A Whispering of Spies (11 page)

The commander shook his head. ‘Given that, Libertus, what am I to do? It almost seems that troubles follow you about. I’m beginning to think it would be sensible to do as he proposes and to lock you up – if only for the safety of the rest of us.’

I hoped this was ironic but I could not be sure. My chances of getting home to Gwellia tonight were looking very slim. Florens – urged on by Porteus, no doubt – was obviously intent on having me kept at the garrison in chains, in order to bring me securely to trial. It is the responsibility of the man who brings a charge to ensure that the accused appears in court on the appointed day; otherwise there can be no trial at all. Obviously, that can often prove difficult to do. However, if I were already in Roman custody it would be easy to compel me to appear before the magistrates.

That was clearly what Florens had in mind. He gave a mirthless smile. ‘Then I will leave him in your hands.’

‘Thank you, councillor. This man will show you out.’ He nodded to the plump centurion who snapped to work and held the door ajar.

Florens gave me a mocking bow as he passed close to me. ‘Then farewell, Libertus. I doubt we’ll meet again, unless it is officially in court. I’ve told the commander everything that points to your involvement in all this – including your excuses and explanations for today, although I don’t believe that he’s much impressed with them. However, he is willing to let you plead your cause. If you fail to convince him of your innocence, he has agreed to summon your patron in for questioning as well – and in any case, I’m sending my escort to search both your properties. Come, Servilis. Your grateful servant, commandant!’ And still accompanied by his crimson slave, he bowed himself away.

There was a little silence after they had gone. After a moment I said daringly – since it was not my place to be first to speak – ‘I swear I had nothing to do with stealing from the cart. Nor Marcus either.’

‘I’m tempted to believe you,’ the commander said, sitting slowly on his stool and looking up at me. ‘Though the evidence against you is looking rather black.’

‘But surely,’ I said, ‘we know that there are rebel bandits in the wood, and they mount raids on passing carts from time to time. It would not have been difficult for them to learn that there was gold – it seems to have been common knowledge in the town. Isn’t it more likely that they carried out the theft?’

The commander ran both hands through his thinning hair. ‘That might seem the obvious solution, certainly – if it were not for what happened before Voluus left the town last time.’

I felt a sudden sinking feeling in my guts. ‘And what was that?’

‘I’m surprised you haven’t heard. He had a letter threatening that he would be robbed and killed if he attempted to move to Glevum. They found it when he’d left. It wasn’t signed or sealed of course – just a scribbled scroll left anonymously at the mansio. It was done so fast they did not even catch the messenger.’

I remembered Brianus’s story of his master’s outburst at the military inn. That had been in answer to a message he’d received. I managed not to nod. I said, rather shakily, ‘That does not sound like the way the rebels operate, it’s true. And I suppose a lictor does make enemies.’

‘Voluus clearly thought so. He was evidently so worried by the threat that it appears he paid . . .’ he hesitated, and obviously decided against mentioning the name ‘. . . someone to keep watch on his apartment day and night while he was gone.’

I did nod this time. That explained how I came to be observed. ‘I see. He was obviously alarmed. So you are taking this threatening message seriously?’

He looked at me gravely. ‘Very seriously indeed. And whoever made the threat is serious as well. There is not only this robbery to take into account. There has been murder, too – and of a citizen.’

‘Not the lictor?’ I wondered if there was something I had not heard about.

‘Not the lictor, but a Roman citizen all the same. He was with the cart.’

‘One of the mounted escort? I’d assumed that they were all slaves, either owned by Voluus or hired from somebody to guard the cart for him.’

‘I believe they were. I understand that there were slave-discs discovered round their necks. Of course those deaths are most unfortunate, but obviously the killing of a citizen is of more immediate concern. He seems to have been the driver of the cart. I’ll show you what was brought here by the traveller who happened on the scene and brought us word of it.’ He stooped and picked up a bloodied bundle from the floor beside his desk, and slowly unwrapped it so that I could see.

