I did nod this time. That explained how I came to be observed. ‘I see. He was obviously alarmed. So you are taking this threatening message seriously?’
He looked at me gravely. ‘Very seriously indeed. And whoever made the threat is serious as well. There is not only this robbery to take into account. There has been murder, too – and of a citizen.’
‘Not the lictor?’ I wondered if there was something I had not heard about.
‘Not the lictor, but a Roman citizen all the same. He was with the cart.’
‘One of the mounted escort? I’d assumed that they were all slaves, either owned by Voluus or hired from somebody to guard the cart for him.’
‘I believe they were. I understand that there were slave-discs discovered round their necks. Of course those deaths are most unfortunate, but obviously the killing of a citizen is of more immediate concern. He seems to have been the driver of the cart. I’ll show you what was brought here by the traveller who happened on the scene and brought us word of it.’ He stooped and picked up a bloodied bundle from the floor beside his desk, and slowly unwrapped it so that I could see.
‘Dear gods,’ I murmured. I was looking at a handsome travelling cape – or the remains of one. It was not difficult to see what had occurred – it was slashed in several places and each hole was drenched in blood. ‘Someone was clearly savagely attacked. But how can you be certain it was a citizen?’
‘Several reasons, citizen. That cloak was wrapped around the driver’s hacked remains. It is clearly not the sort of garment a common slave would wear. And the man who found him recovered this from round his waist.’ From a drawer in the table he produced a balteus, a handsome military belt, distinguished by the silver chasing on the front and the holster for a dagger on one side. ‘Most veterans choose to keep these when they leave the force, though the studded apron is – naturally – removed. Perhaps we are lucky that the finder brought it in. If it were not so clearly a military thing, he might have tried to sell it for the silver it contains.’
‘So the driver was almost certainly a veteran, you think?’ The commandant’s concern was making sense to me. ‘Retired cavalry, do you suppose?’ Most soldiers simply married when they left the force and used their accumulated pay to buy a piece of land, but those in the mounted units – having spent a life with horses – sometimes chose to carry on, purchasing an animal and a cart which they could ply for hire and so make an honest living for their remaining years.
The commander nodded as he put the things away. ‘Exactly so. We think he was an auxiliary from this very garrison: one of the Gallic contingent that was here before I came. One of my officers thinks he recognizes the pattern of the belt. This kind of silver chasing is distinctive, as you see – typical of the kind those Gallic horsemen wear.’
I drew a sharp breath inwards. ‘So you think the dead man was, at one time, stationed here?’ No wonder he was interested in pursuing this. ‘And that’s why you think he was a Roman citizen! Even if he was not born into the rank, he would have gained his diploma on retirement, of course.’
‘That is the assumption that I am working on. It looks as if he served until retirement age.’ He ran the fingers through his hair again, and because he was closer to me now, I caught the faint whiff of horseradish and spice – the most famous cure for baldness in the world. In any other circumstances it would have made me grin. I had not expected the commandant to be vain.
He took my silence for disagreement with his argument. He sat down to face me, leaning forward as he pressed the point. ‘Look, Libertus, he could hardly be a private driver if he were not discharged, and the body – or what is left of it – appears to be unmarked. No mention of any ancient scars, as you’d expect if he was wounded and invalided out.’ He looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Though I suppose there might have been damage to an arm. I understand that both were missing when the corpse was found.’
‘What’s happened to the body?’ I demanded suddenly, earning myself a disapproving glare: it was not my place to be putting questions here. I added, by way of half-apology, ‘I ask because I feel it should be checked again. Whoever found it might not have looked for things like that. It is enough to find a mutilated corpse without stopping to examine it for signs of ancient wounds. And of course there might be other clues as well.’
