A Whispering of Spies (15 page)

I shook my head decisively. ‘It would not account for why there’s more blood on the outside of the cloth. Quite the opposite! And if he had bled to death here – as it was made to seem – the pools beside the roadway would be streaked with blood, and you can see they’re not.’ The man looked so chastened that I softened my remark. ‘I know there’s been an awful lot of rain, but here we are in the shelter of the trees. If it’s not been wet enough to wash the bloodstains from the cart, how could it dispose of bloodstains on the inside of a cloth?’

‘Of course!’ The centurion chimed in – not so much in my support as to make some contribution, however limited. ‘So, sesquipularius, what do you say to that? Or do you believe that Jove has favoured us with some kind of miracle?’

Scowler gave him a poisonous look but retreated, muttering.

Meanwhile, the commander was examining the cart. He came back looking thoughtful. ‘I do believe the citizen is right. I don’t think the driver was murdered where he sat. Though whether he had simply got down from his perch to help the others when they were attacked, and was mutilated with them, perhaps we’ll never know. Certainly, like them, he has been dead some time.’

I nodded. ‘Sometime late yesterday, I would estimate.’

‘I agree,’ Emelius put in, anxious as ever to be part of this. ‘The bodies have gone stiff – I remember that happening on the battlefield, when we did not have time to move the dead for several hours. They get quite hard to bury when they do not bend, and we sometimes left them for a day or so, till they went limp again; but not too long, or they start to putrify. These have not been dead long enough to smell.’ He looked around, as if alarmed by some unpleasant thought. ‘Let us hope that at least their spirits are peacefully at rest. This forest might be haunted for ever, otherwise.’

The commander silenced him with a look. ‘Of course we know these bodies have been here some hours – they were first discovered shortly after dawn. I wished we’d asked the finder if they were stiff by then. It’s possible they weren’t. I was inclined to think this happened after dark, but it might be that I’m wrong. Few people travel in the forest after dusk – at least not willingly – and there is no sign that they had torches with them on the cart. This may all have taken place today.’

I cocked an eyebrow at him, more confident by now. ‘You don’t believe my theory, then, that they were killed elsewhere? While they were off-duty for the night and resting, possibly? If, for instance, there was only one of them on watch, it might explain how the others could be taken so wholly by surprise.’

He did not seem impressed. ‘But how would all this have got here, if that were the case? The cart would need a driver, wouldn’t it? And you could hardly bring a pile of corpses through the forest on the back of it . . .’ He broke off thoughtfully. ‘Though, come to think of it, I suppose you could if you had already moved the treasure off the cart. Provided you still had something to cover up the load – and no one stopped to ask you what you were carrying.’

I said nothing. Better to let him think out these answers for himself.

He looked around the clearing and I did the same. It was still a scene of carnage, though less chaotic now. Only the horses were still littering the ground, their disembowelled bodies lay closest to the path, entrails protruding from each sorry corpse, while their heads and legs and tails were scattered far and wide. Their blood was everywhere.

I turned to the commander. ‘Could you – or I – be certain that all this is human blood?’ I gestured to where Scowler’s fatigue had piled the humans on the cart, and were in the act of flinging in the heap of severed parts. ‘Suppose those victims were already dead, and simply smeared with it?’

‘I suppose it is remotely possible,’ he murmured. ‘Though, I can’t believe it! It is simply too bizarre. Carving up dead bodies, then flinging them about to make it look as if there’d been a rebel raid! Killing those poor horses – which were valuable too – just to use their blood to add to the effect! Let me have another look at them.’ He went over to examine the topmost body on the cart. I left him to it, and he soon returned, saying doubtfully, ‘You honestly believe that that’s what happened here?’

I nodded. ‘I’m more and more convinced that it was something of the kind. Certainly this was not what it appeared to be.’

He sighed. ‘I was going to give instructions to dig a pit and give the poor dumb creatures a decent burial, but you make me wonder. Do you want to look at them again?’

I shook my head. ‘I don’t believe there’s much more to be gained by that.’

