A Whispering of Spies (18 page)

I tried to remind myself that I was fortunate. I would enjoy a meal tonight, and have somewhere half-comfortable to sleep. Poor Calvinus would have neither of those things. I would be taken to a proper court, before a magistrate; Calvinus had no such luxury. A slave – even the chief steward of a very wealthy man – could not only be tortured to ensure he talked, but could expect only a brief hearing by some harassed clerk, often conducted in the open air in front of jeering mobs, whose opinions were sometimes allowed to sway the case: and punishment, if called for, would be immediate.

And I had probably, unwittingly, contributed to his fate. All the same, I would like to talk to him again.

I glanced at the commander, but he refused to look at me. He was staring at the wagons drawn up beside the road. Emelius, on my right-hand side, was doing just the same. We jogged in silence for what seemed like hours – still slowed by traffic making for the gates – and the light was almost fading by the time that Glevum came in sight.

My every bone was juddering from the vibration of the vehicle and my arms were aching with the effort of clinging to the seat – though mercifully the slower speed had made things easier. As we pulled up at the public arch that led into the town, I felt a wave of something like relief. Whatever awaited me at the garrison, I was going to be happy to get down from the carriage.

W
hat was awaiting us was a flustered orderly. He was clearly bursting with a message of some kind, and could scarcely wait for the commander to dismount. As soon as he had done so the man sketched a salute and drew him aside to murmur urgently to him.

It must have been important. The commandant looked immediately grave and made a gesture to Emelius and me, indicating that we two should get down and go into the fort ahead of him. Scowler, meanwhile, had drawn up in his cart, and was arranging a detail to take the murdered driver’s corpse inside.

‘Get a move on, you lazy lumps of meat. This man was an ex-auxiliary officer and a citizen to boot. The army’s going to give him a proper funeral, so treat him with respect. You, there on the end, take up the lament. The rest of you go and find a shutter so we can carry him.’ The men got down grumbling and he added with a sneer, ‘And look sharp about it – when we’ve finished here, we’ve got the others to dispose of before you can stand down.’

They would drive the other bodies to the common pit, of course, where with the rest of the day’s haul of the unwanted dead – vagrants, paupers and common criminals – the butchered escort would be unceremoniously thrown in and covered up with lime.

The sentry standing on duty at the gate still had his eyes on us, and I was aware again of the sight I must present as I climbed down – very stiffly – from our own vehicle, with Emelius close behind. The centurion seemed conscious of the scrutiny as well, because he immediately snapped back into officious mode and marched me at dagger-point through the city arch and back into the courtyard of the garrison.

This time there was nobody in the yard as we approached, though a moment later the requisition man came running out, cramming his helmet back upon his head. He did not speak, but simply nodded and rushed on towards the gate.

‘Obviously in a hurry to sign the transport off,’ Emelius said. ‘He must have seen us come. I expect the owners of the vehicle have been enquiring for it.’

I nodded. This was the busiest time of day for hiring firms, and although the carriers could not actually demand to have the carriage back, they were no doubt pointedly requesting its return as soon as possible.

The soldiers in the guard-room raised their eyes as we went by and watched us curiously through the window-space. I expected to be led back in there, but Emelius’s dagger prodded me straight on, past the barracks and down the road towards the centre of the fort. He didn’t pause until we reached the open area in the very heart of it, opposite the combat training field and the regimental shrine.

‘That is where you are heading, citizen!’ he gestured with his non-dagger-bearing hand.

Opposite the entrance to the drill-field was the praetorium itself, where the commander had his personal rooms and private offices. It was a well-proportioned building, long and low, more like a villa than an army residence, and arranged around three sides of a pleasant shaded court – in contrast to the rows of grimly rectangular stone-built barrack blocks elsewhere, which were the living quarters of the other ranks.

‘Nice place,’ I murmured to Emelius.

I meant the house, but he took me to be talking about the fort itself. He dropped his knife and said, as though he owned the establishment himself, ‘Nothing to what it used to be. At one time it was twice as big as this – took up most of the area which is now the town, right across to where the forum is. Of course, in those days there was an entire legion stationed here. Long before my time – or yours, I would expect.’

