A Whispering of Spies (4 page)

I simply raised my eyebrows and pursed my lips a bit. ‘Voluus is a professional torturer – or he was. I don’t imagine that he’ll simply ask them politely what they know. Under those circumstances, who knows what they might say?’

The steward was staring at the middle distance now. ‘I saw him asking questions of a page-boy once, accused of stealing a
denarius
. The boy insisted he was innocent, but after half an hour . . .’ He broke off, shuddering. A little bead of sweat was running down his brow and he was obliged to mop it with his sleeve. ‘You’re right. He would have confessed to anything.’

‘So you see what I mean. I imagine he admitted to the theft – although stealing from one’s master is a capital offence.’

He nodded dolefuly.

‘And did he really take the money?’

An uncomfortable pause. ‘Who can say? He was executed for it; that is all I know.’ From his manner I guessed I’d touched a nerve.

I pressed the point a bit. ‘And Voluus no doubt felt that justice had been done?’

He moved away and began to fiddle with a pretty quartz vase on a plinth nearby – though it had been placed to perfection as it was. There was a long moment before he answered me. ‘Voluus was delighted with himself for forcing a confession, as one might expect from a man in his position. He had me fetch the entire household to watch the questioning – I suppose as a sort of dreadful warning to the rest of us.’

I came up behind him to say, briskly but not unkindly, ‘Look, whatever-your-name is, I don’t wish to pry . . .’

He turned and met my eyes. His own were dull with strain. ‘My master calls me Calvinus,’ he said.

I tried not to smile. The name means ‘Baldy’ and it suited him, but the fact that he had vouchsafed it at all was an indication that I won his confidence. ‘Well, Calvinus, if your master is the sort of man you say he is, you can surely see what this unfortunate event could mean for you? Losing the cart and everything it held. You have my sympathy.’

He left the quartz vase roughly balanced in its place and turned to me with a gesture of despair. ‘I wrote and told him not to move it on the Ides! But he took no notice – just replied that it would be cheaper then, since the roads were quieter and he would not have to hire the escort for so long. And now look what has happened! And – no doubt you’re right – he’ll blame it all on me. So what am I to do? I’ve sent a message to the guard-house, as I say, though I doubt that will help. The wretches who did this will have disappeared into the forest long ago. But what else is there, except to run away?’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘Though from what you’ve said, I’m tempted to wonder about that.’

‘And risk certain execution if they catch up with you?’

‘You don’t have to warn me about that, pavement-maker. Since I have served the lictor, I don’t know how many fugitive slaves I have seen condemned to death. They always give the maximum penalty for runaways in Gaul. The courts round here are no different, I suppose?’ He watched me shake my head. ‘So all I can do is wait here till my master comes and hope that Jove affords me some kind of miracle. Like the thieves confessing of their own accord, though I don’t imagine there is much chance of that.’

I shook my head. ‘I think His Excellence my patron is your only hope. He has great authority in Glevum – as I said before – and could certainly call upon the garrison to help. If he can find the people who really stole the goods, then you would be spared any . . . questioning, did you call it? . . . when Voluus arrives. Indeed, you might even earn your master’s gratitude. I am due to call on Marcus later today. So hadn’t you better tell me everything you know?’

Calvinus looked around as if the walls were listening and, after a moment, moved into a corner of the ante-room, gesturing me to follow. ‘What else is it that you need to understand?’ he murmured grudgingly. ‘I can’t tell you very much. We lost a confounded treasure-cart, that’s all.’

‘Do you know what was on it?’

‘Not in detail. I’ll see the manifest when it arrives. Statues, gold and silverware, and jewellery, I think. Part of his new wife’s dowry. I didn’t see it packed.’

‘Voluus is to marry?’ That was a surprise.

‘He’s already done so, townsman. Shortly before he came to Britannia last time. Doubtless one of the reasons he hurried back to Gaul. And I understand there’s now a child as well. He’ll be delighted. He has no other family to carry on the line and he told me on his wedding day that if she didn’t turn out to be fertile he’d look for a divorce. Though I’m not so sure of that. Pretty young lady, from what I saw of her.’

‘A young lady?’ I was even more surprised. I had been imagining some wealthy widow with a large estate.

