The Grain Merchant, page 10
14
The next day while Proba was packing ledgers getting ready to leave, Argolicus decided to visit Pennus, the minor grain dealer who had spoken at the council. He idly thumbed through one of his father’s journals waiting for Nikolaos to return from arranging a visit.
As he read the journal entries, he found his father noted details. His father jotted things down, but Argolicus relied on Nikolaos and his constant scribbling. While he might see new plants in a garden, Nikolaos would know the name of each plant. He could not see himself keeping a journal.
Nikolaos came into the study. “He can see you now.”
Argolicus closed the journal and stopped his musings. He smiled at Nikolaos, “Let’s go.”
Pennus lived not far from Quintinus’ house. The building was old, large, and well-kept. The man was well-dressed in a fine linen tunic with colorful embroidery. His dark hair, almost black, dark eyes, and chiseled features reflected Greek ancestry common in this area far south of Rome.
Pennus gestured toward a bench by the pool in the atrium. “Come, come. Let’s sit here by the pool.” He settled his angular body on the bench. “You caused quite a stir at the council the other day, I must say. First Bartholomaeus. Then you. It was quite a day.”
The atrium was spacious. The mosaics on the floor combined an array of colorful geometric patterns. The wall frescoes of grapes and vineyards were interspersed between colorfully painted panels. Nikolaos stood in a corner by the entrance to the study.
“Bartholomaeus and I have a history. I won’t comment. But I stepped in because my work in Rome as praefectus required me to solve many complaints.”
“Ah, yes,” Pennus said. The light cast shadows on his angular face. “Bartholomaeus irritates everyone, even that bishop he claims to support. Rome. Do you miss it?”
“No. Not at all. I am back and I want to contribute. That’s why I volunteered.”
“But, you didn’t know Quintinus?”
“No. But you did. You mentioned that at the council. How well did you know him?”
“We did business together from time to time.” Pennus gestured at the frescoes. “My main trade is wine. We often combined shipments to fill a ship—my wine, his grain. That saved money for each of us. And we controlled the destinations.”
“These combinations. Are they how you knew Quintinus sent more grain to the north?”
“Ah, you were listening,” Pennus said, shifting his scrawny body on the bench.
Argolicus decided he did remember some details, even without Nikolaos.
“Yes. You stood up when Quintinus didn’t appear at the council. How well did you know him?”
“I’m not certain anyone knew him,” Pennus said, echoing what Argolicus had heard from everyone he’d spoken with so far. “We were social.”
“Oh?” Argolicus paid attention. From what he’d heard, Quintinus was not social. And now, here was someone who claimed a social connection.
The light from overhead reflected a blue sky on the pool at their feet.
“Not in the way most people think. We didn’t exchange dinner parties. But, we sometimes met at the baths and talked. Sometimes we followed that with a lunch somewhere to continue our conversation. But the conversations weren’t personal. It was always about business. How we could profit together. At times, he suggested taking over my grain deals.”
“You broker grain, as well as wine?” Someone had mentioned Pennus before. Argolicus could not remember who it was.
“I work with small estates or estates that have smaller grain fields. I’ve been to your estate.”
Ah, now he remembered. Lucius, the overseer, had mentioned Pennus. And what had he said?
Pennus was still talking. “Quintinus didn’t want to bother with smaller supplies. That meant he had to combine several to meet an order.” He shrugged his bony shoulders. “But when he got greedy… I hope you don’t mind my speaking so of the dead… he talked about taking over my grain accounts, so I could grow the wine business.”
“That’s how he presented it?” Argolicus glimpsed Nikolaos take out his stylus and scribble a note.
“Yes, he would take those smaller accounts. I could grow my wine accounts. There is only so much time.” Pennus waved a skinny wrist to suggest encompassing time.
“And it was in one of these private conversations that he mentioned almost all the grain going to the north because of the question about grain from Egypt?” Argolicus was remembering details.
