Caveat emptor mi-4

by Ruth Downie

  His arrival seemed to straighten their shoulders and brighten their eyes. After confirming that his wife had arrived safely, Ruso followed the guard’s directions though a grid of busy streets and introduced himself to the bandy-legged overseer of the mansio stables. The man put down the bridle he was inspecting and shouted what sounded like “He’s here, lads!” in British before ordering one man to lead the horse away across the yard, a second to carry the investigator’s luggage around to reception-“Is that all you’ve got, sir?”-and a third to fetch a drink. “I’m Rogatus, sir,” he said, adding, “We’ve been expecting you,” as if Ruso might not have guessed. He glanced around, evidently looking for something. “Just you at the moment, is it, sir?”

  “Just me.”

  “I’ll take you across to your rooms right away. When your men arrive we’ll tell them-”

  “There aren’t any men. It’s just me.”

  “Ah! Well, not to worry. You’ll find everyone very willing to help. We’re all loyal to the emperor here.”

  “Good,” said Ruso, wondering why it was necessary to say so.

  “Always the first to send in our taxes, sir. Famous for it.”

  Ruso refrained from pointing out that the town was known less for enthusiastic taxpaying than for being ravaged by people who wanted to pay no taxes at all. “Is everyone expecting me, or were you told in confidence?”

  The man looked surprised, as if it had never struck him that an investigator might want to be discreet. “No, sir. The chief magistrates had a notice read out in the Forum this morning. You’ve been announced in both languages, just in case.”

  Ruso suppressed a sigh and grasped the welcome cup of cool water. As he drank, the man stepped aside to deal with a question about a damaged axle before returning to say, “They said anyone with information was to come forward and tell you, sir.”

  Clearly the Council had given up any idea of keeping the loss a secret. Now the whole town would be waiting to see what the procurator’s man would do about it. He had escaped from a small gang of willing helpers only to be confronted with a large one.

  “You can be the first,” he said. “Tell me about Asper’s transport. Was it one of the public vehicles?”

  “Asper had a warrant, sir. He made official journeys.”

  Evidently they thought he was here to inspect the transport arrangements too. He handed his cup to the hovering servant and indicated that they could talk as they walked. “Did he always drive himself?”

  “We didn’t have a man available, sir. It was pouring rain, and he was late starting out. His brother could drive.”

  “So you did him a favor by letting him take a decent carriage.”

  “The tax had to be delivered, sir.”

  Asper had not given a reason for the late start, and Rogatus had not felt it was his place to ask.

  They passed between gateposts where deep gouges at axle level bore witness to overoptimistic steering, and turned into the street. Rogatus explained that the carriage had been found the following morning, abandoned by the side of the road two or three miles out of town.

  “Still with all the horses?”

  “We were very lucky, sir.” Perhaps in case this sounded too cheerful, he added, “Not like that Julius Asper.”

  Shooing a couple of children aside with a cry of “Make way for the procurator’s man!” he led Ruso toward a long low building. Its pristine white limewash gleamed, its glass windows glittered, and it seemed to occupy most of the rest of the block. Ruso’s hopes rose.

  “Tell me something,” he said. “Asper was on a busy road: Do you think a carriage could be ambushed without anybody seeing it happen?”

  Rogatus raised a grimy hand to scratch the back of his neck. “Hard to say, sir. It was a wet old afternoon. Nobody would be out if they could help it, and if they were, they’d be trying to keep under cover.”

  Ruso paused at the foot of the low stone steps leading up to the reception doors of the mansio and tried not to be distracted by the smell of frying chicken. “If the horses were spooked, how far do you think they might bolt?”

  This appeared to be some sort of insult. “We got our animals well trained here, sir.”

  “I’m just wondering where the men and the carriage actually parted company.”

  Rogatus, mollified, confirmed that it was “a heavy old vehicle” and was unlikely to have gone far without a driver.

  Ruso said, “I’ll need to look at it.”