‘Well, not so very young. Rising twenty, so I understand.’ For the first time in this interview he actually grinned. His teeth were stained and crooked, and the effect was less a smile than a hideous grimace. ‘A good deal younger than Voluus, of course. He is over forty and as ugly as a goat. I don’t know that she was really eager for the match, but her family were concerned that she would never find a groom. She was ‘betrothed’ before, at least in her own mind, to some auxiliary cavalryman in the army, I believe. Antoninus . . . Anteolus . . . ? Something of the kind. Most unsuitable. Not even a proper citizen until he earned the rank on discharge, and being a soldier he couldn’t legally be married until then – although she swore that she would wait. Well, of course her family refused to sanction that, but fortunately the fellow was posted overseas and died of wounds soon afterwards, so that disposed of that. Her brother was very anxious to find someone else for her while she was still remotely of marriageable age.’

‘Her brother?’ I echoed. That was a surprise. ‘Doesn’t her father have the
potestas
over her?’

The bald man shook his head. ‘Her father died a little while ago and her brother’s been her guardian ever since, I understand, though I’m not sure that he relished the responsibility. She was a late child, and the only girl besides – and very much the father’s favourite, judging by the portion which she inherited. But of course her eldest brother had to bring her up – in his own household and at his own expense. Not an easy task, it seems, as she was spirited.’

‘Was she indeed? And Voluus didn’t mind?’ I was surprised again. A Roman wife is expected to be obedient.

Calvinus shook his head. ‘Voluus was keen enough to marry her. She’s attractive, as I said – but even more attractive was the dowry that she brought. I didn’t oversee the packing of that cart, but I know that it carried most of her inheritance. The loss will infuriate my master even more, of course.’

I sent up a mental prayer of thanks to all the gods there were. Here was something to tell Marcus, anyway. Calvinus had answered several questions that I could not ask outright and it had been much easier than I had any right to hope. ‘So that is where the lictor got his wealth?’ I murmured, satisfied.

The steward looked at me as though the moon had turned my wits. ‘Of course not, pavement-maker. Voluus obviously had considerable wealth before he ever wed even if, as lictor, it wasn’t evident. Why else do you suppose Alcanta’s brother was so keen? In fact . . .’ He got no further. Someone was thundering up the stairs outside, shaking the floorboards, and the quartz vase, which obviously had not been securely placed, toppled from its plinth and smashed into a dozen fragments on the floor. The crash was deafening.

Calvinus moved towards it, but before he reached the spot the inner door flew open and a pair of slaves appeared: a skinny boy – scarcely out of childhood, by the look of him – and a plump wench, a little older, with plaited auburn hair. Both wore short tunics of a matching blue. They looked from the steward to the broken bits of quartz. Their consternation was almost palpable.

‘Don’t beat him, Calvinus, he put it safe, I swear . . .’ The girl began to beg, half-sheltering the lad behind her as she spoke.

You could almost see temptation cross the steward’s mind. It would be very easy for him to shift the blame and punish the slave-boy for the breakage which he had caused himself. I did not wish to be a party to anything like that.

‘I am your witness to the fact that this was not the slave-boy’s fault,’ I said. ‘It was an accident – occasioned by someone outside on the stairs, running so roughly so that he rocked the floor.’

The two young servants looked at me with gratitude, but Calvinus frowned. ‘Does that give you two freedom to come bursting in when you had orders to remain elsewhere?’

He was still looking dangerous and the boy broke in. ‘Forgive us, Calvinus . . .’ he muttered abjectly. ‘Of course we did not mean to interrupt. We heard a crash and we hurried here to see what might have caused it and if it was our fault. We did not realize that you still had a visitor.’

‘A visitor?’ The steward shot a sideways look at me. ‘This man is hardly that. He is simply a pavement-maker who was good enough to call. But our business is concluded and he is about to leave. Brianus, you may show him to the door. Pronta, fetch a broom and tidy up this mess and find another vase to take its place. You will find some in the boxes we unpacked yesterday.’ He turned to me and gave a little bow. ‘Thank you for your visit, townsman. I shall expect to hear – and please thank your patron for me in advance.’