“Yes. Yes, we were eating together. I remember. It was just as the harvest was concluding. He was buying grain from everywhere. That’s why he suggested taking over my accounts.” Pennus leaned forward, resting his elbows on his narrow thighs, lost in thought.
Argolicus waited. And he was rewarded.
“Greed.” Pennus sat back up. “With Quintinus, it wasn’t so much greed as an enthusiasm for making money. It was like a game to him. He loved bargaining. But once he made a bargain he kept his word. I think that’s why he wanted my small accounts. Not to best me, but to add to his deals with the north.”
“So, you turned down his offer?”
“Well, yes, and no.”
“Yes and no?”
“We worked out an arrangement. I kept my accounts. But instead of finding buyers in the north, I sold the grain directly to Quintinus.” Pennus chuckled. “At my price, of course. So I made out. He was desperate to fill his promises to northern buyers. He barely balked at my prices.”
Argolicus nodded. “So next year, you will still have those small accounts?”
“Yes, I think it worked out well.”
“Do you know how much grain he had promised?”
“No. He just said it was much more than usual.”
“Do you have any idea how the town was shorted? Did he tell you he took from the town stores?”
Pennus shook his head. “No, no mention of that. Just that he had promised more than usual to the north.”
“Did he say where he would get this extra grain?”
“No. I’ve told you all I know. I stood up at the council because he wasn’t there. Now we know why.”
“Yes, we do. Do you know of any enemies he might have had? Did he ever mention anyone in one of your conversations?”
The sun reflected in a corner of the pool. A bright light on the glistening water.
“No. He didn’t gossip. He never mentioned names. He might describe a particular good bargain he’d made… but without mentioning names. It was always quantities with him.”
Martina, the mistress, had told Argolicus the same thing. Almost the same words.
“What about you?” Argolicus prompted. “Can you think of anyone who carried a grudge, hated him? Justly or unjustly?”
Pennus set his face, accentuating the chiseled angles. He sat still for a moment before answering. “Quintinus was a powerful man. He was powerful because he had money, but that was only a means to power. He made private loans. You know how it is. Everyone has difficulties from time to time. Quintinus heard rumors, and then made offers before someone came to him. At the time, he seemed like the best recourse. He gave the appearance of being sensitive and discreet.”
Argolicus had heard almost the same words before. “Yes,” he said, encouraging Pennus to continue.
“But it was part of his game. He liked to think he knew about others’ hardships, and he took advantage. I can’t name you a specific individual, but I know many, many people owed him.”
“I’ve heard this,” Argolicus prompted. It was as though Quintinus had secretly supported the entire council membership. If he had deliberately shorted the town on grain, no one would say.
“During the harvest,” Pennus continued, “Quintinus met frequently with two different men. He thought he was unobserved, but I saw him.” Pennus looked at Argolicus. His dark brown eyes pleading that he was not an eavesdropper. “Do you know Vopiscus Aurius Macro?”
“We’ve met,” Argolicus answered, waiting for a new picture of the kindly treasurer.
“Well…he…” Pennus gave the same pleading look again. “I saw them together twice, Macro and Quintinus, right around the time of the harvest. I don’t want you to think…”
Argolicus nodded reassurance. “You just happened to see.”
“Yes. Yes. I was walking by and saw them in the same place where Quintinus and I often have lunch. Both times they were talking with their heads bent close. I didn’t hear what they said. I just saw them together. I didn’t know they were friends. Well, maybe not friends. I have no idea why they met.”
Argolicus thought of Macro’s estate. The walls that needed patching. The unkempt appearance. Maybe the old man was worse off than he let on. “I see. You mentioned another. There were two men?”
Pennus traced the lines of a pattern on the mosaic floor with the toe of his shoe. “You know Caeso Rabirius Donicus. He was at the council.”
“Yes.” Another revelation. This town was equal to Rome in secret goings-on and rumor. Now the ineffectual administrator, the curator civitatis.
