A Whispering of Spies (6 page)

He grinned. ‘That is clever, father. Giving a reason why you had to send a written note, though in fact you just wanted to get the boy in here. I know your little ways.’

‘As I said, I want to find out what he knows.’

‘Nothing to do with feeling sorry for the lad?’

I made a mock-rueful face. ‘I’m sorry that my motives are so obvious.’

‘All the same, what makes you think he’ll talk to you, however much he wants to please? You can see that he’s been trained in the old-fashioned Roman way: where a slave should never speak until he is spoken to, and preferably not then. He’ll be far too shy and awestruck to tell you anything.’

It was my turn to grin. ‘Why do you think I sent him off with Minimus?’ I gestured with my head towards the outer room from where a murmuring of voices could be heard. ‘A slave will often prattle to a slave. That’s what I’m hoping for. But enough of that – I think they’re coming now.’

Junio nodded and went back to his work, while Minimus ushered our visitor back into the room. A little food and warmth had clearly done Brianus good – there was a touch more colour in the sallow cheeks and he seemed a lot less nervous than he was before, although he still hung back against the wall.

I did not confuse him by addressing him direct, but busied myself with tying the cords around the writing-block and securing them with a little dab of heated wax. I don’t have a fancy seal-ring, like patricians do, but I do possess a seal – a piece of wood with a raised iron pattern set into the end. I gestured to Brianus that he should pass me that, and – rather shyly – he stepped up to comply, while I winked at Minimus, who was sulking slightly at being overlooked.

I took the seal and pressed it on the wax across the knotted cords, so that the writing-block was securely closed despite the faulty hinge, then chalked the word ‘Calvinus’ on the outside of the frame. ‘It is not elegant, but it will have to do,’ I said. I looked up to find Voluus’s slave-boy gazing at me as though I were some sort of conjurer. It occurred to me that writing might be a mystery to him: not every slave-boy in Roman households learns to read. ‘Here you are!’ I held it out to him. ‘Make sure the steward gets it as soon as possible. Now take your cloak – I think it is a little drier now – and my slave will show you to the door.’

Brianus took the tablet and bowed himself away. A moment later we heard Minimus ushering him out.

Junio raised an eyebrow at me as he looked up from the floor. ‘So much for your questioning of the boy,’ he said. ‘You treated him so gently, you haven’t got any information out of him at all.’ He frowned at a piece of pattern that did not seem to fit.

‘That depends,’ I told him, wiping the seal-block clean and returning the lid to the pot of sealing-wax, ‘on what he might have said to Minimus.’ I looked up as the boy in question came back into the room. ‘And here he is. Let’s ask him.’

Minimus looked from Junio to me with obvious concern. ‘Have I offended, master? I didn’t like to ask while Brianus was here, but you seem annoyed with me. Is it because I did not climb the ladder straight away? Or is there something that I’ve not done well enough? If it is about the preparation of the mead . . .’

I cut him off. ‘The mead was excellent. Almost as good as Junio used to make. And you are quite mistaken, I am not annoyed at all – unless it’s with myself, for failing to find out what my patron hoped to learn.’

‘If my father spoke sharply,’ Junio put in, ‘it was for the benefit of that unfortunate young slave.’ He took a piece of coloured stone and tried it in the space, first one way and then the other, before rejecting it. ‘Brianus is not used to kindnesses, I think – and would not have accepted our warmth and succour otherwise.’

‘Oh!’ Minimus looked visibly relieved. He turned to me. ‘Well, you may be right. I know that he was terrified the whole time he was here – he could not believe you’d given him a part of your own meal, but he was dreading what might happen when he gets home again. Apparently his master’s left a steward in the house who beats him savagely for almost anything. Poor thing! You should have seen his back!’

‘You did, I take it?’ I enquired. I tried to exchange a ‘told-you-so’ glance with Junio but he pretended to be busy with his coloured stones.

Minimus, though, was nodding. ‘He pulled down his tunic neck so that I could see. He’s covered all over with blue bruises and red weals.’ He glanced up sheepishly at me. ‘He told me I didn’t know how fortunate I was to have an owner as compassionate as you.’

