Enemies of the Empire

by Rosemary Rowe

  This time the soldier did meet the optio’s eyes. ‘That is the extraordinary thing,’ he said. ‘The cloak and helmet were the messenger’s, I don’t think there is any doubt of that. But the body wasn’t his. This was no soldier. A pasty sort of fellow, when he lived, with soft hands and flaccid muscles and a slave-brand on his back. He seemed to be some kind of personal serving-boy.’

  Chapter Twelve

  A rustle ran around the table at these words, and Marcus half rose to his feet. ‘A slave-brand, did you say? What kind of brand? And what have you done with him?’ He seemed to recollect himself and added with a smile, ‘I ask, because it is just possible that he might be mine. Thanks to a’ – he flung me a reproachful look – ‘local, regrettable event, I seem to have lost a valuable slave.’

  The soldier looked alarmed. ‘Your pardon, Excellence. We haven’t done anything particular with him – just cut him down, wrapped him up and buried him under some soft leaves in a ditch. Forgive us if we have given you offence.’

  Marcus was looking really furious at this. I knew that he was unlikely to grieve very long over the possible loss of a single slave, especially one like poor Promptillius, whom he clearly did not value very much – after all, he’d lent the boy to me. However, he was not a heartless man and, besides, he was irritated as anyone might be at the unnecessary loss of something that was his.

  It was if anything a deeper blow to me: not only was I appalled at what seemed to have happened to the lad, but technically, since he was loaned to me, I was responsible for replacing him, as I would be for any chattel I had borrowed and was not able to return in working order.

  Regulus saw our faces and was apologetic now. ‘Forgive me, Excellence. We had no notion who his owner was – certainly we never dreamed it might be someone of distinction, like yourself. In fact, we concluded that he was merely the attendant of some hapless citizen who had been travelling through the woods – perhaps on some trading venture, since he clearly wasn’t rich – and been set upon by these vagabonds and robbed. We found a package of used clothes nearby which seemed to suggest something of the kind.’

  It was my turn to sit up sharply. ‘A toga and a green linen tunic with a woven band, by any chance?’ I asked.

  The soldier stared at me. ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘Because I rather think that they’re mine,’ I said. ‘As you can see, I’m wearing borrowed clothes. The slave that His Excellence lost had taken my spare clothes . . . don’t ask for explanations. It’s a complex tale.’ I sighed. ‘So it was Promptillius, it seems. Poor fellow – he went out to his death, supposing that I’d summoned him. I hope his end was quick.’ I felt very guilty about this, in fact. If I had not left him in the marketplace it seemed quite likely that he would be with us now.

  The soldier nodded. ‘I think I can assure you that it would have been. He clearly died without a struggle, citizen. Someone slipped a thin cord round his neck from behind and pulled it tight – the marks were clearly visible. He would scarcely have had time to know that it was happening.’

  Marcus frowned. ‘Strangled? I thought that he was hanged?’

  ‘Killed first and strung up afterwards, I am fairly sure. We discussed it at the time. The rope was in the wrong place and the wrong size for the mark – there was no attempt to hide the fact and make the two things match. It all seemed very odd. He may have been put there in a hurry – it looked as though he had – and he may not have been dead for very long. We decided that he was most likely killed elsewhere and simply slung up to dangle where he was – together with the helmet and the cloak – just to get our attention and entice us from the path.’

  I glanced at Marcus, who was scowling doubtfully. I had already offended proper protocol by interrupting twice without being invited to speak, and I had no wish to increase his irritation by doing so again. However, I was impressed by this soldier’s clarity of mind. He was clearly capable of cogent reasoning. ‘If I may ask something further, Excellence?’ I ventured. Mercifully, Marcus gave me permission with a nod, and I turned to the soldier. ‘I thought you said there was a pool of blood?’

  ‘There was. It wasn’t his. There was no wound on him. That is what made us suppose that he had a master with him, who was stabbed and dragged away – just as, I suppose, the messenger had been. We found the marks of heel-tracks in the mud as if a body had been dragged that way, but we couldn’t trace them very far before they disappeared in puddles and leaves. We even left a man on guard and searched the area, but we found no sign of any other corpse.’

