It was a point I hadn’t thought of and I acknowledged that – though only by a nod. I was still too out of breath for unnecessary words. After a little, when I’d stopped gasping like a landed fish, I let go of my pillar and we started off again, though mercifully a fraction more slowly than before. Fortunately the docks are no great distance from the garrison and we were soon walking down the only broad main street that meets the riverside.
The wharf is always a busy area and today was no exception. There were people everywhere – sailors, merchants, moneylenders, overseers, slaves – while outside the busy warehouses and wine shops, the usual street vendors wove nimbly through the crowd, offering hot pies and oatcakes from their greasy trays. A bored soldier stood in the centre of the quay, obviously on watch and leaning on his spear – though he was too busy looking at a plump prostitute (draped against the doorway of a drinking house and dressed in the tell-toga) to notice we were there.
‘There’s the guard,’ said Villosus and went to walk that way, but I held back a moment, peering at the quay. Was there a likely ship there, or had we come too late?
Despite the crowd it was possible to see several vessels tied up at the dock. Two were being unloaded as I watched, and their crews – assisted by gangs of slaves from the nearby warehouse – were already scuttling to and from the quay, carrying sacks and boxes into store, loading dried fish onto waiting handcarts for the market stalls, or teetering down unsteady planks balancing precious amphorae in their arms while their masters shouted instructions from the decks.
Another ship stood idle, its single sail dangling loosely from the mast and its rows of wooden oars shipped inboard – awaiting cargo by the look of it, since it rode a little higher in the water than the rest. Only a single watchman seemed to be aboard. I shook my head. None of these seemed likely candidates as hiding places for Marcus’s effects, yet they were the only sea-going vessels in the dock. All the rest were smaller, purely local craft: eel-boats and the little one-man coracles that ply between Glevum and the islands in the river, bringing back mud crabs and mussels for the marketplace or for use as bait for local fishermen.
I shook my head. I was almost certain that, after all, I would find nothing here. We had arrived too late. In fact, when I considered it more carefully, perhaps I should have anticipated that. It was only that false message to the land-slaves yesterday which suggested that the ship was still in port. Or even, come to think of it, that there had ever been a ship at all. What had ever made me think that the goods were bound for Gaul? Only that forged letter to the household slaves!
‘Citizen!’ Villosus was tugging at my arm. ‘We must go and see the guard and tell him about the announcement for the sea-captains.’
I gave an inward groan. If trade were interrupted unnecessarily and these ships were all delayed to no useful purpose, it would be my doing, I thought despondently – though only the commander and myself would be aware of that. But there was nothing for it now. I nodded at Villosus. ‘Very well, lead on,’ and followed him across the quay to where the soldier was.
The man had sensed us coming and had dragged his eyes away from the dumpy prostitute. I was surprised that he was interested in her – she was no longer very young and her hair was so dyed with henna that it was getting thin. But he must have been, as she was obviously licensed and there was nothing illegal in her looking out for customers provided she did not actually approach them and operated only in the registered premises. Perhaps he was hoping to purchase her favours later on, when he was off duty and had an as or two to spend. He was a legionary soldier, by his uniform, and not looking pleased at our interruption of his reverie.
Villosus did not even wait for him to speak. He offered the watchword with self-conscious pride, and explained what the commander had ordered him to do. The soldier sighed. ‘So we can expect the docks to be full of idle men all night!’ he muttered. ‘Very well, then – sound the trumpet, tubicen.’
The sulky youth stepped forward and raised the tuba to his lips. It was not much shorter than the trumpeter himself, and he held the body of it upwards so it towered overhead. People were already turning round to stare, but as the clear notes sounded, everybody stopped and expectant silence fell.
The legionary gestured to a passing slave to bring across a wooden box that he was carrying. ‘Put it on the paving over there. I want to stand on it.’
The slave looked startled, but did as he was told and the legionary climbed onto his temporary dais. ‘Citizens, friends, strangers – gather round. There’s an important proclamation I’ve been asked to make.’
