He had a point, which made me more inflamed. ‘By which time it was far too late to change my mind!’ I stormed. ‘It must have been the fifth hour of night before I saw the place!’
‘But, citizen, when I heard you were to come here and conduct enquiries, I could not guess how swiftly you’d succeed. I thought the funeral would be delayed for several days. I never intended you should arrive there in the dark.’
‘Simply that I should have a long and fruitless walk, because you were affronted that I was called at all? Yet putting me under an obligation to yourself, because you were personally entertaining me?’
He dropped his eyes and I realised this was more or less the truth. He’d resented the presence of an inquisitor, especially a civilian one from miles away, and had deliberately set out to disoblige. However he was too self-important to be easily abashed. ‘But you were given what special treatment could be offered, so Trinculus declares, so I hope that you are reasonably rested and ready for the day. You still wish me to question the Uudum populace?’
‘And your own soldiers, too!’ I said sternly. ‘Especially the men on duty at the guard post on the day the death took place. I’m anxious to discover what has happened to that coach – especially now we know that the taxman’s murderers killed Aureax as well and almost certainly used it to escape.’
The man thrust out his chest again, like a prize partridge ready for the pot. ‘I have already done so, citizen, and they are adamant. No one recalls seeing it after we received the message to stand the escort down. And – lest you should wonder if that message was a trick – I can tell you that not only were we half-expecting it, from past experience, but that Flauccus wrote it under seal and sent it by a messenger who had dealt with him before and would have recognised an imposter instantly. So at that time he was obviously alive. That would have been about an hour before midday.’
I was disappointed. Obviously this information was useful in its way – it gave us a better indication of the earliest the killers could have struck – but it did not answer my immediate concern. I said, ‘Ask everyone to search their memories again – if there is any way it could have passed here unobserved.’
He shrugged. ‘Naturally, citizen, I’ll do as you request, though I can’t see how such a thing is possible. The bridge is always guarded – I’m exacting about that.’
‘Always?’ I said, sharply. ‘My own experience suggests that one man is on guard, and if – for instance, someone comes and asks for you, the sentry would have to go inside and summon you. Or if someone asks directions, he might desert his post long enough to point out where to go. Not a long absence, in either case, of course but, with careful planning, either might give time for a vehicle to pass.’
‘I suppose that is remotely possible. I’ll make enquiries.’ The tesserarius had turned very pink indeed. ‘Though the vehicle in question would need to be extremely quick. Speaking of which, your vehicle awaits. I have detailed Trinculus to ride with you, and guard you – as you see. Though your way lies the same way as the other gig until you reach the main road south, I’m sending a full escort to accompany that – the one that would have gone with Flauccus, if he’d lived – to guard the treasure hoard. You may wish to travel in their company at first.’
It was tempting, but the escort meant that Victor and his gig could only travel at a marching pace. ‘Best if I press on to Portus Abonae,’ I said. ‘I am in danger of missing the wedding feast.’ And being away from home at Saturnalia, I thought, though I did not mention that. ‘If you discover any information, send it after me.’
The tesserarius ignored this last request. ‘A wise choice, citizen. The gig is very fast. You should pass Aquae Sulis easily today. And – following your unfortunate experience last night, and since I have messages to send that way myself – I’ve taken the liberty of sending my courier on ahead to warn all mansiones on the route that you will be calling on one of them tonight, under special warrant … I presume you still have that?’
I produced it from beneath my cloak and flourished it.
‘Then they’ll take good care of you. I’ve given your driver directions where to go, and which mansio to aim for, if the road permits. Orderly, give the citizen his toga now. We’ve managed to dry it and sponge off the muddy hems – though it will require a fuller to clean it properly.’
