A Whispering of Spies (20 page)

The boy – who was dark and good-looking as Marcus’s pages always are – bobbed an obeisance and hurried to obey.

Marcus fastened his cloak clasp languidly. When he was ready he inclined his head towards the commandant and then held out his ringed hand for me to kiss. ‘Until tomorrow, then.’ And attended by the commander’s military slave – who was, of course, going to the guard-house anyway – he strolled away to host his private feast.

The commander watched him go and then said thoughtfully, ‘You have a kindly patron, citizen. Offering his own apartment as a haven overnight! It indicates how highly he holds you in esteem. No doubt you deserve it – ah, here comes your visitor. If you will excuse me, I have duties to perform. Of course I will have to leave you under guard, and the centurion will continue to be stationed at the gate, but you might prefer this conversation to be a private one. Talk to Junio in here and when the man who saw the treasure-cart arrives, I will send for you. After we’ve finished with our questioning of him, Emelius can escort you to your patron’s residence.’

He had spoken of Marcus’s kindness but his own seemed even more remarkable. I could do no more than stammer out my thanks, for a moment afterwards the orderly appeared and Junio was ushered in to speak to me. It was clear from his expression that he was overawed and the bow he sketched to the commander was unusually deep.

The commander sketched a hand towards the vacant stools. ‘Make yourselves comfortable, citizens. I’ll have fresh refreshments sent and my slave will be on hand if there is something you require. Junio, of course, is free to leave at any time. I will let the sentry know to let him pass. Libertus, I will see you later on.’ And he was gone, with Junio staring after him.

My son turned back to me, his eyes still bulging like shield-bosses, ‘Did you hear that, Father! Who would have believed it? Guests of the garrison commander, in his house! And you are to go to Marcus’s apartment afterwards?!’

I sighed. ‘I shall be lucky to have a roof at all tomorrow night,’ I said. ‘Florens is determined to have me brought to court and things are looking very bleak indeed. Everything I did this morning can apparently be quoted as pointing to my guilt – even the hour at which I chose to set off for the town. And you may be fortunate to escape yourself. Did you manage to speak to Brianus?’ I sat down on the stool His Excellence had used.

Junio sank down on the other one. He was looking stricken now. ‘Father, I am sorry. I did not mean to jest. When I heard that you had left the town in the commander’s carriage – and even more when I learned that you were visiting his house – I naturally supposed that everything was solved. I didn’t think that Brianus mattered any more.’

‘If only that were true!’ I muttered bitterly. ‘But you did speak to him?’

A nod. ‘I managed to find him, though he wasn’t at the house. And he was not keen to talk. While he was bringing that message over to your shop, apparently Porteus sent his private mob around with several of the guard. They muscled their way into the lictor’s flat, arrested Calvinus and threw him into jail where he has been kept under questioning all day. It seems they are now only waiting for the lictor to arrive before they bring in the torturers to do it properly.’ He saw my face and added, in a disappointed tone, ‘But I see you knew all this?’

‘I’d heard that the steward was in custody,’ I agreed. ‘But nothing about Brianus. They didn’t seize him, too? I knew my letter had fallen into Porteus’s hands, so I thought they might have taken him prisoner.’

Junio shook his head. ‘He was afraid that they were going to. When he got back with your letter he found some of Porteus’s men still waiting at the flat, wanting to ask him questions about exactly where he had been. That is when he handed them the writing-block – he really had no choice – but they realized that he couldn’t read it and in the end they let him go.’ He frowned. ‘How did you know that Porteus had your note?’

I grimaced. ‘Because he sent a copy after us.’ I explained how Servilis had arrived with it. ‘It was intended to convince the commander of my guilt – and so it might have done, if he were not so favourably inclined. It will certainly look bad if they produce it at my trial.’

‘Dear gods! When do you expect to be brought before the court?’

‘Tomorrow morning, by the look of it.’

He frowned. ‘But surely there was nothing incriminating in the note? I saw it myself. You only wrote it as an excuse for delaying Brianus.’

‘I know that, Junio, but it happens that the words I chose – to impress the steward – were most unfortunate. They can easily be interpreted to imply my guilt. Porteus had even had the message copied out – on vellum and in a fair hand by a professional
amenuensis
– so it didn’t look remotely like a scribbled note. It was clear that he’d got hold of the original, probably in order to produce it to the magistrate in court.’