‘I confess that is rather a relief. I’ll have them start at once.’ He summoned Scowler and murmured his instructions to the man, who went swaggering off to bully his fatigue. A moment later two of them were starting on the pit, each using the mattock which is standard kit and which had been waiting for them on their cart.

The commander watched as the first of the horses’ legs were gathered up and brought, then turned away as if it hurt to look. ‘Why would anyone do a thing like this?’ He turned to me. ‘Why take the trouble? What would be the point?’

I outlined my theory about scaring Voluus. ‘I think it was intended to look like a rebel raid, and only the lictor would understand – or fear – that it was not.’

‘And why not wait until he came himself?’

‘I think the idea was to terrify, all of a piece with sending him that note. He would recognize this raid as further proof that he was under threat, and that the writer of that letter meant what he had said. But it would be hard to convince the authorities of that: they’d think the bandits were to blame for this.’

He made no answer and I glanced at him. His eyes were fixed on what was happening in the woods. The rest of the fatigue-party had finished loading up the cart and hastened over to assist with the digging of the pit. The commander said heavily, ‘I think you might be right. Without you, we’d assume that this was rebel handiwork.’ He gave a hollow laugh. ‘And if some of the rebels happened to be caught, it would simply be assumed that they were holding out against the questioning and telling lies. It is even possible that one of them would break down under torture and “confess”, and that would seal the matter finally.’

‘Why should anyone confess if he is innocent?’ the centurion chimed in. I had forgotten him. I was about to answer when he worked it out and reddened to his ears, realizing that he sounded like an innocent himself. ‘Oh, hoping to make his own death a little easier, I suppose?’

‘Perhaps you should ask the lictor that, when he arrives – it is a situation which I understand he’s quite familiar with,’ I said, remembering the story of the page. ‘Unfortunately the method is not reliable. The victim cannot tell you what he does not know, so the contents of the treasure-cart, for instance, would be sought in vain, whatever imaginative answers he might have supplied.’

I glanced at the commander but he was still watching the progress of the pit, which was quite large by now. Roman soldiers are all trained to dig a ditch and they are remarkably efficient at such things.

Emelius (who had put away his dagger by this time and was looking at the ongoing work approvingly) murmured something about bandits deserving all they got – whether they were innocent of a given raid or not. ‘Though I suppose that this is hypothetical; none of the rebels might be caught at all.’

I looked at him. ‘I expect the killers hope they will, and that there’ll be a special effort made to capture them. After such a violent raid – and on the public road – the authorities would be certain to retaliate.’

The commander nodded. ‘You are quite right, of course. I was already planning to send for reinforcements to mount a hunt for rebels hereabouts.’ He sighed. ‘It would give me satisfaction to track the rebels down, capture as many of their leaders as we could, and make an exhibition of them at the games – have them whipped and feed them to the bears, perhaps. I am quite tempted to do that in any case – they have given us sufficient cause these last few years. But most of all I want to find the men responsible for this . . .’ He gestured to where the men were picking up one disembowelled horse ready to fling it in the pit. He turned away abruptly. ‘But you really think it was not the rebels, after all? In that case, I shall have to look elsewhere – starting with the person who sent Voluus that threat, I suppose?’ He gave another sigh. ‘I only wish I’d been there and could tell you who it was.’

He set off towards the carriage which had brought us here, with myself and Emelius pottering after him. Our driver had tethered his horses to a tree and was sitting forlornly under it himself, huddled in a woollen cape, his hood pulled firmly down around his ears. He saw us coming and struggled to his feet to heave the carriage round, while the escort – who had been detailed to stand up and down the road to make sure no idle travellers tried to pass – hurried over to retrieve their mounts.

We stood and watched all this activity. ‘You really have no idea who sent the threatening note?’ I said. ‘I thought they found it at the mansio after Voluus had gone? What’s happened to it now?’

The commander shook his head. ‘I never saw it. I was busy with my duties when the lictor left, and this was really none of my affair. He was just a casual visitor, looking in Glevum for a place to live – albeit one who had his master’s letter as an official pass.’

I understood exactly what he was implying and had not said aloud. Voluus was neither an army officer nor a patrician of important rank and did not merit the attention of someone who was both. ‘So you had no cause to go and seek him out?’