“I saw them together three times. But, that’s all I know. Donicus takes care of the city provisions, but maybe he needed a loan. It might be by chance. He must have talked to Quintinus regularly. He is in charge of the town’s markets, the finances, and administration. We’ve suffered.”
“I met with him. He gathers information.”
“Yes, as administrator, he needs to know where things are and how commodities like grain flow. I’m not saying he’s incompetent…”
He pictured Donicus squinting at his ledger columns without any totals.
Pennus went on. “He just doesn’t have control over what he knows. As I said, an appointment that didn’t go well for our town.”
“He has another year?” Argolicus asked.
“Yes. I hope we don’t suffer too much. In my opinion, Vespasianus needs to prompt him to attention. He is a strong leader and the town needs his leadership… especially with a situation like Donicus.”
“Then, we are fortunate to have Vespasianus this year. But, back to Quintinus. I don’t see either of those men, Donicus or Macro, physically harming anyone. It doesn’t seem in their nature, whatever other failings they might have. Can you think of anyone else?”
Pennus struck his stone face again and stared into the pool. The sun’s reflection had traveled to the middle of the pool, spreading light glints in every direction.
“I can’t think of anyone specific. It could be so many people. I don’t know to whom Quintinus offered his loan assistance. He based it on rumor. As I said, everyone in business has difficult times and shortfalls occasionally.”
This man had told him enough. Argolicus was ready to leave. He wanted to digest what he had learned. Maybe Nikolaos had noticed an overlooked detail.
“Pennus, you have helped me in my inquiries.”
“Yes, but everything is hearsay. I’m not sure if I’ve helped you at all.”
“I have a better picture. Not just of the grain this year and how it was handled but of how Quintinus went about his dealings with other men.”
“You’ve taken on what no one else in this town would do. I am glad you returned. And glad you decided to actively work in the council. I think everyone appreciates your efforts.”
“So far they are only efforts. I have one other question. I’m hoping you can help me.”
“Certainly, if I can.”
“I’ve been looking at your frescoes. The frescoes at my town house need refreshing. Yours look recent. I’m wondering if you could tell me the name of the painter?”
“Gladly.” Pennus beamed with pride.
15
In the morning light, Proba looked small and fragile. Her confidence was replaced with nervous energy. She paced back and forth in front of the house. Rufus and Ezio organized their vegetables and dishes in the shops. The cart that had carried Quintinus’ body back to town stood filled with Proba’s ledgers and belongings for her stay at the estate.
“I’ll ride in the cart with my maid,” Proba said.
“As you wish,” Argolicus said. “Don’t worry. My mother is not formidable. You will like her.”
Proba arched an eyebrow.
“She might pressure me, and she has. But she will welcome you to the estate.”
Eboric turned to lead the extra horse back to the stable. In the street, slaves were out to buy household goods. It seemed like a normal morning. The rabble-rousers were not visible. But Argolicus noticed a slave hurrying down the street. The man eyed the group gathered in front of the house. Stopped, looked at the house. And then went up to the door and knocked.
The doorman, Boden, opened, his massive frame filling the space. The slave spoke. Boden nodded his head toward the group in the street. “There,” he said.
The slave turned and eyed the group. “Gaius Vitellius Argolicus.”
Argolicus gestured.
“Your Sublimity, Marcus Vipsanius Vespasianus wishes to speak with you.”
Argolicus sighed. “Nikolaos, take Proba inside. Kunimund, you and Eboric guard the cart. Keep the content safe.”
The silent, dark bodyguard nodded and labored out the words in Latin. “One of us go with you. Wait for Eboric.”
Minerva gazed with bland unconcern on the luxurious atrium as if centuries of Christianity had no effect on wisdom. The collection of marble statues and the glinting gold leaf struck Argolicus as beyond opulent. It was as if Vespasianus couldn’t trust his authority without this display.
