The Grain Merchant, page 15
‘Here,” she said, pulling a volume from the shelf. She brought it over to the table and opened the pages. Then ran her finger down a page.
“Four, Caeso Rabirius Donicus.”
“Donicus?” Argolicus lifted an eyebrow in surprise. That old man. What was he doing?
Proba continued, “Seven, Caeso Rabirius Donicus.”
Proba sank into her father’s chair. “I don’t understand. The curator civitatis. He is in charge of the markets, finance, and administration for the town. Isn’t his role to provide for the city?”
“Not so much to provide as keep track and monitor,” Argolicus said.
“I don’t understand the Roman ways,” Ebrimuth said, shaking his mane over his broad shoulders. “This couldn’t happen with Our People. A man who did such a thing would be dead.”
“That’s swift retribution,” Argolicus said, “but that’s not how Roman law works. Disgraced and shamed. He’ll end up living impoverished. No one will have anything to do with him.”
“And the grain will go to the town?” Proba asked.
“I will make that happen.” A wave of relief flooded his body. He would keep the promise he made to the mob yesterday.
“How?” Proba asked.
“First I will go to Vespasianus. He is the magistrate. He may call a town meeting, or he may simply make a public announcement. And, then, we’ll start distributing grain. Vespasianus will be pleased. The unrest will vanish and our town will be peaceful again. Proba, you’ll be able to return here to your home.”
She cast a glance at Ebrimuth.
“For now,” Ebrimuth said, “until this is resolved, I’m taking her back to your mother. The crowds know nothing of this, yet.” He shook his head. “Romans.”
“Right,” Argolicus said. “Proba, can I take the ledger with me to show Vespasianus?”
“Of course.”
She placed a scrap of vellum in the ledger as a marker, closed the book, and handed it to Argolicus. She stared at the table and then raised her eyes to Argolicus.
“This means my father was not at fault. He rented the space but couldn’t know how it was used.” She smiled in relief.
Argolicus nodded. “Perhaps.”
Her smile faded. “Perhaps? What do you mean, perhaps?” Tears welled in her eyes.
“We may never know. But, surely your father would notice cartloads of grain coming to the warehouse. I’m sorry to be harsh, but your father knew more about the comings and goings of grain than anyone else. It’s hard to believe he didn’t know.”
“He wouldn’t. He couldn’t,” she said as the tears started down her cheeks. She ran to Ebrimuth who took her in his arms and leaned his chin onto the top of her head.
Argolicus handed the ledger to Nikolaos. “Keep that safe.” The book disappeared into the folds of his tunic.
Argolicus turned to Proba and put his hand on her shoulder. She turned from Ebrimuth’s chest.
“Proba, you’ve done a great service to the town. Give me the keys to the two warehouses. I will take them to the magistrate Vespasianus. He will be in charge of distribution.”
She fumbled with the ring, removed the two keys and handed them to Argolicus.
“Without your help,” he continued, “we wouldn’t have grain for the people. You are not at fault. You wrote down what Quintinus told you. The city owes you a debt of gratitude. I will tell Vespasianus we wouldn’t have found the grain except for you.”
She shook her head. “But my father.”
“We don’t know. We’ve found grain, but many questions are unanswered. Go with Ebrimuth. He and my mother will take care of you. You are grieving. All this searching, comparison, and review of records has kept you from grieving. The estate is a safe place. You are welcome to stay there for as long as you need.”
Ebrimuth nodded.
“I have much to do. I don’t need your help with the next steps. I will be busy with council business, talking to Vespasianus, deciding what to do about Donicus. I’ll talk to him, too. We’ll get to the bottom of this. Your father may or may not have anything to do with this. Leave this to me. As soon as this is resolved, I’ll come to the estate and tell you everything.”
He leaned down and kissed her cheek. Then patted Ebrimuth’s solid shoulder. “Thank you.”
Ebrimuth smiled and shrugged. “I will keep her safe.”
“I’ll see you at the estate as soon as I know something.” He turned and headed across the atrium toward the front door. Nikolaos followed with the ledger secreted in his folds.
Tessera - Sepia
Bene and his followers hunkered in a small clearing hidden in the woods. His tunic was bleached white on the shoulders from the sun, but smeared with dirt and stains from his life in the woods. The surrounding men all had the same look—bronzed by the sun, smudged and streaked from living in the woods.
“I know the man, Argolicus. I met him once before. He is fair. We must wait.”
A rumpled man of indeterminate years said, “We don’t know him. How can he promise something he doesn’t know how he’ll resolve? I think he said those things just to get the crowd away from his family estate.”
The group murmured assent. “Yes, we don’t know.”
“Who can trust a promise from a patrician?”
Bene said, “When I met him, he was taking care of a slave, a field worker. He treats all equally. He keeps his word.”
“So we do nothing?” the rough man asked.
“We do nothing about the grain, for the moment.”
Shoulders sagged. Heads shook.
Bene looked at the group. He had to come up with something that would take their minds off the grain.
“I’ve heard there’s a horse trader bringing thirty horses to ship to Ravenna. What do you say to thinning the herd?”