  ‘Nor of the slave-boy’s tunic?’

  He looked perplexed. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. I wonder why the raiders stripped him naked and took his things away, then left the other garments lying there? They were loosely tied up with a strip of cloth. It was quite evident that they were clothes – though they were of no great value, I suppose.’

  Marcus, with faint signs of impatience, cleared his throat. ‘Is all this significant?’

  ‘It is significant to me,’ I said humbly. ‘And possibly to all of us, in fact. If I might make a suggestion, Excellence, do you not think it would be wise to make a foray out that way tomorrow, perhaps with a detachment from the garrison as guard, and make an examination of the spot?’

  Marcus looked extremely sceptical at this. ‘And delay ourselves still further? For the sake of some old clothes?’

  ‘For the sake of the administration, Excellence. It seems that an official messenger has been killed, carrying a letter for you from the Isca garrison – which was no doubt sealed?’ I looked towards the soldier, who confirmed this with a nod. ‘Then surely we are dealing with a serious matter here – interfering with the imperial post. Isn’t that a capital offence? I’m sure the Emperor would not be pleased, and would expect you to investigate.’

  Marcus nodded wearily. ‘I suppose you’re right.’ He brightened. ‘Though there’s no proof the messenger was killed.’

  ‘Only the bits of uniform,’ I said. ‘And don’t forget the heel-marks and the blood. Who else did they belong to? Not to the owner of the slave, as the soldiers quite reasonably thought, because you are his owner and he’d been serving me, and clearly it wasn’t one of us.’ I shook my head. ‘I suspect it was our poor messenger all right.’

  ‘Oh,’ Marcus said gloomily. He was obviously disinclined to bother with all this, but – as I had judged – his sense of duty compelled him to do something now.

  The optio, who had been listening to all this, sprang suddenly to life, anxious to show that he could think as clearly as any mere auxiliary. ‘Dear Jupiter, you see the implications of all this? Supposing that the letter had not merely concerned arrangements for your escort to the fort, but private information about the movements of the troops? All that would be in rebel hands by now.’

  I nodded. ‘Precisely. And he had a horse and uniform. Anyone could use those to impersonate an imperial messenger. We would not expect to recognise the face. And he had a letter with an official seal – probably on a simple ribbon-tie, which could have been prised off and used again, with care.’

  The optio was looking horrified. ‘To send a different message here, if they chose?’

  ‘Or to any other border garrison,’ I replied. ‘I doubt that, in the circumstances, anyone would examine the seal too carefully. And now they have Promptillius’s household uniform as well, which anyone who knows my patron well will recognise at once, and take to be proof that the wearer is His Excellence’s slave – another way of carrying false messages. You see why I think it worth our while trying to find out what happened in the forest last night?’

  Marcus was looking suddenly alert. ‘Of course, from the administration’s point of view, there’s also the question of the thefts involved. At least five army horses, as I understand it, and some equipment too. The incoming governor will no doubt be extremely pleased if we can discover who perpetrated this and bring the men to justice.’ He made a thoughtful face. ‘It occurs to me that
we should be travelling past the spot where all this happened on our way to Isca in the morning. You, optio, could ride out with us, perhaps – your men can provide us with a proper escort too. I understand there is a marching-camp nearby that you can call on for some extra men?’

  The optio nodded. ‘There has been one stationed here ever since the raids on Roman travellers began again – a show of force to keep the dissidents at bay, though they’re not a lot of use against these ambushes because we don’t know where these rebel groups are based. I’m sure the commander will be pleased to help – it will give them something positive to do, apart from route-marches and stabbing at practice posts with wooden swords. I will send to the centurion in charge at once – if you will honour me by sending the request under your seal, Excellence. He is superior to me, of course.’

  My patron looked flattered. ‘Certainly I will. We’ll make a thorough examination of the murder site and see if there is anything to learn.’

  He spoke as if the whole idea had just occurred to him. I smiled, but knew better than to say anything except, ‘A splendid notion, Excellence. I’m sure the new governor when he arrives will be appropriately grateful for your help.’

