‘If you are referring to the Emperor, I already know,’ I said, and saw Junio share his look of startlement. ‘The commander of the garrison told me when I went to call on him – but I have not had the opportunity to tell my son as yet.’
‘Then I had better do so,’ the councillor replied. ‘But close the shutters up. Vesperion will help. We don’t want the street to hear.’
I nodded. The tanner’s wife had found a reason for hovering nearby, coming out in person with a jug to buy milk from a stout girl selling it from a wooden pail. The arrival of the magistrate had clearly been observed, and there had already been some curious glances aimed at us.
Junio fetched the slats of wood and, with the assistance of the steward, slid them into place, while I moved the box of herbs to safety once again. It plunged the little area into gloom once more though fortunately the candle had not quite gone out.
Alfredus seemed to feel the need for dignity. He rose slowly to his feet, blinking his weak eyes against the shadowy dark. ‘If the commander has already told you what has happened, citizen, I feel there is no harm in my repeating it and telling you the latest information that I have,’ he said. ‘It may affect what you decide to do – it might be wise to leave the town as soon as possible. I fear the guards may lock the gates tonight before it’s dark – there is a general feeling that there may be riots.’
‘Why, what’s happened, Excellence?’ Junio asked, squatting uncomfortably on his makeshift seat again and remembering to add the honorific title just in time.
Alfredus told the story, or rather, declaimed it as though he were a public orator, with dramatic gestures to give graphic emphasis. It was much the same account that I’d already heard, but in greater detail – including the omens which had been observed in Rome the day before the murder of the Emperor.
‘It’s said that when Pertinax (may I not disturb his memory by my words!) was sacrificing to the household gods, the fire on the Larian altar flickered out and died,’ he made a fluttering gesture to imitate the flame, ‘instead of flaring up as usual when oil was poured on it.’ He paused dramatically. ‘And the sacrifice he offered was found to have no heart! Imagine that! And as if those signs were not enough, when he turned to speak to those attending him, there were no pupils visible in his eyes at all.’
Vesperion had been listening to this account aghast – evidently it was new to him as well. He stared at his master as though he were a messenger from Dis, then spat on his finger and rubbed behind his ear, in the age-old gesture for keeping off a curse. ‘Dreadful omens! May we be preserved.’ He glanced round ner-vously, obviously expecting to be rebuked. ‘If you’ll pardon the interruption, master. I forgot myself.’
Alfredus did not reprimand the man – as Marcus would have done – for joining in the conversation of his superiors unasked. Indeed, he nodded in agreement and fingered his good-luck amulets again. ‘Vesperion is right. It’s almost as if the deities were warning Pertinax, but he did not heed the signs. Though he was thrice reminded that the auguries were bad, he insisted on doing all his usual duties for the day. With terrible results. And so we lost an admirable Emperor.’ He sighed and sat down on the stool again – this was clearly the end of the formal oratory. ‘Who knows what kind of man this Didius will be. Another Nero, or a Commodus, perhaps – though all honour be to his Imperial name, of course.’
This last remark, I realised, was not some ritual incantation to ward off bad luck – though given the councillor’s superstitious instincts it might well have been – it was to protect himself against potential mortal listening ears. Everyone had learned to do that when Commodus ruled. It used to be rumoured that there were Imperial spies in every house, and the citizen who spoke ill of the Emperor, or was even reported to have done so, was liable to suffer a very painful death, often as an after-dinner spectacle for Commodus and his current favourites, it was said, as a reminder that it could be their turn next. Under Pertinax, this constant spying had been much less prevalent, but with this newest Caesar now in power in Rome who knew if such times were likely to return?
‘Don’t worry, councillor,’ I said. ‘No one can now hear us from the street, and there are no informers here.’ I decided that candid frankness was the best approach. ‘The commander does not think that Didius will last – that he will either try to bribe his way to power, and not be able to fulfil his promises, or simply be deposed by someone else more ruthless than himself. But either way there are unsettled times ahead.’ I looked directly at the councillor. ‘For all of us, I fear. My best hope is that Marcus will come directly home and not get as far as the capital at all. Though, the gods know that there is grief enough awaiting him back here.’