The large slave greeted Argolicus at the door and led him not to the study, but left him waiting by the pool in the atrium. Argolicus eyed the brightly painted statues—Minerva, the satyr, the nymph, and the unknown god—and wondered if Vespasianus was a secret worshipper of the old gods, a crime, or merely admired the old Rome. One was a faith issue, one political. Either way, they were best kept hidden, even though they were far away from King Theoderic in the North. What he did know was that keeping him waiting after summoning him, was a move by Vespasianus to show his power.
Argolicus glimpsed a corner of the study where more gold leaf gleamed on a large box.
“Ah, Argolicus, I need to speak to you,” Vespasianus said, striding in from the rear of the house. The gold embroidery on his tunic, intertwined with red and blue, was more elaborate than the last time they had met. His sandals were adorned with tiny pearls. “Let’s sit,” he said, gesturing toward two chairs by the pool.
“Vespasianus, your slave reached me just in time for a talk. I was ready to leave.”
“Oh? Off to interview more principals?” He sat in a chair, crossed his arms over his chest, and gave Argolicus a flinty glare.
“No, off to my estate in the hills.”
“Ah, good. No more meddling for a few days, then?”
“Meddling? I’ve been searching for the cause of the grain shortage.”
Vespasianus fiddled with the neck of his tunic, then ran his fingers lightly over the embroidered stripe that ran down from his shoulder. “Yes. I hear you have been talking to more people. But… when we talked before, I asked you to be more discreet, to question gently without probing. I don’t know you. Your actions speak well, but I have to protect the town. Perhaps, as you tell me more, I will begin to trust your actions.”
Argolicus ran over his conversations with Macro and Pennus in his mind. He couldn’t remember anything that had seemed uncomfortable to either man. But, one of them, if not both, had registered a complaint with Vespasianus. Wouldn’t members of the curia want to know what happened to the grain?
“What is the complaint?” Argolicus asked. “Our community is suffering. Magistrates and principals would want to solve this problem. Just yesterday, there was an incident at Quintinus’ house. People were shouting, throwing dung. His daughter was terrified.”
“Yes, I heard about that, too,” Vespasianus answered, fingering his embroidery. “A new comes civitatus broke up the crowd.”
“Yes, I know him. I’ve known him since childhood. We are distantly related.”
“Ah, yes. At times, I forget about your mother. What is he like?”
Argolicus pondered how to describe Ebrimuth. “Strong-minded, but fair. Where is our peace warden? I haven’t seen a peace warden since all this started.”
Vespasianus stopped fingering the embroidery and visibly winced. “Our peace warden has a fondness for wine. I’m afraid he’s not up to this situation. This is more than a fight between drunken youth or a family dispute.”
“Then Cassiodorus made a timely decision.”
“Cassiodorus? I thought the king…” Vespasianus sat back, considering the implications.
“Yes, the king signs, but Cassiodorus is his advisor.”
“How did he know?” He gave Argolicus a significant look. “We all know that Cassiodorus is your friend. He got you that appointment in Rome.”
Argolicus shrugged. “Perhaps Venantius, our governor, sent a letter. He wouldn’t want an uprising to reflect on his name. I’ve been busy with the grain shortage.”
Vespasianus shifted in his seat. “Cassiodorus is your friend, and you know this new comes civitatus?”
Argolicus smiled to himself. He felt Vespasianus backing down. “Yes, we were playmates in childhood, the three of us.”
“Playmates? All this is based on games?”
“No, on friendship. Strong ties last. This is a small town. I’ve known Sura since I was a child, but we weren’t playmates.” Why was Vespasianus diverting the conversation?
“Ebrimuth, the new comes civitatus, is a frequent visitor at the estate, and now that I’m in town, I’m sure he’ll visit me here. There aren’t that many of The People here in the south.”
“I see,” Vespasianus said, caution in his voice. “You are all connected.”
“Yes, by friendship. But I don’t see how that bears on the grain shortage or my investigating what happened to all the grain from our good harvest.”
“It may be that I overreacted,” Vespasianus said, shifting again in his seat. “What have you discovered?”
