Enemies of the Empire

by Rosemary Rowe

  In either case, this was no place for me.

  I looked around. There was nobody in sight to ask directions from, and for a moment I stood hesitating, wondering where to go and what to do. Then the door of the room opened and the serving-boy came out – the same slave who had attended us in the office earlier.

  He turned to me with an apologetic air. ‘I’m sorry, citizen. I went into the room to take your meal and found the lady was already there. I’m very sorry you were not informed. I don’t know how she got there, and she’s just refused to leave.’

  ‘Lady?’ I echoed in astonishment. When we first got back here to the mansio the officer had spoken of ‘people’ – in the plural – who had wanted words with me, but I’d forgotten that there might be more than one. And certainly I’d not expected this. ‘I don’t know any lady in this area, except the Christian widow from the thermopolium, and it seems unlikely she would seek me here.’

  He shook his head. ‘This is not a widow, citizen, judging by her dress. And not a Christian, as far as I can see.’

  I frowned. I could not imagine who it was. Unless . . . That letter I had sent to Glevum! I had asked for Junio. Had Gwellia decided to accompany him? The wax tablet had been carried by the imperial post – the swiftest horsemen in the world. With relays of fresh horses, a message could reach London in a day from anywhere in Britannia, it was said, so mine would have reached my roundhouse at least two days ago. If Gwellia had organised a lift in some light vehicle . . .

  I turned to the slave-boy and said, with sudden hope, ‘Unless it is my wife?’

  He stared thoughtfully at his sandal straps. ‘I do not think so, citizen. Not a wife, exactly. Possibly – a friend.’ There was a sort of embarrassed knowingness in the way he said this which made it more puzzling than ever.

  ‘A friend? I have no friend in Venta – and certainly no female ones.’

  He did not look up. ‘She insists that you invited her to come.’

  ‘I’ve absolutely no idea who it can be,’ I said. ‘I don’t know any women in this town.’ And then, of course, I realised that I did. ‘It isn’t Lyra the brothel-keeper, by any chance?’

  The servant was visibly relieved, but he did not meet my eyes. ‘I believe that is the name she mentioned, citizen. She said you had been asking for her in the town, and had required her to present herself to you.’

  I sighed. ‘Well, that’s true, up to a point, but not for the reasons that she seems to think. I wanted her brought in for questioning.’ Why did I find it necessary to explain myself? ‘Well, never mind – I’ll go and speak to her. You’d better tell His Excellence she’s come.’

  He didn’t move. ‘I shall have to tell the optio as well. My master is particular about these things. It may be that he won’t be pleased at all, and . . . well . . .’ He tailed off.

  ‘You think he would be angry because she’s here without a guard? I suppose it’s possible. I wonder that the sentry at the gate admitted her at all, much less permitted her to walk around the mansio unaccompanied in this way. I suppose he gave her directions to wait here in my room because he knew that we were busy interviewing someone else?’

  Of course, even as I framed the words, I realised that the sentry had thought nothing of the kind. In the circumstances, what would anybody think? The boy obviously had his own opinions on the matter too, despite my explanations to the contrary. He made no reply but went on carefully scrutinising his feet, as though his toes were of enormous significance all at once.

  I was about to protest my lack of interest in Lyra’s particular specialties when all at once the door of the sleeping quarters was opened from within and Lyra was standing there herself. She had evidently made an effort for her visit here. The pockmarks on her face were carefully disguised with thick white powdered chalk, and she had taken pains applying lamp-black to her eyes and wine-lees to her lips. Her hennaed hair was piled up in ringlets on her head, though it was clearly visible under the hood of her long green cloak and curls had been coaxed to stray down onto her neck in a way that would make any strict Roman mother blush.

  All this titivation had been on my account and it was true that she looked a little more attractive now than I’d remembered her. I would have to disappoint her all the same. With her blackened teeth and exaggerated walk, she was not a type that much appealed to me – especially when that potent smell of cheap scent and onions came wafting from her every time she moved.

