The Legatus Mystery (3 page)

I was going to say ‘of the dignity that she deserves’, but the words were never uttered. A young man had burst into the steam room and flung himself to the tiled floor at Marcus’s feet. He was – remarkably – still half dressed, in the distinctive tunic of a temple slave, and the steam was already dampening the cloth and settling in little droplets on the metal of his clasp.

‘What is the meaning of this intrusion!’ Marcus was angry. He got to his feet and so – rather groggily – did I, to the anguish of my feet and the great relief of my posterior.

‘Most honoured Excellence! A thousand thousand apologies. I bring important news.’ The man had not moved from his position, and already the moisture was beginning to course down his face and drip from his nose and chin.

‘Very well,’ Marcus said, and the man struggled to his feet.

‘I come from the senior Sevir Augustalis,’ he blurted, ‘Meritus, high priest of the Imperial cult in Glevum. He sends his humble greetings to your Excellence . . .’

‘Never mind all that,’ Marcus said testily. ‘What’s the news?’

‘Citizen, there was dreadful moaning in the temple earlier – not even the High Priest of Jupiter knew what was causing it. Then Sevir Meritus went into the inner sanctum of the shrine at noon, to read the auguries.’ The messenger looked at us wildly. Suddenly he blurted, as though he had forgotten his carefully prepared text, ‘The long and short of it is, there was a body in there on the floor. A body in rich civilian clothing. And oh, Excellence . . .’ he threw himself back on the floor as if by humbling himself he could somehow undo the horror of his words, ‘judging by the documents that the priest found in his belt, it seems to be the body of an imperial embassy.’

An imperial ambassador! I caught my breath.

‘Dear Jupiter!’ Marcus was visibly shocked. ‘The last time anything happened to an imperial legate to Britannia . . .’

He did not finish, but we all knew what he meant. It was a story to frighten children with. The legate and his two bodyguards had been set upon and brutally murdered, apparently by marauding wayside thieves. All three had been hacked into pieces and left for the wolves – all for the sake of the bag of silver they were carrying. Parts of the bodies had never been recovered and there were terrible reprisals in the town concerned. So much so, legend said, that one tribal elder who witnessed the slaughter called down the vengeance of the gods on all things Roman – and instead brought a dreadful vengeance on himself. They’d half flayed him, bound him to a stake, and wheeled him in – still breathing – to the arena beasts, for daring to defy the word of Rome.

And all this was under the previous emperor, Marcus Aurelius, who was famously just! What his unpredictable son might do to Glevum in the same circumstances was too horrible to contemplate.

I glanced at Marcus. He had turned pale. ‘Of course, Excellence,’ I said nervously, ‘that earlier incident
was
further south, and put down to displaced Iceni. The Romans have never trusted the Iceni, ever since the revolt of Boudicca.’ It was a forlorn attempt at comfort. Marcus knew the likely consequences as well as I did.

He shook his head, and then moved with a sudden alacrity which would have made a battle-charger look sluggish. ‘Come on,’ he said, jumping up from his bench, and leading the way out of the room. ‘There is no time to be lost.’

I followed him – there was nothing else to do – and the temple slave trotted obediently after us.

Marcus was in a hurry. He ignored the tepid pools in the adjoining room and made his way directly to the
frigidarium
, where he launched himself instantly into the cold plunge. The temple slave glanced at me uncertainly.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, and I could hardly back out of this without looking foolish. I handed the slave my towel and, closing my eyes, followed Marcus into the pool as boldly as I could. The shock of that sudden immersion would have made a statue squeal, but the temple slave was watching me and I controlled myself, only emitting the faintest of gasps.

The cold water was reviving, however, once I caught my breath again. Marcus was soon out of the pool, waving aside the proffered massage (to the chagrin of the massage-slave, who’d been hoping for a tip), and a moment later we were all striding back to the changing room. Marcus’s attendant was still patiently sitting guard over my patron’s clothes. There was no sign of the boy I had paid to look after mine.

‘Quickly!’ Marcus barked to his slave, and allowed himself to be swiftly dried and draped elegantly in his toga while I dabbed at myself ineffectively with my damp towel. I was still trying to come to terms with what I’d heard.