The next day while Proba was packing ledgers getting ready to leave, Argolicus decided to visit Pennus, the minor grain dealer who had spoken at the council. He idly thumbed through one of his father’s journals waiting for Nikolaos to return from arranging a visit.
As he read the journal entries, he found his father noted details. His father jotted things down, but Argolicus relied on Nikolaos and his constant scribbling. While he might see new plants in a garden, Nikolaos would know the name of each plant. He could not see himself keeping a journal.
Nikolaos came into the study. “He can see you now.”
Argolicus closed the journal and stopped his musings. He smiled at Nikolaos, “Let’s go.”
Pennus lived not far from Quintinus’ house. The building was old, large, and well-kept. The man was well-dressed in a fine linen tunic with colorful embroidery. His dark hair, almost black, dark eyes, and chiseled features reflected Greek ancestry common in this area far south of Rome.
Pennus gestured toward a bench by the pool in the atrium. “Come, come. Let’s sit here by the pool.” He settled his angular body on the bench. “You caused quite a stir at the council the other day, I must say. First Bartholomaeus. Then you. It was quite a day.”
The atrium was spacious. The mosaics on the floor combined an array of colorful geometric patterns. The wall frescoes of grapes and vineyards were interspersed between colorfully painted panels. Nikolaos stood in a corner by the entrance to the study.
“Bartholomaeus and I have a history. I won’t comment. But I stepped in because my work in Rome as praefectus required me to solve many complaints.”
“Ah, yes,” Pennus said. The light cast shadows on his angular face. “Bartholomaeus irritates everyone, even that bishop he claims to support. Rome. Do you miss it?”
“No. Not at all. I am back and I want to contribute. That’s why I volunteered.”
“But, you didn’t know Quintinus?”
“No. But you did. You mentioned that at the council. How well did you know him?”
“We did business together from time to time.” Pennus gestured at the frescoes. “My main trade is wine. We often combined shipments to fill a ship—my wine, his grain. That saved money for each of us. And we controlled the destinations.”
“These combinations. Are they how you knew Quintinus sent more grain to the north?”
“Ah, you were listening,” Pennus said, shifting his scrawny body on the bench.
Argolicus decided he did remember some details, even without Nikolaos.
“Yes. You stood up when Quintinus didn’t appear at the council. How well did you know him?”
“I’m not certain anyone knew him,” Pennus said, echoing what Argolicus had heard from everyone he’d spoken with so far. “We were social.”
“Oh?” Argolicus paid attention. From what he’d heard, Quintinus was not social. And now, here was someone who claimed a social connection.
The light from overhead reflected a blue sky on the pool at their feet.
“Not in the way most people think. We didn’t exchange dinner parties. But, we sometimes met at the baths and talked. Sometimes we followed that with a lunch somewhere to continue our conversation. But the conversations weren’t personal. It was always about business. How we could profit together. At times, he suggested taking over my grain deals.”
“You broker grain, as well as wine?” Someone had mentioned Pennus before. Argolicus could not remember who it was.
“I work with small estates or estates that have smaller grain fields. I’ve been to your estate.”
Ah, now he remembered. Lucius, the overseer, had mentioned Pennus. And what had he said?
Pennus was still talking. “Quintinus didn’t want to bother with smaller supplies. That meant he had to combine several to meet an order.” He shrugged his bony shoulders. “But when he got greedy… I hope you don’t mind my speaking so of the dead… he talked about taking over my grain accounts, so I could grow the wine business.”
“That’s how he presented it?” Argolicus glimpsed Nikolaos take out his stylus and scribble a note.
“Yes, he would take those smaller accounts. I could grow my wine accounts. There is only so much time.” Pennus waved a skinny wrist to suggest encompassing time.
“And it was in one of these private conversations that he mentioned almost all the grain going to the north because of the question about grain from Egypt?” Argolicus was remembering details.
