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the tiles.’
    Brianus looked doubtful but he slipped his garment off and allowed Minimus to hang it, with mine, above the fire, where it began to give off wisps of steam and odours of wet wool.
    My own slave turned to me. ‘Master, won’t you take refreshment first? I am just preparing some of your favourite drink. The young master sent me out especially to get the mead. And we’ve left you a portion of hot pie and some of the oatcakes that the mistress made for us. You must be hungry – you have not eaten anything for hours. Or were you given something at the lictor’s residence?’ He looked enquiringly at Brianus.
    I shook my head. I’d had nothing since I left the roundhouse at first light. ‘I would be glad to eat. But I’ll do that in a moment, when I have dealt with this. First, can you find a writing-tablet from the upper room?’ I indicated the steep ladder that led up to the attics in the roof.
    Minimus looked startled. ‘But master,’ he began, ‘you already have one. It’s hanging at your belt . . .’
    ‘That one belongs to Marcus, not to me,’ I told him firmly, removing it and putting it aside. ‘I cannot use my patron’s writing-block. But I’m sure there’s one upstairs that I once rescued from a midden-heap. I think the hinge is missing, but we can tie it shut. I’m sure you can find a stylus – or something that will do – and there’s a pot of wax somewhere that I can use to seal the ribbon with.’
    Minimus was still havering at the ladder’s foot. I rarely sent him up into the upper room. The area had been damaged in a fire and, being draughty, leaky and unlit, was mostly used for storage nowadays, and then only of items which we rarely used. Before I married Gwellia those rooms had been my home but, unlike most of my tradesman neighbours hereabouts, I no longer lived above the shop – I had moved to my cosy roundhouse in the woods. It made for a walk of several hours a day, but I’d got used to that.
    I turned to find Brianus goggling at me, clearly astonished that my slave would question my orders and not act at once. It made me speak a little sharply as I said to Minimus, ‘Now do as I request, and quickly, too!’
    ‘Can I take a candle?’ I realized that Minimus was genuinely alarmed. He did not like the ladder – not since I once found a dead body lying at its foot – and was not used to being sent upstairs where there were certainly spiders hiding in the gloom, and very likely rats.
    ‘Take one of those by all means,’ I said more cheerfully, indicating the bunch of tallow tapers that I kept hanging on the wall. ‘But you’ll hardly need a light. I’m almost sure the writing-tablet’s in the first box that you see, just beside the opening where the ladder comes. You could find it in the daylight that comes in from the roof.’
    Minimus was still looking unconvinced but he took a taper and lit it at the fire, then – holding it above his head like someone entering a house of ghosts – began to climb the rungs. There was a moment’s thumping when he reached the top, and then he reappeared, brandishing the writing-block triumphantly. He blew out the candle, held it in his teeth, and came quickly backwards down the ladder, keeping his balance with his one free hand.
    He handed me the writing-tablet and removed the home-made taper from his mouth with a grimace (it was made of goose tallow and no doubt tasted foul). ‘I hope this is what you wanted, master?’ he said. ‘It was the only one that I could see but the wax is so old and fragile that it might be hard to use. And I found a stylus with it, though that’s seen better days as well.’ He produced the metal scratch-pen from inside his tunic folds.
    ‘That will do very nicely,’ I told him, with a smile. ‘Though you are right about the wax. It has got damaged in the damp. We shall have to let it warm up for a minute by the fire. In the meantime, this young slave and I will do the same.’ Minimus was