‘Because of a piece of oatcake and a sip or two of wine?’ I laughed. ‘What is special about that? Any other household would have done the same. No one sends a visiting slave away – especially the slave of a wealthy man like Voluus – without giving him something warming on a day like this.’ I could see that Junio was really struggling, so I went back to join him at the mosaic as I spoke – though he’d obviously been making a good job of it so far. There was just that piece of pattern . . . I set to work on it. ‘In fact, I felt quite sorry for sending you outside – it is much warmer in this inner room and he was soaked right through.’

‘It wasn’t only the food and drink that he was grateful for,’ Minimus went on, handing me the
tesserae
that I gestured to. ‘He says you saved him from a flogging earlier. Something about a vase which tumbled off its plinth? And you put in a word to say it was an accident and not his fault at all?’

‘I had forgotten about that,’ I said, sliding a fragment snugly into place.

‘Brianus was especially impressed,’ my slave said eagerly, ‘not just that you spoke up on his behalf, but also that the steward took your word for it and did not even punish him when you were gone.’

‘That was not entirely my doing,’ I replied. I sat back on my haunches to view my handiwork. I was content with it. The space that I had left could now be filled in easily. ‘There was another servant there and she defended him as well.’

‘That would be Pronta – he told me about her,’ Minimus agreed. ‘She does her best for him. The steward rather fancies owning her himself, so she does not get beaten like Brianus does. She does try to protect him, but it doesn’t always work. Sometimes her attempts to shield him only make things worse.’

‘The steward hopes to own her? I am surprised at that.’ I clambered to my feet and dusted off my hands. ‘Surely she is Voluus’s slave?’

Minimus wrinked his freckled nose at me. ‘Apparently the lictor’s bringing slaves with him from Gaul, including a whole retinue belonging to the wife, so it’s probable the girl will not be needed after that. The steward thinks his master will agree to pass her on – though at a price, of course. Apparently it’s commonplace in Gaul for the senior slaves of very wealthy men to have servants of their own.’

‘Not only in Gaul,’ I told him. ‘It happens here sometimes. It’s seen as a sign of status for the master, I believe.’

Minimus nodded. ‘That’s exactly what Brianus said, so he’s sure his owner will agree to let Calvinus have the girl. But the boy’s afraid the steward might try to buy him, too, and then his life would be a total misery. He says it’s possible. The steward gets a small allowance from his master every month and has been saving up for years.’

‘But won’t he want that money to buy his freedom with?’ Junio said, putting the last few pieces of the pattern into place. ‘Isn’t that more important than acquiring slaves?’

Minimus looked from Junio to me and back again. ‘Oh, Calvinus has negotiated for his freedom several times,’ he said, bursting with importance at knowing all of this. ‘But Voluus keeps demanding a more and more inflated sum, claiming that it’s the current market-price for any steward of such experience.’

‘And then he pretends it is a compliment, no doubt,’ I said. It seemed that – as well as being an expert with the lash – Voluus had methods of being more cunningly unkind. ‘But he does allow the steward a small pecunium?’

Minimus nodded. ‘And permits him to keep gratuities! But then he fines the steward for all the breakages – like that pot this morning – which makes it very difficult for Calvinus to amass enough to buy himself free. But a basic slave – particularly a girl – is only a fraction of that price, so the steward could afford that as an alternative – it would give him status and she would be obliged to serve his needs, in any way he chose. He might even find enough to buy Brianus as well – though he would have to pay his master for their food and keep. The boy is sure that Calvinus is saving for something of the kind – he says they have been kept short of food and light for days, because the steward has been keeping money back out of what the lictor left to run the household with.’

Which explained why the slave-boy was so underfed, I thought. I said aloud, ‘So Brianus will be relieved to know his master’s on his way.’

Junio had completed the pattern by this time and, scrambling to his feet, he came to join me by the fire, rubbing his hands together to get more warmth in them. ‘How will that assist? I heard that Voluus was famously severe and had a dreadful temper when aroused, though I don’t know if it’s true.’

‘Brianus says he does,’ Minimus put in. ‘He witnessed it himself.’

‘Well?’ I murmured, to encourage him.