‘Brianus will not forgive himself for handing them the writing-block – especially if the verdict does not go well for you – but it was bullied out of him.’

‘I’m only glad he wasn’t taken prisoner himself,’ I said bleakly. ‘I feel badly enough about the steward’s fate. I don’t want Brianus on my conscience, too. If only I could have talked to him myself.’

Junio looked a little bit abashed. ‘I did my best for you.’

‘I’m sorry, Junio, I’m sure you have done everything I asked you to and more. But you can’t imagine what it’s like for me – cooped up here, unable to get out, and having to rely on someone else to question witnesses on my behalf. I’m sure we could have learned a great deal more if both of us were there.’

He was slightly mollified. ‘You would be lucky to find him by this time, anyway. I am certain that he was going to make a run for it.’

‘But that would put him on the wrong side of the law.’ That was an understatement. For a slave to run away was a capital offence. ‘Isn’t he in enough trouble as it is?’

Junio made a little face. ‘He was terrified they were going to come back later on and drag him, screaming, to the torturers. He was hiding in the temple when I tracked him down, trying to propitiate the gods. It was difficult to get any sense from him at all, except that he blamed himself . . .’ He broke off as the commander’s servant came into the room, bearing another dish of figs and two more goblets of watered wine for us. There was a pause while the slave set down his laden tray and tiptoed off again.

‘Didn’t Brianus tell you anything of use?’ I prompted, when the boy had gone. I was conscious of impatience in my voice. I felt sure that Junio was holding something back – some juicy tidbit which he was proud of having learned, and which he was saving till the last. ‘Not even about the lictor’s character and past?’

‘Not much,’ Junio answered. ‘He refused to say anything directly about Voluus at all – simply kept repeating that the steward was being held in jail and if he didn’t keep his own mouth shut they’d come for him as well.’

‘I expect that’s exactly what they threatened they would do,’ I answered heavily. ‘Well, never mind, Junio – I am sure you tried.’

‘I put a few questions but he didn’t really answer them – either because he didn’t know the facts, or was simply too frightened to confide in anyone.’ He picked up a goblet and took a sip from it. ‘But there was one thing about Calvinus that might interest you. Brianus told me a story about a page-boy back in Gaul that Voluus accused of stealing from a purse.’

‘The lad who was probably entirely innocent, but was flogged into confessing and then condemned to death?’

‘You have heard that as well?’

‘Calvinus told me about the incident himself. He was talking about how cruel his master’s punishments could be. Is it relevant?’ I could not see what this had to do with me – though I could see how Brianus would apply it to himself. I reached for the drinking vessel and took a doubtful sip, hoping that wine might soothe my jangled nerves. There was no effect. The wine was watered, and every bit as sour as I had feared.

‘Did Calvinus tell you that the boy in question was his son? Or possibly his younger brother – Brianus did not know the exact relationship.’

‘Part of his family?’ I was incredulous. ‘Calvinus certainly didn’t tell me that! But how do you know? Surely he didn’t mention that to Brianus?’ The pompous steward confiding in the frightened slave?

Junio shook his head. ‘It came from the slave-girl that Calvinus wants to buy. Pronta, is she called? The steward was trying to impress her with his rank, apparently – saying that he was not born into servitude himself, but was really a warrior of the Marcomanni tribe who was captured and sold to slavery after a defeat.’

‘Really?’ I was evaluating this. ‘I can’t imagine plump Calvinus as a fighting man.’ But in some ways the tale was plausible. The Marcomanni are famous throughout the empire. They have been defying the army in Germanica for years.

‘Mounting raids on Roman property, rather than a fight,’ Junio explained. ‘He was caught setting fire to an army granary, so as a punishment they rounded his entire family up as well, and put them up for sale. At any rate, that’s what Calvinus told the girl.’

Even in my current state of stress I was amused. ‘And was she impressed? The fact that he was a barbarian by birth and an arsonist by choice?’

Junio laughed. ‘I don’t suppose she was. She doesn’t much like Calvinus in any case, it seems, though she has a much better time of it than poor old Brianus. But you see where this is leading? The whole household were shipped off by a slave-trader to Gaul, where Voluus got a bargain by purchasing the lot and immediately selling on the ones he did not want. But he did keep one or two of them, apart from Calvinus.’

