London (14 page)

The mariner did not think the girl had been unfaithful. Not yet. But he had decided to make sure, and so he had played the oldest trick known to married men and pretended to be away when he was not.

Carefully, now, he opened the bedroom door.

She was alone. The faint moonlight fell across the bed. One of her breasts was uncovered. He looked at her and smiled. Very well. She was not deceiving him. He watched her breathing softly. The room gave no hint of the presence of any other in the house. All was well. As quietly as a cat, the thickset mariner moved round the room, glancing at her as he went. Perhaps he would give her a pleasant surprise and climb into the bed with her. Or perhaps he would steal away and observe another night. He was just debating these two courses in his mind when he noticed a piece of parchment on a table near the bed. Picking it up, he moved to the open window.

There was light enough from the quarter-moon to read the letter Julius had sent. The signature gave him no clue as to the identity of the sender, but that did not matter, since the note gave a place and a time. Gently he replaced the letter and made his way out of his house.

For once Julius’s mother had acted with remarkable swiftness.

The fat girl had not seen the soldiers. She had slept through their visit and finally, finding no one about in the workshop any more, she had waddled home, arriving late. It was this late arrival, together with something in Julius’s manner, that had made her suspicious. A few extra slaps had got from the fat girl that the two men had set her to watch the street for soldiers. Then the older woman was sure. “That Sextus has got him into trouble,” she muttered.

As soon as Julius and his father had left, therefore, she had searched his room. She had found the bag at once, seen its terrifying contents, sat for over a minute in a state of shock, and then announced: “We’ve got to get rid of these.” But where?

For once, she was grateful that her daughter was fat. “Stick this under your clothes,” she ordered. Then, putting on her cloak, she and the girl had set out.

At first she thought of throwing the bag in the river, but that was not so easy. There were people about on the water-front. Instead, therefore, she led the girl along the main thoroughfare to the nearby gate in the western wall. All the city gates were supposed to close at dusk, but on warm summer nights this rule was often relaxed. Young people liked to wander out, and so no one paid the slightest attention as the fat girl and her mother passed through. They had only gone a little way, however, before they stopped. The road ahead led over a bridge to the shrine where the water goddess dwelt, but there were several couples in sight that way. On each side of the road, as at all the city gates, was a cemetery.

“Give me the bag and go back now,” her mother ordered. “And tell nobody about this, especially not Julius. You understand?” When the girl had waddled away, she turned into the cemetery. She looked about for an open grave, but found nothing. Continuing through the cemetery, she came out at the other end, passed by the outside of the upper western gate, and continued to wander along a path that ran parallel with the city wall.

It was a quiet place. The wall, with its horizontal tile stripes, looked ghostly. Below, about four yards out from the wall, a deep defensive ditch made a broad shadow like a black ribbon along the ground. There were no guards on top of the wall: she was not being watched. She took her time, passing the corner of the city and skirting the long northern section of the wall. She passed a gateway that was closed, and continued on her way. About six hundred yards further on, she saw what she wanted.

The little brook that descended between the city’s two hillocks was divided into several tributaries in its upper reaches, and in three or four places these tiny rivulets passed under the city’s northern wall through neatly engineered tunnels with grilles across their entrances. For a moment she had considered dropping the bag into one of these watercourses, until she remembered that the grilles were regularly cleaned and the channels dredged. Just past one of these tunnels, however, she noticed that someone had recently emptied a large quantity of rubbish into the ditch that ran outside the wall. Unlike the watercourses, the ditch was not well kept up. She had never seen anyone clear it out.

She paused only a few moments to look about. Satisfied she was not observed, she flung the bag into the ditch and heard it fall amongst the rubbish at the bottom.

Continuing on her way as if nothing had happened, a little further on she found the main northern gate wide open, and passed unnoticed into the city.

Julius gazed at the long line of city wall. His hands fell helplessly to his sides and he shook his head. The quest was futile. Over the wall, on the far side of the western hillock, he could see the curving top storey of the amphitheatre. The morning was clear: no breeze, not a cloud in the pale blue sky. It would be hot in the amphitheatre’s huge bowl that day.

Where was the money? He had been out at dawn and he still hadn’t the faintest idea what his mother had done with it.

Had the fat girl lied? He did not think so. When he had crept to her bedside in the middle of the night, put his hand over her mouth and held a knife against her throat, she had been frightened enough. She had said that his mother had dumped the bag somewhere outside the western wall, but three hours of searching had not yielded a clue. He had gone out through the western gate. He had visited every place he could think of before finally returning. And now the city was stirring. Soon people would be flocking towards the amphitheatre. And he was penniless.

What was he going to tell Sextus? Though he had planned to encounter him on the way to the games, he was not so sure that he wanted to see him just yet. Would Sextus believe him? Or would he suppose Julius had stolen the money and cheated him? Hard to say. Nor did he relish going home to encounter his mother. “I’d better lie low until this evening after the games,” he muttered. Perhaps everyone would be in a better temper by then.

Which left the girl. He sighed. He had promised her a present, and now he had no money. What could he do about that? Nothing. Anyway, he reminded himself, the whole business was too risky. “And she probably won’t come to the bridge now in any case,” he muttered. The whole thing made him sad, and having nothing else to do just then, he sat down on a stone near the road to ruminate.

Several minutes passed. Once or twice more he muttered, “I’m broke,” and “Forget the whole thing.” But somehow even these statements did not satisfy him. Gradually, another thought began to take shape and to grow.

What if she did come to the bridge after all? It was quite likely that she had hidden the letter. The mariner probably suspected nothing. What if she took the risk herself and came to the bridge, and he was not there to meet her? What if he let her down?

He shook his head. He knew very well. “If I don’t have her, someone else will,” he murmured. Sextus probably.

