A Whispering of Spies (25 page)

There was a shuffling and a grunting and the bear appeared, but to my great relief he did not come into the room, simply stood in the doorway looking up and down – mostly at the passage opposite, where the page-boy was still asleep. I did my best to look like a piece of furniture but he hardly glanced in my direction anyway, simply wrapped his cape around him, grumbling, and went back to his post. I heard him lowering himself on to his mat, and shortly afterwards the snores began again.

After a moment I risked letting out a sigh. I’d been standing so motionless I hadn’t even breathed. Then, slowly – and even more cautiously than I’d come – I stole back the same way. The door of Marcus’s bedroom squeaked alarmingly as I pushed it open and I slipped into the little vestibule inside, ready to protest that I had come to use the pot. But nothing happened. The page-boy did not appear and after a few moments I felt safe to move again.

It was the open shutters that gave me the idea. I knew that the window-space looked out on to the street, Perhaps, with a little enterprise . . . ? I went to have a look.

The wine-shopkeeper was in the shadows locking up his shop. The last of his customers had evidently gone and he’d snuffed his candles out, though there was still a lot of noise and light from the direction of the hot-soup stall and more shouts and laughter from the taverna down the street. If I was really going to scramble out, I’d have to do it quickly, before everyone went home. I did not want to draw attention to myself: any late straggler on the street was liable to be suspected of nefarious intent and questioned by the watch. I leaned a little further through the window-space, trying to judge how far I’d have to jump.

Too far, I decided. We were on the first floor up, and there was a solid granite pavement underneath. If I got through the window-space and hung on by my hands, it would still leave me six feet or more to drop – with every likelihood that I would break a leg. And once I’d left here, I could expect no help from anyone. I would be in breach of every law there was and the whole machinery of state would be my enemy. I would also be abusing the commandant’s faith in me, to say nothing of my patron’s hospitality. Marcus, in fact, was legally responsible for me, and would be liable to a substantial fine and public humiliation if he could not produce me to the court. It was clearly nonsensical to even think of it.

I went back slowly into the other room and sat down on the bed. In the gloaming my eye fell on the rug. It was not a very big one, but it would have to do.

I picked it up and rolled it into a sort of tube, so that it was approximately the same length as me, then put it carefully into the bed and covered it with rugs. It did not look much like a sleeping person when you were close to it, but at a distance it was good enough, especially in the dark. Then, remembering to take my sandals in my hand, I crept back into the master’s room and eased myself – with some difficulty – through the window-space so that I was sitting on the sill, my bare feet dangling above the street below.

I
f I had been a hero in a story of some sort, no doubt I would have leapt lightly from the ledge and scampered off, but I am an old man and no longer as fit as I once was. For a moment I did not move at all. The drop seemed even greater now than it had looked before and I was tightly wedged into the narrow window-space. I could not see how I could turn around and dangle from my hands as I had so hopefully supposed.

I was beginning to think that I would have to spend all night sitting on this uncomfortable ledge until I died of chill, when I heard something moving in the wind and I suddenly remembered the existence of the sign. It must be here somewhere, because it was hanging near the wine-shop door, and I was sitting almost over that. It had been strong enough to support the young drunkard earlier. If I could locate it, would it take my weight? If I could manage to balance with my feet on that, perhaps I could manoeuvre myself round the other way and do my dangling after all.

I leaned forward – very gingerly – and caught a glimpse of it: a foot or so below the level of my feet and slightly to one side. I eased one buttock forward and found that I could touch the bracket with my still-bare toes. Another inch and I could get my instep on to it – having no sandals on would make it easier – so that I could swivel round and grab the window-ledge.

The result was not as I’d intended it. My instep reached it, fairly easily, but in leaning forward I dislodged myself. The iron stanchion was slippery with wet, and as I lurched forward my bare foot slipped on it, so that – far from standing on the bracket with my weight upon my hands, as I’d hopefully supposed – I found myself astride it, like a rider on a horse, with my tunic riding up disgracefully around my thighs. My descent to this position had been so abrupt, and the iron post had caught me in such a painful place, that I gave a shriek, let go of my shoes and clung with both hands to the sign instead.