The commander put his veined hands on the desk in front of him. ‘I believe there’s a detachment of my men out at the site of the attack. They were going to move the bodies – there are five or six of them – and bring them back to Glevum to be buried here. I had not considered travelling to see the place myself, but you rouse my interest.’ He looked at me wryly. ‘Would you care to come? I understand you are an expert in this kind of thing. Marcus Septimus is always telling me as much.’
I was so astounded that I could only mutter, ‘Me? Accompany you? But Florens has demanded . . . ?’
The lean face softened to what might have been a smile. ‘Oh, don’t misunderstand me, citizen. I don’t mean to set you free. The law obliges me to keep you under guard. And you will have to answer questions as we go along. However, I would be glad to have your views. Officially, we’ll regard it as cooperation on your part, and I can quote that in your favour if you come to court.’
I had really expected that I’d be dragged away in chains, so I could hardly believe my good fortune as he shouted a command and the plump centurion, Emelius, came hurrying in again.
My elation vanished very quickly, though, as the commander said, ‘Take this man away and shut him in a cell until I send for him. When you have done that, see that some transport is arranged for me, with the fastest horses that we have available. Something substantial, not a military gig – I intend to see this crime scene for myself, and I’m taking the prisoner with me when I go.’
You could see the question forming on Emelius’s face, though he was too well-trained to say anything aloud.
‘It’s perfectly in order. He has agreed to help us with the crime. I’m not releasing him, he will be under guard. In fact, I can’t think of a better person to guard him than yourself, so I am relieving you of duties here and you’ll accompany us. I shall want a mounted escort, too, of course. Half a dozen horsemen should suffice. Report to the officer of the day and tell him what I’ve said.’ He turned back to the documents on his desk again and picked up an iron-tipped pen. ‘Well, man, what are you waiting for? You have your orders. See that they’re obeyed.’
The centurion, who was still looking very much bemused, came to a smart salute and then marched – a careful military march – across to me. Before I realized what was happening he had seized me by the arm and twisted it cruelly up behind my back. Thus pinioned and unbalanced I could not resist as he propelled me expertly towards the door.
He was about to thrust me through it when the commander called him back. ‘One more thing, officer!’
I relaxed, hoping that this heralded relief from my discomfort, but I was disappointed.
‘While you are about it bring me a report from the officer of the day, saying who has been deployed to bring those bodies in. That is all – dismissed.’
Another swift salute and then I found myself being bundled headlong down the stairs again, through the guard-room – under the startled stare of the man with the accounts – and out into the court. I scarcely had time to recognize that it was raining hard again before the centurion had propelled me round the corner of the tower, unbolted the door of a small and airless cell, pushed me unceremoniously into it and slammed the door again.
NINE
I fell on my knees in an inch of stinking straw and, even as I did so, I heard the bolt slide to. I tried to look about, but there was no window in the room so it was too dark to make out anything at all and the thickness of the door was muffling all sound – even the patter of the rain could not be heard. A feeling of helpless terror flooded over me.
I had heard – all of us had heard – the story of the thief who had been kept for days in a darkened
cell like this, with only a flask of water and a loaf of bread, and who had been found crazed and screaming when they unlocked the door. I fought my rising panic and tried to gain control. I knew from my quick glimpse as I tumbled in that I was the only human occupant, so I edged myself gingerly into a squatting pose and was pleased to find there was no scuttling of rats. My exploring hands discovered several iron rings set into the wall and a sort of rough stone trough in the centre of the floor, with something slimy in the base of it – presumably used for feeding the chained-up prisoners. The smell was overwhelming: rotting straw and damp and – most of all – the stench of human fear.
Including mine, no doubt. I tried to tell myself that I would not be here for long, although . . . I gave myself a shake. I would not think like that. I forced myself to think of something else – wondering if Calvinus the steward was being held somewhere like this, and what his fastidious nature would have made of it.