‘An imperial legate,’ I ventured at last, pulling my patched tunic over my head and wrapping myself in my cloak. ‘Not . . .’ I hardly dared to form the words, ‘. . . this Fabius Marcellus that you mentioned earlier?’

To my astonishment my patron shook his head. ‘I thought of that at first, but on reflection I don’t see how it can be,’ he said thoughtfully, holding his hands out of the way while his slave twisted one end of the toga-cloth into a belt, in the latest fashion. ‘In fact the whole thing is a puzzle. I received that communication from the Emperor only yesterday, and that was brought directly to me by the fastest messengers. Even if Fabius had left Rome at the same instant, he would still be several days away – and according to the letter he was not due to leave until the Ides.’

I looked up from lacing my sandals. ‘But if it isn’t Fabius . . .?’

Marcus’s slave was fitting elegant red shoes to his master’s feet. ‘That is the problem, Libertus. Of course the Emperor has a thousand messengers, and he can send them anywhere he chooses – but I can’t believe that there has been an imperial legation anywhere near Glevum without my hearing of it. If there was any formal embassy in Britannia I should have had word of his arrival as soon as he set foot on these shores.’

He was right, of course. The Emperor is not the only man with spies. If this corpse was only impersonating a
legatus
, that altered everything. That act in itself would have merited the death penalty, and there would be no danger to the city. I breathed again.

‘So, Excellence,’ I said. ‘What do you propose?’

‘I must see this Sevir Augustalis,’ Marcus said. He turned to the temple slave. ‘Remind me, who was the priest exactly, before he took the wreath?’

‘He was a wealthy freedman, Excellence,’ the slave recited dutifully.

Marcus snorted with impatience. ‘Obviously – since members of the Board of Augustales always are! I meant, how did this one come to be elected priest? Presumably the man had wealth, to join the Augustales in the first place. So where did the money come from? Always assuming he has any left, by this time.’

Now that the immediate danger seemed to have receded, I could not resist a grin. The expense of being a priest of the Imperial cult is legendary. The provision of games, festivals and votive offerings to mark the year of office have become obligatory, a kind of involuntary tax on the freedman chosen, so election to the post is a very dubious blessing. However, it is a certain route to civic distinction, and nomination – since the priest directly serves the Emperor – is not an honour that a man can easily refuse.

The temple slave was looking doubtful. ‘I have heard that Meritus was formerly the estate-manager for a very wealthy man. He must have made a great success of it, too, because when his master died he bequeathed Meritus his freedom and a large part of the estate as a reward. Since then it has become an even bigger success. Or so they say. Charcoal, wool and timber apparently. Though I believe the real money came from metals, Excellence. Lead, iron and silver, and a little gold.’

‘Metals? I thought that all the metals locally were in the hands of Rome?’

The temple slave shook his head. ‘I only know the rumours, Excellence. There was some disused mine on the land, it seems, but Meritus got a licence and started working it again – and has done very well out of it. There’s a good market for all these things in Rome. He even trades in artefacts these days, I hear, provided that the metal’s good enough. But of course that’s only gossip, Excellence. I’ve never heard him talk about himself.’

I could believe that. Ex-slaves, especially those who have risen to a fortune, are not often anxious to talk about their humble origins.

Marcus nodded. ‘I see.’

The temple slave paused in the act of wrapping himself in his outdoor cloak again. He had not had the benefit of a cold plunge and a towel: his face was still scarlet, and his hair and tunic were looking dismally damp. ‘But surely you have met the sevir, Excellence.’

That was an unwise question. Marcus flushed with irritation. ‘Certainly I have.’

Of course he had. As the highest-ranking local dignitary, Marcus had probably spent more time than he wished taking part in public sacrifice, and he could scarcely have avoided the senior local sevir. But I could see what was happening. One Imperial high priest is very like another, and the office is usually held only for a year. If I knew Marcus he would have paid no particular attention to the man. Yet he could hardly admit to that, in the light of this dead ambassador. It might be interpreted as proof of a dangerous lack of seriousness in emperor worship, and anything of that kind would certainly be reported to Rome – the Seviri Augustales tend to have a very high opinion of their own importance. Marcus was sensibly trying to find out what he could, so as not to create a social embarrassment.