There was a general scurry as the crowd complied, and the murmur of conversation began to rise again. The trumpeter, who had come suddenly to life, glanced at the soldier for permission to proceed, and – having gained it – gave another piercing tuba blast. This time the silence was immediate.
The legionary, who was clearly enjoying his unexpected role, struck a pose – one hand on his chest and the other in the air, as one sees lawyers sometimes do – and declaimed the message in a ringing voice. ‘No departures from the port are authorised today. Captains of all vessels are to report to the forum shortly before dusk. There will be an announcement of great importance then.’ Realising that there were mutterings of discontent, he added, more feebly, ‘This is by order of the garrison. Disperse.’
Far from dispersing, though, the crowd was thickening. People were appearing from dwellings, warehouses and the maze of narrow lanes around the quay, and even the clients in the drinking shop put down their cups of watered wine and hurried out to see what the disturbance was. Among the throng I saw a man I recognised, an ancient steward named Vesperion, who worked at one of the larger warehouses nearby. In fact, I remembered hearing he was now effectively in charge, as the business had changed hands (as a result of an unfortunate incident I’d been able to resolve) and the new purchaser knew little about the import–export trade.
It occurred to me that Vesperion would know – if anybody did – what ships had come and gone from Glevum in the last day or two and what they were carrying. And I’d done the new owner of the premises a favour once (in fact, it was probably my doing that he owned the place at all) so I felt justified in going there first to ask for help.
I turned to Villosus. ‘Thank you for your escort, officer.’ He was not an officer, but flattery of that sort never comes amiss. ‘I see the very man I hoped to meet.’ And before he could protest, I had left his side and begun to work my way across the quay to where Vesperion stood talking to a resplendent citizen in an embroidered cloak, who – alone on the dockside – had his back to us, clearly intent on whatever was in hand.
I grinned. It looked as if the new arrangement was working perfectly. The citizen, who was obviously very affluent, was waving both hands emphatically while the wily steward stood simply shaking his grey head – driving a hard bargain, by the look of it. I even wondered if I ought to interrupt, but I continued to work my way across the crowd.
But then – perhaps I was moving against the general flow – Vesperion noticed me. He was an aged man, very stooped and thin, and rather slow and careful in his activities. But to my surprise, he reacted instantly. He murmured something to the citizen, then began to come to meet me, shuffling his way surprisingly nimbly through the throng, using his bony elbows to ward off pie-sellers and lifting his skinny sandalled feet to step carefully over the treacherous rope-coils that lay underfoot.
He was panting by the time he reached my side. ‘Citizen Libertus!’ The crowd was surging round us, jostling, and he had to raise his cracked voice and fairly shout at me – though even then it barely reached me over the general clamour of the crowds. ‘This is a surprise and privilege. Were you in search of me?’
‘I want some information, that’s all,’ I shouted back, though my voice too was almost lost amid the din. ‘But don’t let me interrupt. I see you already have a customer.’ I gestured vaguely towards the warehouse, though the press was so gre
at I could not turn to look.
Vesperion glanced over there, then shook his thinning locks at me. Whispering was quite impossible, but he mouthed the words at me. ‘I think he’s gone.’ He made a cancelling gesture with his hands. ‘No prospect, anyway.’ A group of drinkers from the tavern barged past as he spoke and pushed him roughly into me, so that his face was forced unnaturally close to mine. He seized the opportunity to murmur in my ear, ‘Let’s go into the warehouse, citizen, where we can talk – and breathe – more easily than here.’
I nodded and he began to lead the way, hobbling through the ever-increasing throng and elbowing a path. I was glad to leave the situation on the dock. The crowd was getting more vociferous all the time – murmurs and complaints about missing wind and tide, and indignation at being required to wait to find out why. There was beginning to be a nasty mood abroad and I feared for the three soldiers if no move was made to reassert authority quite soon.