I found a relatively dryish spot and eased my aching thighs by sitting down on it, though there was little comfort in the change. The chill of the stones soon reached me through my tunic and my cape, which in any case was damp. Damp? And getting damper? A trickle of rain was seeping in from underneath the door – somewhere there must be some sort of gap, through which air and light could also pass. My eager fingers traced the moisture to the place – a tiny crack above one corner of the sill. There was the faintest suspicion of a draught and by concentrating very hard indeed I could make out a line of glimmer from beyond. It was a small thing, but it gave me comfort all the same.
Time had no meaning in this environment. Already it seemed that I’d been shut in here for hours. Gwellia would be frantic when I did not appear, and there was no way now of getting any messages to her. It seemed impossible that only a short while ago I had been a free man walking through the town with nothing to threaten my life and liberty, and no more than a contract for a pavement on my mind. And now . . . ! I tried to still my fears by thinking through the facts.
I was still convinced that bandits would prove to be to blame. Only the threats to Voluus suggested otherwise – though that explained the reason for there being watchers at his flat. To whom were they reporting while Voluus was away? It must have been someone. The garrison, perhaps? Or maybe it was to Florens or – more likely – Porteus, since he had some sort of business dealings with the lictor regarding tracts of land. Voluus must have taken him into his confidence. And then when the threatened raid had taken place the trail led back to me.
I shook my head. Why had the lictor chosen Glevum, anyway? It seemed a strange decision after years in Gaul. I could understand a wish to move away from where he’d served – a lifetime of inflicting punishment does not earn one friends, and once the governor of the province had retired back to Rome there was no longer his protection to be relied upon. But why to Glevum? Why Britannia at all? This northern province with its cold, wet winters and so far away from Rome seemed an unlikely choice for someone who had no ties to it. There must be a reason, but I could not think of one.
My musings were interrupted by the opening of the door and a ray of sudden daylight so bright it dazzled me. I was still sitting, hunched up on the straw and blinking stupidly, when someone grasped my elbows and levered me upright. Firm hands pulled me gently out into the court and then, amazingly, begin to dust me down.
‘Citizen, I can’t apologize enough!’ I realized that it was the plump centurion, his face now scarlet and his voice concerned. ‘Nobody told me you were a citizen! I trust you have not taken any serious harm?’ He was pulling damp straws from my dishevelled cape. ‘Come into the guard-room and I’ll see you get some wine and perhaps a bowl of water so your slave can rinse your feet.’
I gazed around and realized who my saviours were. My heart gave an idiotic leap of hope. Junio and Minimus were standing in the guard-room, staring out at me. My son, I saw, was looking furious. ‘So, am I to be freed?’ I murmured foolishly.
Emelius shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not, citizen. It’s simply that I put you in the common cell instead of taking proper care of you. I can only beg you to pardon my mistake. It was an honest one. I knew that purple-striper was a citizen, of course, but I didn’t realize what treatment you were entitled to, until members of your household informed me of your rank.’ He swallowed visibly. ‘I hope you were not planning to file a complaint.’ His distress – in the circumstances – was almost laughable.
I did not permit myself even the vestige of a smile. Having a legal hold, however faint, on the centurion might well prove to my advantage later on. I tried to look like an affronted man of dignity – instead of an ex-slave who was relieved to be outside in the clean rain. ‘I have not yet decided,’ I told him loftily. ‘But I would be glad to receive the little comforts you suggest. And I believe that I’m entitled to confer with the members of my household who I see are here.’
The centurion nodded. I knew what he supposed. It is not uncommon for a prisoner (provided that he is not charged with an offence against the state) to pay his captors to bring him extra comforts in his cell, like food and drink and something warm to wear. If he does not have sufficient wherewithal for that, a coin might at least persuade the jailors to permit his household to bring things in for him. Emelius no doubt surmised that I was going to ask Junio for some little luxury, or for money with which to pay the guard! Perhaps it would be wise. However, that was not what I’d been thinking of. I wanted to have someone go back to my wife and let her know what was happening to me.
‘Your son and slave are waiting in the guard-house now,’ my captor said. ‘Come in and speak to them.’ He was already opening the door and ushering me inside.
