by R. S. Downie
The awkward silence that followed was broken by the slaves carrying out the last of the empty tables and Gallonius announcing, ‘And now …’ in a tone that sounded alarmingly as if they were about to reappear with more food on them. To Ruso’s relief he was only announcing that the ladies could withdraw next door while the men talked about things that would not interest them.
Tilla said, ‘What things?’
‘Off you go, wife,’ Ruso urged her. ‘Perhaps you could ask cook for the piglet recipe.’
Gallonius’ wife dabbled her thin fingers in the water bowl, rose from her chair and began to drift towards the door. Tilla followed, but not before giving her husband a look that said he would be hearing about this later.
As soon as the door had closed behind them Gallonius sat up straight and said, ‘I hear you’ve brought in an assistant.’
‘He’s taking a look at the finance records,’ said Ruso, adding, ‘I’ve spoken to Nico,’ as if the two facts were related and Nico had given his blessing to the audit.
‘Is that really necessary?’
‘Yes. You need to be careful what you say about Caratius. Some new information has come up.’
Gallonius’ eyes widened. ‘What sort of information?’
Ruso decided not to name his suspects in case Gallonius tried to interfere. ‘I can’t explain until I’m certain,’ he said, ‘but Asper’s death may have been nothing to do with Caratius. I think there was something illegal going on and Asper got mixed up in it. As Nico’s off sick I’ll need your permission to go into the strongroom.’
Was that a brief hesitation before Gallonius stifled a belch and reached for his wine? ‘We’ve nothing to hide,’ he said. ‘I’ll take you in there myself tomorrow morning. But don’t be fooled by the amount you find down there. Everything we have is set aside for some purpose or other. Did Nico tell you we have a generous fund to provide bread and schooling for orphans?’
‘I did hear you have a fund for the theatre.’
‘A lot of the money for the theatre is still just promises, I’m sorry to say.’ The Magistrate called for one of his servants to come and adjust his cushions before leaning back and removing his belt. ‘If you’re right, and Caratius doesn’t have the money, where is it?’
‘I’m working on that.’
‘We shall struggle if the Procurator expects us to make up the missing payment. There will be a lot of dissatisfaction.’
‘Yes.’ said Ruso, ‘That’s more or less what Caratius said right back at the start of this.’
Gallonius looked up. ‘I hope you don’t think, investigator, that this is some sort of elaborate ruse to defraud the Procurator.’
‘Oh, no,’ said Ruso. ‘Because if it were, and you were caught, it would be catastrophic for everyone involved, wouldn’t it?’
60
After the warmth of the heated dining room, Tilla was shivering inside her shawl as they walked down the moonlit street past the deserted meat market. Ruso put his arm around her shoulders. There was almost nobody around to see them apart from a slinking cat and the two guards behind them, who could think what they liked.
Albanus answered their knock at Camma’s house, explaining that the ladies had gone to bed. He had two lamps and a short stump of candle burning on the kitchen table, perilously close to the piles of records he seemed to have spent all evening examining.
‘Anything interesting?’ said Ruso, more out of politeness than hope.
‘Just a moment, sir.’ Albanus flicked the beads of the abacus with his left hand and scratched a figure on the wax tablet with his right. Then he frowned at the figure and flicked the beads again, but made no alterations to what he had just written. ‘I do have some questions, sir. Probably very foolish ones but I’m only a schoolteacher, I’m afraid. They seem to have an awful lot of different funds and it’s rather hard to tell what’s where, especially when they seem to keep moving money from one to another.’
Ruso squinted at the tablet. ‘I don’t know how you can work in this light. Have you found the orphans’ bread and education fund?’
‘Oh yes, sir. And the maintenance of streets fund and the extension to the mansio fund and the fund to pay the municipal slaves and the cost of keeping the guards going. I have to say I didn’t realize how complicated this would be.’
Ruso pointed to the largest figure. ‘What’s that one?’