My own shriek alarmed me. I was afraid that I’d disturbed the house, but my eyes were watering and I could not move. no light flared in the window-space above and no angry voices shouted down at me. The only sound was that of loud laughter further down the street, and I realized that a group of people were approaching fast. I held my breath, praying that they would not look up at the sign, or stumble on my sandals, which had fallen to the street, though it was far too dark to see where they had gone.

But the gods had something else in store for me. There was a creaking, cracking sound from somewhere near my ear and – very slowly – the bar began to bend, tipping me forward as the bracket parted from the wall. I slid down it like a snowball running down a hill and landed with it, on the pavement, in a heap. I was so winded that I could neither speak nor move, so when the revellers reached me I was lying there, together with the shop sign and little bits of pebble from the wall.

One of the passers-by had stopped to look at me, holding his torch high to get a better view. ‘Swinging from the shop sign by the look of it. You’d think that he’d know better at his age, wouldn’t you?’ He reached out and turned me over with his foot, just as I had seen the centurion do to the drunk youth earlier.

I could do no more than lie there, looking up at him. This was the end of my little escapade! I thought. Any minute now I would be dragged off to the watch for causing damage to the wine-shop property. I would be questioned, the story would come out, and this time I would be locked up in the jail. At least, I told myself, I still had Junio’s money in my purse. It might buy me the opportunity to talk to Calvinus.

The man with the torch was bending over me and I could detect the smell of cheap wine on his breath. He wore a tunic not a toga, I was glad to see, and so did his companions, by the look of it, so these were not people of great authority. A group of freemen, possibly, united by a trade, coming from some bibulous meeting of their guild? In that case, they were probably not natives of the town – freemen born within these walls are citizens by birth and entitled to wear togas when they go out to dine.

‘Leave him, Hilarius.’ One of the others was impatient to be off. ‘You don’t know who he is or where he’s been.’

Hilarius giggled – it was not difficult to see how he had earned the name – but he had the stubbornness which comes with too much wine. ‘You can’t be sure he isn’t one of us.’ He leaned right down and stared into my face. ‘Not a carpenter, are you, by any chance? Though I didn’t see you at the banquet, come to think of it.’

I relaxed a little. ‘Different trade,’ I muttered, with what breath was left to me. ‘Though I work with buildings, too.’

Hilarius looked triumphant. ‘There you are, you see!’ he cried exultantly. ‘He may not be a carpenter but he’s the next best thing! Come on, old fellow – you can’t stay here all night.’ He grasped me by the arm and hauled me to my feet, though he was by no means steady on his own. ‘Can’t have a fellow drinker picked up by the watch. No doubt you’ve got a family who’ll reward us for returning you – say a cup or two of Rhenish, or something of the kind, or better still the means to buy it with? Or are they pleased to see the back of an old reprobate like you?’

I shook my head. ‘My son will pay you, but I live outside the walls.’ My mind was racing now. Clearly I could not let them take me to the shop, any more than I’d identified my trade – that would make it easy to work out who I was – but with their protection I could walk the streets of town and not draw further attention to myself. Even if the bear and page-boy woke and noticed that I’d gone and sent the household out to hunt for me, no one would be looking for a man in company. ‘Perhaps if you could just escort me to the gates . . . ? I’ll see you get the money for your Rhenish wine. Just tell me where you live.’ I had enough wit left not to mention that I had money in my purse, which might have been an invitation to be robbed.

My rescuer was rocking – with laughter or with wine, it was difficult to tell. ‘Outside the walls, eh? You should have thought of that a little earlier, my friend. All the gates are guarded at this time of night, and only official business gets you through – though of course easier getting out than in. But as it happens, it’s your lucky day. We’re on our way to see a funeral – one of our members died and the guild’s providing him a pyre. We’ve just been to the pre-cremation feast.’

