Risus Arrives
Follows "To Bribe a Centurian" in my first century AD Roman WIP
Illeus’ brother, Mercator, had come to visit him, with Placida and her youngest child, Illeus’ son. Mercator was married now, but unlike their father and their oldest brother, Agricola, it was not a love match. His wife was not jealous of Placida, being instead grateful to have her husband’s attention directed elsewhere most of the time. She had given Mercator a son and a daughter and now considered her obligations in that area done. She accepted that her husband would not be separated from his own children by his slave woman, but had put her foot down on keeping the children that were his brothers’. Agricola’s son by Placida was already an overseer on another estate, but Risus had to be sent to Illeus in Capernaum.
“Why can’t I have his certificate?” asked Illeus. “Of course, I’ll take him. I want him to grow up free.”
“It’s not mine to give, Illeus,” Mercator answered. “Talk to father. He says the certificate will expire automatically when Risus turns thirty, and he sees no reason to change it.”
Placida sat with Fidela in the other room, with the children. Risus was five, Talitha was two, and Fidela was pregnant again. Placida’s heart ached at the thought that she would have to leave her son so young, and so far away.
“Then I’ll buy it out,” said Illeus. “Fifty denarii?” He named a common price for a well-bred healthy five-year-old.
“500 denarii,” said Mercator. “I’m sorry, it’s in the certificate itself. So long as he’s a slave, his price is set at adult male.”
“Sophie, how much do I have?” he asked Procerus’s wife, who managed the household finances, but he knew it wouldn’t be anywhere close to enough.
She unlocked a drawer and took out a pouch. “You spent most of your gold on the way back from the Jordan,” she said.
He dug through the pouch. “2 aurei, 18 denarii, and a bunch of sesterces. 68 denarii plus change.”
Mercator was shocked. “Little brother, what have you been spending your money on?”
“Keeping my soldiers content with their wages,” he said, cryptically.
“Okay, don’t tell me,” sighed Mercator.
“Next pay is 300 denarii after expenses, in the fall,” said Illeus. “We’re not at war, which is nice, but that also means we’re not likely to get any bonuses or loot, which is not so nice. On the plus side, my wages are higher as Optis. On the other hand, again, no battles so there will be problems making Centurion.”
Later, Mercator and Illeus came out of the study. Mercator collected Placida and Risus and both headed back to the caravan tent where they were staying.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay here?” asked Illeus.
“Sorry, little brother. We’ve got the tent set up the way we like,” he said.
“Let me walk you over there.”
Once they got to the tent, Placida took Risus inside, but Mercator stood outside in the cool evening air with his brother.
Mercator looked at where Placida had just gone through the tent flap.
“I love her,” he said, simply.
Silence. A pause.
“Fidela and Sophie both wear stolas,” said Mercator. “I wish Placida wore the stola for me.”
“Divorce Aurelia. Free Placida. Marry her.”
“So simple,” said Mercator. “Aurelia never loved me. She’s stone cold and only lay with me to breed. And now she’s done breeding.”
“Why not?” said Illeus. “Agricola has children and the estate. And you’re a trader. You travel anyway. So what if your wife is a freedwoman?”
“It doesn’t work that way, Illeus,” he said. “If I want to keep up my trade, I need to keep up my reputation. Besides, Placida doesn’t like travel that much.”
“Is she complaining?”
“She gets homesick. You know our Placida. She’s a homebody.”
“She would travel to stay with Risus.”
“That she would,” said Mercator. “That she would. Did you know that after that lad got her pregnant, she pined. Even after she had the child, and we disposed of it, she kept pining. It wasn’t until your Risus was born that she smiled again. But then Aurelia made me stay away from any other woman until our children were born. And now, she’s happy again, but I’m afraid she’ll go back to pining when she has to leave Risus.”
Silence.
“Illeus?” said Mercator.
“Hmm?”
“Are all the women in your household slaves?”
Illeus was startled out of his train of thought. “Only Fidela is still a slave, and Fortis is paying on her. Why?”
“Fidela wears a stola.”
“She’s Fortis’ wife.”
“Placida doesn’t.”
“Because she’s not your wife. Do something about it.”
“Fidela isn’t married to Fortis. She can’t be. Contubernium is not connubium.”
“Mercator,” said Illeus, “this law Augustus passed. It’s wrong. He talks so much about marriage, and then leaves us no option except foreigners, and foreign slaves, at that. You know I was in love with Olivia, but she wouldn’t have anything less than connubium.
“Men don’t wait twenty years to start a family,” he continued as they walked. “Especially men who risk death.”
“Are you waiting for Placida yourself?” asked Mercator. “Why didn’t you buy a slave when you still had the money?”
“Because…,” said Illeus, and blushed. “Procerus just bought a likely virgin and it turned out fine. Fortis, well, I think he just decided Fidela was good enough for him. And it looks like they love each other. But I….”
“You want to marry for love,” said Mercator. “Father did. Agricola did. We all do, the men in our family. Except me.”
“Then marry her,” said Illeus. “There’s no law preventing you.”
Pause.
“You have one woman for your name and your standing, and another for your heart and your bed,” said Illeus. “I don’t blame you for wanting both, and there’s nothing dishonorable in it. But everything has a cost. What are you willing to pay?”
“Do you love her, Illeus? Would you marry her?”
“Yes to the first, and…. No. She was my boy’s crush. And she gave me a son, for which I will always be grateful. But she’s always been yours, Mercator. If there’s a woman for me out there…? But whoever it is or isn’t, it’s not Placida.”
