The Price of Freedom

by Rosemary Rowe

  I am not sure whether my companion understood, but it made no difference now. The vehicle was close and Darturius – having evidently reached sounder ground where he could overtake – was closer still. I could hear him talking to our driver now. Even from here I could detect that he was furious.

  ‘I’ll have to stand you down and take the prisoners back to the confinement hut. We can’t safely take them till tomorrow, now. It’s that wretched gig-boy’s fault. He was waiting for us at the mansio, where Libertus and his slave had left their vehicle, and was supposed to intercept him and take him back, on the orders of Marcus Septimus. But he didn’t do it. He just let them drive away, and the next thing that I knew he was dashing over here. And now, I suppose, I’ll have to entertain him overnight and try to be fairly civil while I do it, too – since he comes direct from Marcus Septimus, and I’ve already rejected his generous wedding gift. Just at a moment when there’s much to do, and Paigh’s not here to help. But it cannot be avoided now, the tide is turning fast. You’d better get those prisoners back where they belong, and I will deal with this.’

  I did not need the gesture with the whip to know that I was expected to stand up but Trinculus, of course, had not understood. I nudged him helpfully, and he rolled onto his knees and from there contrived to force himself upright. I was not so lucky, I could not raise myself, however much the driver threatened with his whip.

  In the end he gave an exasperated sigh and clambered back to me. ‘Oh, very well. You can’t escape, now, anyway.’ He rolled me over, drew his knife and cut my bonds – none too gently. ‘Now, get up on your feet!’

  Thus freed, I did so – rather shakily – and found myself standing in the cart. From here I had a splendid view of Marcus’s precious gig. Ironic that I would never ride in it again, though he had sent it here for me. I could hear Darturius explaining matters to the driver now, with frigid courtesy.

  ‘I fear that you have missed him, by your own mistake. The arrangement was that you would meet him at the mansio. But you somehow failed to do so, and now you’re stranded here. It was never the plan that you should drive across. I may be able to arrange for you to go the other way, but it’s a slow road to Portus Abonae on the ancient route, and even with fresh horses you won’t arrive for hours. By the time you get there Libertus may have taken ship for Gaul. I’m sorry that you missed him. I thought that someone would point him out to you.’

  ‘Oh, they tried to,’ a familiar voice replied. ‘But they muddled, somehow – it wasn’t him at all.’

  It was the goat-boy! I could not believe my ears. Or my eyes, in fact. Gone was the scruffy tunic and the homemade boots. He was dressed in splendid scarlet uniform and looked as though he had been born into the role. I was so startled that I stumbled with relief and he looked up and saw me on the cart.

  ‘It’s no wonder that I didn’t see him,’ he exclaimed, lapsing into Celtic automatically. ‘Of course Libertus wasn’t at the mansio, that’s him over there.’ He pointed with his whip.

  Darturius turned towards me and I saw that he’d turned pale. ‘You’re sure?’ he muttered, weakly – as he realised what he had done.

  But the goat-boy was smiling, quite oblivious. ‘I’m absolutely certain. He spoke to me before, on the road to Glevum, when he was being accompanied by the local guard. He did his best to help me – it’s probably because of him that Marcus purchased me. Of course I’m certain. I’d know him anywhere.’

  Poor Darturius. He was incoherent with embarrassment – and very, very anxious to make amends, to myself and Trinculus – and to the goat-boy, too. And there was almost a full day before the causeway would be passable again!

  I now know what it is to be a really honoured guest.

  EPILOGUE

  The goat-boy – or Caprigulus, as Marcus had named him when he purchased him – proved to be as good a driver as the sulky boy had said, almost as skilled as Victor, though (for my taste) much too fast. I cannot pretend the next two days were comfortable ones, I am too old for dashing through the countryside at speed, and the halfway mansio we stayed at overnight did not offer me the ‘Emperor’s room’ this time.

  It was quite amusing, on returning to the shore, to see the reaction of the people at the inn which had held us prisoner a day or two before. Grovelling is not an adequate description of their attitude: nothing was too much trouble if we cared to stay, and of course our luggage was restored to us. Though it was sad to say goodbye to little Trinculus, who had been promised transport to return to his post.

  The guard who had tormented him was nowhere to be seen – he had been returned to headquarters and “stripped of privilege”, meaning that he would spend the future cleaning the latrines. Though that did not remove the bruises he had inflicted on my friend, whose dormouse ears looked still more evident when he was back in uniform – and who was still without his proper sword-belt as he stood and waved me off, but happy to be returning to his regiment.

  (Darturius had already returned my purse, of course, rather heavier than it had been when I’d been stripped of it. I was to buy a present for my wife, he said, as an apology for having kept me there so long.)

  I was not sure of my reception when I got back to her – I’d been in mortal danger, which she would know by now, since Marcus would have passed on what the messenger had said. And she’d been left alone, without a word from me. But I need not have worried. I made Caprigulus stop outside my house, even before we had reported back to Marcus, and her greeting reassured me instantly.

  ‘Ah, you’re back, and safe and sound I see. You’re looking travel-stained. I’ll get the slaves to fetch some water and they can wash you later on. And I’ve got some stew – and some oatcakes that I made in case you came—’

  I walked across and took her in my arms and for a long moment she leaned against my chest, then freed herself and brushed her apron down. ‘Foolish fellow! But it’s nice to see you home. Now go and see your patron. He’ll be awaiting you.’

  He was. Delighted to see me, he told me several times, and glad to learn the facts, though disappointed that the killers had eluded him. He had been looking forward to bringing them to trial – especially on the charge of impersonating me – but he was disappointed to have lost the stolen tax.

  ‘But Flauccus’s treasure would have covered that,’ I said. ‘The curia will not be called upon to pay.’

  He nodded, thoughtfully. ‘Speaking of the curia, I have some news for you. I’m afraid that I’ve withdrawn your nomination for the post of duumvir.’ He looked at me with some embarrassment. ‘I thought that was the reason you were running off to Gaul – and I’d rather have you here, than frighten you away. But then, of course, I got the message saying that you were a prisoner and reminding me about Marcellinus and the top – and I realised that I could have put you forward after all. But by then it was too late. I hope you won’t be disappointed. There will be other times.’

  I shook my head. ‘Not really disappointed, Excellence. Although my wife might be.’

  He smiled. ‘I fancy she will be consolable. Tell her you’re invited to a banquet here, in two days’ time. A farewell to the Imperial legate, before he moves on to Londinium, and Saturnalia begins. I’ve told him about you. It will be a grand affair. I think she’ll be impressed.’

  It was a grand affair, and Gwellia was impressed – though more worried about whether my best toga had been cleaned enough. (I could no longer wear the toga candida, of course.) But it was at the banquet that I heard astounding news. The captain of the vessel which had sailed for Gaul had been discovered, washed up on the shore. Darturius had heard and had sent word at once.

  The bodies of Venibulus and his father were never found. To this day I do not know whether they were drowned as well, and the stolen tax is lying at the bottom of the sea: or whether they simply bribed the crew sufficiently to throw the master overboard, and they are really at this moment both alive and well – enjoying their riches somewhere safe in Gaul.

&nbs
p; I suspect the latter, but I cannot be sure.