‘I have lived near Glevum for almost thirty years,’ I agreed, ‘and I don’t remember it.’

‘Nor do I. Our unit’s only been here for a year or two. Of course, now that the countryside has settled down in peace – or something like it – they only keep a few hundred of us here to keep it going.’ He looked around and added, with that same element of pride, ‘But it’s still impressive – what is left of it.’ He seemed to remember suddenly that he was guarding me and he pointed with his blade to the commander’s house. ‘But I’m supposed to be taking you inside. I don’t want to get mixed up with all of that!’

‘That’ was Scowler’s detail struggling through the gates carrying the segments of the body from the cart. They had contrived a makeshift litter from a plank of wood and, though their burden was still shrouded in the soldier’s cloak, one disembodied leg had become partially unwrapped, revealing all too clearly what was underneath. One of the bearers was keeping up a reluctant, tuneless drone that could – with imagination – be taken for lament.

‘What are they going to do with him?’ I said, fearing for a moment that they would let it lie in state, on view to the soldiers in some public place.

Emelius made a face. ‘Put him in the infirmary, perhaps? That would be suitable, since he was – apparently – an officer.’

‘From that unit that was stationed here from Gaul, I understand?’ I was recalling what the commandant had said about that military belt. ‘Or was that before your time as well?’

‘The Fourth Gauls Half-Mounted Auxiliaries, you mean?’ The centurion looked at me, surprised that a civilian had such a grasp on things. ‘I remember them. That was part of the outfit that we took over from. They moved out in stages just as we moved in. Obviously there has to be a bit of overlap, to ensure that the takeover is smooth.’

‘But your commander wasn’t here then?’

‘Oh, he came just after we were settled in. The previous one died.’

I nodded: in fact, it had been murder, which I’d helped to solve.

But Emelius was still talking. ‘The commander’s post is a praetorian appointment from above, of course. Men like him can be appointed anywhere, at any time – usually part of their bid to be senators in Rome. This present one is quite an oddity: he really has seen service in the field and when his statutory period of command was up, he opted to stay with military life and come and join us here.’

‘So he chose to come to Glevum?’

He grinned. ‘Not like the rest of us. This is the fourth posting I’ve had since I joined up. Another few years and they’ll shunt us on again. We could end up like the Fourth Gauls ourselves – up on the northern frontier freezing half to death – or it might be Africa, or anywhere at all. Though, with any luck by that time I’ll be able to retire.’

Someone came out of the guard-room as he spoke and directed the stretcher-party to a nearby barracks block. ‘It is going to the infirmary, by the looks of it,’ Emelius approved. He saw Scowler’s party looking and he raised his blade again. ‘And that’s where you’ll be going yourself, if you don’t hurry up. This knife is not for decoration purposes. I am under strict orders to deliver you inside.’ He motioned me towards the praetorium again.

I took the hint and turned into the court and for the first time got a full view of the house. It was pleasantly appointed, with a stable and what was obviously a bath-suite taking up one wing and – from the odours which emanated from the corner opposite – a personal kitchen and a small latrine. The court itself was paved and bare of ornament apart from half a dozen boundary trees providing shade and two large statues set on matching plinths: one a large and unremarkable image of the Emperor, and a smaller piece depicting someone on a horse – a sculpture of astounding vitality and form. I am no expert, but I recognized the skill.

There was no time, however, to admire that now. A young male orderly – he seemed to be the commander’s personal slave – in a green tunic and with civilian sandals on his feet, came hurrying out to meet us from the doorway opposite. ‘Citizen Libertus? I’ve been expecting you. Let me relieve you of that damp cape of yours. Then, if you would care to follow me?’ With these words he left Emelius standing in the court and ushered me inside.

I had scarcely time to wonder how the young man knew my name and how – since his master had been out all afternoon – he came to be expecting me, before I was led into a sort of atrium, roofed-in, as is common in chill Britannia. I looked around. The room was sparsely furnished, but what was there was of fine quality: a black polished table, made of ebony and decorated with a single inlaid band of ivory; a pair of matching vases on a pair of matching stands, framing a niche devoted to the Lars; a series of fine mural paintings depicting Jupiter, in a range of guises from soldier-god to swan; and, taking the place of what would in Rome have been a central pool, a tessellated pavement of Neptune and the waves, of a quality which I recognized as excellent.