‘Then you will be going out through the northern gate,’ I said. Bodies of adults cannot by law be laid to rest within the city walls and the northern road was the site of most cremations and even burials. It was lined with the graves and memorials of the great, and there was also a funeral
columbarium,
a so-called ‘dove-cote’ wall, comprising little niches in which the ashes of the dead could be immured. ‘That would be most convenient for me. Though I mustn’t keep you from the pyre.’

Hilarius was not so easily deterred. ‘Oh, that’s all right. We didn’t know the man. He happened to be a member of the guild. We’ve only recently arrived in town – we used to have a business near Corinium,’ he said, confirming my guess in all particulars. ‘But we heard that opportunities were better around here. More now, since this fellow fell off the scaffolding. They put him on the pyre at least an hour ago – we’re merely going to see them put the fire out and collect the ashes up into the urn. Only polite since we were invited to the feast.’

One of his companions interrupted him, giving a hiccough that was supposed to be a laugh. ‘Trouble is, we’re not exactly sure which way to go.’

Hilarius shrieked with mirth. ‘We lost track of the procession, I’m afraid. Stayed behind to help the servers finish up the wine. But if you say the north gate, that’s good enough for me, though we can always ask. Someone must have seen the funeral – the guild provided musicians and all sorts.’

It occurred to me that I might have seen it pass myself – in which case it was going the other way, towards the south. But I didn’t say so. For one thing, I did not want them talking to the watch, and for another I wanted their company till we left the town. ‘Then the north gate it is?’

There was a murmur of agreement from his friends. ‘Well, we’d better hurry,’ one of them remarked. ‘Or it will be all over before we reach the pyre. Hilarius, if you insist you’re going to bring your pal, you’d better see he’s quick. Here, I’ll support him on the other side.’ He thrust his shoulder under mine and went as if to lift me off my feet.

‘But I’ve lost my sandals,’ I managed to protest. It sounded like a bleat.

‘Fell off when you were swinging on that sign? Silly person!’ Hilarius chided me, but he took his torch and hunted for my shoes. It didn’t take him long. He picked them from the gutter and handed them to me. ‘Full of mud and muck and the gods-know-what. Still, it serves you right.’ He gestured to the shop sign which was lying at his feet. ‘Don’t know what the wine-shopkeeper’s going to say, when he comes back tomorrow and sees what you’ve done. Just as well he didn’t catch you in the act.’

He didn’t know how very true that was! And I wasn’t out of danger yet. I had just sat down to put my filthy sandals on, when there was a noise above our heads and a flustered page was shouting down at us.

‘Hey, you!’

My heart stopped in my chest.

‘What’s all this noise? You’re waking half the street – there are people here who need to get some rest! Go on, be off with you, before I call the watch.’

He was holding his lighted taper in one hand but since Hilarius had a torch and I was sitting very close to him without it actually illuminating me, I realized that I’d not been recognized. What is more it was clear that I had not yet been missed.

Hilarius almost gave the game away. ‘Sorry!’ he hollered cheerfully, waving an explanatory hand at me. ‘Our friend here had a little fall, that’s all.’

‘Then take him home before he falls again, and let respectable people get a little sleep!’ The taper disappeared and there was the sound of shutters being sharply closed.

There was a lot of wine-fuelled giggling from the carpenters, one of whom suggested going upstairs to ‘sort it out’ but eventually our little party lurched away. I was supported by an arm on either side but in fact I was the least fuddled person in the group, despite the several cups of wine I’d swallowed earlier. The fright the page had given me would have sobered me, if I’d drunk twice as much – and the night wind blowing through me kept me wide awake, since I did not have the benefit of a cloak, of course.

That was a double inconvenience, in fact, not only because my skin was coming up in pimples with the cold, but because a man out on the street without a cloak at night is noteworthy, especially if he is supposed to be attending at a pyre – and the last thing that I wanted was to be conspicuous. Perhaps the best defence was – after all – appearing to be drunk. People look away from inebriated groups, I told myself, so I permitted my companions to half-carry me along.

They themselves were nothing if not jovial. I was treated to a song with a dozen choruses – none of which the carpenters could totally recall, though they continually urged me to join in. I dared not offend them, so I made a droning noise and in this fashion we made it to the walls.