All was peace and contentment, yet I was not bored at all. I had been mad, I decided, to tell Claudia that I missed the murderous intrigues of the city. Nothing and no one in this world, neither man nor god, could ever persuade me to return to such a life.
II
I was contemplating the problem of the water mill again ten days later when Aratus brought the cook and his two young assistants into my library. Congrio was a heavy man; what good cook is not? As Lucius Claudius had once remarked, a cook whose creations are not so tempting that he stuns himself with stolen delicacies is not a cook worm having. Congrio was not Lucius's best cook — that post had been reserved for Lucius's house on the Palatine Hill in Rome, where he entertained his friends. But Lucius had not been a man to stint himself of culinary pleasures no matter where he went, and his country cook was more than skilful enough to delight my palate.
In the heat of the morning Congrio was already sweating. His two assistants stood to each side and slightly behind him, respectful of his authority.
I dismissed Aratus and asked Congrio and his helpers to step closer. I explained my intention to lend them to Claudia for the next few days. Congrio knew Claudia, because she had dined with his late master from time to time. She had always been pleased with his work, he assured me, and he was certain he would please her again and give me cause to be proud of him.
'Good,' I said, thinking it might help to smooth matters with the Claudii to render them this favour. 'There is one other thing…'
'Yes, Master.'
‘You will do your best for the Claudii, of course; you will obey Claudia, and Claudia's own cook as well, since you will be serving in her house.'
'Of course, Master; I understand.' 'And also, Congrio…' 'Yes, Master?' He wrinkled his fleshy brow. 'You will say nothing to embarrass me while you are in Claudia's service.'
'Of course not, Master!' He seemed genuinely hurt.
'You will not exchange gossip with the other slaves, or trade opinions of your respective masters, or pass along what you may perceive to be my opinions.'
'Master, I fully understand the proper behaviour of a slave who has been lent to a friend of his master.'
'I'm sure you do. Only, while you keep your mouth closed, I want you to keep your ears open.'
'Master?' He inclined his head, seeking clarification.
'This applies more to your assistants than to you, since I assume you may not leave the kitchen at all, while they may assist in serving the Claudii at their meal. The family will mostly be discussing politics and the upcoming consular elections; about that I care nothing, and you may ignore whatever they say. But if you should happen to hear my name mentioned, or any other matter concerning this farm, prick up your ears. Indicate no interest, but note what is said and by whom. Do not discuss the details among yourselves, but remember them When you return, I will want to hear any such details, faithfully recounted. Do you understand, all of you?'
Congrio drew back with a sudden look of self-importance and nodded gravely. His assistants, watching him for their lead, did likewise. What makes a slave feel more warmly wicked than to be commissioned as a spy?
'Good. About the instructions I have just given, you will say nothing, not even to the other slaves. Not even to Aratus,' I added. They nodded again.
After I sent them on their way, I stepped to the window and leaned out, breathing in the warm fragrance of mowed grass. The bloom was finally off the grass, and the slaves had begun to make hay. I also noted the figure of Aratus walking quickly alongside the house, his back turned to me, as if he had been standing by the window and listening to everything I said.
It was two days later, in the afternoon, when the stranger arrived. I had taken a stroll to the stream and had settled on a grassy slope, my back against the trunk of a spreading oak, a wax tablet on my knees and a stylus in my hand hi my imagination a mill began to take shape on the bank of the stream I tried to draw what I saw in my mind, but my ringers were clumsy. I smoothed the wax with the edge of my hand and started again.
'Papa! Papa!' Diana's voice came from somewhere behind me and echoed off the opposite bank. I stayed quiet and continued to draw. The result was no more satisfactory the second time. I rubbed the tablet clear again.
'Papa! Why didn't you answer me?' Diana stepped in front of me, putting her hands on her hips in imitation of her mother.
'Because I was hiding from you,' I said, beginning a fresh mark in the wax.
"That's silly. You know I can always find you.'
'Really? Then I hardly need to answer when you call, do I?'
'Papa!' She rolled her eyes, imitating Bethesda again, then collapsed on the grass beside me as if suddenly exhausted. While I drew, she contorted herself into a wheel and pulled at her toes, then lay flat again and squinted up at the sunlight that filtered through the oak canopy above. 'It's true that I can always find you, you know.'
'Can you? And how is that?'
'Because Meto taught me how. Meto says that you taught him. I can follow your footsteps in the grass and always find you.' 'Really?' I said, impressed. 'I'm not sure that I like that.' 'What are you drawing?'
'It's called a mill. A little house with a great wheel that dips into the water. The flowing water turns the wheel, which turns other wheels, which will grind corn, or stones, or a little girl's fingers if she isn't careful.'
'Papa!'
‘Don't worry, it's just an idea. A problem, if you like, and probably too complicated for me ever to solve it,'
'Meto says that you can solve any problem'
'Does he?' I put the tablet aside. She squirmed and rolled on the grass and laid her head in my lap. The broken sunlight spangled her hair, jet black in shadow and shot through with lustrous rainbows, like oil on water, where the light struck it I had never seen a child with hair so black. Her eyes were also black, very deep and clear as only a child's eyes can be. A bird flitted above us. I watched Diana follow it with her gaze, amazed at the beauty of her least movement.
She reached for the tablet and stylus, stretching her body awkwardly, and held them, above her.
'I don't see a picture at all,' she said.
'It's not very good,' I admitted.
'Can I draw over it?'
'Yes.'
She did a thorough job of obliterating my tentative lines with her small hand, then set to drawing. I stroked her hair and studied my imaginary mill by the stream. At length, across the water, two women emerged from the woods. They were kitchen slaves carrying clay jugs. They saw me and gave a start, conferred for a moment with their heads close together, then disappeared back into the woods. A little later I glimpsed something farther down the stream and saw them stepping down to the water's edge at a less convenient place. They dipped their jugs into the current, hoisted them onto their shoulders, and struggled up the steep bank and into the woods. Had Publius Claudius told them I was a monster who would eat them?
'This is you!' announced Diana, turning the tablet about and thrusting it towards me. Among the squiggles and curlicues I could barely make out a face. She was an even poorer draftsman than myself, I thought, but not by much.
'Extraordinary!' I said. 'Another Iaia Cyzicena is among us!'
'Who is—' She stumbled over the unfamiliar name.
'Iaia, born in the city of Cyzicus, on the Sea of Marmara far away. She is a great painter, one of the greatest of our day. I met her down in Baiae, when your brother Meto first came into my life.'
'Did Meto know her?'
'He did’
'Will I ever meet her?'
'It is always possible.' Nine years had passed since the events in Baiae, and Iaia had not been so very old. She might yet live long enough for Diana to know her. 'Perhaps one day you and Iaia may meet and compare your drawings.'
'Papa, what is a Minotaur?'
'A Minotaur?' I laughed at the abrupt change of subject. 'So far as I know, there was only ever one, the Minotaur. A terrible creature, the offspring of a woman and a bull; they say it had a bull's head and a man's body. It lived on a faraway island called Crete, where a wicked king kept it in a place called the labyrinth, a great maze.'
'Amaze?'