The Grain Merchant

Chapter 3

3

Argolicus shifted on the bench in the entertainment room of the vast town residence. His mother’s choice for a new wife sat across from him. Her name was Proba. She was small and delicate with brown eyes framed above by graceful eyebrows. And, she was the daughter of Quintinus.

Her father, Pompeius Severus Quintinus, was obviously well off. Multicolored rich mosaics covered the floor in intricate weaving strands of leaves and geometric patterns. The bright frescoes on the walls were themed with musicians playing harps, flutes, and drums. The slaves moved easily around the room, bringing various tasty snacks. A plate with thin bread rounds and a bowl of honeyed herb apricot sauce sat on the table by the side of his bench.

Proba broke off a tiny piece of bread, dipped it in the honeyed apricot sauce by her side, and chewed silently. The silence was the cause of Argolicus’ shifting. His mother had spoken to Proba’s mother about a possible marriage match. The two of them now sat opposite each other without a word to say. Each time Argolicus asked her a question, she answered with a polite yes or no and let the question drop into the pervading silence.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t good-looking. The light green tunic with embroidered strips down the front and on the sleeves revealed a shapely form. The idea of spending days—the rest of his life—with someone with nothing to say dismayed him. What was the point?

Proba broke the silence. “I’m going to be honest. Here we are sitting together in a moment arranged by other people. The purpose is marriage and I’m not interested in marriage. Our family has money. I’m comfortable. My mother, discontent as she is, thinks I would be happier married. I’m not unhappy.”

Argolicus felt his body relax. Not only was she not trying to trap him into a marriage he didn’t want, she was not interested in marriage.

“I’m not unhappy either,” he said. “My mother was happy in her marriage and wants the same for me. My father died seventeen years ago. She doesn’t want to marry again. We’re both old enough to know what we like in life. Can we agree that this marriage idea for the two of us is not a good one?”

Her composed face lit up with a smile, and her eyes glowed with warmth. She broke her silence with a stream of chatter. Her opinion on all those people in the street flowed into the importance of guarding wealth, and that changed into the responsibilities of principals toward the general populace.

Argolicus burst out laughing. She stopped and frowned. “No, no. I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at myself. I agree with your ideas. It was just that minutes ago, I was wondering how we could have a conversation about anything.”

“So was I,” Proba said, smiling. “Look how just the idea of marriage kept us from talking. Now that you’ve heard my grandiose ideas on the principal's role in civic life, tell me about you. How do you spend your time?”

“I don’t know how to answer that. My life is changing. Just yesterday, I left our villa in the hills to move into town. I went to the town council meeting this morning. I don’t know what my routine is yet but I do have one thing I do every day.”

“Oh, what is that?” Proba tilted her head and raised her delicate eyebrows into arcs.

“I read. I have a book collection and spend time reading each morning before I begin the rest of the day. Then, in the evening, I read out loud, often in Greek, to practice.” Argolicus shifted again, leaning forward. “My slave has been with me since I was a child. He was my tutor and now supports my daily activities.”

“Oh, I had a tutor when I was young. He is long gone to another family. I read little. I prefer numbers. I like numbers. They give you answers.”

“Answers? I never thought about mathematics that way. What do you mean, answers?”

Proba’s eyebrows lifted again, this time in surprise. “It’s simple. They add up. Sums give you information. Then you act on the information. That’s why I love working with my father. We check the numbers and then make decisions.”

Well, here was a way of approaching numbers different from the squinty-eyed Donicus. Proba found them useful while Donicus just kept track.

“What kind of decisions?” Argolicus asked. “I’m used to people like Donicus who keep track and make reports of totals.” His evaluation of this slight girl was changing.

“Donicus,” Proba said. “He keeps columns.”

Argolicus smiled. “Indeed, I saw his lists this morning.”

“Well, Father makes arrangements all over Italy. With the grain trade, he has to make predictions. Then he bases his offers on the predictions he makes. It’s quite simple, really. How much grain was harvested this year? Compare that to how much grain last year? Who were the biggest buyers last year? Then match them up.”

“It would make my head swim. I thought it was a matter of knowing the right people.”

Proba smiled. “That, too. It takes years. That’s my father’s special skill. I do the numbers, and he manages people.”

“You do the numbers?”

“Yes, what did you think I was talking about?”

Argolicus dropped his eyelids and nodded. He had underestimated Proba. It was as if he had opened a spigot to a woman he didn’t understand, and out flowed someone completely different from his first perception. Her mind worked in a way opposite to his. He had thought he had a grasp of logic and reading people, but she lived in a different world.

“I’ve never met a woman who worked with numbers.”

“Not until today,” Proba said with a grin. “I can tell you are a philosopher at heart. But you are also curious. If you like, I can show you. First, you examine numbers. Then, you talk about them.”

She smiled and held out her hand.

“Come, I’ll show you. It won’t be like mathematics with your tutor.”

Argolicus tried to remember the last time he had taken a woman’s hand. Some dinner in Rome, he decided. He reached out and took her hand. She led him from the entertainment room, across the warm garden sunshine of the peristylum, through a hallway, across the atrium, to her father’s study.

