A Whispering of Spies (3 page)

He seemed genuinely to want solutions, so I cast about for some. ‘People might have paid him to reduce their punishment, perhaps?’ I said, and knew by my patron’s sigh that this was foolishness. ‘Or his master may have given him some sort of parting gift?’

‘Both those things are more than likely true – but cart-loads of treasure? Come, Libertus, we are talking of huge sums! He’s rumoured to be nearly as wealthy as I am myself. So how does that occur? I suspect that he has important friends somewhere – who either left him lots of money for some service in the past, or are paying him handsomely to hush up what he knows.’ He looked hard at me. ‘He could even be a spy who serves the Emperor.’

That was a thought more chilling than the day. ‘You think so?’ I said.

Marcus nodded. ‘And that is just the point. If he does turn out to have influence at court, it might be most imprudent to insult the man. And that’s where you come in.’

‘Me, Excellence?’ Matters had taken an unpleasant turn. I was so startled that I almost jumped up from my perch. ‘But what could it possibly have to do with me? I have not been invited to the feast.’

‘Of course not, Libertus.’ He was jovial now. ‘You’re not a councillor. Your own fault, of course, since you evaded my attempts to have you voted on to the
curia
, as I hoped to do last year. But that turns out to be very fortunate. Voluus will have never so much as heard your name, so that means that you can do this and he won’t suspect the link.’

‘Do what, exactly, Excellence?’ I was beginning to think that the Ides of March were every bit as nefas as they were said to be.

‘I want you to call at this apartment he has bought, and offer to lay a pavement there before he comes. I hear that the steward is already living there, making arrangements before his master arrives. I’ll write a letter recommending you. That way you can get into the house and see if you can find out where Voluus got his wealth. The steward is obviously in his confidence.’

I goggled at him. ‘Excellence! Rumour says the lictor will be here himself within a day or two.’ At that time I hadn’t heard about the marble floors, of course, so I just said lamely, ‘How could I make a pavement in so short a time?’

He waved the objection loftily away. ‘Oh, I know you have those pattern samples ready-made and fixed on linen backing to show your customers. You can use one of those. Offer to do the ante-room or something of the kind, a small one you could finish in a day or two. I realize that it’s very likely they will turn you down, but if you have my letter they will have to let you in and that will give you the opportunity to talk to the steward. He’s the one responsible for seeing that the lictor’s treasure – when it comes – is taken off the cart, so he’ll know exactly what it is and what it’s worth. He may even have witnessed how it was acquired and what favours it is – or was – intended to repay. If so,’ he smiled, ‘I’m sure you’ll manage to get it out of him. I know you, Libertus – you are skilled at things like that. I am quite certain I can rely on you. Come!’ He got to his feet and began to lead the way back to the villa door, motioning me to follow.

I rose stiffly to my feet. At least I had the prospect of going inside where it was warm – all the main rooms in the villa had a hypocaust – but all the same . . . I hurried after him. ‘Excellence . . .’ I stammered, still hoping to dissuade him from this wild idea.

He had reached the atrium by now and held up his hand to silence me. ‘I have the letter on a writing-tablet, ready scratched and sealed. I’ll have my page-boy fetch it and you can take it now. Then you can call there tomorrow – in the morning, preferably – and report to me by dark. If you have other clients I fear they’ll have to wait. I need to have results as soon as possible.’ He gestured to a servant who was lurking by the door. ‘Bring this citizen the writing-tablet which is on my desk.’

The slave-boy hurried to obey and Marcus turned, smiling, to me.

‘Well, now that is settled I won’t keep you any more. I’ll send your slave to you and you can go. We are expecting house guests later on – the chief Decurion from Corinium and his wife – and I’ve no doubt you have other projects to fill a day like this. Come to me tomorrow evening and tell me what you’ve learnt, and then I can decide what I should do about this feast.’

At least when I got home they had done the dye-house roof – but the prospect of this errand clouded the rest of the day.