Albanus peered at his list, referred to a second list and said, ‘That’s the running total for the theatre fund, sir, as of last January. I’m sorry I haven’t finished, but Dias came to call and there was a bit of a fuss over getting rid of him.’
Tilla said, ‘Dias? Here?’
Ruso frowned. ‘I should have known he wasn’t taking the evening off.’
‘He wanted to talk to Grata, sir. She told me to tell him to go away.’
Tilla said, ‘I knew I should never have left them!’
Albanus visibly bristled. ‘I got rid of him, sir. The ladies were quite safe.’
Ruso said, ‘Well done,’ just as Tilla said, ‘How did you do that?’
‘Grata ran back into the kitchen, sir, and I stood in his path and told him that if he tried to come past I would be forced to use violence. And then he tried to insult me, and I told him I was a trained legionary acting under the orders of the Procurator, and if he didn’t leave straight away I would report him to you.’
‘Excellent,’ said Ruso, picturing the scene. ‘I knew I could rely on you.’
‘I think it may have helped when Camma pulled the poker out of the fire and waved it at him,’ admitted Albanus. He spread one arm to indicate the piles of documents on the table. ‘So I’m afraid with all that I haven’t got as far as I would have liked. I was wondering whether you’d mind if I stayed here to finish, sir. Grata’s kindly left me some blankets on the couch.’
Ruso recalled the splendour of Suite Three, where the sheets still retained a faint memory of lavender. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘if you’re sure you don’t mind staying, Tilla can come back with me.’
Albanus squared his shoulders. ‘Absolutely not, sir. I think one of us should stay here to look after the ladies.’
Ruso nodded. ‘Make sure everything’s properly locked up,’ he said. ‘I don’t think he’ll be back, but if he is, don’t tackle him on your own. Shout Fire and rouse the neighbours.’
‘Fire, sir?’
‘Yes. They may not get out of bed for anything else.’
The route Ruso chose towards the mansio took them past Nico’s lodgings. There were no lights visible. He stepped up to the entrance to check that it was secure. There was a thud and a rattle of ironwork. The dog that had hurled itself at the door began to bark.
As they fled down the street with the guards clattering along behind them Tilla gasped, ‘Nobody in that house will thank you for making sure he is safe.’
Once his escort had checked the mansio rooms and declared them free of lurking assassins, Ruso dismissed them for the night. ‘You’ll be safe in here,’ he said to Tilla, locking the outside door and picking up the lantern that had thoughtfully been left burning in the hallway. Once inside Suite Three, she stood in silence as he lit more lamps and the simple elegance of his accommodation sprang into view. ‘You have to admit,’ he said, ‘we’ve come a long way since the damp rooms in Deva.’
‘All this is for one man?’
In the confined space he was conscious again of the clear scent of the bluebells. ‘There’s a dining room and private kitchen as well,’ he told her. ‘But I told them I hadn’t brought my cook.’
‘I will go into your kitchen in the morning and start stuffing piglets.’
‘Tomorrow,’ murmured Ruso, sliding one arm around her waist and plucking the bluebells from her hair, ‘you can do whatever you like. Tonight, I want you here.’
61
The bath-house was full of stuffed animals and slaves to digestion, and the masseur was tightening an iron band around Ruso’s forehead. He lifted one
arm to push the man away, but the stone weighing down his stomach was too heavy. It hurt to move his head. He was too tired to complain.
Beside him, something stirred and muttered. A voice somewhere at the back of his mind said that this was not right. There was no masseur, just the aching head. This was not the bath-house. He was lying in his bed at the mansio. He had eaten and drunk too much, too late at night, and the body beside him was his wife.
His skin prickled with sweat. The sheets were sticking to him. He was short of breath. He kicked off the covers, flinging them over on to Tilla, who hated to be woken by a cold draught. He lay on his back in the darkness with one arm and one leg trailed over the edge of the bed, trying to cool off.