‘So the fire was a substantial one?’ Alfredus Allius asked. ‘I thought with a water source nearby, it might have been contained.’ He saw me hesitate. ‘I owe you and your patron a great deal, citizen. If there’s anything that I can do, I would be honoured to assist. It happens that I know a fine property for sale not far from his town house in Corinium, if the villa is too damaged to rebuild at once.’
I looked thoughtfully at him. I was still nonplussed by Alfredus Allius. He must have some motive for coming here today with these expensive herbs and cleansing rituals for a low-value slave. I did not quite believe that it was simply generous. Perhaps it was a kind of test of loyalty – wondering where my sympathies would lie if Marcus fell from grace. Is that why he had been so frank with me, even condescending to reveal the story of the Emperor before the formal announcement had been made? Well, I was tired of dissimulation on my own account today – several times I’d given only a version of the truth. This was surely a moment for outright honesty.
‘The villa building is undamaged, councillor. The problem is with what my master kept inside.’ I gave him a full account of what I’d found (and failed to find), including what I’d learned from Tenuis, some of which Junio had not heard before.
I had almost forgotten, in my grief for Maximus, how terrible and shocking these events would sound but the reaction of my listeners soon reminded me. Even Junio, who already knew the worst of it, looked pale, and the other two stared at me with shock and incredulity. When I’d finished there was a little pause.
Vesperion was rubbing spit behind his other ear. ‘More deaths!’ he muttered in that cracked voice of his. ‘The gods are angry. Such dreadful auguries!’
The curial magistrate caressed his amulet again. ‘Vesperion’s right, again. So many killings all at once cannot be a coincidence. It must be a message from the gods. What are they trying to warn us all against?’
I shook my head. ‘I agree it’s not coincidence. But I don’t blame the gods. I suspect a human hand. In fact, begging your forgiveness, councillor, I believe that it all hinges somehow on that man to whom you recommended me as a mosaicist. How well do you know him?’
Alfredus Allius made a doubtful face. ‘Not very well at all. I’ve met him once or twice. He used to have a villa near Corinium – in fact he also has a town-house there and served for some years on the local curia. He was a distant relative of Gaius Publius – or at least of his dead wife – and it was at her funeral that I first encountered him, though he’s had some dealings with the warehouse since. But I can’t believe that he’s connected with these deaths. He’s a pleasant fellow, and extremely rich. If he wanted precious ornaments, he wouldn’t stoop to stealing, he would buy them for himself.’
‘That’s true,’ I agreed glumly. ‘But the same could be said of anyone of high degree – as I presume he is.’
‘Oh, indeed. Risen from the most successful equites in Britannia – and he’s even wealthier now. He’s one of the few people to really benefit from the reading of the will today. I think he knew he would be, despite the various claims. That’s partly why he’s bought the house near Glevum – there will be estates to manage – though of course he’s kept a town house in Corinium as well. Rather like Marcus Septimus, in fact.’
So the challenge to
the will had been presented after all, I thought. I was about to say so, but Junio spoke first.
‘But I understood that he had come here from Londinium,’ he murmured with a frown.
‘Londinium?’ Alfredus Allius gave him a puzzled look. ‘Not that I know of, citizen. What gave you that idea?’
‘That’s what he told me – almost the only information that he was willing to divulge. Once he had discovered that my father was not here, he would not even consent to give his name,’ my son exclaimed.
Alfredus raised his mousy brows at me. ‘How extremely odd. I’ve always found Scipio Drusus rather talkative. When did you speak to him?’
Junio shrugged. ‘He called here this morning. He was waiting when we … when I first arrived.’ He had suddenly remembered Maximus, and it affected him. He gulped, but went on steadily enough. ‘That must have been a little before noon. My father got here shortly afterwards.’
But the councillor was hardly listening any more. ‘That’s not possible. I met Scipio Drusus by arrangement near the northern gate about the second hour. I actually saw his travelling coach draw up – it’s a distinctive one – and he’d clearly just arrived. He was to come to my town apartment to refresh himself (and incidentally to bargain for some wine) but as it happened I could not stay with him. I’d just been summoned to a meeting of the curia.’
