The Price of Freedom

by Rosemary Rowe

  ‘I am so tired, I could sleep anywhere,’ I replied. ‘It should be dry at least and they have promised me a meal.’ I’d had nothing since breakfast, shortly after dawn, except a sip or two of milk – though Victor had apparently been rather luckier. He’d been offered some of Trinculus’s evening pottage earlier, he said, while they were waiting for the funeral to end. ‘We thought you’d have at least a bit of sacrificial pig.’

  I’d harboured hopes of that myself – they generally hand it round to the mourners afterwards – but it was stringy and well-nigh inedible, and one symbolic mouthful was enough. ‘Let’s go in.’

  It was well that I was tired. The inn was terrible – a rundown hovel with a leaking roof run by a swarthy, one-eyed innkeeper and his fat and toothless wife. Victor and Trinculus went to the stable block, to get what sleep they could while taking turns to guard the mare – and it’s possible that they had the best of it.

  The ‘room’ that I was shown to was a curtained cubicle, with filthy bedding and a straw mattress of such antiquity that I immediately kicked it over against the outer wall, resolving to wrap myself up in my cloak, however damp, and sleep directly on the floor rather than brave the bedbugs and the itch. However, the sack was rotten and the stuff cascaded out, so Loftus stuck his torch up on a spike and came to help. We cleared it in the end, but it left a nasty damp patch on the floor, and I tried not to look too hard at what came scuttling out of it.

  We had scarcely finished when the landlord reappeared, accompanied by a pair of sulky half-clad girls, tousle-haired and not especially clean, who were, he said, ‘My daughters – virgins both of them!’ but manifestly weren’t either of those things. One was dusky and the other olive-skinned, and each bared a shoulder and assumed a practised sultry smile, but there was no attempt to mask the boredom in their eyes. ‘Choose one to keep you company, or have them both,’ the innkeeper went on. ‘One each if you like.’

  The girls smirked hopefully, surprised when I did not require their services, and more so when I refused their ‘private dance’. They flounced off, offended, and clattered down the stairs.

  The landlord looked aggrieved and said to Loftus, loudly enough to ensure that I could hear, ‘I don’t know what your master thinks he’s looking for. I was told he wanted the best we had to offer! And he’s destroyed the bed. I hope that he has gold enough to pay for it.’

  ‘Now look here, my good fellow,’ I began, in a tone that would have suited the tesserarius, ‘what I wanted …’

  But Loftus shook his shaven head to silence me. ‘This is not my master, innkeeper. Nor one of your common townsfolk, as you seem to think. This is a Roman citizen, the personal representative of one of the most important magistrates in all Britannia.’

  I produced my warrant from underneath my cloak.

  The landlord did not look especially impressed. ‘Citizen, is he? Well how was I to know? In any case, he’s not the only one. Forced to leave the legions when I lost this eye and bought this place with my retirement pay, so I don’t owe anything to anyone. And as for his patron, I don’t care who he is – my girls are not diseased. The Emperor himself would not find better anywhere round here.’

  ‘He isn’t looking for a girl, he’s looking for a bed. A decent bed, clean water for a wash, and something hot to eat. And you’ll provide it too, if you know what’s good for you. And as for your not owing anything, I was the steward of the tax collector here, and know that – as a citizen – you’re liable to tax.’ He spoke with an authority which made me realise what an excellent assistant to Flauccus he had been. ‘Meals, accommodation and stabling, I believe you offer here. Making you liable for your basic census charge, door tax on your property and sales tax on your wine. Not to mention the levy on exotic slaves – I imagine yours would qualify for that? – or offering special dance performances, which I presume would come at extra cost?’

  The innkeeper was looking flustered now. ‘The steward of Acacius Flauccus? Why did you not say as much before? I would have made arrangements—’

  ‘To be somewhere else?’ The steward was so scathing I was surprised, myself.

  The landlord’s single eye refused to look at us. ‘I was simply told a stranger was to come, at the invitation of the guard post here – and naturally I assumed he’d have a soldier’s tastes …’ He tailed off, helplessly. ‘But a meal, of course, I’ll see what I can do.’ He gave a nod, which might have been a bow, in my direction now. ‘Give me a moment, citizens’ – Loftus had been promoted, suddenly! – ‘I’ll have to go and discuss this with my wife.’ He moved towards the curtain which acted as a screen.