However, there was no arguing with Marcus, so this morning I’d spent hours asking questions round the town – though to not much effect (apart from my brief conversation with my informant about the quality of decoration in the lictor’s flat) – and now I was hurrying to get there before noon. Judging by the shadows there was little time before the midday trumpet sounded, but at last I found the place. There was a row of coppersmiths along the lower floors and I hastened to the side entrance which would take me up the stairs.

I was dressed in just a tunic and a cloak against the rain – a toga was hardly fitting for an interview like this and besides would have made me too conspicuous – so my presence roused scant interest as I went inside. Lots of folk in tunics came and went round here – the whole top floor was crammed with little one-roomed flats, and the stairwell was noisy and crowded at every time of day. The whole area smelt strongly of unwashed humanity and echoed with the sounds of commerce from the street – in particular the hammering of the coppersmiths.

There were disadvantages to being dressed for trade. No one made way for me. Two girls with water-bottles on their heads blocked my path as they went giggling to the public fountain in the square. A bunch of children darted through my legs, carrying what looked like handfuls of kindling for a fire and there was a haze of smoke, although on the upper floors no brazier or cooking was officially allowed – there were no kitchen areas or chimney-vents up there, and some of the cramped apartments had no window-space. However, if there was conflagration it was not my affair. Perhaps the strong smell of greasy cooking really came from the hot-food
thermopolium
down the street, where the soup was dreadful but was cheap and warm.

A bent old woman struggled past me carrying a sack (half-rotting vegetables from the smell of it) and was sworn at by a group of fellows playing dice-games in the gloom. They glanced up as I stepped over them on to the landing space. The noises from below were almost deafening, but I was about to shout and ask them if this was the lictor’s place when the apartment door in front of me burst open suddenly and a man in steward’s uniform came out.

He was a stout man with a balding head and a protruding gut, but he had shoulders like a wrestler under the dark red tunic, and he was looking none too pleased. ‘You!’ he hollered, raising his voice above the din.

I was surprised to realize that this was addressed to me. I edged towards him.

‘I saw you from the window-space as you were coming in,’ he said, when I was close enough to hear. ‘Have you brought a message?’

‘I do bring a letter,’ I blurted, wondering how he knew.

‘Well, thank the gods for that. You’d better come inside.’ He stood back to let me enter and closed the heavy door again. The hammering and shouting was a great deal fainter now and someone had been burning scented oils to mask the smells. ‘Well?’ he said impatiently, ‘what message do you bring?’

I looked around the room. It was a stately ante-room and all the rumours about marble floors were clearly true. I felt myself turn pale. ‘His Excellence, my patron Marcus Septimus Aurelius, instructed me to call. He has sent a message recommending me.’ I handed the writing-tablet to the steward as I spoke.

The man nodded gravely as he undid the seal. ‘I have heard of him. The senior local magistrate. It is kind of him to send. How did he hear the news?’

‘News?’ I was naturally mystified. ‘He thought your master might require a pavement – that is all. He merely wished to help. But I see that you . . .’ The man was scowling and I was already attempting a retreat.

‘A pavement?’ The steward sounded quite incredulous. ‘We don’t need a pavement; we need help to find the thieves!’

‘Thieves?’ I could see that he regretted blurting out the word, so I urged gently, ‘You had better tell me. I can pass the message on. That way at least you have reported it.’

The steward looked furious, but at last he shrugged. ‘I’ve already reported it to the local garrison. I thought you’d come from there. But I suppose it is no secret and I might as well tell you, in case the patron that you speak of may be able to assist. The last of my master’s carts has failed to arrive. The one on which he’s placed his greatest treasures, too. It was due to come last evening but there was no sign of it. We thought it was delayed. But word has just reached us, not half an hour ago, that the vehicle has been discovered on the road outside the town, with the driver hacked to pieces and all the contents gone.’

‘Great Jupiter!’ I muttered. ‘Was there not a guard?’

‘Four of them, armed and mounted – all now lying dead. The horses have been disembowelled, too.’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘So it is a matter for Great Jupiter indeed. We shall have need of Jupiter when Voluus hears of this.’ He glanced at the writing-tablet in his hand and thrust it back at me. ‘So you go and tell your patron that if he really wants to help he won’t send me stupid pavement-makers, desperate for work; he will send me someone to help us find the thieves. A contingent of the local soldiery, perhaps, or a few of the town watch. Presumably he has sufficient authority for that?’