  Marcus preened. He nodded to the auxiliary cavalryman, who was still standing stiffly at attention near the door. ‘Very well, soldier, that will do for now. You may dismiss. Get some food and find yourselves a bed. We shall expect you to accompany us at dawn. I think you said that there were four of you?’

  The soldier nodded. ‘Myself and three other unhorsed spearmen, Excellence. Though two of us no longer have our spears.’

  ‘Then I imagine that replacements can be found for you. But you will have to march. I don’t expect the mansio to have four horses free – at least not four that could easily be spared.’ He said this quickly, before the optio could intervene and offer to find animals from the marching-camp. They would almost certainly have spare mounts there, but it was clear that my patron preferred to have the Isca men travel ignominiously on foot, to remind them not to lose their horses again so carelessly.

  The cavalryman looked properly dismayed at this, but he said humbly, ‘As you command, Excellence.’ And he withdrew.

  Marcus was in high good humour now. He called for another jug of wine and turned to us. ‘These moments of transition are always dangerous. When there is no appointed governor in place, the rebels take the opportunity to strike. The same thing once occurred in Gaul, I understand . . .’ and he treated us to a rambling lecture on the recent uprisings.

  I have no head for Roman wine and even less for foreign politics, so I was glad when the evening came to a close at last, and I could stretch out on my comfortable palliasse again. As I drifted into sleep it occurred to me that, after all, I had not been reunited with my clothes. Perhaps the soldiers had them. Well, it was too late now. I would have to wait till morning to make enquiries.

  I must have slept extremely well, because it was broad daylight when I woke and there was already the sound of movement in the court outside. With no Junio to wake me I was almost late – and (having already lost Promptillius) I had not been offered another of Marcus’s slaves. I splashed my face quickly in a little of the cold water from the jug on the stone bench in my room, bolted down the apple and the crust of bread provided as breakfast dainties by the mansio, and drained the welcome liquid in the jug. Then I straightened my borrowed tunic, put on my shoes and cloak and hurried out into the morning light.

  Marcus was already in the court, looking as elegant as he always did. I hurried to his side, and dropped uncomfortably to one knee on the cobbled yard – Marcus expects the proper obeisances, even in circumstances like these.

  ‘Ah, there you are,’ he said, extending a ringed hand for me to kiss and waiting impatiently for me to rise. ‘I was about to send a guard for you. We are almost ready to depart.’ He gazed at me. ‘What’s happened to your toga? I thought that it was found?’

  ‘I thought so too, Excellence,’ I said. ‘I presume the soldiers brought it when they came, but it hasn’t been returned to me as yet. However, here’s the leader now. Perhaps he can tell us what they’ve done with it.’

  The cavalryman, looking a little more refreshed, came over at my patron’s signal and bowed in brisk salute. ‘Spearman Regulus at your service, Excellence.’

  ‘We were wondering,’ Marcus said, with that little smile which made the seemingly polite enquiry something far more dangerous. ‘The parcel of clothes that you found. They belonged to my friend the citizen here, as I believe you know. Where are they? He would be glad to change into them to travel on.’

  The soldier had that hunted look again. ‘I fear I don’t have them, Excellence.’ He looked desperately around, as if his companions might be summoned to share the blame with him. ‘You see, we used the toga to wrap the body in. It didn’t seem proper to leave it as it was, and we didn’t expect the parcel to be claimed. And as for the tunic – I’m sorry, citizen – we gave that away.’

  ‘Gave it away? Who to?’ I was too upset to be grammatical.

  He was deploying that military trick again, of standing stiff and staring past you as he spoke, while his face got steadily more scarlet with embarrassment. ‘I’m afraid we gave it to a peasant, sir. A fellow with a herd of pigs, who helped us in our search. He’d got a little hut place in the clearing there, where he kept his herd, and he’d obviously been camped there overnight. He was very helpful – gave us water and bound up my foot, and even came out to search with us when we were trying to discover where those heel-tracks went. He had a grudge against the raiders, too: said they’d broken into his enclosure overnight, stolen one of his pigs and let the others out. He was rounding them up when we discovered him.’