“Yes. Yes, we were eating together. I remember. It was just as the harvest was concluding. He was buying grain from everywhere. That’s why he suggested taking over my accounts.” Pennus leaned forward, resting his elbows on his narrow thighs, lost in thought.
Argolicus waited. And he was rewarded.
“Greed.” Pennus sat back up. “With Quintinus, it wasn’t so much greed as an enthusiasm for making money. It was like a game to him. He loved bargaining. But once he made a bargain he kept his word. I think that’s why he wanted my small accounts. Not to best me, but to add to his deals with the north.”
“So, you turned down his offer?”
“Well, yes, and no.”
“Yes and no?”
“We worked out an arrangement. I kept my accounts. But instead of finding buyers in the north, I sold the grain directly to Quintinus.” Pennus chuckled. “At my price, of course. So I made out. He was desperate to fill his promises to northern buyers. He barely balked at my prices.”
Argolicus nodded. “So next year, you will still have those small accounts?”
“Yes, I think it worked out well.”
“Do you know how much grain he had promised?”
“No. He just said it was much more than usual.”
“Do you have any idea how the town was shorted? Did he tell you he took from the town stores?”
Pennus shook his head. “No, no mention of that. Just that he had promised more than usual to the north.”
“Did he say where he would get this extra grain?”
“No. I’ve told you all I know. I stood up at the council because he wasn’t there. Now we know why.”
“Yes, we do. Do you know of any enemies he might have had? Did he ever mention anyone in one of your conversations?”
The sun reflected in a corner of the pool. A bright light on the glistening water.
“No. He didn’t gossip. He never mentioned names. He might describe a particular good bargain he’d made… but without mentioning names. It was always quantities with him.”
Martina, the mistress, had told Argolicus the same thing. Almost the same words.
“What about you?” Argolicus prompted. “Can you think of anyone who carried a grudge, hated him? Justly or unjustly?”
Pennus set his face, accentuating the chiseled angles. He sat still for a moment before answering. “Quintinus was a powerful man. He was powerful because he had money, but that was only a means to power. He made private loans. You know how it is. Everyone has difficulties from time to time. Quintinus heard rumors, and then made offers before someone came to him. At the time, he seemed like the best recourse. He gave the appearance of being sensitive and discreet.”
Argolicus had heard almost the same words before. “Yes,” he said, encouraging Pennus to continue.
“But it was part of his game. He liked to think he knew about others’ hardships, and he took advantage. I can’t name you a specific individual, but I know many, many people owed him.”
“I’ve heard this,” Argolicus prompted. It was as though Quintinus had secretly supported the entire council membership. If he had deliberately shorted the town on grain, no one would say.
“During the harvest,” Pennus continued, “Quintinus met frequently with two different men. He thought he was unobserved, but I saw him.” Pennus looked at Argolicus. His dark brown eyes pleading that he was not an eavesdropper. “Do you know Vopiscus Aurius Macro?”
“We’ve met,” Argolicus answered, waiting for a new picture of the kindly treasurer.
“Well…he…” Pennus gave the same pleading look again. “I saw them together twice, Macro and Quintinus, right around the time of the harvest. I don’t want you to think…”
Argolicus nodded reassurance. “You just happened to see.”
“Yes. Yes. I was walking by and saw them in the same place where Quintinus and I often have lunch. Both times they were talking with their heads bent close. I didn’t hear what they said. I just saw them together. I didn’t know they were friends. Well, maybe not friends. I have no idea why they met.”
Argolicus thought of Macro’s estate. The walls that needed patching. The unkempt appearance. Maybe the old man was worse off than he let on. “I see. You mentioned another. There were two men?”
Pennus traced the lines of a pattern on the mosaic floor with the toe of his shoe. “You know Caeso Rabirius Donicus. He was at the council.”
“Yes.” Another revelation. This town was equal to Rome in secret goings-on and rumor. Now the ineffectual administrator, the curator civitatis.