‘Dear gods,’ I murmured. I was looking at a handsome travelling cape – or the remains of one. It was not difficult to see what had occurred – it was slashed in several places and each hole was drenched in blood. ‘Someone was clearly savagely attacked. But how can you be certain it was a citizen?’

‘Several reasons, citizen. That cloak was wrapped around the driver’s hacked remains. It is clearly not the sort of garment a common slave would wear. And the man who found him recovered this from round his waist.’ From a drawer in the table he produced a
balteus
, a handsome military belt, distinguished by the silver chasing on the front and the holster for a dagger on one side. ‘Most veterans choose to keep these when they leave the force, though the studded apron is – naturally – removed. Perhaps we are lucky that the finder brought it in. If it were not so clearly a military thing, he might have tried to sell it for the silver it contains.’

‘So the driver was almost certainly a veteran, you think?’ The commandant’s concern was making sense to me. ‘Retired cavalry, do you suppose?’ Most soldiers simply married when they left the force and used their accumulated pay to buy a piece of land, but those in the mounted units – having spent a life with horses – sometimes chose to carry on, purchasing an animal and a cart which they could ply for hire and so make an honest living for their remaining years.

The commander nodded as he put the things away. ‘Exactly so. We think he was an auxiliary from this very garrison: one of the Gallic contingent that was here before I came. One of my officers thinks he recognizes the pattern of the belt. This kind of silver chasing is distinctive, as you see – typical of the kind those Gallic horsemen wear.’

I drew a sharp breath inwards. ‘So you think the dead man was, at one time, stationed here?’ No wonder he was interested in pursuing this. ‘And that’s why you think he was a Roman citizen! Even if he was not born into the rank, he would have gained his diploma on retirement, of course.’

‘That is the assumption that I am working on. It looks as if he served until retirement age.’ He ran the fingers through his hair again, and because he was closer to me now, I caught the faint whiff of horseradish and spice – the most famous cure for baldness in the world. In any other circumstances it would have made me grin. I had not expected the commandant to be vain.

He took my silence for disagreement with his argument. He sat down to face me, leaning forward as he pressed the point. ‘Look, Libertus, he could hardly be a private driver if he were not discharged, and the body – or what is left of it – appears to be unmarked. No mention of any ancient scars, as you’d expect if he was wounded and invalided out.’ He looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Though I suppose there might have been damage to an arm. I understand that both were missing when the corpse was found.’

‘What’s happened to the body?’ I demanded suddenly, earning myself a disapproving glare: it was not my place to be putting questions here. I added, by way of half-apology, ‘I ask because I feel it should be checked again. Whoever found it might not have looked for things like that. It is enough to find a mutilated corpse without stopping to examine it for signs of ancient wounds. And of course there might be other clues as well.’

The commander put his veined hands on the desk in front of him. ‘I believe there’s a detachment of my men out at the site of the attack. They were going to move the bodies – there are five or six of them – and bring them back to Glevum to be buried here. I had not considered travelling to see the place myself, but you rouse my interest.’ He looked at me wryly. ‘Would you care to come? I understand you are an expert in this kind of thing. Marcus Septimus is always telling me as much.’

I was so astounded that I could only mutter, ‘Me? Accompany you? But Florens has demanded . . . ?’

The lean face softened to what might have been a smile. ‘Oh, don’t misunderstand me, citizen. I don’t mean to set you free. The law obliges me to keep you under guard. And you will have to answer questions as we go along. However, I would be glad to have your views. Officially, we’ll regard it as cooperation on your part, and I can quote that in your favour if you come to court.’

I had really expected that I’d be dragged away in chains, so I could hardly believe my good fortune as he shouted a command and the plump centurion, Emelius, came hurrying in again.

My elation vanished very quickly, though, as the commander said, ‘Take this man away and shut him in a cell until I send for him. When you have done that, see that some transport is arranged for me, with the fastest horses that we have available. Something substantial, not a military gig – I intend to see this crime scene for myself, and I’m taking the prisoner with me when I go.’