  ‘And while you are about it,’ Loftus called after him, ‘find us somewhere more salubrious to sleep. Where, for example, we’re unlikely to be woken every hour by noisy occupants in the cubicle next door!’

  The landlord paused and gave us an ingratiating smile. ‘No offence intended, gentlemen,’ he said and hurried down the stairs. A long, long wait ensued. I was so weary that I sat down on the floor – a decision I regretted almost instantly, when a sensation on my skin told me that I had managed to pick up a flea or two. I scrambled to my feet, and with the help of Loftus and the guttering torch was attempting to find and dislodge my visitor when the landlady came toiling up the stairs and pulled the curtain back.

  ‘I’m sent to tell you that we’re heating up some stew. It is nothing fancy, I meant it for ourselves, but I’m told that you must have it and I do as I’m told. You’d better come and have it while it’s warm.’ It was hardly gracious, especially when she added with a scowl, ‘I suppose you’ll want some sent out to the stable too?’

  I was about to murmur something, but Loftus said, ‘Of course!’

  ‘I hope that you can pay for all this special treatment,’ she exclaimed. ‘I don’t know what you threatened my husband with, I’m sure. Most guests are happy to get cheese and bread.’ She held up her taper to survey the room. ‘And what’s happened to my bedding? There’ll be a charge for that.’

  ‘It disintegrated with old age and decay,’ the steward said, using that authoritative tone again. ‘It was so full of rot and creatures that I’m surprised it did not do so long ago. Discuss it with the army if you want recompense – though it hardly warrants it. No doubt your pleasure-slaves can stuff a sack with straw before another customer arrives – and be glad to do it, too, if it means that they escape the bugs themselves.’

  ‘There are to be no other customers tonight, by order of the tesserarius,’ the woman said, frowning more than ever and completely unaware that she had just confirmed what role the girls fulfilled. ‘Now do you want this stew, or not?’ And without another word she waddled off again, leaving us to follow with our torch as best we could.

  The room in which we finally arrived was smoky, dark and small, with a number of tables surrounded by small stools and no sign of benches or couches anywhere. A brazier in one corner gave off a feeble heat, and we made towards it, grateful for the glow. I even ventured to take off my sodden cloak and spread it on a neighbouring tabletop with some vain idea of helping it to dry, but the air was scarcely warm enough to have the least effect. This did however have the positive result of shaking out the flea and I had the satisfaction of squashing it, though queasily aware that the blood that stained my thumbnail was my own.

  The stew, when it arrived, was barely passable – a glutinous concoction of who-knows-what bits of meat – but it was warm and filling and I shut my eyes and ate. Loftus did the same, though the innkeeper hovered round, anxious to offer another seat elsewhere, if I proved unhappy at eating with a slave.

  I shooed him off and he disappeared again, to return a moment afterwards with a flagon of the cheapest Roman wine – so watered that it was hardly wine at all. I did not mind it – I do not greatly care for wine in any case – and drank the proffered beakerful in one, simply grateful for the faint warmth it engendered as it went. Loftus followed my example, though I saw him wince – no doubt Flauccus kept a bet
ter class of drink.

  The landlord was back again now, with a pair of battered cushions and the sort of blanket that you might throw across a horse, though unused and therefore clean. ‘Best that I can offer at short notice, citizen. I’ll push the tables up together and you can sleep on them – it will keep you from the draught, and any rats – and it’s fairly warm in here. No one will be wanting to use the room tonight.’

  I nodded. It was at least a good deal more inviting than the cubicle upstairs. ‘And my driver, the soldier and the horse?’

  ‘They’ve been taken care of, citizen. Unless you think the soldier might, perhaps …?’ He sketched the outline of a woman in the air and gave what might have been a wink – though with one eye it was difficult to tell.

  ‘On no account,’ I told him. ‘He’s riding guard for me. I don’t want him afflicted with the pox!’

  The landlord shook his head dejectedly. ‘Well, in that case, citizen, if there is nothing else …’

  I was about to say, ‘Nothing,’ but a thought occurred to me. ‘There is one thing, perhaps. In the daytime, what happens to the girls?’