At once, their faces changed from disappointment to glee.
“Where are they now?” the rough man asked.
22
By the time they reached Vespasianus’ house, the morning was almost over. Shops were closing for the midday break and the sun beat down on the paving stones.
Before Argolicus could knock on the door, Nikolaos said, “Master, what do you know about Vespasianus other than that he is a magistrate?”
“He is the magistrate. Telling him about Donicus’ secret hoard is the next step. Then it’s up to him and the principals to make a decision.”
“Remember Rome. Don’t take him at face value. You tend to do that.”
“I remember Rome. Power is its own reward. People are people in Rome and here.” On the stones next to the door graffiti proclaimed, “What about us?” Argolicus knocked on the door.
The door swung open and the neatly dressed doorman raised an eyebrow. “The morning is over. The master has retired.”
“Gaius Vitellius Argolicus,” Nikolaos announced.
“With important news,” Argolicus said.
The doorman motioned them toward the atrium.
Argolicus stood contemplating the statues of the nymph, satyr, Minerva, and the unknown ancient god. The gold leaf on the bench facing the pool glinted in the sunlight shining down through the opening in the roof above the pool. The colors on the brightly painted statues echoed on the walls in large swaths of color. On the mosaic floor, bright colors in the tesserae arranged in repetitive geometric shapes, added to the dizzying color palette. The most public room in the house was designed to impress.
“Argolicus, what is so important it can’t wait until tomorrow?” Vespasianus strode in frowning.
“Apologies for the late arrival. I have news that cannot wait. Important and good news for the town.”
“What is it?”
Nikolaos handed the ledger to Argolicus.
“I’ve been working with Quintinus’ daughter to discover why we are missing grain. Following the information written in ledgers, comparing the town records with Quintinus’ accounts led us nowhere. That’s why I haven’t come to speak with you.”
“Yes, yes, and now?” Vespasianus said, deepening his frown.
“This morning we went to Quintinus’ warehouse complex and found grain.”
“What? Was he holding back from the town? How did he expect to make money, or, more importantly, improve his reputation by hoarding grain?”
“It wasn’t Quintinus.”
“What do you mean, it wasn’t Quintinus? You were at his complex. Who else would it be?” Vespasianus’ mouth twisted in scorn. “You interrupt my midday with no answer?”
Argolicus held his temper. The man was so full of himself and his importance. He was accustomed to speaking with disdain.
“We found that a set of storehouses belong to him, but the spaces are rented out to local men for convenience.” He opened the ledger to the marked page. “Quintinus kept track of the rentals, but not what was stored there. He kept a set of keys for each unit, and entered the names in this ledger.”
He read from the open page. “Four, Caeso Rabirius Donicus. Seven, Caeso Rabirius Donicus. Those were the warehouses we found filled with grain.”
“Let me see,” Vespasianus said.
He took the book from Argolicus and sat on the bench. His eyes ran down the page, once, twice, three times. “Donicus. Donicus, what would that old man…? It doesn’t make sense.” He closed his eyes and breathed in.
“Exactly. That’s why I came here as soon as we discovered the grain. It’s a boon to the city because, small as the store is, it’s enough to quell the unrest.”
“Yes, but…” Vespasianus rubbed the neck of his tunic.
“Yes, but it brings shame on the principals, the town’s leaders, who somehow missed this hidden grain. And a principal who was responsible for the town’s welfare, the one who cheated everyone.”
“Right,” Vespasianus said. He closed his eyes again and took another deep breath. “Donicus doesn’t know what you found?”
“No.”
“Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll call a meeting of all the principals for tomorrow morning. Not the entire curia, just this year’s principals. Since Donicus doesn’t know about your discovery, he will come. Then we can accuse him in front of his peers, and they can decide on the consequences.”
“That is an efficient plan. Since we are the only ones who know about Donicus, except for Quintinus’ daughter. He will arrive unprepared for the accusation. He will have to explain to everyone how this travesty is his doing.”
“The principals will be relieved about the grain,” Vespasianus said. “The town can return to normal. There’s one man to blame, and we will decide, together, what must be done.”
Vespasianus rose from the bench. “And Quintinus? Do you know anything about his death?”
“Nothing. It happened in a lonely spot by the river. I’ve found no one who knows anything. Everyone says the same thing. He was committed to his business. At the same time, I haven’t found anyone who had a close relationship with him. No one with a personal grudge. The only person who cared about him is his daughter. She was so relieved to find he had nothing to do with the grain hoarding. But no, nothing. We may never know.”
“And you are marrying this girl?”
There were no secrets in a town. But this news was outdated. “No. The two of us agreed not to marry.”
“Oh? She is a good-looking woman.” A flash of something crossed his face. Argolicus remembered he’d wanted to marry her.
“She is, and intelligent. But, we decided not to marry. We’re both adults. Our allegiance now is to finding her father’s killer.”
“I see,” Vespasianus said. He stared down at the ledger for a moment. He handed it back to Argolicus and sat down again. “Bring that book with you tomorrow to the meeting. With written evidence and the grain in the warehouses, Donicus will have no defense.”
