Doctor Who_ The Stone Rose - Jacqueline Rayner [15]
‘No one is allowed in my workshop,’ Ursus reiterated. ‘No one except my subjects. Gracilis does not come in here. His wife does not come in here. Even slaves do not come in here. All respect my need for privacy to create art. The only person who does not is you.’
The Doctor looked astounded. ‘What gave you that idea? We’re leaving this minute, aren’t we, Rose?’
‘Right now,’ she agreed, sketching a little half‐wave of farewell to Tiro, who grinned at her.
‘Talking of being a careful workman,’ said the Doctor, as they sauntered slowly over towards the door, ‘I suppose that’s why you wear those gloves, to protect your hands. Bit of a trendsetter there. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone else –’
But they were through the doorway by then and the door was slammed shut on them. A key turned loudly in the lock.
‘Obviously doesn’t want to share his fashion tips,’ said the Doctor. He looked up at the sun, measuring its position in the sky with what Rose assumed was an expert eye. ‘Come on. I reckon it’s nearly time for dinner.’
* * *
Rose wanted a word with Marcia before dinner, but that didn’t take long. Grinning at her achievement, she hurried back to her room to get ready. She was slightly nervous about dinner, but after living with her mum for most of her life she reckoned she could cope with virtually anything in the food line.
When she finally went in to dinner, it wasn’t just food she had to cope with, though. First a slave washed her feet, which was weird – no one had washed her feet for her since her mum had rinsed off Tenby sand with a bucket of seawater while she sat on a deckchair eating ice cream. Then she was led to what was pretty much a bed, and she worked out she was supposed to lie down on her front, as that was what Marcia and Gracilis were doing. The Doctor, however, propped himself up on his side, resting on one elbow, and Rose thought that looked a much easier position to eat from so she copied him instead.
She had this idea that Roman meals were all dormice and flamingos, more pet shop than pizzeria. But this wasn’t at all like that. Rose was served some unidentified meat smothered in a strong‐smelling sauce, with ordinary, recognisable vegetables like beans and asparagus on the side. She looked around her for some cutlery – but there was none to be seen.
The Doctor guessed what she was doing and grinned. ‘They haven’t invented forks yet and no one bothers with a knife,’ he told her, picking up a piece of food with his fingers and popping it in his mouth.
She grimaced. ‘Gross! It’s all covered in sauce.’
‘Garum,’ said the Doctor. ‘Ferment fish guts for a couple of months and you’ve got something strong enough to disguise the taste of rotten meat. No freezers, you see.’
Rose thought she might be sick. ‘I might just stick to the veg,’ she said. ‘When do they invent pizza?’
‘If you want a Four Seasons or a Vegetarian Hot, you’ll be waiting a few centuries,’ the Doctor told her.
‘How about I order now, give them plenty of time.’ The Doctor grinned. ‘Oh, and it’s considered polite to belch after the meal,’ he added.
‘Then they’re gonna have to think I’m rude,’ Rose announced firmly.
After they’d finished, a slave came round to wash their hands, while another slave brought in fruit and nuts and little honeyed cakes, which were rather more to Rose’s taste.
Vanessa was nowhere to be seen during the meal
Rose wondered if she was still outside, sitting in I h dusk by Optatus’s statue, or if she was somewhere in the house with the other slaves. She thought she’d better check on the girl after dinner. Laving the Doctor in conversation with Marcia and Gracilis, hearing all sorts of boring gossip about all sorts of boring people that they expected the Doctor to know, she slipped out of the house and down to the grove. Sure enough, Vanessa was still there.
Rose sat down beside her in the gloom and produced a hunk of bread that