‘Citizen, your tunics – and your cloak. I’m instructed to tell you that the rest is in your sleeping-room, awaiting you,’ the orderly saluted briefly, and hurried off again. I was so relieved my knees had turned to cheese.
The slave-boy turned to me. ‘Now, with your permission, citizen, I’ll do the same for your young orderly? Or would you prefer me to help you to get dressed?’
I hoped he hadn’t realised my moment of mistrust – it might be construed as an insult to the kindly councillor. I tried to offer a gratuity (sometimes expected for a borrowed slave) but he wouldn’t accept, so I tiptoed off shamefaced and left him rubbing oils into young Trinculus.
At the sleeping-room, I found the promised soldier at the door, and a brief inspection told me that all my things were there: the present, the toga-parcel, and the precious warrant safely in its bag. So when Trinculus returned, glowing and grateful for his bath, I did not even chide him for gossiping and disobeying me.
We had a simple meal accompanied by wine – which the guard sent in to us – then lay down on our respective mattresses and fell gratefully to sleep.
TWENTY
I woke next morning to find the sun already up, and Trinculus still snoring gently at my feet. I grunted. I should not have permitted him to drink my share of last night’s wine, but after our long journey, even a few sips had made me sleepy, so – with painful recollections of the feast at Marcus’s – I had left the rest for him. With no immediate alternative (such as my favoured honeyed mead) I had risked drinking the water from the jug, which looked reasonably clear and was (allegedly) from a nearby spring. And luckily, there’d been no ill effects – in fact, I’d slept much more than usually well.
I sat up now and prodded the soldier gently with my foot. His response astonished me. He leapt up and was on his feet at once, babbling apologies and pulling on his clothes. It took a moment before he realised where he was and sank down on the mattress saying piteously, ‘I thought I’d missed the trumpet …’
‘As no doubt you have,’ I said, remembering the wake-up bugle at the other mansio. ‘In which case, so have I. So let us move as soon as possible and see if it’s too late to find a meal, and whether our driver is still waiting with the gig. I’m sure he’ll be resentful because we are so late. Crassus Posthumous will no doubt be awaiting me, as well – I hope we’ve not delayed him overmuch. I’d like to thank him for his kindness yesterday, though it may have been the massage which encouraged us to sleep.’
A few enquiries did produce a plate of fruit and nuts, and the assurance that our driver was awaiting us. I urged on Trinculus, who seemed to be having trouble with his sword-belt, suddenly, and we hurried out into the inner court.
The councillor, however, had already left. ‘Sends his greetings, citizen, but regrets he cannot stay – he has many miles to travel before dark. Though he says no doubt you will encounter him again – you are standing for the Glevum curia, I hear?’ This was the mansionarius who had come again, in person, to escort us to the gig.
I waved aside this attempt at social flattery. ‘I’m sorry to have missed him, all the same. I would have liked to thank him for lending me his slave and arranging guards for my possessions yesterday – though no doubt I should thank you for providing them.’
‘I was pleased to accommodate him, citizen. He was anxious to assist, and to provide you with that rather better wine. I’m glad that you were pleased. But perhaps you will have a chance to tell him so yourself. His coach is heavier – it’s possible that you will overtake him on the road.’
I laughed. ‘Ah, but we are going towards the coast,’ I said. ‘I have an important function to attend. Our driver is returning to Uudum – possibly today – but Trinculus and I are staying for a day or two, guests at a wedding feast.’
The mansionarius had sensed a potential customer. ‘So will your driver require accommodation and stabling during his return? If so, direct him here. It would be covered by your warrant, and I’m sure we could oblige. I know he’s a civilian with no licence of his own, but he’s working for the army and it’s their vehicle – if he would like to stop.’
I shook my head. ‘I doubt it very much.’ If I judged correctly the man would drive home as fast as possible, not pausing anywhere. ‘Besides, the gig will be considerably lighter without its passengers, and faster on the road.’
The mansio-keeper smiled. ‘Of course. But if we can be of service …? A change of horse, perhaps …?’