All this was clearly an attempt to compensate for the choice of last night’s inn, and I managed to accept it with a modicum of grace, though I decided not to put my toga on to travel in. Experience had taught me how muddy it became, and the presence of my warrant – to say nothing of Trinculus and the military cart – was proof enough of entitlement and rank. But the certainty of finding a proper mansio tonight (and one which had been warned to ensure I had a bed) relieved me of much of the anxiety which always accompanies travelling long distances on unfamiliar roads. So I thanked him cordially, said farewell to Victor and the steward – both of whom, though slaves, I’d come to value and respect – and climbed up in the gig.
The driver, a lugubrious-looking brawny giant of a man, did not even glance around to check, but the moment I was in my seat he flicked the reins and urged the gig forward at an alarming pace. Poor Trinculus, crammed up against the edge in very little space, almost pitched forward and fell onto the floor – where he would have been safer, as far as I could see.
I said so to the driver, who was sitting next to me, but he did not turn his head. ‘Citizen, arrange yourselves however you see fit. I’m simply required to get you to your meeting point as fast as possible – and the sooner I do so, the sooner I can get back to my farm.’ And he relapsed into silence.
A civilian then, despite the military cloak! Obviously he had some skill as a driver and the army had commandeered him for a day or two – they were entitled to co-opt non-citizens, and doubtless the Glevum escort required all the spare manpower available. He was probably lucky that they hadn’t requisitioned his horse and cart as well, but he clearly resented his predicament and me, in particular, for causing it.
Nor was Trinculus any more inclined to talk. He had settled himself into the cramped gap at the edge, and was now wholly occupied with balancing himself and preventing his helmet from flying off his head, so I abandoned all attempts at conversation, held on tightly to the seat and simply endured the constant bouncing and juddering of the gig, and the mud that was constantly thrown up to spatter me.
After all, I told myself, I’d come this way before, and this gig was just as fast. This painful journey could not last longer than our journey yesterday. All I had to do was close my eyes and wait.
NINETEEN
I was wrong in all respects. This time the journey seemed twice as long. My jaw was stiff from the clenching of my teeth, my bones were aching and my face flayed by the coldness of the air, but at last we reached the junction where we’d turned off yesterday. There was no sign of the woman with the goat’s milk but our new driver seemed in no need of directions, let alone anything so human as a drink. Without hesitation he turned the gig and swept off towards Aquae Sulis as if the cavalry were after us.
I had expected that our progress would be faster now, but in fact it seemed the next few miles might be extremely slow. True, the road had wider verges here – but it was more frequented, too, and the crisp crust of frost had melted or been churned away so those margins were a mire of trampled mud. We had not gone a hundred paces before we had to slow behind a heavy wagon carting baulks of wood, which was clearly unwilling to pull across and let us through. Our taciturn driver was moved to speech at last.
He turned to me and gestured with his thumb. ‘Get that soldier stood up in the cart – this is army business, and other travellers will have to let us pass.’
I was frankly doubtful whether this would have much effect. Trinculus was not an imposing figure – especially rocking on unsteady feet in insufficient space – but our driver was correct. The sight of Roman armour seemed to be enough. The wagon moved across.
Our driver gave a grunt, which clearly meant, ‘I told you so!’
Nor was it an isolated incident. People moved their oxen obligingly aside, and pedestrians trudged uncomplainingly off the road into the muddy margins as we passed. The presence of a soldier – even a skinny one with dormouse ears – seemed to have produced this instant deference. Or perhaps, I thought, watching our driver sweep past without the least acknowledgement, it was his presence which occasioned such respect – the fact that he wore a military cloak and must have been a full four cubits tall: not the sort of man with whom to pick an argument. Whatever the reason, it had the right effect: our pace was as brisk as it had been before, except that the horse had now begun to tire.
It was now that the value of my warrant proved itself. Our driver drew up without a word at the first army relay-station that we passed (not a mansio, but one of the mutationes that the mansionarius had been so dismissive of) and I produced my document, and experienced for myself what services such places could produce. In what must have been no longer than an hour, my party had been provided with a drink, a hunk of bread and proper Roman cheese, a welcome rest and a fresh horse to see us on our way – all paid for by the state (or at least the local population who are required to maintain this system for the Imperial Post). The same thing at any civilian establishment would have incurred a hefty bill – and not included any change of animal.