Vespasianus looked at the pool as he fidgeted with the folds of his tunic.
Argolicus said, “Indeed. The challenge will be explaining what happened to the curia. Donicus had a trusted position.”
“Yes, we must also elect a new curator civitatis. Someone has to take charge of the grain distribution to the people. It will be a long and emotional meeting.”
Vespasianus continued staring at the pool glimmering in the midday sun.
“We will get through this.”
“We will. I heard you spoke to the ruffians when they threatened your estate.”
“I did. At the time I had no idea we would find grain.”
“But you see what you did. You were just out on the streets. You saw how the unrest has subsided. That’s due to your words. What did you say?”
“It wasn’t planned, I spoke in the moment. I can barely remember what I said. I promised to look into the grain, which I was doing at the time. I said there would be a resolution. Beyond that, I don’t remember the exact words. It was a tense moment.”
“I remember your father when the people rebelled against a bishop. I was young. I don’t remember what he said, but he had a tone. A tone of reassurance. It was his delivery as much as the words.”
Since he had moved to the town, Argolicus kept hearing about his father. Was he like his father? Was his delivery yesterday what had influenced the small mob? He said, “I can’t speak for myself. It was a tense and threatening situation. I felt I had to do something, say something that would make them go away. It was as simple as that.”
“Perhaps you could speak to the principals tomorrow. Explain the findings. After all, it was you who found the grain. You are new to the meetings, but your voice should be heard. I know the principals will listen. If I speak, it will be hearsay.”
“I can speak. It will merely be a telling of the discovery. It won’t be long.”
“Yes, well… bring the ledger. I must go now and send messages to the principals. You’ve taken a burden away from the council. Thank you.”
Argolicus recognized dismissal. He turned to Nikolaos to hand him the ledger.
“You should reconsider marrying that girl,” Vespasianus said as he rose from the bench. “You’re here in town, an active member of the council. You say you get along with her. A marriage would solidify your position.”
“I’ve considered. We both decided.” He thought of the thunderbolt and Ebrimuth. “Marrying Proba is not something I will do.”
“If not her, then someone. Men trust men who are married. It indicates stability.”
Argolicus thought about his marriage to Julia. And he considered the many married men he’d met. He shook his head.
“I appreciate your concern for my position in the town. For now, I’ll remain as I am.”
Vespasianus looked at the pool again. “Your addition to the principals is valuable. So many men are there only because of position. Look at old Pennus, and I would have thought of Donicus before this travesty. It was Sura who invited you to the council meeting, yes?”
Argolicus considered the sequence from Sura in the street, to the council meeting, to his promise to the council, and finally to the grain warehouses.
“It was.”
Vespasianus gave him a curt nod and strode to his study, off the atrium.
Outside on the street, with the sun beating down, he felt hot, weary, and disgruntled.
“It’s time to make the house a home. I moved in, and then I’ve hardly spent time there.”
Nikolaos nodded and said, “We’ll get you transplanted with new roots.”
The bodyguards followed them down the street toward his father’s house.
23
“Is it true? Is it true?” Rufus called from his shop as Argolicus approached the house.
“Rufus, what do you mean?”
“Look around. The rowdy crowds are gone. We heard it was you.” He nodded toward the other shopkeepers who had stopped their trade with the last morning shoppers and were staring at him in admiration.
“I spoke to a small crowd.”
“It was you.” Rufus began clapping and the others joined in.
Stunned, Argolicus nodded toward them all. “Since they are gone, let’s all return to our lives. Isn’t it time to close down for the afternoon siesta?”
“Indeed it is. And we can close in peace,” Rufus said. “Here, take some peaches.”
He handed three peaches to Argolicus. Suddenly, the others were offering gifts, plates, cups, a tunic.
“But I…” Argolicus felt tears welling.
Eboric and Kunimund gathered the goods.
Somehow they were all inside. The bodyguards distributed the goods to slaves and retired to their rooms.
Argolicus went to his father’s study, his study, and collapsed in the chair behind the table.
“Nikolaos, I came here for a quiet life. Alright, perhaps some local politics, but all this. The unrest, a murder, secret grain stores, none of this was in my plan. And now this public acclaim. Shopkeepers applauding.”
“You don’t know your strengths. I don’t mean physical at which you are still not excellent after years of my tutoring. I mean your natural ability to say the right thing. It’s a gift.”
“I don’t think of it like that. I don’t want notoriety. It could just as easily be something I’d done wrong.”
“Master, you have talents that have nothing to do with what I’ve taught you over the years.”
“Father had to deal with this. He’s been gone seventeen years and people still mention him.”
“He was a good man.”
“What does that mean, Nikolaos? A good man.”
“Perhaps we should read Marcus Aurelius tonight. I’m going to water the transplants and leave you to your thoughts.”
Weariness overwhelmed Argolicus. He considered a nap. But it wasn’t tiredness. He was weary. Marcus Aurelius. Nikolaos would think of that.
He stood and went to the bookshelves. But when he scanned the shelves, he noticed his father’s journals. How had his father dealt with the politics of everyday life? The politics of a small town? He pulled one off the shelf at random.