The room was much like his father’s study in the town home with shelves and shelves of journals. The large table was stacked with neat piles of vellum and several open journals. Proba let go of his hand and stood behind the table.

“Father is gone most of the time, creating his connections and setting prices. This is officially his office, but it has been my domain for almost ten years. I have a system. I keep track of the numbers for his business dealings here,” she tapped a vellum sheet with columns of numbers. “I list the name, the place, the amount of goods, usually grain, the source, the transportation method, usually by ship, its cost, the name of the ship and the captain, the port warehouse, the delivery, and the delivery date. Then I make a note here,” she pointed to the bottom of the sheet, “of where the agreement is stored.”

“I think I understand,” Argolicus said. “Each sheet represents the transaction for his business. The actual agreements are stored separately. Where?”

“Oh, those are kept in these journals.” She pointed to a row of leather journals on the shelf. Then she swept her arm up and down. “All these shelves are copies of agreements organized by date and name.”

“No wonder your father is out sealing agreements. You are the backbone of his operation. He can negotiate costs at every step of the transaction from buying grain to delivery.”

Proba did not blush or simper, she just nodded her head.

“It more than keeps me occupied. I enjoy keeping track and organizing. I know most women don’t have a ‘vocation,’ but this is mine. I couldn’t give it up. That’s why marriage seems impossible for me.”

Argolicus nodded. “I understand. You are a unique woman.” Then he decided it was time to change the topic. The promise he had made this morning at the town council meeting tugged him to action.

“I was hoping I could meet with your father while I’m here. Something came up at the town council this morning.”

“Well, if it’s about business, I’m sure he will want to meet with you. My strength is numbers, not making the agreement.”

“Yes, well, is that possible? Could I meet with him now?”

“Oh, no. As usual, he is traveling.” A small frown furrowed her brow. “But, he was due back last night. He planned to attend the same town meeting. Some terms of agreement must have delayed his return. He doesn’t stop until he’s reached the terms he sets. He is quite the bargainer. That’s why we make such a good partnership. He is firm with people, and I’m solid with numbers.”

“If you could…”

“Oh, I’ll tell him.” Then she actually winked. “I’ll tell him to give you a special rate.”

“No, no. It’s not about a transaction. The overseer at the villa makes all those arrangements. I need to talk to him about…”

“Oh, Proba! What are you doing?” A woman’s voice cut him off.

Fabia, Proba’s mother, scurried into the office. “This is no place to entertain a patrician. You must learn to…”

Argolicus could see where this was going. He cut her off.

“Fabia Pompeia, I asked to see what Proba does. She was showing me the system she developed. I’m quite impressed.”

Fabia gave him a huge smile. “Oh, I’m so glad the two of you are getting on. It was my idea to talk to your mother about a marriage. It’s good to see the two of you together like this.” She gave an approving smile to Proba.

“Mother, we’re not getting married. We both agreed that it wouldn’t work.”

“Oh? I’m sure you can iron out little difficulties. That’s what all couples do. The differences fade with time…”

“Mother. We are not getting married. We both agreed.”

“But, but,” Fabia spluttered. She turned to Proba and spoke with approbation. “Take him back to the entertainment room. Honor our guest. Let go of business for one afternoon.”

She turned to Argolicus. “My daughter is headstrong even if she is tiny. I apologize for…”

“No need to apologize,” Argolicus said. He looked over to Proba, and she winked again.

“A good idea, Mother,” Proba said. “Tell the kitchen to send us more food and some honeyed wine.”

She strode out of the office back toward the entertainment room. Argolicus followed, leaving the perplexed Fabia wringing her hands in the office, hoping for a marriage that would not happen.

Once they were back and seated, Proba laughed. “She doesn’t understand. You handled her so well. I usually end up in an argument.”

Argolicus smiled. “Years in Rome. I’m sure she thinks she has your best interest at heart. Mothers want what they think is best for their children. Sometimes that means overlooking who their children really are.”

“You are a remarkable man.” Proba spoke without thinking the words, then shook her head. “No. I mean you are, but I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that. I don’t spend much time in the company of men. I’m sure you can tell.”

Servants entered with a new platter of gustum, clear glasses, and a pitcher of wine. They set down the platter with a bowl of melon pieces cooked in spices and two small omelets filled with tiny fish, raisins, and oregano.

When Proba took a bite of her omelet, she smiled. Argolicus wondered at how quickly she had gone from the earlier glazed look to her smile now. It was only a matter of minutes.

“Without giving your mother false hopes, I think we could be friends,” he said.

“I like that idea. Mother’s life is full of female friends. They gossip. I have no interest in gossip. I don’t have friends. You know, friends to just talk and spend time with.”

Argolicus nodded. He remembered how he’d had similar thoughts about himself. Friendship was hard to find. Except for his neighbor Ebrimuth, of the king’s people, he relied on Nikolaos for companionship.

“Good,” Argolicus said, thinking he had just made his first friend in town. “These melons are delicious.”

He nibbled while Proba talked. He decided that moving to town was a positive action. Not only that, he wasn’t a dealer like Proba’s father but he knew he wasn’t cut out to manage a country estate.

They spent the rest of the afternoon in friendship.