Most strikingly of all there were a pair of painted stools, and on one of them there was a seated man. He was turned away from me, busy with a dish of figs and cheese, which had been placed on a folding table next to him, together with a goblet and a jug of watered wine. Only the back of his mop of fairish curls was visible. But there was no mistaking the enormous seal-ring on his hand and the patrician toga with its ostentatious stripe.

‘Marcus!’ I would have known that figure anywhere: even without the heavy torc around his neck, given to him by a grateful Celtic chief. What was he doing here?

My heart sank to my sandal straps again. Of course! Florens had threatened to have him arrested, too, and brought here to the garrison for questioning. I fought down a wave of panic that made my skin turn cold. If my patron was a prisoner too, he couldn’t help my trial, and would almost certainly blame me for having said too much and managing to get him involved in this. I was not looking forward to this interview.

He raised his head and saw me, stretching out the hand that did not hold the fruit. ‘Libertus! There you are at last!’

I saw with relief that he was not annoyed. Indeed, he was almost smiling as I knelt to kiss the ring. ‘Patron!’ The smile emboldened me. I got slowly to my feet and dared to ask, ‘What brings you to the garrison?’

His first words were not encouraging. ‘I had a visitation to the villa earlier today. Some idiotic soldiers on the hunt for Voluus’s gold and other valuables, they said. Apparently there’s been a vicious robbery. For some reason they supposed that I was part of it.’ I braced myself for a torrent of abuse and blame, but he was simply nibbling at his fig with unconcern.

Oddly, that unnerved me more than curses would have done. ‘Patron, it has all been an unfortunate mistake,’ I burbled anxiously, ‘the result of something that a page-boy overheard, when I was with you yesterday.’ (It
was
only yesterday, I realized with a start – so much had happened since, it seemed a moon ago.) ‘Then when the lictor’s cart was set upon . . .’ I began again, but he held up a restraining hand.

‘I understand all that. I got the full story from Gaius earlier – he was so disturbed that you’d been dragged away that he came and told me everything. It seems that fool Florens had made up his mind, for reasons of his own, that I had the stolen gold – though how he expected to distinguish it from mine, Mithras only knows. Fortunately I had my house-guest with me at the time.’

‘The senior Decurion from Corinium and his wife?’ I said, remembering.

He dabbed at his lips with a napkin from the tray. ‘Exactly so. In fact, it turned out that it was no simple social call – they wanted to persuade me to sell them our town-house there. It irritated me, but in the end I was grateful he was there.’

‘But you didn’t sell the house?’ I had visited that residence and knew it to be fine – no wonder the chief councillor had wanted it. It had come to Marcus when he married Julia: part of her personal estate as the widow of a past Decurion.

‘Of course I didn’t. He made a reasonable offer and I was tempted for a while, but then he said that since I hardly use the house myself, it would make an appropriate residence for someone like himself. That changed my mind, of course. And he doesn’t really need it. He already has a substantial dwelling in the town! Quite big enough to cover the property requirements for a mere councillor.’ Marcus turned away to select another fig – a delicacy of which he was particularly fond. ‘But apparently his new wife does not like the one that he’s got – there’s always been a problem with the outlet to the drain and she declares it stinks. She insisted that he came to bid for mine. Travelling with him all that way – and on the Ides of March as well. Ridiculous. Though fortunate for me, as it turned out.’

‘Because the Decurion spoke in your defence?’ I said.

Marcus smiled. ‘More than that! He put the soldiers firmly in their place, saying that, since he had been there as a witness all the time, almost ever since you left the house yourself, none of Voluus’s treasure could have found its way to me. If they searched my house, they’d have him to answer to. Just as well, since there was plenty of my own gold in the place. And he had brought some of his as well, to make down-payment with, though fortunately Florens’s people never learned of that. No doubt they would have thought it highly suspicious if they had.’