A Whispering of Spies (16 page)

He nodded, satisfied. ‘Florens and Porteus will have you tried as soon as possible, they have told me that – by tomorrow if they can manage it, as with their influence I am sure they will. In the meantime, we will have to muster up what evidence we can.’ I was encouraged by that pronoun, but he amended it. ‘So it is up to you. Proving who did this would be the surest way. Otherwise, I hope you have a hundred witnesses to prove that you didn’t leave your roundhouse after dusk last night until several hours after dawn.’

I winced. ‘Only my family and slaves,’ I said. ‘And the last thing I want is for them to be involved.’

He understood. ‘Of course. And in any case the support of your household does not count for much in law.’

That was true. It is supposed that slaves will always speak up in defence of the master of the house, irrespective of whether he is innocent or not. In fact, they are routinely tortured on those very grounds, before they are permitted to testify in court. The theory is that anguish will ensure they tell the truth. I did not want my servants to endure that. And Gwellia was a woman – against the word of councillors hers did not count at all.

‘Their testimony might not be much help, in any case,’ I added, ‘because at first light this morning I was out of doors, on my way to Glevum to open up the shop.’ Though – it suddenly occurred to me – that might be hard to prove. Not many people saw me doing it. It was raining and there was no one out that did not have to be.

There was a snigger from somewhere, hurriedly suppressed. I looked around, surprised. The escort all wore expressions of careful innocence, but I realized that they had been listening. I could judge by that reaction what the magistrate would think and the commander had already worked it out.

He gave me that laconic look again. ‘Libertus, what in Jove’s name am I to do with you? You’re telling me now that you were on the road just when the treasure-cart was passing through – or certainly around the time that it was found? I’m bound to ask the question, which you’ll be asked in court: how is it you did not see the vehicle yourself?’

‘If I had travelled on the military road I suppose I would have done, but in fact I didn’t go that way. I took the other route – there’s an old Celtic cart-way that passes close beside my home. It goes to Glevum through the forest and I followed that.’

He frowned. ‘I’ve heard all about that ancient track and how treacherous it is. And through the forest, too, where there are bears and wolves. Why choose to go that way?’

‘With respect, commander, remember I’m on foot. I don’t possess a cart or mule, and the old track, though steep and winding, cuts off several miles. Roots and ruts don’t make much difference to pedestrians. I simply went the way I always go.’

‘You will have witnesses, no doubt?’

I did have witnesses, in fact. Junio and Minimus had of course accompanied me, but I shook my head. ‘No one that I want to implicate. And there is no one else that I could call upon. There was a small boy with a herd of goats and an old woman picking up kindling on the path, but no one I recognized. I didn’t see their faces and would not know where to find them if I had. Otherwise, I don’t remember seeing anyone.’

The commander shook his own head in mock-despair. ‘We had better mount a hunt for those two, anyway. I’ll send out a scout as soon as we get back. In the meantime, centurion, get this prisoner in the carriage.’

Emelius used his dagger to prick me gently in the rear. ‘Are you getting in the carriage, citizen?’

I nodded and began to climb up to the seat. It was no easier than it had been before: there was still nothing obvious to use as a step.

I managed to lift one foot to the door-sill and tried to hoist myself aboard by grasping the frame in either hand and pulling with my arms. Unfortunately my sandals were muddy by this time and the foot slipped under me, leaving me half-lying on the floorboards of the coach with my bottom sticking in the air. I cursed inwardly, knowing that I presented quite a spectacle.

Someone clearly thought so. There was a mocking laugh as I made another effort and hauled myself into the carriage, scarlet with embarrassment. But it was not from the centurion, who was looking quite concerned, nor from any other of our party – perhaps they didn’t dare: it was from a horseman who had just ridden up the road. He must have reached us just in time to witness my ignominious fall – like a comic acrobat performing at the games – and by the time that I had settled on the seat he was already reining in.

His back was towards me, but some things were evident. This was not a soldier but a private messenger, resplendent in a gorgeous scarlet hooded cloak. I wondered that the escort had permitted him to pass, until I saw that he was holding out a letter-scroll fastened with a seal – obviously a message for the commandant. There was a silence, broken only by the scrape and thump of Scowler’s detachment filling in the pit.