There was no light around the shutters. It must still be the middle of the night. Wincing as the pain throbbed behind his temples, he rolled over to grope for the cup of water he had left beside the bed. As he drank he noticed a faint red glow in the corner. It must be the reflection of …
It couldn’t be. There were no reflections in the dark.
He rubbed his eyes and opened them again. The red glow was still there. He could pick out a black curve beneath it. The lip of the brazier. That was why he was so hot. He closed his eyes, wishing someone would come and move it. Or open the window.
He swung his feet down on to the floor and stumbled across to where the window should be, but he must be still dreaming. Instead of a window he found himself fighting with a tangle of blanket that seemed to have draped itself between him and the latch. Finally lifting it out of the way, he managed to unfasten the shutters. Cool air wafted across his face and down over his bare feet. He took a couple of deep breaths. He could see the shape of the flowerbeds, and the outline of the roof opposite. There was a lantern burning over by the door to the reception area. He was not dreaming.
A brazier? In the bedroom?
‘Tilla!’ He ran to the bed, colliding with some piece of furniture and kicking it out of the way. ‘Wake up!’ He flung back the covers and hauled her out of bed. His head was thumping. She was muttering in protest. Struggling. That was good. That was definitely good.
‘Wake up,’ he urged, dragging her across to the window.
She was mumbling something in British.
‘Breathe,’ he urged, holding her up to the fresh air. ‘Deep breaths.’
‘Leave me alone!’
‘Breathe.’ He was shaking her now. ‘Breathe in!’
‘I am breathing! Get off!’
He loosened his grip. ‘Did you order some heating?’
‘What?’
‘Stay by the window.’ He filled his lungs with fresh air before searching for a taper, and again before leaving the window to light the lamp. When he had satisfied himself that they were alone in the rooms, he said, ‘Did you ask the staff to put coals in the brazier?’
She shuddered. ‘Someone has been in here while we were sleeping?’
Would fumes work faster in a smaller body? ‘Keep taking deep breaths.’ He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her back towards the open window. ‘Do you feel sick?’
‘A little. But I felt sick anyway after all that food.’
She was answering questions sensibly. That was good, too.
He opened the doors wide, then wrapped his hands in the blanket and carried the brazier out to discharge its poison harmlessly in the night air.
Yellow light spilled on to the walkway from the reception door. The shape of the night porter appeared. ‘Everything all right, sir?’
‘No,’ said Ruso. ‘No, it’s not. Somebody’s just sneaked in and tried to kill us.’
62
Summoned early, Dias arrived with six other guards just after dawn. By then a frantic Publius had already threatened the night staff with flogging, arranged to have the locks changed, settled Tilla in with his own family and four yawning slaves to watch over them and apologized profusely while assuring Ruso that nothing like this had ever happened before here in the whole of the time he had been in charge. Ruso had to restrain him from sending for both Chief Magistrates and the doctor.
Dias did all the right things. He declared that no one was to leave. He searched the rooms. He announced that his men would be questioning everyone.
The night staff, still lined up in the chilly reception area, looked terrified.
‘Everyone,’ repeated Dias, looking at Publius, who said, ‘But my wife isn’t –’
‘Everyone.’
Publius’ ‘Of course,’ sounded faintly strangled.
Dias commandeered one of the guest rooms for the interrogations. Publius’ request to listen in was denied. So was Ruso’s, and his, ‘I think this was done by somebody from outside,’ was dismissed with ‘We’ll see, sir.’
While Ruso had Dias’ attention he murmured, ‘I hear you went to visit Grata last night.’
Dias looked him in the eye. ‘She’s upset,’ he said. ‘That body was no sight for a woman.’
‘It was her decision.’
‘And this is mine,’ said Dias. He turned to his men, giving orders for the staff to be taken across to the questioning room one by one. When he saw that Ruso had not moved he said, ‘I’ll assign you two good men, sir. You can get on with your inquiries, but don’t leave town. I’ll need to talk to you again.’
‘You go, sir,’ urged Publius, looking haggard. ‘There’s nothing you can do here.’