You could see the question forming on Emelius’s face, though he was too well-trained to say anything aloud.

‘It’s perfectly in order. He has agreed to help us with the crime. I’m not releasing him, he will be under guard. In fact, I can’t think of a better person to guard him than yourself, so I am relieving you of duties here and you’ll accompany us. I shall want a mounted escort, too, of course. Half a dozen horsemen should suffice. Report to the officer of the day and tell him what I’ve said.’ He turned back to the documents on his desk again and picked up an iron-tipped pen. ‘Well, man, what are you waiting for? You have your orders. See that they’re obeyed.’

The centurion, who was still looking very much bemused, came to a smart salute and then marched – a careful military march – across to me. Before I realized what was happening he had seized me by the arm and twisted it cruelly up behind my back. Thus pinioned and unbalanced I could not resist as he propelled me expertly towards the door.

He was about to thrust me through it when the commander called him back. ‘One more thing, officer!’

I relaxed, hoping that this heralded relief from my discomfort, but I was disappointed.

‘While you are about it bring me a report from the officer of the day, saying who has been deployed to bring those bodies in. That is all – dismissed.’

Another swift salute and then I found myself being bundled headlong down the stairs again, through the guard-room – under the startled stare of the man with the accounts – and out into the court. I scarcely had time to recognize that it was raining hard again before the centurion had propelled me round the corner of the tower, unbolted the door of a small and airless cell, pushed me unceremoniously into it and slammed the door again.

I
fell on my knees in an inch of stinking straw and, even as I did so, I heard the bolt slide to. I tried to look about, but there was no window in the room so it was too dark to make out anything at all and the thickness of the door was muffling all sound – even the patter of the rain could not be heard. A feeling of helpless terror flooded over me.

I had heard – all of us had heard – the story of the thief who had been kept for days in a darkened cell like this, with only a flask of water and a loaf of bread, and who had been found crazed and screaming when they unlocked the door. I fought my rising panic and tried to gain control. I knew from my quick glimpse as I tumbled in that I was the only human occupant, so I edged myself gingerly into a squatting pose and was pleased to find there was no scuttling of rats. My exploring hands discovered several iron rings set into the wall and a sort of rough stone trough in the centre of the floor, with something slimy in the base of it – presumably used for feeding the chained-up prisoners. The smell was overwhelming: rotting straw and damp and – most of all – the stench of human fear.

Including mine, no doubt. I tried to tell myself that I would not be here for long, although . . . I gave myself a shake. I would not think like that. I forced myself to think of something else – wondering if Calvinus the steward was being held somewhere like this, and what his fastidious nature would have made of it.

I found a relatively dryish spot and eased my aching thighs by sitting down on it, though there was little comfort in the change. The chill of the stones soon reached me through my tunic and my cape, which in any case was damp. Damp? And getting damper? A trickle of rain was seeping in from underneath the door – somewhere there must be some sort of gap, through which air and light could also pass. My eager fingers traced the moisture to the place – a tiny crack above one corner of the sill. There was the faintest suspicion of a draught and by concentrating very hard indeed I could make out a line of glimmer from beyond. It was a small thing, but it gave me comfort all the same.

Time had no meaning in this environment. Already it seemed that I’d been shut in here for hours. Gwellia would be frantic when I did not appear, and there was no way now of getting any messages to her. It seemed impossible that only a short while ago I had been a free man walking through the town with nothing to threaten my life and liberty, and no more than a contract for a pavement on my mind. And now . . . ! I tried to still my fears by thinking through the facts.

I was still convinced that bandits would prove to be to blame. Only the threats to Voluus suggested otherwise – though that explained the reason for there being watchers at his flat. To whom were they reporting while Voluus was away? It must have been someone. The garrison, perhaps? Or maybe it was to Florens or – more likely – Porteus, since he had some sort of business dealings with the lictor regarding tracts of land. Voluus must have taken him into his confidence. And then when the threatened raid had taken place the trail led back to me.