  Rogatus looked at him as if he had just suggested interviewing the horses. “It’s out at the moment, sir. I’ll tell the boys you’ll be needing to see it.”

  “I’ll need to talk to his, ah-where can I find a woman named Camma?”

  The stable overseer’s face brightened. “She’s just turned up this afternoon, sir. I hear she’s back at Asper’s house with another young lady.” Ruso supposed the man was well placed to hear all the gossip of comings and goings. Reassured, he decided there was no need to rush across there.

  “It’s a bad old business, sir.”

  Ruso agreed. His foot was on the bottom step when he heard, “What do you think the procurator will do about it?”

  “I couldn’t tell you,” he said. He had a feeling he was going to be repeating that many times over the next few days.

  31

  The manager of the mansio, a lean and gray-haired retired cavalry officer called Publius, was also expecting the investigator. In fact he brought his young wife out to greet him as well. The wife looked refreshingly bored at the prospect of meeting a tax man and disappeared as soon as the formalities were over. Ruso dismissed a vague feeling that he had seen her somewhere before and followed her husband through the reception area and out under a covered walkway that led around a series of rooms forming three sides of a formal garden.

  “You’ll have to make the most of us as we are, I’m afraid, sir.” Ruso noted the encouraging smells and clattering sounds from the kitchens as Publius was waving his walking stick toward the garden wall and explaining about the improvements he had hoped to put in place in time for the emperor’s visit. “I can’t see them being agreed until the missing money turns up, sir.”

  “I’ll do my best,” agreed Ruso, who had never been called “sir” by a cavalry officer before and decided he liked it.

  “You’re in Suite Three, sir.” Publius paused under the walkway to unlock a door that led into a dim corridor. “That leads out to the alley by the stables,” he said, aiming the stick at the streaks of light that outlined an exit straight ahead. “The key’s on the hook, so you can come and go as you please.”

  Ruso was less interested in the hefty iron key hung above the lintel than in seizing the chance to talk while there were no servants or wife around to overhear. “Tell me,” he said, “what do you make of the locals?”

  “They’re a fine bunch of people, sir. Good to work with.”

  Ruso sighed. “Not the official line, Publius. If I’m going to find this money, I need to know the truth. What do you make of the locals?”

  The cavalryman paused, then said, “Ambitious. The emperor allows them to run their own Council and town guard. The town’s on a junction of two main roads, so there’s a lot of lucrative trade comes through here. They’re talking about building a theater.”

  “Friendly?” prompted Ruso hopefully.

  “When it suits them.”

  Ruso suspected that if he asked too many difficult questions, it would not suit them for long. “Who would you trust?”

  Publius cleared his throat. “I’m probably not the best person to ask, sir.”

  “Because?”

  “Because, sir, you work for the procurator’s office, and the procurator’s office is in charge of mansiones and transport, and if I tell you what really goes on, I’ll be getting myself and a lot of other people into trouble.”

  “I’m not inspecting anything,” Ruso promised him. “Just hunting for the money.”

  The stick clunked agai
nst the wall as Publius leaned back and folded his arms. “I’m appointed by Londinium,” he said, “but I’ve got to get along with the suppliers who are near enough to deliver. So I’m not going to tell you about the councillor who overcharges us for the horses he breeds, or how the stable overseer declares them unfit two years later even when they aren’t and sells them at a nice profit to himself. I’m certainly not going to tell you that the same overseer takes bribes to slip ordinary letters in with the official post, because doing that would be illegal.”

  “Absolutely,” said Ruso, recognizing the descriptions of Caratius and Rogatus. “It’s best that I don’t know about any of that. Anything else you’re not going to mention?”

  “There’s the other important councillor whose country estate supplies us with wildly overpriced meat for the kitchens and animal feed that we could get a lot cheaper twenty miles up the road. I won’t be telling you about him.”

  “No, don’t.”