‘That was the meeting at the garrison?’ I said. ‘So by your own admission you weren’t with him all the time. He could have called here, while you were being addressed by the commander, couldn’t he?’
‘In theory, citizen. But I had my slave attend him to my flat, and that’s where he was when I came back later on. According to my servants, he had been there throughout. They had given him refreshment and assisted him to wash his feet and change his clothes. He’d brought his mourning toga with him for the reading of the will – he didn’t want to wear it in a dusty coach.’ He shook his head. ‘When I came back I took him to the forum straight away. So all his movements are accounted for. He could hardly have been here at the time that you suggest.’
‘And you are quite sure that he’s the man who purchased the Egidius house?’ I said.
Alfredus nodded. ‘Absolutely sure. He didn’t want the villa that Gaius Publius owned – it’s on the unfashionable northern side of town and doesn’t have a bath house, or a hypocaust. And there’s a problem anyway. Gaius Publius let it just a little while ago when he became too frail to leave his house in town, and the tenant claims there was a contract saying he could buy. Scipio will look into that of course. He may have to fight for possession in the courts. But even if he wins it, he intends to sell.’
‘The Egidius house is more convenient,’ I agreed. ‘It used to be quite splendid, I believe.’
Alfredus Allius gave one of his rare smiles. ‘And will be again, so Scipio declares. He’s moving his whole household into it today, including many of his effects, I understand – though some items from the house have been in storage for years and they were included in the purchase price.’
I made a little face. I wasn’t sure how much I trusted this account. ‘Then he’s rather careless with his money, isn’t he?’ I observed. ‘Buying goods and property that he has never seen.’
‘He may be wealthy, citizen, but he is not a fool. Of course he came to see the place before he parted with a single quadrans. Though I would not like to live there, I agree.’ Alfredus fingered his amulets again. ‘I warned him of its bad reputation, but he did not seem to care. Laughed and said it was a bargain at the price – he would buy some cleansing herbs from me to set the ghosts to rest, and even pay a priest to come and purify the place. In fact, I have promised that I’ll send my priest and wise-woman to him later on today when they have finished here.’
I made a little bow ‘You are generous, again.’
‘Ah, with him it is a business arrangement, citizen,’ he said, meaning that Scipio had promised a fee for finding a suitable priest to undertake the task. No doubt there’d been another one for recommending me.
But it raised another question. If it wasn’t Scipio Drusus who called here earlier – and according to Alfredus it could not have been – who was it? Someone else anxious to earn a fee for recommending me, perhaps? That would make a kind of sense, and might be a reason for the man not offering his name, since he was only hoping to act as agent for this Scipio. Had our visitor this morning actually claimed that he had bought the Egidius house himself, or only that it had found a purchaser, and that new pavements were required? Probably the latter, from what Junio had said.
So who else could have known that the villa had finally been sold? Any patrician who knew Scipio, it seemed – since he’d been to look at it and had made no secret of his interest in the place. Anyone but Commemoratus, who had not been here at all, and had witnesses to prove it, including Junio.
I frowned. These thoughts were leading nowhere. Even if I found this morning’s visitor, that might have no connection with the murder of my slave. My only link was Cacus, the slave of a man that I’d been talking to when Maximus was killed. Was it possible that Commemoratus had a twin, perhaps, and therefore seemed to be in two places at once?
But of course that was no answer. Quite the opposite. The person I was looking for – according to two different witnesses – did not resemble Commemoratus much, apart from the colour of his toga-stripe. Perhaps Cacus had simply followed him around to try to register the objection to the will? He’d said that he was looking for a magistrate. But what was the purple-striper doing in this neighbourhood? Supposing that it was really Cacus that the tanner’s slave had seen!
I shook my head impatiently. None of this was making any sense.
Alfredus saw my impatience, and misinterpreted it. ‘Of course you will be anxious to begin the rites if you wish to leave the workshop before the gates are shut. I wonder what’s delayed the wise-woman and priest? They should be here by now. I sent my personal page to fetch them urgently.’
