But they had to catch me first. Under Roman law there can be no trial without the accused’s being present. If only I could smuggle myself out of the house and get away! I thought of appealing to Lithputh for help, but that was no use. I had seriously unsettled him and I suspected he would cheerfully betray me to the crowd.
‘Do something, master,’ Junio urged.
But what?
In the end I got away in the handcart. It was not the most comfortable journey of my life, huddled on a pile of broken tiles and cowering under a piece of filthy sacking, and it was all Junio could do to push my weight, but it was the only solution I could think of.
It was a near thing, even then. Junio had the cart at the front door, where he had been loading it in full view of passers-by, and we had to choose a moment when the front street was clear for me to slip out and clamber on. As I did so, someone came out of the potter’s shop next door and Junio threw the cloth over me just in time. I must have made a grotesque-looking heap, but fortunately no one paid any attention to the slave – whom they had previously seen innocently loading tiles – pushing his laden cart away.
He pushed me halfway across the town. I swear I felt every carriage rut and cobble, and by the time he paused in a little lane behind the market to let me climb painfully down, I was so shaken and bruised that I was beginning to wish I’d taken my chance and tried to talk my way out of the mob.
I said so to Junio, as I stood in a disused doorway picking pieces of tile out of myself and trying to shake the stone dust from my hair. ‘I suppose I brought this on myself by talking to that crowd at the temple gates. Some of them followed me to Optimus’s house. I might have known they wouldn’t go away. They’d heard rumours from somewhere of strange things at the temple, it had all got hugely exaggerated, and I suppose they think I know more than I admitted to. Perhaps if I’d just tried to talk to them . . .’
Junio shook his head. ‘I don’t think so, master. From what the doorkeeper said to me I don’t think this was an opportunity to chat! The mood was pretty ugly in the street. And if these were the men who followed you at first, they must have gone away and come back with their friends! This lot did not start to collect until about an hour ago – then apparently they all turned up at once. And not because you hadn’t told them things! They wanted you, they said, because you were causing these events – by going in there and angering the gods! The gods demanded blood, they claimed.’
It was stupid of me, I suppose, but I had not seen the danger. It had occurred to me that Scribonius, for example, might suddenly decide that all the misfortunes at the temple had been brought about by my presence, but I simply had not considered the possibility that the people of the town would think the same. And if they were eager to appease the gods they wouldn’t be content with merely beating me and offering expiatory sacrifice. They seriously intended to kill me.
It was a sobering thought.
Of course, killing a citizen was a serious offence, unless they could show ‘just cause’ before the law. But perhaps they thought they could. Everything I’d said to them outside the temple could be turned against me and used in their defence. My assurance that there was an explanation for events could be construed as blasphemy against the Imperial gods. And if Scribonius and his fellow priests joined in – explaining how I’d desecrated the shrine and generally occasioned all these auguries – then murdering me to protect the city could almost be seen as a civic duty!
I felt my old heart lurch a beat or two.
Things were not looking good. It was only a matter of time before the rabble worked out who I was, and came to try to find me where I lived. In fact, I would not have put it past Lithputh to have put them on my tail already, once he discovered I’d escaped. I cursed myself for an idiot. Why had I antagonised him like that?
I looked up and down the lane, but there was no sign of pursuit: no distant cries except the normal ones of commerce, and nobody in sight except a lethargic peasant with a donkey, passing the corner with his panniers full of turnips, together with a bored lad – probably his son – leading a thin and most reluctant pig. It was the picture of tranquillity. But I knew better than to trust appearances. I’d won myself a little time, that’s all.
I did the only thing that I could do. ‘Go quickly,’ I said to Junio. ‘Find Marcus and tell him what has happened. Insist on seeing him yourself – don’t be content with messages. Say those were my explicit instructions. Go now. Run.’
Junio hesitated. ‘But master, what happens if they find you here? Who will protect you if I leave you?’