“I saw them together three times. But, that’s all I know. Donicus takes care of the city provisions, but maybe he needed a loan. It might be by chance. He must have talked to Quintinus regularly. He is in charge of the town’s markets, the finances, and administration. We’ve suffered.”
“I met with him. He gathers information.”
“Yes, as administrator, he needs to know where things are and how commodities like grain flow. I’m not saying he’s incompetent…”
He pictured Donicus squinting at his ledger columns without any totals.
Pennus went on. “He just doesn’t have control over what he knows. As I said, an appointment that didn’t go well for our town.”
“He has another year?” Argolicus asked.
“Yes. I hope we don’t suffer too much. In my opinion, Vespasianus needs to prompt him to attention. He is a strong leader and the town needs his leadership… especially with a situation like Donicus.”
“Then, we are fortunate to have Vespasianus this year. But, back to Quintinus. I don’t see either of those men, Donicus or Macro, physically harming anyone. It doesn’t seem in their nature, whatever other failings they might have. Can you think of anyone else?”
Pennus struck his stone face again and stared into the pool. The sun’s reflection had traveled to the middle of the pool, spreading light glints in every direction.
“I can’t think of anyone specific. It could be so many people. I don’t know to whom Quintinus offered his loan assistance. He based it on rumor. As I said, everyone in business has difficult times and shortfalls occasionally.”
This man had told him enough. Argolicus was ready to leave. He wanted to digest what he had learned. Maybe Nikolaos had noticed an overlooked detail.
“Pennus, you have helped me in my inquiries.”
“Yes, but everything is hearsay. I’m not sure if I’ve helped you at all.”
“I have a better picture. Not just of the grain this year and how it was handled but of how Quintinus went about his dealings with other men.”
“You’ve taken on what no one else in this town would do. I am glad you returned. And glad you decided to actively work in the council. I think everyone appreciates your efforts.”
“So far they are only efforts. I have one other question. I’m hoping you can help me.”
“Certainly, if I can.”
“I’ve been looking at your frescoes. The frescoes at my town house need refreshing. Yours look recent. I’m wondering if you could tell me the name of the painter?”
“Gladly.” Pennus beamed with pride.
15
In the morning light, Proba looked small and fragile. Her confidence was replaced with nervous energy. She paced back and forth in front of the house. Rufus and Ezio organized their vegetables and dishes in the shops. The cart that had carried Quintinus’ body back to town stood filled with Proba’s ledgers and belongings for her stay at the estate.
“I’ll ride in the cart with my maid,” Proba said.
“As you wish,” Argolicus said. “Don’t worry. My mother is not formidable. You will like her.”
Proba arched an eyebrow.
“She might pressure me, and she has. But she will welcome you to the estate.”
Eboric turned to lead the extra horse back to the stable. In the street, slaves were out to buy household goods. It seemed like a normal morning. The rabble-rousers were not visible. But Argolicus noticed a slave hurrying down the street. The man eyed the group gathered in front of the house. Stopped, looked at the house. And then went up to the door and knocked.
The doorman, Boden, opened, his massive frame filling the space. The slave spoke. Boden nodded his head toward the group in the street. “There,” he said.
The slave turned and eyed the group. “Gaius Vitellius Argolicus.”
Argolicus gestured.
“Your Sublimity, Marcus Vipsanius Vespasianus wishes to speak with you.”
Argolicus sighed. “Nikolaos, take Proba inside. Kunimund, you and Eboric guard the cart. Keep the content safe.”
The silent, dark bodyguard nodded and labored out the words in Latin. “One of us go with you. Wait for Eboric.”
Minerva gazed with bland unconcern on the luxurious atrium as if centuries of Christianity had no effect on wisdom. The collection of marble statues and the glinting gold leaf struck Argolicus as beyond opulent. It was as if Vespasianus couldn’t trust his authority without this display.