  ‘You gave it to a swineherd?’ I exclaimed. ‘That was my second best tunic!’

  Regulus looked properly abashed. ‘Well, he was extremely helpful, citizen. We offered him the tunic as reward. He was the one who located it, in fact – the parcel had been hidden underneath some leaves, and though he did not exactly ask for it outright, it was obvious from his manner that he wanted it. It was easy to see why. His own garment was a pathetic mess – a dreadful greenish tunic, torn and stained and, frankly, unpleasant to be near. I suppose it comes of dealing with the pigs.’

  Marcus nodded judiciously. ‘No doubt it seemed a better bargain at the time. A tunic which nobody seemed to want, instead of offering him your hard-earned cash?’

  ‘Exactly, Excellence,’ the man said eagerly. ‘It would have fetched a few quadrantes in the marketplace, at best.’ He realised that this was an unfortunate remark and went on hastily, ‘We could go and demand to have it back – explain that the owner had been found and wanted it. Not force him to give it up, exactly – we have enough enemies around here as it is – but we could offer him a few denarii instead.’ He had cheered up and was quite animated by his own suggestion now. ‘It would be an easy matter to locate the man. We know where his portable enclosure was last night, and even if he has moved on by now, he should not be difficult to find. He’s got a great big jagged scar across his face.’

  There was a silence. Plautus! Could it be? I looked at Marcus and he looked at me: obviously the same thought had occurred to him. He raised an enquiring eyebrow but I tried to signal caution with a quick shake of my head. The fewer people who knew of our suspicions, the better.

  Marcus gave me a swift, comprehending nod and raised his hand, preventing the optio from saying anything. ‘Enough of this discussion. We are wasting time. Let’s get moving as soon as possible.’ He turned to Regulus. ‘You march in the front. We’d better find this pig-keeper of yours. I rather think Libertus wants to talk to him.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  It is an eerie feeling travelling through empty countryside, escorted by half a century of soldiers on the march – eight rows of five abreast. (There are eighty soldiers in a century, of course, despite the name!) There were a dozen mounted outriders as well, hastily co-opted fr
om the nearest marching-camp in case we encountered trouble on the way. The optio, still anxious to give a good impression, took care with posting them: six of them well out in front as scouts, and the other six just as far behind to guard the rear. The cavalrymen from Isca might have helped with the task but following what Marcus had ordained they were simply re-equipped with spears and thus obliged to march.

  It was a military operation and an air of businesslike precision reigned. Marcus’s private mounted bodyguard, which had accompanied us all the way from Glevum, was not now deemed sufficient to protect us, so instead of cantering up and down alongside our carriage they were obliged to fall in behind the two domestic carts which carried all Marcus’s serving retinue and other equipment for the trip. There was none of the cheerful jingle of their harness and shouted banter now, and the whole atmosphere was much more tense.

  There was only the measured ring of hobnailed sandals on the road, the creak of armour and the groan of carts and an occasional snort from one of the horses. The lack of any human voice was almost sinister: the rhythmic pounding of the feet so perfectly in time that it seemed that the whole column was a single animal. And quite a swiftly moving animal. If you have ever seen a phalanx of advancing Roman troops, you will know that they can move with startling speed. It is said that a legionary can march twenty miles a day fully armed, and with his entire equipment on his back. Our escort were not carrying their packs today, only their fighting weapons and their shields, and although obviously our progress was not as quick as it had been when we were unaccompanied by men on foot, we were still jolting through the countryside at surprising speed.

  We passed through the cultivated area which surrounds the town, where a few Roman-style villas could be seen, each with its contributory farm and all much like similar homesteads I was used to further east – except that here the houses were built, not in sheltered places, but on the tops of hills where they were exposed to wind and weather but had commanding views of the countryside about. They were surrounded by high protective walls, and there were similar defensive enclosures round many of the fields. We even saw a small party of slaves, armed with pointed staves and clubs, patrolling the borders of one villa-farm.