I was about to tell him that I would suggest as much, but I was interrupted.
‘Citizen?’ Trinculus was plucking at my sleeve. ‘The driver – he is asking if you wish to go. Otherwise, he says, he won’t have time to get you where you’re going and drive back to Uudum before tomorrow noon. After that he is liable to punishment, for being absent with a military gig and animal.’
I nodded. Typical of the tesserarius, I thought, to compel someone to drive us many miles, against his will, and then fine him if he dares to be delayed. ‘Tell him I’m already on my way,’ I grasped the mansionarius’s elbow and gave his arm a parting shake – I was becoming accustomed to such Roman tokens of esteem – and left him smiling as I joined the vehicle.
I muttered apologies to the driver as, with the help of Trinculus, I climbed up and assumed my seat again, but the only answer I received was a disgruntled snort. I sighed. The fellow had been requisitioned for his driving, not his charm and I settled for another long, uncomfortable ride, in the disaffected silence that we’d suffered yesterday.
There was not even pleasant countryside to occupy my thoughts. The land we passed through here was dismal, flat and dull – the more so, the further that we moved towards the coast. Land which doubtless dried in summer to verdant pastureland, was now awash with rain and stretched in mournful puddles for miles on either side, interrupted every now and then by little ‘islands’ of high ground, where miserable homesteads cowered under stunted trees, surrounded by a few limp crops and huddled animals. The lanes that led away to them were either submerged in water or buried in thick sludge, only a few paces from the major road. No wonder that Darturius – with salt flats even nearer to the sea – had to send a guide to lead us safe across the marshy ground.
And judging from the sky it was about to rain again! I pulled my birrus up around my ears and closed my eyes, bracing myself for hours and more hours of this bouncing misery and wondering if Imperial torturers had ever thought of using travel as an interrogation tool. A day or two of this and I – for one – would have confessed to almost anything! I rebuked myself (such matters are not a subject for even mental jests) and allowed my thoughts to turn to home and Gwellia, and picturing how she was faring with the wool.
So I was startled when I heard the driver’s grumpy voice. ‘Well, here you are then, citizen – this is the mansio. Last one before Portus Abonae, if I’ve counted them aright. This is where I am to leave you, I believe – though you had better check that with the man on duty, I suppose.’
I nodded, almost too relieved to speak, so it was Trinculus who said, ‘It clearly is the place. Here’s the keeper of the mansio! They have clearly been expecting us.’
I looked and saw that Trinculus was right – the mansionarius, a portly fellow with a hook nose and protruding eyes, was hurrying towards us with a worried frown. He was accompanied on one side by a burly guard and on the other by a skinny inn-slave, perhaps eight or nine years old, both of whom looked equally concerned. Evidently our lateness had been causing some anxiety.
‘You get the parcels. I’ll get the warrant out,’ I murmured to Trinculus, sliding rather gracelessly to earth and fumbling in the leather pouch to find the writing-block. I passed it to the keeper of the establishment, who glanced at it briefly and passed it to the guard. ‘Very much what we’d been alerted to expect?’
The soldier was reading it more thoroughly, then turned to me with a peculiar smile. ‘It seems to be in order, but we will need to keep it temporarily, in case authority
is needed later on.’ He thrust it back into its leather pouch and gave it to the little serving-lad, who clutched it as though it were a polecat and might bite.
‘Apologies, mansionarius,’ I murmured with a smile, offering an arm-shake in the way I’d learned to do. ‘We’ve discommoded you. I fear that we were treated so well at last night’s mansio, that we were very late to rise.’
Perhaps it was a mistake to mention another military inn – it implied comparisons, which I had not meant at all, and seemed to cause offence. The arm was as cold and flaccid as a fish, and the tone was not much warmer as the mansio-keeper said, ‘Can you confirm your full name, traveller?’ He spoke as though he had not seen my travel document at all. ‘And your business here?’