Obviously, they’d seen the danger for themselves. As we reached the warehouse the trumpet sounded again, and continued sounding until uneasy silence fell. The legionary had climbed on his makeshift dais angrily, and was shouting at the crowd. ‘You have been given the order to disperse. Or do you wish us to arrest the lot of you?’
There was a lot of scuffling and – very slowly – people started drifting reluctantly away. Vesperion’s old hand tugged at my toga-folds. ‘Come in here, citizen. I have an office at the back where we won’t be disturbed. Let’s go in there and you can tell me what it is you want to know.’
He shuffled into the warehouse, and I followed him.
SIXTEEN
I had been in this building several times before, but even so I was unprepared for the cool, aromatic quietness of the interior. After the noise and clamour of the dock, it seemed extremely still and peaceful here, and the mingled odours of fur-skins and exotic spice, together with the dimness of the light, gave it almost the atmosphere of a shrine.
However, by the smoky light of the torches, which even at this time of day were burning in stanchions on the wall, I could see the evidence of distinctly mortal enterprise: the sacks, boxes, crates and racks of amphorae, which were the stuff of trade. Each commodity was neatly stacked in one of the partitioned areas into which the whole huge space was sectioned off, and divided from other types of goods by wooden barriers a foot or two in height which had the names of the articles stored in that zone roughly chalked on them. I noted potted dormice, a stack of rough-sawn timber, and huge jars of olive oil and wine, and that was just in the four compartments I could make out from the door. Business was doing very nicely, it appeared.
‘You know where I have my office area, citizen, I think?’ Vesperion was leading the way along the central aisle, walking as quickly as his old legs would allow. ‘I’ll sound the gong and have the house-slave bring …’ He broke off as a spotty slave, whom I had seen here before, came out of the living quarters at the back and hurried down to us.
‘Your pardon, steward, but you have a visitor.’ He must have recognised me, but he gave no sign of it – or even that he’d noticed I was there. ‘I showed him to your office. I hope that was correct.’
Vesperion nodded.
‘Obviously a wealthy citizen,’ the pimply one went on. ‘I offered him refreshment but he motioned me away.’
‘Well, you can bring some watered wine for this citizen instead,’ my companion said. I suppressed an inward groan. The steward was intending to be courteous, but this hospitality was going to cost me time.
However, it would be discourteous to refuse and if I wanted information from him, I could not offend. ‘I’ll be very happy to taste a sample of your wares, of course,’ I replied. ‘Thank you, steward. But I cannot tarry long. I have an important engagement later on.’
‘Well, boy – you heard the citizen.’ The old man clapped his thin, veined hands together sharply, as men sometimes do when shooing geese. ‘Don’t stand there lingering. Go and fetch refreshments as quickly as you can!’
The boy looked disconcerted but departed with a bow.
Vesperion looked at me. ‘He can’t get used to thinking of me as a man to be obeyed,’ he murmured, deprecatingly – though I detected a certain pride. ‘But my new owner has put me in charge of everything. He’s even given me the use of the accommodation block, and that slave to go with it. It makes a change from all those years of sleeping on the floor, keeping watch at night the way I used to do. There is a special guard who comes and does that now – and if things go well I get my freedom in a year or two.’
‘Then I mustn’t keep you from your visitor,’ I said. ‘It may be the customer that you were talking to before, and he looked like too wealthy a client to offend.’
The steward shook his grizzled head at me. ‘It won’t be him, I’m sure. He didn’t really seem to want to do business anyway. Pretended to be interested in some wine we have in store, but would not make up his mind – kept asking questions I don’t know the answer to, and when I refused to quote a lower price, snapping that, he wanted the proprietor, and couldn’t do business with an underling.’
‘I’m surprised that he troubled to come down here himself,’ I said. It was not unknown for wealthy men to choose their wine in person, but generally a really rich man likes samples brought to him. However, there seemed to be a fashion for rich customers condescending to visit humble premises today – no doubt the augurers (if they knew) would claim this was an omen of the general collapse of order in the Empire. Perhaps it was.