It was rather endearing, this willingness to face the mob for me, though what defence he would have been – one small lad against a crowd with staves and stones – it’s hard to see. I swallowed down a lump of gratitude.
‘I don’t intend to face them,’ I declared. ‘I’ll take a litter and go home, to warn Gwellia of what has happened here.’ I was working out my strategy as I spoke. ‘I’ll change into my toga – they won’t be looking for a citizen, not yet – and make my way back to the high priest’s house. He’ll have a proper view of this, and won’t be led by superstitious fears.’
Junio was nodding. I devoutly hoped that what I was saying was true.
‘If necessary I can shelter there – and at the very least, it will calm the crowd. If they want some sort of expiation from me, who better than the pontifex to handle it? Tell Marcus he can reach me there. Quickly, before they come and catch us here.’
This time he did go, only pausing to say plaintively, ‘But master, how will you manage your toga without me?’
It was a reasonable question, in fact. I am notoriously inexpert at draping that cumbersome garment – but I’d have to manage somehow when the moment came. For now I had more pressing problems.
The first was the cart, which I disposed of by the expedient of calling after the sullen boy with the pig, and bribing him to walk it home to my lodgings. It was not an ideal solution, the boy looked as if he would sell the cart, the pig and his father to the highest bidder, and I knew that if the mob caught up with him he would betray me without a qualm. But I had no time to worry about that.
Instead I turned my attention to trying to find a litter for hire, but – as usual when you really want one – there was none to be had. If I went back towards the forum there were no doubt litters waiting two or three abreast, but that would have taken me back in the direction of my pursuers.
I wasted several minutes searching. I had been hoping for a covered litter, which would hide me from the street, with a couple of fleet-footed boys to carry it, but not a single litter of any description came my way. I was becoming increasingly alarmed, imagining that I could hear the cries and noises of pursuit, and in the end I abandoned the attempt and simply scurried home on foot, keeping to the back streets and alleyways and hurrying as quickly as I could.
I knew that I was making myself conspicuous. The sight of an elderly man half running through the lanes was enough to make the beggars stare, but I hurried on, not stopping even when my sandal lace came undone. By the time I reached my workshop I was panting with exertion.
‘Why, citizen master, whatever is the matter?’ Gwellia put down her broom of bundled twigs as I came in, and hurried over carrying a stool.
She set it down invitingly, but I shook my head. I took her hands and – between gasps – told her the story.
‘Sit down,’ she said. ‘I’ll fetch your toga for you. You wait here.’
I was in no state to argue, and I did so, glad of a moment to recover.
She disappeared upstairs and was back in an instant. ‘Stand up!’ she instructed, and I obeyed. ‘Lift your arms, so!’ She wound the toga round me, almost as deftly as Junio.
‘You’ve done this before!’ I said, and she smiled grimly.
‘Many times. It was a part of—’ She broke off. ‘Listen! What was that?’
I had already heard it and my heart sank. A sound from the corner of the street. Th
e savage, heart-stopping sound of an approaching crowd, baying like a pack of hunting dogs. I looked around wildly, with some confused idea of concealing myself underneath the table, or trying to climb out of the window-space and hide.
My wife surprised me.
‘Sit down,’ she said. ‘Quickly, on the stool. Here. Tip your head right forward – let me get to it. Don’t argue, husband . . . master . . . there’s no time!’ She picked up a handful of ash from the fire and part of the dust she’d been sweeping together, white with marble dust and stone, and to my astonishment tipped it on my head and rubbed it roughly on my face and beard.
‘From a distance that will have to do. Your skin looks chalky and your hair is white—’ She broke off. There was a disturbance right outside the door, and cries of ‘This must be the place! Look at the stone piles outside!’
‘Quickly!’ Gwellia hissed at me. ‘There’s no time to get away. Pull your toga up to form a hood.’ She quickly did it for me as she spoke.