  “Because if I do, then to be fair I’ll have to complain about the number of jumped-up officials who come through here demanding services they don’t have the warrants for and threatening to report me if they don’t get them. And then I’ll be in trouble with everybody for not clamping down on it, as if they think I’m some sort of miracle worker.”

  “I can see that.”

  “Frankly, sir, once you’ve been in this job awhile you stop trusting anyone. But from what I can gather, it’s no worse here than anywhere else.”

  “What do you think’s gone on with Asper and the tax money?”

  “I haven’t a clue, sir. But if I were you, I’d watch my back.” Publius reached for his stick. “Now that I haven’t told you anything, sir, if you’d like me to show you your rooms?”

  Publius resumed his well-practiced introduction about keys and bathing and arrangements for dinner. “Your dining room and kitchen are through this door on your right, sir. Since you haven’t brought your staff, we’ll serve your meals from the main kitchen.”

  His dining room?

  Staff?

  “I’m afraid at this hour we can’t really make changes to the menu-”

  “As long as there’s plenty of it,” Ruso assured him.

  “And this-” The man flung open a door on his left with a flourish. “This is the rest of Suite Three.”

  Ruso had been surveying the rest of Suite Three for some time before he remembered to close his mouth.

  While Publius was saying something about notifying reception of any guests, Ruso was gazing across the expanse of scrubbed floorboards to the open door beyond and wondering how many cavalrymen Publius would have billeted in a space that size in his former career. Even in the civilian world there would be room for a doctor, his wife, several putative children, and as much crockery as any respectable citizen could accumulate.

  His reverie was interrupted by a question about his men.

  “I’ve allocated a room just across the garden, sir, unless you’d like some bedding moved into here?”

  “I haven’t brought any men,” he confessed. The surprise on Publius’s face recalled the disappointment of the stable overseer. “I prefer to work alone.”

  “Well, you know best, sir. I’ll have some water brought over for washing. If there’s anything you want, you just have to ask.”

  “Thank you. I’ll try not to demand any services I’m not entitled to.”

  The cavalryman grinned. “Oh, demand away, sir. We’ve got orders to give you every assistance. The Council wants you kept sweet.”

  Several minutes later, Publius’s confidence that Ruso knew best might have been dented by the sight of him throwing his traveling clothes into the corner, standing on tiptoe with his fingers stretched toward the plastered ceiling, and then giving a “Hah!” of delight as he flung his naked form across the bed.

  The sheets smelled of lavender. The water in which the slave had just washed his feet smelled of roses, and he himself would cease to smell of horse just as soon as he had finished testing the bed, consuming the drinks and pastries thoughtfully laid out on the table in his reception room, putting on the clean tunic provided, and taking himself out through his own private exit to visit the public baths. He wasn’t even going to have to pay. The foot-washing slave had just trotted off to fetch a baths token.

  He was deciding that there was, after all, something to be said for being the procurator’s man, when he heard the slave tapping on the reception room door.

  “It’s open,” he called, not bothering to move. He heard the hinges of the outer door creak as he took another sniff of the sheets. A man could get used to this. “Just leave it on the table.”

  There was no reply. Instead of retreating, whoever was out there was striding across the floorboards toward the bedroom.

  If I were you, I’d watch my back.

  What if it wasn’t the servant?

  Someone lifted the latch.

  Where the hell was his knife?

  Ruso was off the bed, across the room, and flattened against the wall just as the door opened to hide him.

  A broad-shouldered figure entered the room, looked around, then closed the door and said, “So it is you, Ruso.”

  “Serena!” His hands clamped over his groin as his eyes met the piercing gaze of a woman, who, had she been male, would have been considered handsome. He swallowed. “What are you doing here?”

  “My cousin thought she recognized you.” The thick brows met in puzzlement. “Why are you hiding behind the door?”

  “I thought you were a slave,” he explained with a lack of clarity that he felt was excusable in a man who had just found himself naked in a bedroom with his best friend’s wife. “Then I thought you might not be. Uh-how are you?”