‘It would have been much easier to deal with a member of his staff,’ Vesperion was saying, in his faded voice. ‘He kept demanding the proprietor, though I told him that my master may not even be back here again today – he was called to an urgent meeting of the curia somewhere – and he doesn’t come down to the warehouse every day, in any case.’
I nodded. Of course, Alfredus Allius, the new owner of the export business was a curial councillor, and quite a senior one – no doubt he’d been summoned to the garrison. I hadn’t noticed him when I looked through the arch, but Alfredus was not a man to stand out in a crowd.
Vesperion misinterpreted the nod. ‘In the end I told the patrician that, since I obviously couldn’t help, he would simply have to call again another day to see my master – which displeased him very much. And then I saw you and excused myself. Frankly, I was glad to get away. I was clearly about to get a diatribe against impertinence – I don’t think he’s the kind of man who likes delays, or inconvenient truths. But I’m fairly sure he wouldn’t come in here to find me after that.’
‘This caller must be someone different,’ I agreed. No patrician that I ever met would deliberately seek to be humiliated twice.
‘One of our usual customers looking for some olive oil, I expect, if the news is round Glevum that there’s a shipment in. Well, we shall soon find out.’ He was about to lead the way towards the office area when he realised that I was hanging back. I hadn’t wanted to ask my questions with strangers listening in and run the risk of starting rumours in the town.
Vesperion seemed to guess my feelings. He glanced at me uncertainly, and paused. ‘You are looking doubtful, citizen. Perhaps the information that you want is something that you wouldn’t wish to share with anyone?’
‘I think I’d rather ask you privately,’ I owned. ‘Is there a quiet corner where we could talk out here?’ Not only was it likely to be more discreet, I thought, but perhaps I could be excused the time-consuming formalities and wine which politeness would otherwise require.
Vesperion looked flattered by the prospect of intrigue. ‘Follow me.’
He led the way into the right-hand corner of the store, where there was an empty storage compartment, screened from the rest of the warehouse by a pile of fleeces higher than my head. He patted an empty box invitingly. ‘Sit down here a moment, citizen, and tell me what it is you want to know. We won’t be overheard – even if that wretched slave comes out again.’ He gave me a sly grin and squat
ted on the stone floor at my feet. ‘If it’s about the market price of anything, I’m sure my master wouldn’t mind me telling you.’
He thought that I was hoping to make a profit on some deal! ‘Nothing of that kind.’ I returned his smile. ‘All I want are the names and destinations of any sea-going craft that left the harbour in the last few days. I assume that you would know. And – if possible – whether any of them had unusual private loads aboard – tables, statues, gold and silver ornaments, fine furniture, and personal effects?’
He gave me a sharp suspicious look. ‘What makes you ask? Are you in the market to buy or sell these things?’
I leaned back on my makeshift stool and found my back in contact with the soft wool of a fleece. ‘The truth is, steward, this is delicate. I’m trying to trace something which has disappeared since His Excellence, Marcus Septimus, has been away.’
This was a massive understatement, of course. I was trying to trace a whole houseful of goods, though I was not going to tell Vesperion that – the fewer people who knew what I was looking for, the more chance I had of finding it, and – with any luck – discovering the thieves. But as a slave himself, I knew the steward would sympathise and understand why even a single missing item would be troubling. A man who’s left in any way in charge – as I had been – is generally accused of theft or negligence if something disappears in his patron’s absence.
That was an uncomfortable thought, in fact, now it occurred to me. Not that Marcus was likely to blame me for the crime itself: fraud and theft on this scale was obviously planned by somebody outside – and by someone with sufficient wealth and influence to afford that number of horses, carts, and men to do his work. But would he think that I should somehow have prevented it? I shook my head. No one could possibly have guessed at such a scheme. My patron – surely – would realise that at once.
The Fateful Day Page 14
