Damagoras." So who was the short-tempered maniac who captured us? Damagoras spoke as if we were supposed to know exactly who that was. Then he was gone. The slaves with the torches followed him, so I pulled Gaius to his feet and we set off stiffly after them. Damagoras had returned to a sun lounge, recently occupied. I could not tell if he had been here previously on his own, though I doubted it. There was no sign now of the furious sidekick; I assumed the two of them had discussed their strategy for dealing with us. Damagoras seemed quite casual. That could be a ploy. The villa was stuffed with high quality furniture and fancy objects. My father, an auctioneer and fine art dealer, would have grown ecstatic at this chaotic jumble of marble seats, silver lamps and gilded statuettes. The stuff was sourced in many countries, all from the upper end of the cost spectrum. Pa would have loved raising a sale for it. There were slaves everywhere too; they went about their business, looking efficient, while their master stumped by them without acknowledging their existence. He had brought us to a room that was heated by braziers against the night chill, even though the folded doors were still half open, admitting the smell and murmur of the sea. Frugality had no place here. Light blazed from many lamps, some the inevitable pornographic phalluses, others tall and tasteful candelabra, plus some everyday oil lamps that were shaped like boots or double shells. Cushions with rich coverings and fringes padded out the sofas almost to excess. Rugs runkled untidily on the geometric marble floor. Expensive things were crammed everywhere, but not displayed to cause envy as in so many wealthy households; like my own father's, these objects were part of the life their owner had always lived. They gave him security. They were a hedge against needing loans from financial sharks. Property as collateral, instead of land; portable; fashionable; fast profits when required. There was no thematic unity in the collection. This room con tained both Egyptian stools painted in jewelled colours and a carved ivory box from much further east. Baltic amber was housed in a display cupboard. One very large Greek bronze water container sat in a corner. Maybe Damagoras collected people too. A woman who was clearly not one of his slaves came in. Younger than him, she was wearing a dark crimson, long-sleeved tunic over which were many gold necklaces and rows of bangles. She topped up a cup he had been drinking from and kicked a footstool nearer to his slippered feet; she glanced at Gaius and me, making no comment, then left the room. A
A relative, maybe. Maybe the man who had nearly killed the gardener was a relative as well. All of them were similar national types. Members of the household must have had their evening meal. Gaius was growing fidgety. He had a fixed routine. He would be panicky about staying out all night without prior warning to Junia, and he needed regular nourishment. I preferred to ignore my hunger and anxiety until I had the measure of the game. Damagoras looked over eighty. To survive so long he must have led a life of luxury. Numerous brown age spots mottled his rather loose skin, but he remained handsome and fit in appearance, with large bones. He was less tanned than the other man. What hair he had left, probably white, had been cut very short. He leaned back, surveying us. You have invaded my house," he said.
I apologise for that," I replied. Now the householder was all smiles. Forgotten!" he assured me. I liked him less now that he was friendly. He sounded like my father, who was as devious as they come. I am an old man, no time for grudges. I'm a happy soul, generous, easy to get along with. Now, what's that look for?" I had let my scepticism show. Men who profess easy going ways, Damagoras, tend to be narrow-minded despots. However, I can see you are a wonderful character, all warmth…" I too could fake the charm. Who was your friend who apprehended us?" I asked him lightly.
Oh just Cratidas."
Is he always annoyed?"
He gets a bit hot."
Relation?"
He happened to be here." Damagoras evaded the question. I don't go out these days. People drop in to see if I am still living."
How nice. They bring you the news and a punnet of pomegranates – then half kill your slaves, demolish your garden, and batter any visitors?" Damagoras shook his head at me. Now then!"
If Cratidas is a mere acquaintance, you are very tolerant."
Cratidas is a fellow countryman." I sensed a tight-knit community clustering together in this remote villa. Few strangers settle on the Ostian shore. I felt uneasy about where they had come from, and why. So he lives here with you?"