It was true. He left Publius to defend his staff as best he could, slipped across to make sure Tilla was still making a good recovery, then left.
The Albanus who lifted his head from the tax office desk at the sound of Ruso’s arrival was not looking his best. His eyes were bloodshot, and his hair was awry. He had not shaved and he had a red v-shape across one cheek where it had been resting on the corner of a writing tablet.
‘Long night?’ said Ruso, fixing the latch behind him so they would not be interrupted.
Albanus struggled to his feet. Instead of the salute he would have once given, the hand was raised to stifle a yawn. Ruso found himself yawning in sympathy. He still felt too shaken by the events at the mansio to want to talk about them. Instead he grabbed a stool, and they both slumped back down with their elbows on the desk. Standards had definitely dropped since they had left the Army.
Ruso put a finger to his lips and pointed to the window, outside which Gavo had stationed himself, and quietly explained his suspicions about Rogatus, the stable overseer. Instead of admiration the clerk’s face was one of concern. ‘Are you all right, sir?’
‘No,’ admitted Ruso, realizing he would have to explain that too.
When Albanus had finished expressing sympathy and outrage, he reached for the wooden tablet he had been sleeping on. ‘There is some good news though, sir. I think I’ve found something.’ He folded out the thin leaves for Ruso’s inspection. One ink-stained finger pointed to a set of figures in spidery black writing with illegible scribbles against them.
‘More shorthand?’
As Albanus leaned very close to whisper his response, Ruso was aware that it was some time since his clerk had washed. ‘No sir, Asper had terrible handwriting at the best of times. That’s his note of taking the money out of the strongroom to deliver to the Procurator’s office.’
‘So he did have it after all?’
Albanus reached for another record on a much longer, narrower sliver of wood. ‘This is the Council record, where the Quaestor signed it out to him.’
Ruso recognized the record Nico had shown him two days ago.
Albanus glanced up at the window, then put both sheets side by side for inspection. ‘What do you notice, sir?’
Ruso looked from one to the other without enlightenment. ‘Nothing.’
‘Not the writing, sir. The ink.’
‘Nothing.’
‘It’s the same, sir,’ Albanus whispered. ‘Different batches of ink come out slightly different, depending on the proportions of the soot and the glue, but I’d say they’re the same colour.
’
Ruso angled them both to catch the light. ‘You noticed this last night by lamplight?’
‘No, sir. Not till the sun came up this morning. It shines directly into Asper’s kitchen.’
‘You haven’t been up all night doing this?’
‘I thought I ought to work fast, sir. Before the Procurator starts to wonder where we are. And to be honest I was a bit worried about that Dias coming back.’
‘I think he was busy elsewhere,’ said Ruso grimly. He arched his back, stretched his arms to the ceiling and yawned. ‘This business will drive us all mad. I hope the women appreciated what you’d done.’
‘They tried to feed me a huge breakfast, sir.’
‘Yes,’ said Ruso, who had barely been able to face his own. ‘That seems to be the way they show their appreciation around here.’ He picked up the records again. He was still not sure what he was supposed to be seeing. He whispered, ‘So they borrowed each other’s ink?’
Albanus shook his head. ‘The boy who looks after the stationery in the Council office isn’t allowed to give it to anybody else. Asper would have had to supply his own.’ He ran his forefinger down three lines of the Council record. ‘All these are in the darker colour, so it must have been their ink, but it only appears once here in Asper’s.’ He pointed to the final entry. ‘The writing isn’t quite the same as the rest. See the way the line crosses on the ten, sir?’
Ruso could not see it, but he was not going to argue with a man who had been examining these records almost non-stop for the last eighteen hours. ‘So?’
‘So someone working for the Council came in here after Asper was gone and added a note to his records.’
‘The lock had been changed when I got here. I queried it, and Nico said he’d been in to search for some clue about where Asper had got to.’
‘I think he already knew, sir,’ said Albanus. ‘I think he wanted to get in here and change the records to cover his own tracks. I think this proves Asper never had the money.’