I gave him the advantage of a full account. ‘Longinus Flavius Libertus,’ I replied. ‘Here representing His Excellence, Marcus Aurelius Septimus, chief magistrate in this part of Britannia. I am on my way to visit the Celt Darturius, who owns the salt mines on the marsh, to mark the wedding of his daughter. He is expecting me, as you no doubt are aware. I believe there is a signal that you are to give, to let him know I’m here, so he can send a guide for me.’
The mansionarius was using those protruding eyes to look most curiously at me, and at my young companion who had collected our possessions from the gig by now and – having placed them at my feet, had come to stand beside me, rearranging his ill-assorted armour round his skinny form and ramming his large helmet down on his dormouse ears. ‘And this …?’
‘Is Trinculus – from Uudum. My escort,’ I explained. ‘Is there some problem with accommodating him? I realise that you were expecting me to be alone.’
The mansionarius did not answer that. ‘And the coach?’ he enquired, watching that vehicle make half-circles in the dust as the driver urged it round and down the road again.
‘Also on loan from Uudum,’ I said, pleasantly. ‘And anxious to return there to avoid a fine. I’ll hire another when it’s time for me to leave. In the meantime, you are expecting me? You have your instructions?’ It occurred to me that perhaps he’d not been fully briefed.
The large eyes swivelled back to me again. ‘Oh, we have indeed. I’ll send a signal just as soon as it is dark and they will send for you tomorrow when it is possible to cross. You have missed the tide today. In the meantime, follow me – I have a room prepared.’
The advantages of rank again, I thought contently, as I followed him through the inner court with Trinculus trailing slowly after me with all the baggage. The inn-slave, who was still clutching my warrant, made no attempt to help him with his load, but did seize a lighted taper from a stand and hold it up to light the way – not into the wider corridor beyond, but up an open wooden staircase to the upper floor.
It is not uncommon for inns, of any kind, to offer upstairs rooms and a glimpse of the scene from a window-space we passed suggested that there was at least a view of sorts – of the river and the marshy wetlands either side. The river was enormous – making the Sabrina, where it flowed through Glevum, seem a tiny brook; I could imagine I was looking at the sea, as I had done from my tribal lands when I was young. My last glimpse of freedom had been a glimpse of it, shimmering as far as human eye could see, before my kidnappers had forced me down into the stinking blackness of the slave ship hold – and in all my travels I’d never seen it since. (Glevum, where they sold me, is of course a river port.)
That memory – combined with my weariness, no doubt – brought unexpected tears to mist my eyes, and at first I hardly paid attention to the room into which the guard was now escorting me. The inn-slave thrust the feeble taper into a holder on the wall and I vaguely saw the shape of a mattress on the floor, and a narrow window-space set high up in the wall. But that was all that I had time to recognise, before the guard and slave retired, the door was shut behind them and I found myself alone.
I had expected to share my quarters with Trinculus, as before – he was acting as my attendant now, and I’d almost come to think of him as such – but as a member of the army he was obviously entitled to accommodation of his own, so on reflection I was not entirely surprised. Perhaps they had no private room here to accommodate us both. Facilities in this mansio were clearly minimal. The mattress, on inspection, was small and comfortless for one – with two it would have been extremely difficult to sleep. And there was nowhere else, not even a small rug. Otherwise the narrow room was bare, beyond a water jug and basin on a stool and a larger jug, clearly for other purposes, beside the door.
Doubtless they had separate arrangements for the ranks, I thought – probably a communal sleeping-room with shared amenities. I did not envy Trinculus his bed.
On the other hand, he had my baggage and I was keen to wash my feet and legs and put my toga on before I went to find a meal – to say nothing of ensuring the wedding gift was safe. So I picked up the taper and went over to the door. I would simply have to find him. I could ask a guard, perhaps.
I put my hand upon the latch, and found – to my dismay – that I could not open it.
‘Trinculus?’ I called, but there was no reply. Somewhere in the distance another door banged shut. ‘Trinculus!’ I rattled at the lock, to no avail.