I was beginning to appreciate the advantages of being a member of officialdom – and to wonder if I should reconsider the idea of joining it.
I had more cause to do so, much later in the day, when – having passed through Aquae Sulis without a pause (to my regret, I had been there once before and much admired the place) – we turned off onto the road towards the coast and, just when I was thinking I could bear no more, we drew up at a proper mansio.
At first our welcome was a cautious one, till I got down painfully and produced my document, whereupon the man in charge was summoned instantly, and hurried out to greet us with a smile.
He even seized my forearm, in the way that Romans do when meeting friends. ‘Citizen Libertus, a thousand welcomes. We were told that you might come. I’m delighted that you’ve chosen our mansio tonight.’
In truth I had not chosen anything: it was entirely the decision of the driver – or perhaps, on reflection, the tesserarius. I would have favoured stopping long ago, but I smiled and murmured a few felicities. By this time the gig and driver were already being led away towards the stable block, leaving Trinculus beside me, standing awkwardly with all my parcels in his arms.
The mansionarius ignored him and addressed himself to me. ‘Would you care to come inside? We have several other visitors tonight – including a councillor from Glevum who knows your patron and is keen to talk to you – but says the morning will be time enough for that. In the meantime there is a private room for you, together with your orderly of course. And a bathhouse, if you’d care to visit it – very soothing after hours of travelling.’ He glanced at Trinculus. ‘And your orderly, of course, if you permit.’
I’m not a very enthusiastic user of the baths in Glevum, usually – one is in danger of having one’s garments stolen while one bathes, and returning to find inferior ones or none at all, even if one pays an attendant to watch one’s locker-niche. But after hours of painful jiggling the notion of a steamroom and a plunge seemed irresistible – even if Trinculus had not been looking pleadingly at me.
I nodded, and was duly shown the separate bath-suite at the back. It wasn’t large, but it was well-equipped: a changing area, a small heated pool, a steamroom and a plunge, and a final anteroom, warmed from the furnaces next door, and complete with a massage slab where one could lie down and be rubbed with oils and strigilled afterwards. It looked inviting, and after leaving our cloaks in our pleasant sleeping-room – not a special chamber of the kind I’d had before, just army palliasses, some blankets and a stool, but as clean and neat as last night’s inn had been the opposite – Trinculus and I set off to try the baths.
I had judged it safer not to leave things unattended, even here, so I left him in the changing room to guard my garments and the precious parcels while I bathed, promising that he could have his turn when I came back and then help me put on my toga for the evening meal. (There is no rank distinction in the baths, of course: men are generally equal when they bathe, but I am never comfortable wrapped in just a drying-cloth and was not sorry to have these few moments to myself.)
It was as pleasant an experience as I could have hoped, and I felt the stiffness ebbing out of me as I went from room to room, though as I moved into the massage area and lay down on the slab, I was surprised to hear the voice of Trinculus. He seemed to be talking to somebody nearby – possibly the army slave who wielded the oil – but I heard him say, ‘Thank you. I’ll go in straight away’ and then heard footsteps behind me where I lay.
‘Trinculus? What are you doing here?’ I half-raised myself on one elbow and peered round as I spoke, but could see nothing but a pair of naked legs. ‘I thought I told you to remain there with our things?’
‘Citizen, this isn’t Trinculus,’ replied an unfamiliar voice. ‘Although, I have invited him to start his bath, as well.’ I rolled over, to see a young man whom I had not seen before, an athletic looking fellow in a tunic and bare feet, whose ink-black hair was cut short in an untidy style which clearly showed that he was not an army slave.
He smiled at my perplexity. ‘Do not concern yourself, your property is safe, a guard has been arranged. I’ve come to offer you my services. You’d like a massage and a strigil afterwards? The army attendant is not especially skilled. My master thought you might be glad of greater expertise.’