He thought of her body. He wanted her, certainly. He thought of her all alone by the bridge and suddenly the whole business seemed bathed in a warmer light. He felt his heart begin to beat more rapidly.

Just as every pugilist in the port knew, Julius would never stay down if you knocked him out. It might not be wise, it might not even make any sense at all, but his deep inner optimism soon rose to the surface again as naturally as the buds appear in spring.

After a short time, therefore, he seemed to pull himself together. A few minutes more and he nodded to himself with a faint smile. A little later he grinned and got up.

Then he made his way towards the gate.

Martina was up early that morning. She prepared the room, brushed her short hair, washed and scented herself carefully. Then, before dressing, she inspected her body. She felt her breasts, which were small and soft; she ran her hands down the firm lines of her legs. Satisfied, she began to dress. She slipped on a pair of new sandals, experience having taught her that the leather would give off a faint smell that, combined with the natural scents of her body, was attractive to men. She pinned a small bronze brooch at each shoulder, and as she did so noticed a little fluttering of the heart which told her, if she had had any doubt about the matter, that she was going to make love to young Julius that day.

Then, wrapping in a handkerchief a few sweet cakes to eat during the morning, she set out from the house and joined her neighbours as they made their way over the bridge to the games.

She was conscious of a lightness in her step that she had not felt for a long time.

It had been strange to have the city all to himself. By mid-morning it seemed that the entire population had gone to the games. Now and then Julius would hear a great roar from the amphitheatre, but for the rest of the time the cobbled streets were so quiet he could listen to the birds. In a cheerful mood, he had wandered down alleys, enjoying the pleasant aroma of freshly baked bread from a bakery, or the rich, thick smells emanating from some nearby kitchen. He had sauntered down handsomely paved streets past the fine houses of the rich. Some of these had their own private bathhouses; many had walled compounds around them, enclosing little orchards where cherry trees, apples and mulberries grew.

And everywhere he had been looking. He was going to meet the girl at noon and he had promised a present. He did not want to go empty-handed.

So he was going to steal it.

Surely there would be an opportunity somewhere. Almost the entire population was in the amphitheatre. It should only be the work of a moment to slip into some unguarded house and take something to satisfy her. He did not like to steal, but at the moment it seemed the only way.

However, it had been harder than he had expected. He had entered a few modest houses only to find nothing he liked. The rich houses had all seemed to contain elderly servants or fierce guard dogs and twice already he had been forced to flee.

A little discouraged, he had wandered down to the quay. At first he tried along the western side, but without any luck. He passed the bridge and tried the eastern side. Here, too, the lines of low warehouses were all closed up. He went by a small fish market whose stalls had been empty since dawn. It was just after this that he came to a much larger building, the sight of which made him pause.

This was the imperial warehouse. Unlike most of the others, it was stoutly built of stone. It was guarded by soldiers night and day. Into this official depot came all the supplies for the governor, garrison and administration. Sometimes these cargoes were valuable. Three days ago, Julius had helped unload a vessel containing several great chests of gold and silver coins – pay for the troops – all officially stamped and sealed. The weight of each chest had been amazing and the men had had a terrible time transferring them to the quay. For Julius, who understood all too well the astounding value of this cargo, it had been a vivid reminder of the power and wealth of the state. The empire might sometimes seem to be veering towards chaos, but the deep, underlying might of the eternal city and its dominions was still awesome to behold. He grinned to himself. If I could spend a few moments in there, he thought, my money problems would really be over. But after his narrow escape from the legionaries the day before, Julius was nervous of authority and now did not care to walk past the warehouse.

As he turned back up the broad street towards the forum, Julius was beginning to think that he would have to do without a present after all. Reaching the lower thoroughfare, for no particular reason he turned left towards the Governor’s Palace, where a sentry guarded the entrance. The street was otherwise empty.

It was there that Julius had his idea. It was so simple, so daring, that it was insane. And yet, as he considered, it seemed to him not only that it might work, but that it was positively logical. “It’s just a matter of timing,” he muttered, to reassure himself.

Unlike the private houses he had investigated, the Governor’s Palace was a public building. Apart from the guard on the gate, the entire staff had probably sneaked off to the games. And even if I were found in there, he thought, I could probably make some excuse, say I was waiting to petition the governor or something. The neatness of it made him smile. After all, who would ever think of robbing the governor himself? Ducking into the corner of an alley, he settled down to reconnoitre for a while.

The street side of the palace consisted of a ragstone wall, in the centre of which was a handsome gateway leading to a large courtyard. In front of the gateway, on a marble plinth, stood a tall, narrow stone, almost the height of a man. This was the central marker from which all the milestones in southern Britain took their distances.

The sentry seemed to like standing in front of the stone, surreptitiously resting his back against it, but every little while he would slowly march along the empty street, turn, and march back to his resting place.

Julius watched carefully. The man took twenty-five paces in one direction, then, after a pause, twenty-five in the other. To make sure, Julius watched again, then a third time. It was always the same. He calculated his moves carefully. There would just be time.

When the sentry began his next turn along the street with his back to him, Julius moved quickly out, and, keeping the stone between him and the sentry for cover, ran swiftly and silently forward, ducking into the shadow of the gateway just before the fellow turned.

It took him only a moment to slip into the courtyard. On the far side, under a portico, was the main door of the residence. It had been left open. He walked boldly in. And found himself in another world.

Perhaps no civilization has ever invented better homes for its richer classes than the Roman villa or town house. The governor’s mansion was a splendid example of the latter. The high cool atrium with its pool of water set the tone of stately repose. The sophisticated system of underfloor central heating – the hypocaust – kept the house warm in winter. In summer, the stone and marble interior was cool and airy.