The large slave greeted Argolicus at the door and led him not to the study, but left him waiting by the pool in the atrium. Argolicus eyed the brightly painted statues—Minerva, the satyr, the nymph, and the unknown god—and wondered if Vespasianus was a secret worshipper of the old gods, a crime, or merely admired the old Rome. One was a faith issue, one political. Either way, they were best kept hidden, even though they were far away from King Theoderic in the North. What he did know was that keeping him waiting after summoning him, was a move by Vespasianus to show his power.
Argolicus glimpsed a corner of the study where more gold leaf gleamed on a large box.
“Ah, Argolicus, I need to speak to you,” Vespasianus said, striding in from the rear of the house. The gold embroidery on his tunic, intertwined with red and blue, was more elaborate than the last time they had met. His sandals were adorned with tiny pearls. “Let’s sit,” he said, gesturing toward two chairs by the pool.
“Vespasianus, your slave reached me just in time for a talk. I was ready to leave.”
“Oh? Off to interview more principals?” He sat in a chair, crossed his arms over his chest, and gave Argolicus a flinty glare.
“No, off to my estate in the hills.”
“Ah, good. No more meddling for a few days, then?”
“Meddling? I’ve been searching for the cause of the grain shortage.”
Vespasianus fiddled with the neck of his tunic, then ran his fingers lightly over the embroidered stripe that ran down from his shoulder. “Yes. I hear you have been talking to more people. But… when we talked before, I asked you to be more discreet, to question gently without probing. I don’t know you. Your actions speak well, but I have to protect the town. Perhaps, as you tell me more, I will begin to trust your actions.”
Argolicus ran over his conversations with Macro and Pennus in his mind. He couldn’t remember anything that had seemed uncomfortable to either man. But, one of them, if not both, had registered a complaint with Vespasianus. Wouldn’t members of the curia want to know what happened to the grain?
“What is the complaint?” Argolicus asked. “Our community is suffering. Magistrates and principals would want to solve this problem. Just yesterday, there was an incident at Quintinus’ house. People were shouting, throwing dung. His daughter was terrified.”
“Yes, I heard about that, too,” Vespasianus answered, fingering his embroidery. “A new comes civitatus broke up the crowd.”
“Yes, I know him. I’ve known him since childhood. We are distantly related.”
“Ah, yes. At times, I forget about your mother. What is he like?”
Argolicus pondered how to describe Ebrimuth. “Strong-minded, but fair. Where is our peace warden? I haven’t seen a peace warden since all this started.”
Vespasianus stopped fingering the embroidery and visibly winced. “Our peace warden has a fondness for wine. I’m afraid he’s not up to this situation. This is more than a fight between drunken youth or a family dispute.”
“Then Cassiodorus made a timely decision.”
“Cassiodorus? I thought the king…” Vespasianus sat back, considering the implications.
“Yes, the king signs, but Cassiodorus is his advisor.”
“How did he know?” He gave Argolicus a significant look. “We all know that Cassiodorus is your friend. He got you that appointment in Rome.”
Argolicus shrugged. “Perhaps Venantius, our governor, sent a letter. He wouldn’t want an uprising to reflect on his name. I’ve been busy with the grain shortage.”
Vespasianus shifted in his seat. “Cassiodorus is your friend, and you know this new comes civitatus?”
Argolicus smiled to himself. He felt Vespasianus backing down. “Yes, we were playmates in childhood, the three of us.”
“Playmates? All this is based on games?”
“No, on friendship. Strong ties last. This is a small town. I’ve known Sura since I was a child, but we weren’t playmates.” Why was Vespasianus diverting the conversation?
“Ebrimuth, the new comes civitatus, is a frequent visitor at the estate, and now that I’m in town, I’m sure he’ll visit me here. There aren’t that many of The People here in the south.”
“I see,” Vespasianus said, caution in his voice. “You are all connected.”
“Yes, by friendship. But I don’t see how that bears on the grain shortage or my investigating what happened to all the grain from our good harvest.”
“It may be that I overreacted,” Vespasianus said, shifting again in his seat. “What have you discovered?”
