The Legatus Mystery by Rosemary Rowe

her tunic. ‘I am ashamed to greet you in this way. I had intended to clean myself when Junio came back . . .’
    ‘And here he is, master,’ Junio said, poking his curly head round the partition. I sensed a certain wariness in his manner, although outwardly he was his usual cheerful self. ‘I have another water pail here.’ He came into the room and set it down – a misshapen hammered copper affair with a handle, which I had found once abandoned on a heap, and usually reserved for mixing mortar in. Now most of it had been chiselled clean and it was brimful of water – though not from the river, clearly, since there was no trace of mud in it. This must have come from one of the public fountains, inside the city gates. Junio had had a lengthy walk.
    Junio attempted to read my face. ‘I am sorry, master,’ he began at last. ‘I didn’t know . . .’
    ‘I left you here to look after the shop,’ I said patiently. ‘I don’t expect you to go off into the town without permission.’
    Junio looked crestfallen, and gazed at the floor. It was Gwellia who spoke. ‘Don’t be angry with him, master. He thought to help me, that’s all. I know fetching water is usually a woman’s job. I was fetching it myself, at first, but he saw me struggling . . .’
    ‘Are you telling me he volunteered? You must tell me what your secret is!’ I smiled. Junio has carried water to the shop for years, but usually he complains at every step.
    Junio looked at me uncertainly. ‘Forgive me, master, what was I to do? I knew the lady was your wife, I saw she was having difficulties . . .’
    ‘My back . . .’ Gwellia said helplessly.
    Of course. I regretted my teasing instantly. I had seen her naked shoulders, and I knew the scars of cruel whip marks they bore, where an angry mistress had once had her flogged till bone and muscle had been laid bare. Gwellia still moved one arm with difficulty. I had a sudden vision of Junio, watching the woman I’d searched for all these years, seeing her struggling with the water pots – and my heart was filled with love for both of them.
    For a moment I found myself deprived of speech: there seemed to be something in my throat.
    ‘I am sorry, dear master, if I’ve done wrong,’ Gwellia said earnestly. ‘But the boy had finished his cutting. Besides, while he was working I couldn’t clear the room . . .’ She glanced at me, and added with a smile, ‘I have tried to keep everything separate. All the colours in different baskets. And do not worry where I got those from. I found a denarius under all the dust. It had gone down between the floorboards. It paid for all the rushes and to spare.’
    ‘No doubt a coin from the Phrygian steward, master?’ Junio said. He glanced up at me slyly but swiftly returned to staring at the floor. He has a witty turn of mind, but I have strict rules about not mocking the customers.
    But I had seen his lips twitch, and in spite of myself I was half laughing too. Of course I knew what he was alluding to. The Phrygian had been the particularly pompous and patronising household steward of a patrician customer of mine. He had visited us, with all the condescension of a god descending, and pulled out a purse to pay his master’s bill – with such a flourish that he scattered the contents. That had punctured his dignity. He had sworn by all the furies that he had lost a coin, but we had never found it – though Junio and I had spent an entertaining half-hour watching him scrabble for it in the stone chippings.
    ‘Then it seems he has donated these baskets for my tiles,’ I said, knowing that I had capitulated. Somehow, with Junio, I find it hard to be strict for very long. Marcus is always mocking me about it. And now Gwellia had joined the household too! One look from her could always melt my heart. I would have to be doubly careful in future, I told myself. The Romans do not esteem any man who is not master in his own household. But I was still grinning like an