  She was moving now – towards me, with a smile. ‘I hear that you were looking for me, citizen?’ she said, making her voice deliberately husky as she spoke. ‘I am sorry that I could not come at once, but I was out of town – very important business with a client.’ She shook her head free from the hood, and flicked the cloak back with an expert hand so that her inner tunic was revealed.

  And not just her tunic, though that was eye-catching enough, being of fine fabric, deep red and richly decorated, but cut short like a man’s. I tried not to look at her lower legs – and found myself staring at the low-cut neckline instead. No hint of maidenly modesty about this! I tore my eyes away. ‘We had a few questions we wished to ask you,’ I said. I was trying to sound brisk and businesslike, but I found my throat was dry. I had not been expecting a reception of this kind, and finding Lyra in one’s private room was quite a different matter from encountering the lady in the street.

  She smiled again, half closing her eyes into mysterious slits. ‘Of course, citizen. Anything you wish. You can ask as many questions as you like.’ She succeeded in making it sound as if this was a term agreed between us for improper services. She turned and stepped back inside the room, holding the door invitingly ajar. ‘I am at your command. Come in and see.’

  It was awkward. The slave-boy was still staring at his feet, no doubt attempting to conceal a smirk. I have never in my life paid a woman for my needs – not even in the dark days when my wife was lost – and though I obviously did not intend to do so now, I still felt ridiculously ill at ease. There was something about the way she held herself, the flaunting walk and the way she leaned against the door-jamb which made me reluctant to be alone with her. Yet if I wanted Marcus and the optio to come – as I most sincerely did – I would obviously have to send the slave away to tell them she was here.

  I tried the high-handed and severe approach. ‘You know it is against the law to try to ply your trade anywhere except on licensed premises?’

  She gave me another smouldering smile. ‘Citizen, who said anything about my trade? I came here entirely at your request. I understand you sent a mounted guard to fetch me two days ago. He left instructions that I was to present myself to you for questioning at the earliest opportunity. So of course I came at once, as soon as I learned that you’d come back.’ There was nothing but sweet reasonableness in her words, but she allowed her eyes to linger over me and ran her tongue round the inside of her lips in a way which conveyed an altogether different message. She knew that she was creating an uncomfortable effect and she added, in the same honeyed tone, ‘As a law-abiding townswoman, what else could I possibly have done?’

  I had allowed her to gain the initiative here, and I tried to wrest it back. ‘Very well. I will have a stool and water brought for you and you can wait while I eat my meal. Then we will see about interrogating you. See to it, boy,’ I murmured to the slave. ‘And you can make His Excellence aware that she is here. Ask for his permission to begin the questioning – perhaps your master could provide us with a room.’

  The slave-boy seemed to recognise at last that my intentions towards the lady were after all what I’d declared. He leapt into obedience, suddenly alert. ‘At once, citizen. Allow me to serve you with your meal.’

  I nodded and gestured him to precede me into the sleeping room, where a small stool and table was awaiting me. On it was a dish of cooling stew, a hunk of bread, a little end of cheese and a large metal beaker of red watered wine. At first I posted Lyra in the corridor to wait but she managed to look so provocative,
leaning there against the wall, that it embarrassed me. It was obvious that she would flaunt herself in front of everyone who passed and I would be the gossip of the mansio; but if I shut the door and simply ate my meal there was a chance that – being there without a guard – she would slip away again. Either way I would look an idiot and Marcus would be seriously displeased. In the end I found a compromise. I allowed her to come into the room but told the slave-boy to leave the door ajar.

  He nodded and pulled out the stool for me. I looked at my congealing stew. ‘And you can take this plate away,’ I said. ‘It’s cold. Get them to send me down some fresh. In the meantime, I’ll just eat the bread and cheese.’ Of course, it did not really matter to me that the stew was cool. I was sincerely hungry, by this time, and would have eaten anything, but the cook-house was closer than the optio’s offices, and I hoped that by doing this I could ensure that a slave from the kitchen would be coming in and out. Lyra’s presence disconcerted me. I would not put it past her to make some advance and I did not wish to be in the room with her for long without somebody else there.