  Serena looked him up and down and gave a sigh that suggested the weariness of a woman who was used to dealing with naughty boys. “Put some clothes on, Ruso.”

  As he fumbled his way gratefully into the clean tunic, he heard, “I suppose he’s sent you to ask me to come home.” Before he could reply she said, “Well, don’t bother. I shan’t listen.”

  Finally emerging into daylight, he said, “To be honest, I didn’t know you were here.”

  She pondered that for a moment. “But he knew you were coming?”

  “Valens?”

  “Who else?”

  Ruso, seeing where this was heading, tried, “Possibly.”

  “Possibly,” she repeated, as if she was trying the word to see whether or not she liked it. “Well, did he, or didn’t he?”

  Ruso straightened a crease across his shoulder. “Yes.”

  “So,” concluded Serena, raising the eyebrows and arching her neck in a way that reminded him of an intelligent horse, “my husband knew you were coming here, and he knows I am here, but he didn’t even trouble himself to send a message.”

  Ruso reached for his belt. “I wouldn’t say he didn’t trouble himself, exactly…”

  “No,” said Serena, seizing the door handle. “I don’t suppose you would. But then, what do you know about it?”

  Before he could answer, the door slammed shut. “Not a lot,” he confessed, gazing past the space where she had just been standing and wondering if that crack in the plaster had been there before.

  32

  Clutching his bath token, Ruso stepped out of his private exit and into the alley that separated the mansio’s accommodation from its transport yard. The smell of hot metal and horse dung grew stronger, and the clang of hammer on iron signaled that even this late in the day, the stable workshops had a repair job under way. He locked the door behind him, dropped the key into his purse, and turned left. He must set aside for the moment the awkward and embarrassing coincidence of Serena’s cousin being married to the mansio manager. He must restrain the urge to scrawl a rude note to Valens, who should have warned him. He must get himself cleaned up, make an attempt to report to the Council-with luck it would be too late today-and then find Tilla.

  He was approaching the d
oors of a bathhouse that would not have disgraced a small town at home when he heard a pair of studded boots striding up behind him. A voice said, “Investigator?”

  It was another of the local guards. This one not only had the red tunic, the chain mail, and a silver-buckled belt, but also flamboyant scarlet braids woven through dark hair that hung below his shoulders. No attempt to emulate Rome here, then.

  “Dias.” The man, slightly out of breath, was holding out a hand. “Captain of the town guard. We’ve been looking into the theft of the tax money. When do you want me to brief you?”

  Ruso need not have worried about translation. The locals’ grasp of Latin was as impressive as their eagerness to cooperate. “I was going across to the baths,” he explained, “but if there’s somewhere we can talk…”

  Dias assured him that the baths would be fine. Ruso handed his token to the attendant on the door and entered the echoing din of the entrance hall. The guard captain sauntered past with a nod. Moments later Ruso was seated beneath the high window of a private and overscented warm room. The other occupants had grabbed their towels and clattered out in their wooden bath shoes as soon as they saw Dias enter. Ruso felt his skin begin to prickle with sweat. Since the native was sitting upright on the bench opposite without so much as loosening his belt, it did not seem appropriate to undress.

  Dias turned out to be the exact opposite of Caratius. His hairstyle might be unmilitary but his summary was professional and concise, and it confirmed what the magistrate and the stable overseer had already told him. Asper had collected the tax money from the town strong room without requesting a guard, and set off in the rain. He and his brother had last been seen driving out through the gates on the Londinium road. Next morning, the carriage had been found abandoned just off the main road between the second and third milestones. “I’m told Asper got to Londinium by boat,” he said. “My men searched the area where the carriage was found and we had a look downriver, but we still can’t find Bericus.”

  “No, I haven’t traced him, either.” Ruso unpeeled his tunic from his back. “Asper was already alone when he took the boat, though, so they must have parted near here.” The dark eyes widened as Ruso explained about his inquiries into the river monster a couple of miles away.