‘I’ll look as if I’m about to offer sacrifice,’ I protested.
‘Will you stop arguing! The really old men sometimes wear their hoods when they’re in mourning, especially the pious ones. That’s why I put those ashes on your head. Now, that will have to do. They’re coming through the outer shop this minute! Pretend you’re choosing a memorial pavement – here, look at this pattern book. Leave this to me.’ She thrust the pile of vellum sketches into my hand and swung around to face the entranceway. ‘What is the meaning of this intrusion, gentlemen?’
I glanced up under my hood. There were two of them, pushing forward into the doorway, ruffianly-looking fellows in coarse tunics, with ragged cloth tied around their feet for boots. The rest of the mob were clearly outside in the street, balked by the partition which screened the outer shop: I could hear the shufflings and murmurings.
‘Well?’ Gwellia said again. ‘What do you want? You haven’t come here to buy pavements, I suppose! And now you have alarmed this customer! And him a respected Roman citizen!’
Too late, I realised what she was up to. I’d thought of using my toga as a temporary disguise, myself, but to try to pass me off as someone else, here in my own house! It was a loving, clever, desperate thing to do. Brave, too. The crowd would not take kindly to attempted tricks. They might easily turn their anger onto Gwellia too.
But there was nothing for it now. I squinted at them through dust-reddened eyes and tried to look as Roman and inoffensive as possible. I didn’t need the ash to make me pale.
The larger of the two intruders, a big broad-chested fellow with a head like a battering ram and thick dark stubble on every inch of skin, flicked a brief glance at me and looked away. He had a stout stave in his hand, and looked as if he knew how to use it, but Gwellia’s challenge had taken him by surprise.
‘We’re looking for the pavement-maker,’ he snarled, looking her up and down in an unpleasant fashion. ‘Where is he? Don’t try to lie. We know his workshop’s here.’ All the same, he’d lost something of his aggressive swagger.
Gwellia gave a little snort. If I had not known better, I would have believed it when she said, ‘You want to see the pavement-maker? So do we! This poor citizen has been sitting here, I don’t know how long, waiting for my master to return. But does he? Not a bit of it! And guess who’ll be in trouble if we lose the commission?’ She laughed bitterly.
‘Never mind all that,’ the fellow said. ‘What’s happened to your master? And who is that?’ He gestured at me with the stave.
Gwellia glanced at me. ‘Don’t worry about him, he’s deaf. Can’t hear a word unless you shout, poor man.’ She dropped her voice. ‘Poor old fellow can’t make up his mind. I think he’s . . . you know . . . but who cares? He pays. I only wish my master would come home. He went out this morning to repair a pavement for a rich man somewhere in the town. Don’t ask me where, I’m only a domestic slave, I’ve never seen the place. Why? What’s he done?’
The other man, a fat, freckled ruffian with a shock of bright red hair, waved the baton he was carrying, excitedly. ‘Only affronted the Imperial gods, that’s all! And mighty Jupiter as well! There’ve been the most dreadful happenings. Visions of murdered corpses at the temple, bloodstains – all sorts of things. Sudden icy winds and moaning sounds. Last night there was a shower of shooting stars – dozens of people saw it! – some of the soothsayers had warning dreams, and water in the sacred pools turned red!’ He laughed lugubriously. ‘I tell you, I’ve bought myself an amulet to ward off evil spells. And if you work here, you’d better do the same. It’s him that’s bringing all this bad luck down on us.’
Grizzle-head nodded. ‘Brought this curse back with him from Londinium – Mars alone knows what he got up to there. Apparently it all started the moment he got back. He’s bringing divine vengeance down on Glevum. Just when the imperial legate’s due to come. If we’re not careful he’ll destroy us all.’
Gwellia had been listening to all this with an expression of dismay.