I did my best to help him. ‘An older man, I seem to remember, with greying hair?’

It was a reasonable guess. Few men came to be Seviri Augustales under the age of forty at least. But the temple slave shook his head. ‘Perhaps you are thinking of the Sevir Praxus, citizen – he was last year’s high priest. Meritus is a much younger man than that – a very big man, broad-shouldered, with darkish skin and curly hair.’

‘Ah,
that
sevir,’ Marcus said knowledgeably, though I was privately convinced that he had no more memory of the man than I had. He held out his hand, so that his slave could slide the heavy seal-rings onto his finger. ‘Where was this estate of his, exactly?’

The temple slave looked surprised at the enquiry. ‘On the western borders, Excellence. Near Ariconium.’

‘The western borders?’ Marcus looked at me and raised his eyebrows. That part of the province is notoriously wild. The thick forests there are rumoured to be stalked by wolves, bandits and worse – the rebel red-headed tribesmen of the Silures, who have never really accepted Roman rule. There are still occasionally skirmishes there, and even the Roman army rarely moves in the remoter areas without a cavalry escort. An ex-slave from that area was likely to have dangerous antecedents.

‘So he was not from Glevum? But I presume this is where he took the wreath of office?’

‘He has contributed a great deal to the Augustales here. Of course he came here often – exporting wood to Greece and Rome, and selling wool and animals in the local markets. And the metals, too, have always been brought to Glevum to be shipped down the river. He is quite a figure in the city.’

‘Ah, of course,’ Marcus said briskly. ‘Now I recall. Very well. Go back and tell this Meritus we are coming. Libertus and I will follow shortly.’ He took it for granted that I was going to the temple with him, I noticed.

‘As you command, Excellence!’ the temple slave said, and bowed himself out of the changing room at once, almost backing into a couple of incoming bathers as he did so.

‘When you are ready, Libertus my old friend,’ Marcus said heartily, as if I were the one who had been taking a long time to get dressed, and I found myself following him through the outer courtyard. Young men stopped their ballplay to watch us pass, and a party of gamblers, whom I had seen earlier under the colonnades, hid away their dice at our approach and became suddenly fascinated by the wares of a passing food-vendor. Gaming is still officially prohibited in public places and Marcus’s impressive toga was having its usual effect.

We passed through the entrance lobby and out into the street, and at once we were enveloped by the commerce of the town.

‘Live eels, citizens? Fresh caught in the Sabrina this morning . . .’

‘Household images, best household images . . .’

‘This way to the
lupinarium
, gentlemen. Nice girls – all with specialities . . . all clean. A special price for you . . .’

Marcus brushed them all aside, and stepping over the piles of leather belts, turnips, tombstones and ivory brooches set out for sale at the pavement edge, he made his way to the corner of the little street. There his servant was already summoning some carrying chairs, and I soon found myself lurching along beside my patron in a litter. The litter-carriers were skilled and practised, evading the crowds and taking us along at a near-run – so quickly that Marcus’s slave was panting after us, and we were likely to arrive at the temple long before our messenger.

We turned the corner and into the forum. There were traders here too, of course, as well as the civic offices and council buildings – but mostly the central area was alive, as it always was, with dignified citizens in togas, and self-important weights and measures officers weighing both goods and money on official scales. We came to a stop outside the Capitoline shrine. It is a huge temple complex glittering with wealth, as befits the central shrine of Jupiter in a city originally built as a retirement settlement for veterans: the army has always held Jupiter in especial reverence.

The temple and its attendant shrines stand in a large courtyard area at one corner of the forum. We got down, leaving the slave to pay the carriers, and as we made our way towards it I felt a little shiver down my spine.

No doubt it is designed to that effect. The entire complex is enclosed by walls, with a great colonnaded entranceway reached by two shallow steps from the street and protected from the idle public gaze by a verandaed ambulatory on either side. Once through the massive gate – and only then – one can see the central temple. It is a lofty building, made more impressive still by being set towards the back of the courtyard on a
podium
, up an imposing flight of marble steps, its entrance screened by a further arrangement of towering columns. The mixture of soaring architecture and shadowed secretness is intended to impress the superstitious.