Minimus needed no more urging. He plunged into his story like a chariot horse let loose. ‘When they were staying at the
mansio
– the official inn – there was a message for Voluus which he didn’t like. He was having a meal with some patrician at the time – arranging to buy some land outside the town – but he did not seem to care that there were witnesses. He was so angry that he took a broken table leg and started hitting things. Turned an oil-lamp over, which almost set the place alight.’

‘Dear Mercury,’ I murmured. Fire is an ever-present threat and greatly to be feared. No wonder rumours of the lictor’s temper had been rife around the town.

‘And that is not the end of it,’ the red-haired slave went on. ‘He turned on the attendant and started beating him. There was quite a rumpus and he had to be restrained – or at least dissuaded – by his dinner-guest. Otherwise he might have killed the mansio slave, who had done nothing to offend him except bring the message in. They almost called the guard. Are you surprised that Brianus is scared?’

This was a story which I had not heard before – surprising, given the speed at which rumour spreads around Glevum. It would be something to tell Marcus when I called on him. Supposing it was true! ‘Brianus saw it happen? You are quite sure of that?’

Minimus was clearly thrilled at knowing something we did not. ‘Of course Voluus paid the mansio handsomely to hush it up, and the man that he was talking to – who was the only one to see the contents of the note – was sworn to silence, too, on pain of the valuable contract falling through. But Brianus was there – outside the door waiting to be called on – and he saw and heard it all. He was absolutely terrified and I am not surprised. He was saved from any ill-treatment at the time, because Voluus set off for Gaul again that very day – but I don’t think Brianus is looking forward to his coming back.’

‘All the same,’ I said, trying to sound judicious, ‘there may be advantages to having his master in the house. Calvinus will have to feed him better from now on, for one thing. A half-starved slave is no use to anyone. Besides, soon there will be a mistress in the house, and that sometimes leads to lighter punishments.’

Junio looked doubtful. ‘That won’t help if the steward buys Brianus for his own,’ he pointed out. ‘He will still have power to . . .’ But he got no further. We were interrupted by a rapping at the door.

I
had half-expected to find that it was Brianus outside – it would not have surprised me if he had found some excuse to scurry back to us – but in fact it was the servant of the wealthy customer who had commissioned the mosaic that we’d been working on. I did not recognize the man, but I knew the uniform: the crimson cloak could only mean this was a senior slave. I knew what that meant – or I thought I did.

Florens, the town councillor, was an important man and if he had sent his prized servant out in all this rain, just to check on progress, it could only be because he thought the work would not be done in time for his impending marriage. He was preparing to impose that penalty – just as I had feared!

He had not left me a shadow of excuse. He’d done his best to facilitate the work: his servants had already prepared the site for it – a shady corner of the garden at his country house, which had been dug and cleared and provided with a roof, ready to become the summer dining-room. Even the weather could not be argued as much reason for delay. So I was relieved that we had an almost-finished article to show.

I was already talking as I ushered the visitor inside and showed him the prefabricated work. ‘As you can see, we have made this section here. It’s upside down on that thin skim of plaster, which is easily removed, so now we can attach it to a firmer backing piece which will keep the tesserae in place. Then we can slide the whole thing on to a carrying board and leave it there to dry while we come out and put the final touches to the place where it’s to go.’ I knew that I was gushing but I could not help myself. ‘We should be out with you tomorrow or the next day – if it’s fine – to smooth out the rubble and start putting down cement.’ He was still frowning so I essayed a little smile. ‘I assure you that it will be ready before the wedding day.’

The servant waved my eager explanations to one side. ‘I’m sure that my master is expecting nothing less! But that is not why he has sent me here. You have heard about the pillaging of Voluus’s cart?’ His manner and the question were extremely brusque.

I gaped at him. ‘Who told you about that?’ Behind me I heard Junio’s sharp intake of breath and young Minimus was standing as if turned to stone.

‘My master heard it at the garrison.’ The visitor gave me a look of ill-disguised disdain. ‘And clearly you have heard about it, too – though not from there, I think. Of course it was unlikely to remain a secret long – a bloodstained cart found standing in the road with a dismembered driver and a slaughtered guard is certain to attract attention in the end. And naturally the contents of the cart have gone – as I’m sure that you are aware, since you visited the lictor’s new apartment earlier.’