So this lack of comfort was no accident – not the result, as I’d supposed, of being miles from larger towns! There was to be no wash and toga and warm evening meal. They had thrown me into this upstairs room and locked me in.
I was a prisoner.
TWENTY-ONE
I could not believe it. Surely this was just an accident? Some unfortunate mis-function of the lock? I rattled it again. ‘Trinculus!’ This time my shouting brought a swift response. The door flew open, but it was not my big-eared friend, it was the bulky guard.
‘What is the meaning of this noise?’ he growled, more like a bear than ever.
‘The door,’ I muttered, voiceless with relief. ‘I think it locked itself.’
He laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. ‘Hardly that, my friend. It’s bolted shut – by special order of the commandant.’
I frowned. ‘But you’ve seen my documents.’ I tried to sound appropriately affronted. It is an offence to deprive a citizen of his liberty without due cause, and the penalties are harsh. ‘You must know who I am.’
That laugh again. ‘Oh, indeed we do. We’ve been expecting you. And we wouldn’t like anything to happen to you, would we, now you’ve come this far? So it’s for your safety, in a way. Try to be grateful, that is my advice and be glad that things have not gone worse. As they may do, yet – if I hear another squeak from here!’ And he slammed the door again and disappeared. This time I distinctly heard the bolt slide to.
And that was that! I squatted on the lumpy mattress-sack (there being nowhere more convenient to sit) and tried to think.
In some ways, of course, the guard was right. As a prisoner, I was fortunate. Conditions were far better here than those I had endured at that civilian inn. The mattress was merely a sack of grass and reeds but it was clean and – by contrast – almost welcoming. There was no blanket but I had my cloak and though the place was chilly at least it was not damp.
Nor was it windowless. By moving the water bowl and jug and standing on the stool, I found that I could even see out into the world – though there was not much to look at, simply the river and the swampy marsh. No habitation was visible from here. And though I could not look directly down, I could distinctly hear voices from the court below – a connection with normal life beyond, even if I could not make out what the speakers said.
However, by this time dusk was drawing in and a draught was coming through the open window-space, so I climbed down and gazed around, aware of how hungry and thirsty I’d become.
There was a little water in the water jug, I realised, as I put it back onto the stool, but no cup of any kind. I tried sipping directly from the jug but the contents were so brackish that I spat it out. No drink for me tonight – nor any food, it seemed. There was nothing whatever provided in
the bowl, not even the driest crust of mouldy bread. And very soon I would be wholly in the dark – that candle was already guttering and I could not conserve it as I had no method of relighting it. So with a sigh I lay down on the bed, wrapping my birrus round me for a little warmth, and closed my eyes – though there was no chance of sleep.
My brain was buzzing with my predicament. This had all happened so unexpectedly. But now I was alone in this unfamiliar place. Trinculus, and all my luggage, had been removed from me. More unsettling still, I had let them take my travel document. What use was that to anybody else? And why, for that matter, did that warrant – which had earned me such splendid treatment hitherto – suddenly seem to produce the opposite effect? Or more precisely, why had they locked me up? ‘For my own safety’? It made no sense at all.
There was only one explanation which occurred to me – though I must have been weary because it took some little time for me to think of it.
Something had befallen my patron since I left. That would account for everything of course, especially with the Emperor’s legate visiting from Rome! Emperors are always unpredictable. One stroke of the Imperial pen and Marcus would be instantly ‘proscribed’ – not merely exiled from the Empire for life, but denied the essential elements of water and fire within its bounds, on pain of death for anyone providing them.
An unenviable fate, and those who suffered it often expired in hungry misery, alone and unattended on some cheerless rock. Marcus would try to protect his family from that (as one sometimes could) by leaving immediately himself – though his property and wealth would automatically be forfeit to the state. Fortunately Julia had brought a dowry with her when she wed, of which he only had the usufruct, so the house in Corinium should revert to her and she and the children would be provided for. The villa, however, was likely to be sold, together with the contents, including all the slaves.
The Price of Freedom Page 18
