him yourself,’ she answered. Then, before I could speak again, she hurried off.

I listened to her footfalls recede along the boards of the passageway, and sat staring down at my dusty boots. I rubbed my eyes. I was tired; I felt it now.

The night before, we had put in at a wretched off-road inn, and lain on filthy beds full of fleas. I had asked Sericus if the emperor’s family were really so terrible that we must travel thus, dressed as backwoodsmen and hiding like thieves. But he had told me crossly to hush; my father had good reason, and we were doing as he had ordered.

After that I had left him be. I could see he was unhappy enough already.

The flea-bites were sore. I pulled off my boots, and scratched at my heel. The city noise was carrying in, and with it the stench of rancid cooking, charcoal mixed with goose fat. I got up and padded to the window, and looked out.

Below me, two floors down, a sickly damson tree was growing in a grim, paved court, straining for the light; and as I looked the old house-slave passed under the colonnade, hurrying with his old-man’s gait towards the kitchens and servants’ quarters at the back.

He had said, when he admitted us, that my uncle Balbus was out at the docks, attending to business there. I thought of how my father had spoken slightingly of Balbus, saying he was some sort of trader, whose business was ships, and buying and selling. But then, I reflected with a shrug, my father had little good to say of me either. So perhaps, after all, my uncle and I should like one another.

A slave brought water in an earthen jar. I stripped, and washed my body at the basin; and presently the girl came tapping at the door, and told me my uncle had returned and would see me now.

I had wanted to dress in something fine, to show I was not just nobody. But my clothes-chest had not yet come, so in the end, telling myself that clothes do not make a man, I pulled on my grimy homespun tunic once more, and made the best of it.

In my imaginings on the road I had thought to see in my uncle Balbus some reminder of my mother, since he was of the bloodline; and it was true his eyes were brown like hers, and mine, but they were sunken in a face gone jowly and fat.

He looked up from a mess of open scrolls and writing-tablets as I entered. He put me in mind of a great indolent bull, stirring from its bed of grass. But as his eyes fixed upon me I remembered the formalities and said, ‘I am Drusus, son of Appius. My father sends his greetings, sir.’

‘Does he? Well, come here, boy, and let me see you.’

He remained seated. My father would have stood.

I stepped forward. Light shafted in from a small high window. In the corner a cluster of hanging lamps, suspended on little chains from a bronze standard, illuminated the wide stone slab of his desk.

He sat back and cast an appraising eye over me, clicking his tongue like a farmer inspecting a goat at market.

‘I see you have picked up your father’s frown,’ he said eventually. ‘But you have your mother’s black curling hair and fine looks, at least.’

‘She died when I was born, sir. I did not know her.’

‘No, of course; but I remember her, though it is long ago now, when we still lived in Gaul, before the barbarian Franks robbed us of our lands and we were forced to scatter. Did your father not tell you? . . . No, I suppose not. He was always the great man, and what were we to him? Still, the headstrong horse does not always win the race, eh? And now the wheel has turned and you are here.’

It was clear to me this man and my father would have had little in common, but remembering I was his guest I said, ‘I am sure, sir, that my father always regarded you with honour.’

At this his eyes widened. He slapped his hand on his thigh and gave a great laugh. ‘Well, you have his diplomat skill at least . . . How old are you, boy?’ And when I told him he went on, ‘Fourteen is old enough to make yourself useful. Now you are here, you can learn something of trade. That will please Appius.’

He scratched himself and chuckled, and reaching forward took up a wax-tablet and pushed it towards me. ‘See here, I have a shipment just in from Gaul, a fine consignment of Rhineland glass. How is your reading?’

I peered down at the inscribed words. It was a list, and I read out loud, ‘Ten-inch platters – three hundred; wine-jars – one hundred and fifty; engraved pitchers – fifty; drinking cups – one hundred . . .’ and on through the manifest. And, as I read, my uncle Balbus craned his head over the desk and described to me each piece, and what price it would fetch, and where it would best be sold.

In the midst of this I did not hear the door-latch sound behind me. Suddenly he broke off; and then I turned.

A woman had entered, attended by the old male house-slave who had first admitted us. She was much younger than my uncle; but there was nothing soft or girlish in the stare she gave me. I felt it like a blast of cold air.