I sat up, surprised and absurdly flattered too – though reflection told me that this must be the slave of the Glevum councillor and the compliment was not to me at all, but to my patron. ‘Do I know your master?’ It was possible of course. ‘He must be the Glevum magistrate I heard about.’
The young man laughed. ‘Exactly, citizen. I don’t believe you’ve met. Though he knows your patron well – and yourself, by reputation – as does nearly everyone. You are the citizen Libertus, I believe?’
‘And your master?’ I was still slightly on my guard.
‘Crassus Posthumous. Perhaps you know the name? A relative and friend of Titus Flavius.’
I nodded, feeling any anxiety subside. Crassus Posthumous. I had heard him spoken of – an aging fellow in indifferent health. But any friend of Titus was a friend of mine. ‘He’s staying at the inn, I understand?’
‘And anxious to meet you, as I’m sure you have been told. To thank you for your services and endorse your nomination to the curia. It seems you will have saved them from needing to contribute to the missing tax …’ He saw my face and laughed. ‘Don’t look so startled, citizen – not only does your young attendant praise you to the skies, the news reached here this morning, anyway.’
‘This morning?’ I was puzzled, but then it occurred to me. ‘A messenger from the army-post at Uudum, I suppose?’ Obviously he had not felt the need to be discreet – and a courier has more ways of spreading news than delivering a sealed despatch.
‘Exactly, citizen. He told us you were travelling this way – though it was not entirely certain which mansio you’d choose – and that you’d caused a sensation in Uudum, by proving that Flauccus was not a suicide! My master spoke to the courier himself, and was amazed to learn what you’d achieved within so short a time. He’s delayed on purpose to talk to you himself, and is happy to convey news to your patron, if you wish. So if you’d care to have this massage, with his compliments?’
I nodded gratefully and lay back on the slab. The slave began to work the oil across my back with soothing hands and I abandoned myself to the pleasure of his touch. ‘I am only sorry that I cannot meet with him tonight,’ I said. ‘I would be glad to have the recent news – whether, for instance, the legate has arrived.’
‘There, I’m afra
id we cannot help you, citizen. We have not come from there. And my master has already eaten early and retired. He is elderly and we have a lot of journeying ahead of us – it is many miles to Glevum.’
‘Indeed it is,’ I said, with feeling. ‘And yet more to Portus Abonae! I suppose the road is good?’
‘Kept in good repair, to speed the flow of trade.’ The firm hands worked my muscles as he spoke. ‘Though naturally better when there’s less cold and rain. My master has business interests at the port, which necessitated this wretchedly unseasonable trip, but could you not have avoided it yourself? It’s a time of year when few boats venture out to sea.’
‘I’m on my patron’s business,’ I replied. It is an axiom that everybody talks to massage-slaves and – since it is always pleasing to have the chance to brag of influence – I found myself explaining about the wedding feast. ‘His Excellence would have come himself, but he is expecting an important visitor – that Imperial legate that I mentioned earlier. He has sent me as his private representative.’
I was hoping for some exclamation of impressed surprise, but perhaps such things are commonplace to the slaves of magistrates. Or perhaps he was not really listening to my words, because the massage did not pause and there was no reply. So I said nothing more and let him do his work.
All too quickly it was over and I was strigilled clean. The young man handed me my drying-cloth. ‘One moment, citizen, I’ll have them fetch your clothes – they were taken into safety,’ he said, and disappeared.
Suddenly, I felt a clutch of fear. Had I let myself be lulled into a false security? Here was I with nothing but a towel, and my young companion was no doubt similarly attired – had I been tricked and robbed?
I was contemplating how I could maintain my dignity while running out to call on the mansionarius for aid, but at that instant the massage-slave came in again, accompanied by an army orderly, bearing the garments I had taken off – now dried and neatly brushed. Even my purse was there and – when I discreetly peeked – the contents all complete.
The Price of Freedom Page 17