  He was calculating what I meant by this and wondering if he ought to name a price or lie – I read it in his face. So I said, bluntly, ‘I just want information, not a sample of your wares. Your dancing whores – where do they spend the day?’

  He shrugged. ‘It all depends,’ he muttered. ‘If they’ve been entertaining customers, they sometimes sleep. Otherwise they sit outside beside the door, or in the window if it’s raining, looking out to watch for trade. There’s always one, at least, available.’ Flaunting themselves to passers-by, he meant, but that was exactly what I’d hoped to learn.

  ‘Then ask them – every one of them – if anybody saw a fancy coach go by a day or two ago. A covered travelling carriage, carved, ornate and painted red and gilt. If so, can they recall the driver? Any description at all would be of help. And of the occupant, if possible – though it’s very likely that the curtains would be shut.’

  The innkeeper’s one eye looked piercingly at me. ‘That would be the tax collector’s coach?’ he said.

  ‘You know it?’

  He gave a shrug. ‘Everybody does. It’s a distinctive thing. But it would not come down here. And if it had, the girls would let me know at once so I could …’ He broke off, aware that he was likely to incriminate himself. ‘But he went to Glevum, didn’t he? Moving up there to retire. Everybody knows that, too. So he’d go the other way.’ He frowned. ‘Surely this steward could have told you that, if he’s really the taxman’s servant as he claims.’

  ‘Oh, he’s the taxman’s servant,’ I replied. ‘Or was. But Flauccus didn’t go to Glevum after all. He didn’t go anywhere – someone murdered him. Then, it appears, they made off in his coach. So I repeat again, ask your girls if they saw it go this way.’

  He was about to protest, but gave a nod instead. ‘With pleasure, citizen. But – murdered?’ He glanced at Loftus. ‘And his steward did not die in his defence? I’m surprised you were content to purchase him.’

  ‘His steward had gone to market selling slaves,’ I said. ‘No suspicion can attach to him. He’s under the protection of my patron and myself, until such time as the murderer is found. In the meantime, he is not my slave.’

  ‘Citizen, I don’t care whose slave he is – as long he isn’t telling the taxman about me,’ the landlord said, with something of his earlier swagger evident. ‘And, it seems, he won’t be doing that.’

  ‘He can’t tell Acacius Flauccus,’ I said. ‘But my patron has a particular interest in local tax affairs. That’s why he sent me here. And I am myself a candidate for the Glevum curia, which deals with the collation of Imperial revenue from here.’ I had never expected to find myself boasting about that, but I’d learned from Loftus what impressed the man.

  I had succeeded – insofar as it was possible. The innkeeper became a model of helpful industry. Tables were pushed together to form the promised bed (though they were rocky and of slightly different heights, which did not make for a relaxing night). He placed another coal upon the brazier, lit a taper to replace the torch and produced another pitcher of questionable wine. Then: ‘I hope you will be comfortable, gentlemen,’ he mumbled, and withdrew.

  Loftus assisted me to take my sandals off and climb onto the makeshift bed. He placed a pillow underneath my head, and wrapped me in the blanket, which at least was dry, insisting on keeping the damp cloaks for himself. ‘Loftus, you are not my slave,’ I said.

  ‘Without you, citizen, I would be in a cell,’ he answered, as he lay down at my feet.

  ‘Flauccus must have had a travel warrant too. I wonder what became of that,’ I murmured, but there was no reply. Loftus, exhausted by his recent ordeal and not withstanding the uncomfortable bed, had blown the candle out and fallen instantly asleep.

  I turned over and tried, without success, to do the same.

  EIGHTEEN

  I must, in fact, have dozed a little in the end, because I woke to find Loftus standing by the bed, holding a candle and proffering a bowl of dubious-looking curds with a hunk of loaf in it.

  ‘Citizen, I’m sorry to rouse you, but it is long past dawn,’ he said. ‘The landlord has sent in this homemade cheese and bread. The others have already breakfasted and have set off with the horse. I said we’d meet them at the guard post when they’ve harnessed up the gig. Your transport should be waiting by the time we get there, too. We all have long journeys ahead of us today, so I felt I had to waken you.’