‘Including this ill-fated page?’ I whistled with surprise. ‘I see! And since Calvinus was obliged to watch him die, he had a special reason for hating Voluus. I suppose it might be true. Have you checked with Pronta?’

‘I would have liked to speak to her, but she’s run away as well – and Brianus refuses to say where she has gone. I even tried to visit Calvinus in jail, but they wouldn’t let me in, though I offered the jailer a considerable bribe to let me talk to him. But, if this story’s true – and there’s no reason to suppose it’s not – might it not make a difference to your case? It would give Calvinus a motive for revenge. Do you suppose that Porteus was right, and the steward has been plotting against his master all along?’

‘It has to be a possibility.’ My brain was racing like a chariot. ‘It would fit with what we know about the lictor’s character. He has a nasty temper, but he’s calculating, too. We heard that he plays cruel games with Calvinus all the time – dangling the dream of freedom and snatching it away.’

Junio nodded. ‘And if the steward wasn’t born in servitude, he must feel it doubly, I should think. So if that page-boy really was his son . . .’ He left the words unfinished. ‘Though it wouldn’t be the case, officially, I suppose, after they were taken into slavery.’

That was true. A slave is legally a un-person, ‘a vocal tool’, owned like any other piece of household furniture and can no more have a family than a table can. I knew that to my cost. I had been married to Gwellia when I myself was seized – and I knew what it was to have one’s feelings swept aside and all existing relationships anulled.

‘Perhaps that’s why the lictor accused the lad at all,’ I said. ‘Because he knew that Calvinus would have to watch him flogged. He may have even known the slave was innocent. He seems the sort of person who delights in causing pain.’

‘That’s exactly what Brianus said to me – and he’s naturally wondering what that means for Pronta and himself, when Voluus gets here and finds out what’s occurred. The poor lad is half-insane with fear. But it does give you some insight into Calvinus, doesn’t it?’ Junio drained his wine and set the goblet down. ‘It would give him a motive for this crime.’

‘Establishing a motive would hardly be enough,’ I said, knowing that I sounded ungrateful as I spoke.

‘Motive and splendid opportunity. As everybody says, he was right here on the spot, and knew all about the treasure-load. He probably knew exactly where it was going to be and when. If he wanted his revenge, it would have been easy to arrange an ambush on the cart in return for what was in it. Any rebel would have jumped at such a chance, and paid him for the information, too.’ He looked at me in triumph. ‘Will you be able to use that plea in your defence?’

‘I doubt that it would help. They think I’m in collusion with the steward anyway. I wish you’d had the chance to speak to Calvinus direct,’ I said, meaning that I wished
I’d
had the chance myself. ‘But they wouldn’t let you, even for a bribe?’

‘He’s in no condition to speak to anyone, that’s what the warder said, though not until he’d taken the money anyway. I did get a sort of promise that Calvinus would get a better cell, with fresh air and daylight, and proper food and drink – though whether it will happen is another thing.’

‘You had sufficient money?’

‘I took some from the shop. I didn’t think you’d mind. I didn’t take it all, and anyway, I didn’t spend the whole of it.’ He scrabbled in his arm-purse and fished out some coins – a couple of
sesterces
and an
as
or two. ‘I’ll give the rest to you – tomorrow you may need it, although I hope you won’t.’ He put the money on the tabletop and slid it towards me.

I was grateful but I didn’t pick it up. ‘But surely you will need it for a hiring-coach yourself. You can’t walk back to the roundhouse at this time of night. It will be dark in half an hour.’

He shook his head. ‘I have already decided to bed down at the shop. It’s dry and warm and I can curl up by the fire and there’s still sufficient money left to buy myself a meal. And don’t worry – my wife knows where I am. I gave Minimus that message to take back with yours.’

‘But Minimus went home hours ago!’

He grinned. ‘I could see that this business would take a little while and I didn’t want her worrying that I’d been set upon by wolves – as she always does when I am in the forest after dark. You take the money, Father.’ He rose and dropped a friendly hand upon my shoulder as he spoke, and with the other gestured through the open window-space. ‘I see a soldier hurrying over here – no doubt that is the summons that you’ve been waiting for. I’ll be in the workshop if you have need of me. Anything, Father. You don’t have to ask. Otherwise, I’ll be there in the court to speak for you.’