I
t was clear that he expected me to go. Presumably he intended that I’d hurry off and report to my patron straight away. But I could not return to Marcus without at least a small attempt to fulfil the task he had given me. Besides, the steward had deliberately insulted both of us and I was not going to let him get away with that. I was only in a tunic and a woollen cloak, and I suppose that physically I look every inch a Celt, so the steward could not know that I was a Roman citizen. Describing me as a ‘stupid pavement-maker desperate for work’ was merely impolite. But disparaging my patron was a different thing – and might even be a trap. If this really was a house of imperial spies, as Marcus seemed to think, any failure to defend my patron’s name (as any protégé is duty-bound to do) might someday reach his ears.

So I said slowly, and with what dignity I could muster, ‘You doubt that Marcus has authority? Then you don’t know my master.’

The round face flushed beneath the swarthy skin. ‘And you clearly don’t know mine. He will make more trouble for this colonia than you can dream of, pavement-maker. He will have it howled throughout the empire that he was robbed in Glevum before he even came. And he will demand the full rigour of the law. There will be crucifixions here before this business ends – you tell your patron that.’ He pulled the door open and motioned me to leave.

But I had seen the fear behind the blustering. I did not move a thumb-span. ‘And you will be lucky if you’re not one of them?’ I said, loudly enough for anyone on the stairs outside to hear. I knew it was a risk – the steward might have given me a push or called for other servants to remove me bodily, but we both were in full view and I was gambling that he would not wish to make a public scene. Gossip in Glevum spreads quicker than a fire, and the dice players on the staircase had already stopped to stare.

I saw them nudge each other and the steward saw them, too. He flashed an angry look at me and shut the door again – with me still inside the ante-room.

‘Now, look here, pavement-maker.’ He muscled up to me. ‘What are you playing at? Deliberately talking so half the town can hear!’

I looked at him. ‘Nothing I said would mean a thing to anyone out there.’

That was likely to be true, as he must have realized, but he wasn’t mollified. He hissed into my face, ‘Just wait until Voluus arrives and hears of this. They may not have understood what you were saying, but I did. You were suggesting that I might be to blame.’

I stood my ground. ‘I did nothing of the sort. I did not say you were to blame – I said that you would be lucky to escape this with your life. You think so, too – I can see it in your face. I was once a slave myself and I know what it’s like. When the owner is away and there is trouble in the house, don’t the masters always blame the steward first?’

The florid face was ashen all at once. ‘You think so?’

I had clearly got past his defences now. The haughtiness had gone. If I could find a way to rattle him again, I might persuade him to confide in me. I said matter-of-factly, ‘But of course. Who else would know the details of the cart – what was on it and when it would arrive? Somebody must have planned to seize it on the road. That cart in particular – out of all the rest – when in fact it carried the most valuable load? You can’t believe that was coincidence? And it had to be someone in the area, who had already found a place to hide the loot – someone with sufficient natural authority to enlist a group of thieves, and sufficient money to buy their loyalty. I imagine you have saved a good deal from your
pecunium
. If you were Voluus, who would you suspect?’

He leaned on one of the alabaster pillars as if he needed its support and stared goggle-eyed at me. ‘But he must see that that would be preposterous! I have hardly set foot outside of this apartment since we came.’ He was pressing his hands together under his gold-edged sleeves, so hard that his knuckles showed white against his dark red tunic cloth, but all at once he lifted his bald head defiantly. ‘There are two other slaves here who are witnesses to that.’

‘And will Voluus believe them?’ I saw him flinch as if I’d flicked him with a whip. ‘Will they even tell the truth? Do they have cause to love you?’

He lifted his linked hands to the slave-chain round his neck, but he could not hide the nervous bobbing of his throat. ‘I don’t suppose they do. My master bought them just before he left again for Gaul and instructed me to lick them into shape. I suppose I might have been a bit severe with them from time to time.’ He spread his hands despairingly and looked into my face. ‘But you don’t think . . . ?’