‘I can see why you want to talk to him,’ she said. ‘But just be careful how you deal with him. You could find yourself in trouble. Believe me, I know! His patron is Marcus Septimus, the governor’s personal representative in Glevum – your amulet won’t save you from him. Besides, my master is a ci—’ She hesitated. I am convinced to this day that she was going to say ‘a citizen’, and then thought better of it . . . ‘a serious favourite of the governor himself!’
The redhead looked uncomfortable. ‘No one told us that.’
‘What difference does it make?’ his companion said disdainfully. ‘Doesn’t matter who his patrons are. It won’t save him if the gods are after him.’
Gwellia nodded. ‘Strange that the deities should bother with such an unimportant man,’ she observed. ‘More likely to be about that legate, you would think.’ She spoke tranquilly, but I was almost hopping on my seat. The murmurs of the crowd outside were getting louder now, and it was clear that they were becoming impatient.
‘That’s what a lot of us were saying,’ the red-haired man agreed. ‘But the man who told us this was adamant. He had it from the augurers themselves. Do you know why the legate was coming, anyway? Because of something that the pavement-maker did! So, however you look at it, it’s all your master’s fault.’
‘He’s in serious trouble in any case,’ Grizzle-head put in. ‘Optimus Honorius is after him as well, for enticing away a little kitchen slave. And it’s no good calling on his wealthy friends. I’m not afraid of them, compared with the immortal gods. He’s bringing danger on us all, that’s what. Wait till we catch up with him!’ His voice had risen to a shout, and he was waving his stave threateningly.
I had already started up. ‘What . . .?’ The response was startled out of me, and I was on my feet. I almost blurted ‘kitchen slave’ but stopped myself in time. I thought I had betrayed myself, but Gwellia stepped in.
‘Now see what you have done, storming about like that! Frightened my poor customer away. Well, it hardly matters now. I don’t suppose my master’s likely to come home – not with all that crowd outside his door. In any case, if there are several lots of you, he’s probably been picked up somewhere else by now.’
The two men exchanged glances. ‘How do we know your master isn’t hiding upstairs all the time?’ the big man with the stave said, rather belatedly suspicious.
‘Go upstairs and look, by all means. Do you two want to come in here and wait? This citizen is leaving anyway. Perhaps you could send one of your friends outside to go and find him a litter? I should send the rest of them away, if I were you. Tell them to go and look for my master somewhere else. I told you, he won’t come here if he sees a mob out in the street.’
There was a whispered consultation, then, ‘All right. We’ll wait. No funny business, mind!’ And the red-haired one went out to pass on the news. The crowd were definitely restive by this time. We heard him hollering to make himself heard. There was a great deal of shuffling and shouting and imprecation
, but a few minutes later the fellow reappeared.
‘We’ve found out where the pavement-maker is. Or rather where he was. A boy has just turned up here with a cart – says he met the fellow in the town, and was promised money if he wheeled it here. He described the place, an alleyway behind the market stalls. I’ve sent the others down there to search. Our pavement-maker can’t have gone far; the lad was swift. I gave him a few quadrans for his pains.’ He smirked.
It was a travesty. I had already paid, and – far from being quick – there was time to have wheeled the cart round the city twice! But the boy’s indolence had turned out usefully for me.
The bigger man nodded. ‘Then I might as well go down to the market, too. You stay here for a bit, in case, but it doesn’t sound as if our man is coming here.’ To my amazement, he turned and left the room. Gwellia’s trick seemed to have succeeded. Only the red-headed man was left, and he was nothing like as threatening.
It was tempting to make a run for it, but he now stationed himself at the partition door from where he was attempting to watch both us and the street. Gwellia caught my eye and I subsided back onto the stool. Better to wait quietly and hope for my transport to arrive.
I waited, not daring to breathe, for what seemed eternity. At any moment, I was sure, my guard would come and take a closer look at me. He did glance towards me once or twice, as if suspicious, but nothing happened and in the end he went out to the street. For a long moment nothing went on happening.
The Legatus Mystery Page 15