‘This way, sir.’ The slave-boy sidled past me and held the door ajar. And this time there was nothing I could do but leave.

I
t was raining heavily as I wove my way back down the crowded stairs and hurried back towards my workshop in the swampy northern suburb just outside the walls. But I could not dismiss that meeting with the steward from my mind. The more I thought about it, the more I started wondering if those two younger slaves, Brianus and Pronta, actually knew about the fatal robbery from their master’s cart. As soon as they appeared Calvinus had seemed oddly anxious to get rid of me and he’d scrupulously avoided any mention of the theft while they were in the room.

I shook the water from my eyes. No doubt I was making mysteries where there were none. Wasn’t it only natural that he’d wanted me to leave, given the topic of our conversation a moment earlier? Openly discussing his master’s private life – and with a stranger, too – was not acceptable behaviour for a slave of any kind, especially a senior steward in a trusted role. No doubt he was afraid that I’d say something indiscreet in front of the young slaves. One did not have to wonder how Voluus would react if, by any chance, he came to learn of our exchange.

Would the others have betrayed him to their master, then, if I had given them the opportunity? It was more than possible: Calvinus ran that household on fear, not loyalty. Clearly he was convinced that they were spying all the time: he’d taken good care to move out of their potential earshot while we talked. Well, I thought, he need have no fear of me. The last thing that I wanted was for Voluus to learn that I’d been impertinently asking questions of his senior slave: the lictor was powerful enough to make life difficult, even for a citizen tradesman like myself. As to what he’d do to a member of his staff . . . !

No wonder that Calvinus had taken fright and hustled me away. It was simply unfortunate that it had happened when it did – just when he’d seemed about to tell me something more about where Voluus got his wealth! As it was I had very little to report to Marcus on the subject when I saw him later on.

However, there was no help for it and it was too late now. Besides, there was a mosaic waiting to be finished in my shop. Marcus might think that my customers would wait, but I knew otherwise. The present commission was for a wealthy councillor, who would certainly expect his pavement to be laid on time, or I’d find myself subject to a heavy financial penalty. The man was famous for imposing them, if any contract was not scrupulously met. I pulled my hood more firmly round my ears and turned my attention to struggling on against the rain.

It required attention, too, since I had passed the northern gate and was into the sprawling suburb where I plied my trade. The roadways were not paved Roman ones like those within the town: here they were rutted, and treacherous with mud. Even when keeping to the pavements at the side I was forced to pick my way with care. If I slipped and broke a leg I could be there for hours – I was almost the only person on the streets.

Businesses were open – you could smell the tannery and there was cheerful sawing and hammering from the carpenter’s – but there were virtually no pedestrians about. Even the keepers of the little shops, who generally looked out across their open counters to the street, had retreated to the gloomy rooms within and had either half-closed the shutters to keep out the rain, or had moved their goods indoors entirely, so only the hanging signs gave any clue as to what might be on sale. There were, in any case, no customers today. Only a straggling donkey-cart squelched by, with its drenched driver huddled down behind the reins, and a solitary vendor with a tray of sorry pies, sheltered in a doorway against the driving rain.

I would be glad to be inside myself, beside a warming fire – and was cheered to realize that it would not be long: I was almost at my destination now. I could already see the stockpiles of ready-sorted stone glistening wetly just outside my door. I clutched my cloak around my soaking knees and began to hurry the final block or two, just as my son Junio came darting out of doors, holding a leather apron like a hood above his head. He didn’t look in my direction, simply bent down by each heap and hastily collected several colours in a bag. No doubt he needed extra pieces to complete the little pavement that we were working on.

He raised his head and saw me, waved and scuttled back inside. I was about to hasten after him when a soft tug on my clothing made me whirl around. With the insistent patter of the rain and the squelching of my feet, I had not heard anyone approach, but I found a small, drenched, hooded figure standing at my heels.

‘Citizen pavement-maker,’ this apparition said, its voice so tentative that it was almost whispering. When I didn’t answer, it added nervously, ‘You are a citizen, I think? That is what they told me in the m-m-market-place. I would not wish to show you disrespect.’ The speaker pushed the cape back from his face and I recognized the skinny boy from Voluus’s apartment.