That officer had already turned to meet the newcomer, and I saw that he was frowning disapprovingly – obviously irked at being thus detained. He was thudding one hand with his baton and seemed about to speak, but before he did so the rider had slipped nimbly from his horse. He fell to one knee on the forest road, at the same time holding out the scroll and shaking back his hood.

‘A message from my master Florens and from his mightiness the councillor Porteus,’ he said, tendering it to the commander as he spoke.

I knew the voice before I saw the face. ‘Servilis!’

I was so surprised that I said the word aloud, sufficiently loudly for it to be heard. Everyone in the vicinity turned to stare at me. It was an appalling breach of etiquette, of course – interrupting a formal message in this way – and all the soldiers were aware of it. Emelius, who had followed me aboard, dug his elbow sharply in my ribs, while the commander paused in opening the seal and glared reprovingly.

Servilis turned his head to stare at me, contriving to look both condescending and appalled. He said, with more than a touch of mockery, ‘Ah, citizen Libertus. I did not recognize you from the rear! However, I was told I’d find you here, though I’d understood that you were being kept in custody.’

‘And so he is,’ Emelius put in, leaning across me to brandish his dagger in the air.

Servilis dismissed him with a glance. ‘Thank you, centurion. But I see the citizen has managed to persuade the garrison-commander of his so-called innocence, sufficiently to be given special privilege. However, Libertus, I fear I am the bringer of bad tidings, once again. My master managed to obtain the incriminating letter that you sent to Calvinus.’ He gestured to the scroll. ‘And he has had it copied for the commander here. He is keeping the original for evidence in court.’

The commander was reading the document by now. It had clearly been written out by some professional scribe: the scroll was made of vellum and the script – even from this distance – was bold and beautiful. The effect was to give my words a gravitas they did not have when scratched with a stylus on an ancient piece of wax. The seal, which was an elaborate one, presumably belonging to the councillor, also conspired to make the letter look significant – quite different from the fraying ribbon with which I had secured my little writing-block. I tried to remember what I’d written in the note.

I need not have bothered. The commander read it out. ‘“I have received your urgent message and will report developments to my patron as soon as possible. I have chosen not to send a verbal message with your slave, because I am not certain how much he should know, but I will call on you again tomorrow and let you know what Marcus says.”’ He cocked an eye at me. ‘You wrote this, citizen?’

I nodded. I tried to explain the little ruse I’d used to question Brianus but the commander brushed my words aside.

‘It does not matter why you wrote it, the fact remains you did.’ His face was stony, though I swear there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. He turned to Servilis. ‘Ride back and tell your master that you have delivered this. Thank him for his trouble and assure him that I will study it more fully when I return to town.’

Servilis shot me a triumphant glance. ‘You see the implications, commandant, of course. This letter proves his patron was involved as well. I am to remind you that you promised that – if there was evidence enough – Marcus Septimus should be brought in for questioning at once.’

The commander nodded gravely. ‘I am aware of what I undertook to do, and I assure you that the matter is in hand. Please give my message to the councillor – though I fear I cannot write it down for you, especially in such an impressive form as this.’

I felt myself breathe out, a long sigh of relief. The commandant was making it quite clear that he was not to be swayed merely by the magnificent appearance of the scroll. I could only hope that whoever was my judge proved to be equally unmoved.

Servilis was not aware of any irony. ‘At your service, commandant,’ he replied, obsequiousness dripping from him like the raindrops from his cloak. He bowed over the commander’s proffered hand and got back to his feet. He turned to me, and made a mocking little bow. ‘So farewell, citizen! Until we meet again – as I am sure we shall.’

I eyed him sourly as he went back to his horse. He vaulted on, with an unexpected ease which made me dislike him even more. Of course he was Florens’s senior messenger, and clearly very adept on a horse. He was conscious of it, too, swerving round and preening like the peacock Marcus had once brought – briefly – back from Rome, which had strutted round the villa like an avian Emperor, until it was unfortunately taken by a fox.