  ‘And while you are about it,’ I went on, ‘you can have them send out for some Celtic mead for me. I am not a great enthusiast for wine.’ The servant nodded and took away the goblet at my side. I saw his longing gaze, and added with a smile, ‘But don’t throw that away. It’s probably one of the optio’s wines – he keeps some first-class ones, I understand. Perhaps you’d better take it back to him – or drink it up yourself.’

  ‘Your pardon, citizen!’ Behind me Lyra sounded seriously distressed. ‘Surely . . .’ I turned round. She was sitting on the palliasse which was provided as a bed and was holding her head in both her hands. ‘Forgive me, citizen, but if you do not want that glass yourself, perhaps you’d allow me to have it, instead of that water you were promising? I do not know what has come over me. I am feeling suddenly unwell.’

  And indeed she did look extraordinarily pale – even underneath the powder she was chalky white, except for two high spots in her cheeks which were redder than any wine-lees could have rendered them. Her voice, which had been so husky just a moment earlier, was now almost squeaky with distress: there were beads of sweat upon her brow and she was breathing heavily.

  I nodded to the servant. ‘Let her have the wine.’ I wondered for a moment if, given the rivalries that existed in the town, someone had contrived to poison her. But she took the goblet from the boy and raised it to her lips, and immediately I could see the colour flowing back into her cheeks.

  ‘Stupid of me, citizen,’ she said, hugging the goblet to her and not moving from the bed. ‘Women’s problems, possibly. I’m better now. Please, do not let me keep you from your meal.’

  I grunted something and sat down to my food, meanwhile sending the slave-boy to fulfil his tasks and hoping that he wouldn’t be too long. I was extremely hungry, and even the frugal bread and cheese tasted ambrosial to me. All I needed was a drink to wash it down. I could hear distant footsteps in the corridor, and was beginning to hope that it might be the kitchen-slave when Lyra spoke to me again.

  ‘If you could perhaps assist me, citizen? I am feeling well enough to rise.’ She stretched out a hand towards me. ‘Better, perhaps, if I am not sitting on your bed when His Excellence and the optio arrive.’

  She had a point. I was still apprehensive about touching her, but she had been in distress. I got up, took the proffered arm and raised her to her feet. As I did so she appeared to sway, the goblet which she was still holding tumbled to the floor, spilling its contents everywhere, and she fell against me with a little cry.

  Almost instinctively I caught her in my arms to stop her tumbling to the floor. She made no effort to support herself but flopped on me so that I bore all her weight. She was not a large person but she was surprisingly heavy all the same, and I staggered a little as I took the shock.

  ‘Master?’ A voice from the open doorway startled me.

  I looked over the shoulder of my burden. My apprentice-cum-slave-boy, Junio, was standing in the shadows of the corridor outside. He had obviously arrived from Glevum in answer to my note and was carrying the spare toga I had asked him for. A great feeling of relief swept over me. It had been an extremely awkward moment, having Lyra swooning semi-conscious in my arms, but now I wouldn’t have to be alone with her again.

  I found myself grinning like an idiot. ‘Junio! Thank all the gods you’ve come! I hope your foot’s completely better now?’

  He nodded. ‘Thank you, master.’ But he didn’t move.

  ‘Well, in that case,’ I said impatiently, ‘don’t stand there staring at me like that. You can see I’ve got a problem – come and lend a hand. I’ll explain later – it’s too complicated now.’

  He continued to look hesitant, but he put down his bundle by the door and took an unwilling step into the room.

  ‘Come on,’ I said, still struggling with her weight. ‘Just help me to lie this woman on the bed. I don’t know what’s the matter with her all at once – she was perfectly all right a little while ago. I’m afraid it might be something in the wine I gave her.’ In which case, I thought suddenly, it was meant for me.

  I was about to share this disturbing notion with my serving-boy, when I looked up and realised that he was not alone. As Junio stepped uneasily into the room, I saw who was behind him in the shadowed passageway.