  ‘Waken me!’ I grumbled as I struggled to sit up, realising that the night’s discomfort had left me stiff and sore. ‘What makes you think I’ve slept? Here, never mind the food – help me with this blanket and assist me to get down.’ He put down the bowl and taper and hurried to my aid.

  It took a moment to disentangle me – the blanket had succeeded in entrapping both my feet – but with the steward’s help I scrambled from my unforgiving perch. I ached in every limb.

  The curd cheese looked uninviting – and tasted rather worse – while the homemade bread was so coarse I almost broke a tooth (cheap flour from the miller is always full of grit) but I forced myself to swallow some of each. As Loftus said, the day was likely to be long, and it might be many hours before I ate again and – this not being a military inn – I would no doubt be expected to pay for this repast. (That sparked a train of thought and I quickly checked my purse, but was reassured to find that I had not been robbed – always a possibility in a place like this.) So Loftus helped me lace my sandals and put on my cloak and we ventured, blinking, out into the daylight of the court.

  The rain of yesterday had given way to frost, but the landlord and his lady were there outside awaiting us. ‘I asked my … the girls, as you requested, citizen,’ he said, bustling across to greet us instantly. ‘My wife and I both questioned them – and rigorously too – but I am persuaded that it is exactly as I thought. None of them saw the taxman’s coach go by.’

  I wondered if he’d really beaten them to make them talk, or was simply posturing – after all they were his merchandise – but I was persuaded that he was right about the coach. I thanked him curtly and enquired what I owed, expecting to be asked for an outrageous sum, but the amount he named was so modest I could not believe my ears.

  ‘A special rate for curial candidates,’ he said, and did that one-eyed wink again. ‘Please tell the tesserarius that you were treated well – though perhaps you need not mention me to anybody else?’

  To the tax authorities, he obviously meant. They left me in something of a quandary. The size of the bill was clearly a sort of bribery-in-reverse, but it was hard to know how to avoid appearing to accept. In the end I gave him twice what he’d demanded, which was probably too much.

  Loftus thought so and he said as much, as we set off on our way, the crisp ground now crackling beneath our feet. ‘I fear, sir, that he managed to outwit you there! Now he’ll doubtless boast of how you left a hefty t
ip.’

  ‘I wanted to make it clear that I would not collude with him,’ I said.

  Loftus grunted. ‘Citizen, that was doubtless wise of you. Though – despite my threats last night – his tax commitment will not be very great. He may incur a fine for evasion of his dues but I doubt that anybody will take the trouble to pursue him now – at least until the new publicanus is installed – when the rogue will doubtless temporarily disappear again.’

  I laughed. ‘He has amazing impudence. Asking me to mention my treatment to the tesserarius! Well, I shall be doing that all right – although not the way he meant. Though it’s really not his fault. The army must know what kind of place it sent us to!’ But Loftus, like the respectful steward that he was, and despite what I’d supposed was a mutual friendliness, seemed uneasy at continuing conversation beyond immediate concerns. Besides he was setting such a pace that I had no breath for casual talk until we reached the town.

  There, at the guard post, two gigs were standing by: Victor with Marcus’s vehicle, now piled with bags and parcels of treasure from the house, and the other a swift-looking military cart with an enormous driver in a military cloak already on the seat, dwarfing young Trinculus who was beside him with my luggage at his feet. I thought the tesserarius might be avoiding me, after the night that he had put me through, but he strutted out as soon as we appeared.

  He gestured to the orderly, who trotted after him bearing my toga which had obviously been dried. ‘Citizen, your toga. We have—’

  I interrupted him. ‘Never mind the toga. I’m minded to report you to Marcus Septimus!’ I fumed. ‘An insult to his representative shows disrespect to him. What made you suppose that place was suitable?’

  The tesserarius looked disconcerted, momentarily, but his self-conceit was as impervious as his shield, and he had his answer – no doubt carefully prepared. ‘My orders were to find you accommodation at a local inn – and genuinely, citizen, it is the only one. If it displeased you, I planned to offer you hospitality myself. Which indeed, I did, not once but several times.’