The soldier with the abacus had finished his accounts and was now carefully sprinkling the bark-paper with sand to dry the ink. He was doing it so slowly that I was almost sure he was protracting the job deliberately in order to stay and listen in. He’d obviously heard about the incident, though I suspected – from the expression on his face – that he was not so much concerned that I’d been locked in the wrong cell as he was keen to know if this meant trouble for the plump centurion.
However, he did not have the chance to satisfy his curiosity. The centurion was already ordering him away with instructions to have wine and water brought for me. I, meanwhile, was waved on to the stool on which the optio had been sitting up till then.
Junio had already risen from the bench beside the wall. ‘Father!’ he cried. ‘What have they done to you? Your face and hands are filthy, and your cloak as well.’
I looked down at myself and saw that he was right. I hadn’t realized what a spectacle I made. I flapped a muddied hand at the still-clinging straws. ‘They haven’t hurt me. I’m dirty, that is all.’
Junio was clearly not convinced by this. ‘If they have harmed you, tell me instantly. I’ll see that Marcus takes the matter up with the Provincial governor.’ He saw me shake my head and went on urgently. ‘I am sorry that it took so long for us to get to you. We went to the curia, where we thought you were, but we couldn’t find you. One of the street-urchins told us you’d been marched away.’
‘You’ve finished the pavement, then?’ I asked him.
That earned a bitter smile. ‘Only you would worry about a thing like that! Certainly we have completed it. But whether you wish us to deliver it – now that Florens has done this awful thing to you – that’s quite another thing. On what possible pretext has he brought you here and had you treated in this appalling way?’
I quickly outlined what the situation was.
‘So it’s the fact that Voluus received a written threat which really caused the problem?’ Junio said. ‘That’s clearly the letter that Brianus was talking about. I wonder if he could tell us any more? I’ll see if I can find him when I leave.’
‘I wanted you to tell your adoptive mother where I am and warn her that I might not be coming home tonight.’ That was the least of it, as Junio well knew. If things went ill for me, I might
not be coming home at all, but there was no point in worrying Gwellia with that – for now, at any rate.
He inclined his head to show he understood. ‘If there is nothing more that we can do to ease your plight, I think I’ll go and see if I can talk to Brianus. Minimus can take your message to the roundhouse straight away and I will follow when I’ve finished with the lictor’s slave.’ He turned to me. ‘I’ll look in again here before I leave the town, and make sure that at least they’re still treating you aright. If I learn anything from Brianus, of course, I’ll tell you then. Come, Minimus. Take leave of my father and then take that message to your mistress as fast as possible.’
Minimus came to kneel a moment at my feet. It wasn’t a gesture I expected from my slaves and I found it rather touching, especially as he whispered as he kissed my hand, ‘Don’t lose heart, master. We will get you out of here.’
Then he and Junio left the room – just as the optio came in with the wine, followed by a skinny domestic orderly carrying a basin of clean water and a towel.
It felt wonderfully normal to rinse my face and hands, and to have the freedom to take my muddy sandals off and wash my grimy feet, though I was still uncomfortably aware of Emelius and the optio watching every move.
My ablutions took a little time and I didn’t hurry them. I have become so spoiled in recent years that I am not accustomed to doing this without a slave, and the orderly did not offer to assist except to hand me the towel afterwards. However, after my confinement in that airless cell it felt like luxury merely to be clean – and besides, the chill had clearly been taken off the water for my benefit.
When I’d finished, I was almost looking forward to my drink. Watered Roman wine is not my favourite beverage – especially not the rough kind which the army use – but today it seemed a symbol of respect. However, I did not get a chance to so much as sample it, for no sooner had the optio lifted up the jug to pour me a beakerful, than a stout soldier in burnished scale armour and military boots came bustling in and told us brusquely that our transport was outside.
A Whispering of Spies Page 9