  It was my wife Gwellia, and she was very far from pleased.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  ‘Libertus, what exactly is the meaning of this?’ She was furiously angry and upset – as I suppose any wife would be who found her husband in a situation of this kind. ‘I have travelled non-stop since I got your note, longing to be here at your side, and when I get here, what do I find? You with a painted woman in your arms – and I heard you say you have been plying her with wine.’

  I guiltily withdrew my arms from Lyra’s waist, where I had reached out instinctively to steady her, but she did not collapse senseless to the floor, as I had half expected that she would when I deprived her of support. Instead she took a step backwards and sank down gracefully onto the mattress. The sudden appearance of my wife seemed to have restored her more or less to health.

  She hardly mattered now. I turned towards the woman I loved. All my delight at seeing her had evaporated in embarrassment. ‘Gwellia,’ I said urgently, ‘this isn’t what it seems. The lady was brought in to me for questioning – and she was taken suddenly unwell.’

  ‘Lady?’ Gwellia is a devoted and loving wife, who is often unwilling to express herself – the long years of servitude after she was wrested from me have cowed her painfully – but she is a woman of some spirit when aroused. She was roused now, and there was such scorn and venom in her voice that if Lyra had not been already in a faint, I thought, she would be reeling now. ‘What lady?’ Gwellia demanded. ‘I see no lady here. A lady-wolf, perhaps. They told me at the guardhouse that you were otherwise engaged, but I insisted that they let me in. I see now what they meant. Your business was clearly of a very personal kind.’

  ‘I assure you, Gwellia, it was nothing of the sort,’ I answered patiently. ‘This woman, Lyra, was summoned to the mansio two days ago to answer some enquiries about her property. Marcus even sent a messenger to bring her in but she was not at home, so he left instructions that she was to report here as soon as possible. Which is exactly what she did. She was waiting for me here when I returned.’

  Gwellia snorted. ‘Having somehow talked her way past the guards and being permitted to wander unescorted to your room? I wonder how? I had the greatest difficulty getting in myself, and I had your letter with Marcus’s seal on it – obviously they could not argue with that for very long. However,’ she glanced at Lyra with ill-disguised contempt, much as I have seen her look at a scrawny chicken in the marketplace before refusing it, ‘doubtless your visitor has other methods of persuading them, which are not open to a mere wife.’

  ‘Be silent! I have told you why she’s here.’ I am by n
ature quite a patient man, especially where my beloved Gwellia is concerned, and I actively encourage her at home to speak her mind – but there are limits to what any self-respecting husband can tolerate in a public place. And we had an audience. The optio’s private slave had reappeared – sent in person from the kitchens, evidently, since he was bearing a stool for Lyra and a wooden tray on which was a copper beaker, a jug of what looked and smelled like mead and a large bowl of freshly steaming stew. It must have been quite heavy, but he stood there holding it. He had been listening, open-mouthed, to every word.

  He saw me looking at him and composed his face. ‘My master sent me back with this for you. I’m to ask if your visitor wants refreshment too.’

  I looked enquiringly at Gwellia, but she shook her head. ‘Junio and I brought our own supplies,’ she said, with cool disdain. ‘We have already eaten on the road. Anyway, how would the optio know that we are here? There was no one but the sentry at the gate. More likely he meant your other visitor.’ She went back to glowering at the prostitute, who was still sitting on my bed and appeared to have recovered totally. If anything it was my wife who now looked pale and ill.

  ‘Citizen, what shall I do with this?’ The pageboy was still carrying the tray, and I gestured to him to come and put it down.

  ‘My own slave will attend me now,’ I said, seating myself at the table while Junio took up his familiar position at my side.

  The page nodded. ‘And about the . . . uh . . . lady, citizen?’ he said.

  I saw a way to exculpate myself. ‘Are His Excellence and the optio coming here? I presume they will interrogate her later on?’ I glanced sideways at Gwellia as I spoke, hoping to prove the point to her, but she refused to meet my eyes.