I watched Servilis canter out of sight, wishing that something similar would befall him, too – a sort of vulpine nemesis – but nothing did, of course. He pressed the horse onwards and galloped out of sight.

The commander spoke briskly to the escort, then turned towards the coach, but he was prevented from getting into it by the arrival of Scowler, who came hurrying up and sketched a quick salute.

‘In the name of His Imperial . . .’

The commander sighed. ‘What it is, sesquipularius?’

‘With your indulgence, sir, we have completed the loading of the cart and buried all the horses – what we could of them – so we have finished here. Permission to join your escort-party back to town?’ He saw the expression which crossed his commander’s face. ‘Whoever killed this cohort must be somewhere quite nearby – at least supposing that the cart set off at dawn. We wouldn’t care to have them intercept us on the way. Seeing how they treat their captives, if you catch my meaning, sir.’ Another wheedling glance at the commander’s face. ‘Especially the hors . . .’

I cut him off. ‘Of course!’ I said aloud. ‘If they did set off at dawn they must have spent the night not very far away. Voluus would not have them camping by the road with all his treasure on the cart. And even if this happened after dusk last night, it is still likely that they made a pause somewhere hereabouts, if only to refresh the horses and have a meal themselves. They would not use the mansio,’ I was reasoning to myself. ‘It was not a military convoy, and they wouldn’t have a sealed commendation from the governor of Gaul, the way the lictor did – so they would have had to use a common inn.’ I turned to the commander, who was still standing poised, with one hand on the vehicle. ‘Would it be possible for us to . . .’

His turn to interrupt. ‘You wish me to neglect my duties to the garrison and take you to visit every private doss-house in the vicinity?’ he said. ‘Citizen, you cannot possibly expect me to agree. There must be a dozen villages within an hour’s ride.’

But for a moment he had contemplated the idea! ‘I was thinking of the escort,’ I amended hastily. ‘They could travel fast. In fact, if two of them could go, they could do this twice as quickly as one man alone. Just swiftly check the local inns and then report to us.’ He was still looking thoughtful, so I cast a final die. ‘If there are costs involved, I’m sure my patron would be prepared to cover them.’ I hoped that I sounded properly convinced, though I could not, of course, be certain that Marcus would do anything of the kind.

The commander shook his head. ‘And supposing they discover where the party spent the night? What do you expect the escort-men to do? Ride to Glevum to inform us? And what would that achieve? There would be a hundred questions you would want to ask, I’m sure, so you would be asking next to go and see the place. There is no time for that, the day is drawing on – night falls quite quickly at this time of year – and anyway, I could hardly let you leave the fort again.’

‘Then if Florens drags me before the court tomorrow, I shall simply have to hope I can persuade the magistrate to allow me extra time to find some witnesses.’ I sat back in my uncomfortable seat. ‘Someone must have seen the escort on the road, so at least we could discover whether it set out at dawn today – or whether it was genuinely travelling in the dark.’

The commander gave me an exasperated glance. ‘Oh, very well,’ he said at last. ‘You give me little choice.’ He called the escort over. ‘Two of you ride on towards the south. Go as quickly as you can to all the inns along the road – let us say within five miles or so of here. I can’t agree to any more than that. Ask the owners if the lictor’s cart paused there, or stayed there overnight, or whether they even saw it pass, and if so, when that was. Oh, and whether there were any other people passing through who might have seen it, too.’ He turned to me. ‘Is that right, citizen?’

‘More than I deserve,’ I mumbled gratefully.

He turned back to the horsemen. ‘If you discover anything at all, ride back to us at once. Speed is everything.’ He climbed into the carriage lightly, as he had done before. ‘We will return to Glevum as fast as possible.’ He turned to Scowler, who was still fidgeting nearby. ‘Though the death-cart can come with us for mutual protection, as it were, and that is obviously not designed for speed. The sesquipularius, however, will travel in the back, to accompany the driver’s corpse and begin a proper lamentation as the ritual demands. If this was a member of our garrison it is the least that we can do.’