‘Exactly and, of course, he didn’t ask for an audience with me. I only heard about the letter afterwards – and then only because it had occasioned such a scene. The officer-in-charge was contemplating asking him to leave! He didn’t do so at the time – he told me that he was alarmed in case the lictor turned on him – but fortunately the problem solved itself. Before he’d assembled his objections and screwed his courage up to confront the man, Voluus announced that he was leaving anyway, and returning immediately to Gaul. Because he’d found the flat and land he’d wanted, one presumed.’

‘Or perhaps was genuinely worried by the threat, and frightened off,’ I said.

‘I hadn’t thought of that!’ He made a musing sound. ‘It obviously caused him real anxiety. After all, he hired Porteus’s men to guard his home while he was gone.’

‘Wouldn’t Calvinus do that in any case?’ I said.

‘The lictor wrote to Porteus – in strictest confidence – that he sometimes doubted his steward’s loyalty and thought it possible he could be bribed. Florens told me that. That’s why he and Porteus had the fellow put under arrest immediately after they heard about the raid. And then they learned that Calvinus had sent a messenger to you! You can see how . . .’ He broke off as the riders cantered into place. ‘Ah, here is our escort. If you and the centurion would care to climb aboard I will give the orders to take us back to town.’

I did not instantly obey. I was feeling confident enough by now to say, politely and with proper diffidence, ‘With your permission, commandant, I had been hoping you’d allow me to go home at least to assure my household that I’m safe, and perhaps collect a toga ready for the court? My roundhouse is not very far from here.’

He gave me the kind of look that he had given Emelius. ‘Citizen, surely you’re aware that such a thing is quite impossible? You were entrusted to my custody, charged with involvement in a crime of robbery and murder on the public road.’

‘But surely, now you are convinced I had no part in this . . .’

He raised an eyebrow in the way I recognized. ‘Libertus, I was fairly confident of that before we started out – do you suppose I favour many prisoners with my company on a journey out of town? But Florens delivered you to me, having accused you in accordance with the law, and in accordance with the law I must continue to hold you until you come before the courts or he decides that he’ll withdraw the charge. I imagine that he’ll do so – he’s a reasonable man – when we can provide him with sufficient proof that you are innocent.’

‘But surely . . .’ I began again.

He stood back to indicate that I should get into the coach. ‘When I say “proof” I’m talking about something tangible. Actual evidence – not simple theories, however plausible. But real proof, I fear, is something that we really do not have.’

I
was astounded at this answer. Dumbfounded, in fact. I had come to look upon the commander as a sort of personal ally, so Jove might have thrown a thunderbolt at me with less effect. Really, of course, I should not have been surprised – I have seen the law in action many times before, and a charge against a man must stand until it is disproved or else withdrawn. I was still a prisoner of the garrison and to have imagined otherwise was presumptuous.

Emelius had got his dagger out again, now that my status was no longer in any kind of doubt, and was trying to urge me up on to the carriage-seat, but I was desperate. I ignored him and went on trying to convince the commandant.

‘But Mightiness,’ I pleaded, ‘we do have evidence. I drew your attention to the nature of the stains, the lack of blood around the injuries and the likelihood that all these men were murdered somewhere else . . .’

The commander gave me the eyebrow-raise again. ‘And I unwillingly accept that you are very likely right. But all that is not proof that you are innocent – as I’m sure your enemies would be quick to say. In fact, they’re almost certain to maintain the opposite: that you know so much about it that you must have been involved.’ I was about to interrupt him, but he raised his hand to silence me. ‘I don’t necessarily agree with them, but I’m obliged to take you back.’ His mouth twitched in what might have been a smile. ‘Though I’ll see that this time you are held in a more comfortable place. Perhaps you would even care to dine with me in the
Praesidium
tonight – if my orderly can stretch my meal to two. It will be rather Spartan. I’m a soldier, after all.’

I nodded, too relieved and grateful for a moment to find words. A humble tradesman like myself, being invited to dine with the commander in his official house – there could not have been a clearer signal of his belief in me. I was aware of seeming graceless and I managed to blurt out, ‘I would be truly honoured.’