I almost smiled at his patrician certainty. It did not appear to have occurred to him, even for an instant, that they’d refuse to come, or that they might have other duties to perform before they did. He simply assumed that they’d obey his summons instantly. Such, I suppose, is the privilege of rank.
‘Perhaps, councillor, they would not hurry – for a slave?’ I ventured.
Alfredus looked at me disdainfully. ‘They would hurry at my orders, or so I should expect!’ He gestured to his steward. ‘Vesperion, go out onto the street and see if you can see them anywhere.’
The old steward hurried out to do as he was told, but he’d not been gone an instant before he shuffled back, closed the door carefully and made an awkward bow. ‘There’s no sign of those two, but someone else has just arrived. He was going to come straight in, but I made him wait outside. A slave-boy, by the look of it. Not your attendant, Master Alfredus.’ He turned to me. ‘Little red-headed lad. I think it’s one of yours.’
TWENTY-THREE
‘Minimus!’ I murmured. It could be no one else. I began to scramble painfully from my precarious seat, but Junio had shot me an agonised glance and was already on his feet. By the time that I’d regained my own, he was re-opening the door.
‘Minimus! It’s you!’ I heard him cry. ‘I thought you were assisting in the house today. What brings you here instead?’
‘The mistress sent me. There’s been important news!’ My little servant sounded out of breath. ‘I’m glad to find you here – I’ve run most of the way, but when I got here I saw the shutters up and thought you must be gone. And then that old slave I didn’t know came out, and wouldn’t let me in. What’s happened? Are the master and Maximus inside?’
Poor creature. He had no idea what dreadful news awaited him.
Junio was obviously thinking the same thing. I heard him say softly, ‘Your master is. He’ll tell you everything. You’d better come inside.’ He opened the door wider and gently propelled Minimus towards me as he spoke.
> My young slave blinked a moment against the sudden gloom, then peered around. ‘Your pardon, citizen,’ he murmured, seeing Alfredus, and bending one knee in an awkward bow, continued, ‘I did not realise that my master was receiving visitors. And in mourning robes, I see.’ He turned to me. ‘Has someone of importance died today? There’s obviously something happening in town. Lots of people wearing dark togas like this citizen, and groups of armed soldiers on guard in every street. I had quite a problem getting through the gates. Had to tell them who my owner was, where I was going and what my errand was, and even then he was not keen to let me pass.’ He turned to me. ‘It was only the mention of His Excellence that changed his mind, I think.’
‘Your message concerns Marcus? There hasn’t been more trouble at the villa since I left?’ The words were almost startled out of me.
Minimus shook his tousled auburn curls, a familiar gesture that made me swallow hard. Maximus had done the selfsame thing a thousand times. ‘Well, it’s good and bad news, master. Mostly good – I think. A letter came by courier from Corinium. We think it said the lady Julia has safely had her child, and both of them are well.’
‘You came all this way to tell me that?’
A breathless nod. ‘I’ve brought you the tablet it was written on so you can check if we are right. The courier took it to the villa first, of course, but there was no one there except Georgicus and he cannot read, so they brought it to the roundhouse and my mistress and the courier did the best they could. The rider claims that the baby is a girl, but I’m not sure if the message mentions that.’ He handed me the tablet from inside his tunic-top. ‘My mistress isn’t quite sure that she deciphered it aright, but she thinks the last line is something you should see.’
I undid the ties that secured the writing block and read the message scratched into the wax. It was written in Julia’s eccentric female hand – no wonder my poor wife had found it hard to read. Much of the spelling was erratic and individual as well, but it did confirm that the newborn was a healthy female child, born on the Kalends of Aprilis, several days ago, and that the mother had survived the birth. But Gwellia was right. The last line was the most important one. There was a spotted fever in Corinium, and Julia was fearful for the baby’s health, so as soon as she and the child were strong enough, she planned to journey back. The message was to alert the household to the plan and ask them to be ready for her imminent return.
The Fateful Day Page 20
