Requiem for a Slave (23 page)

And, waving his whip-hand, he trotted gently off, his horse picking its way neatly along the rutted street. The last I saw of him he had turned the corner past the tanner’s shop and had raised his pace, riding out towards the military road that would lead him to Londinium and my patron’s side.

Nineteen

‘
Master?’ Maximus was waiting politely at the door – a well-trained slave will never interrupt, unless it is a matter of enormous urgency.

I went across to him. The little slave was grinning with obvious delight. ‘I have brought the messenger that went out to the house.’ He gestured to a child following down the street. ‘We managed to locate him. Did the young master tell you that?’ He broke off. ‘Why what is the matter, master? Is there something wrong?’

I was about to answer when the youngster hurried up, squinting at me as though he could not believe his eyes. It was indeed my little urchin of the day before, and he was even grimier than he’d been yesterday.

‘Is this some kind of joke? This is the very man who sent me all that way, and on a wasted errand too! I didn’t recognize him until I got up close, because he’s in a toga like a proper citizen, but he was only wearing a tunic yesterday.’ He turned to Maximus. ‘Have you brought me all this way to make a fool of me? Asking me to tell him what my instructions were! Why don’t you ask him? He gave them to me, he must know what they are—’

I held up my hand to silence him. ‘Wait a minute. Do I understand you right? You did go to my roundhouse with the message after all?’

The urchin looked at me defiantly. ‘Of course I did. What else did you suppose? Ran all the way as well, but when I got there, there was no one there. Absolutely no one. Just a waste of time. Or was that another joke at my expense?’

Junio had been behind me listening to all this. ‘This is no joke, believe me. You didn’t think to leave a message at the house next door? There was someone there. It is my house, and my wife and child were in all afternoon.’

The boy looked baffled. ‘Why should I do that? I just did as I was told. I went to the roundhouse I was directed to and found no one there. Well, what was I to do? There was no written message I could leave behind, and I can’t write myself. I waited for a little while but nobody turned up, so there was nothing for it but to come back again.’ He looked at me slyly. ‘Besides, I reckoned that if everyone was out, it wouldn’t matter if you were late or not. So I came back to town. And what thanks did I get? Not even an extra quadrans for running all that way.’

I can take a hint when it is broad enough. I took out the coin that I’d been fumbling with and held it out to him. ‘I’m afraid I misjudged you. I thought you hadn’t been. And I’m doubly sorry to have dragged you over here to no avail.’

The boy took the money in his blackened hand. ‘So that’s all you want from me? When I might have been earning something on the street this afternoon?’ He sounded disappointed.

‘We were really looking for another messenger – one who was sent to the roundhouse later on,’ Junio explained apologetically. ‘But neither Maximus nor I was there when he arrived – or when you did either – so we didn’t know . . .’ He stopped. I’d made a startled sound, and he turned and gazed at me. ‘What is it, Father? I recognize that look: you’ve thought of something?’

I realized that I was standing open-mouthed. ‘But don’t you see? It wasn’t later on!’

Junio looked puzzled. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘The other messenger! It wasn’t later on! Think it through a moment. When I gave this boy my message to take back to Gwellia, letting her know that I was likely to be late, I was on the way to lay that mosaic at Pedronius’s house. Agreed?’

My son nodded doubtfully. ‘That is what you told me. So . . .?’

‘It might have taken – what? – perhaps an hour at best for this boy to reach the roundhouse, and by that time . . .’

Junio made a whistling sound between his teeth. ‘Of course! The other messenger had already been. Gwellia and Kurso were on their way to town.’

I looked at the urchin, who had turned away and was now testing his reward between his teeth. ‘Did you pass anyone in the lanes when you were running to the house? Anybody walking? A woman and a slave?’

The ragged child took the coin from his mouth and tucked it somewhere in his tunic folds. ‘Now you mention it, I think I might have done, although I can’t be sure. I didn’t pay much attention at the time – I was too busy running to get my errand done.’

I knew what that meant. ‘Would another quadrans improve your memory?’

The urchin grinned at me. It was the first time that I had ever seen him smile and it was not a pleasing sight. Most of his teeth were missing and the remaining few were black and broken. But there was no mistaking his sincerity as he said, ‘I did see someone going the other way – an older woman in a cape of Celtic plaid.’

I exchanged a look with Junio. ‘That could be my wife. She had a slave with her?’

The urchin nodded solemnly. ‘A skinny boy with just a flimsy tunic on. That’s why I noticed them. I remember thinking that he was going to be freezing later on because the wind was rising. Even I’ve got another tunic under this,’ he raised his hem, to show the truth of this, though the undergarment was so stained and torn it was scarcely recognizable as cloth. ‘Left home in a hurry, without a cloak, I expect. Come to think of it, they had an urgent sort of air as if they needed to be somewhere fast and they’d had distressing news.’

I nodded. ‘That was them all right,’ I said grimly and ungrammatically, remembering that Kurso had later borrowed my own birrus to come home. I found the promised coin and held it out towards the boy, then drew it back again. ‘You didn’t see another messenger at all? Another errand-runner from the streets? He would have been ahead of them from what I understand.’

The urchin’s eyes did not move from the coin, but he shook his head.

‘You seem very certain?’ I held the quadrans high.

He did look at me then, as he said earnestly. ‘I mean it, citizen. I’m sure I would have noticed if I’d passed a messenger. And if he was a street-boy from anywhere round here, I’d recognize his face. We egentes try to keep out of each other’s way by day – so we aren’t all working the same area of town – but we often club together to keep a watch at night. Sometimes we even share what we’ve earned, especially if somebody has been paid with food or has the makings of a fire.’

‘So you know all the locals – by sight at least?’

He nodded eagerly. ‘Not only their faces, but what jobs they’ve found each day and, very often, how much they were paid. We generally share that information, so we know what to avoid. So if anybody else had been sent out to your house, I’m sure I would have heard. I was complaining what a long way I had run, and how little I had got for it.’

I did not acknowledge the implied rebuke. ‘Which suggests that the messenger was a newcomer – from out of town, perhaps?’

His grimy face wrinkled into a doubtful frown. ‘That’s the funny thing. I would have heard of that as well. We do get passing beggars hanging around, trying to earn money on our streets, doing the jobs we otherwise would do. So unless there’s something special – they’re old or very sick – the word gets round and we go and warn them off. There are too many starving egentes in Glevum as it is. But there’s been nobody like that, so I can’t imagine who it could have been.’ He shook his head. ‘Unless he was a private messenger, of course. Now, is that everything? The sun has clouded over and it’s coming on to rain, and that drives people from the streets so if I don’t hurry, I won’t find another job today.’

There was already a trace of drizzle in the air, but I persisted. ‘This was not a courier, from what I hear of him. He was an urchin, very much like you. And it seems he should have passed you on the road.’

‘Well, I didn’t see him,’ the boy said with some asperity. ‘I didn’t see anyone of that kind at all. I only saw a horseman, riding southwards with his son, and an ancient woodman with a cart. Oh, and a shepherd with a flock of sheep – I came around the corner and they were taking up the track. I had to dive off into the woods to get around the beasts, but I struck back to the main path as quickly as I could.’

‘You didn’t try to take a short cut, then?’ Junio put in.

The urchin looked impatient. ‘I didn’t trust the forest tracks – it’s easy to get lost unless you know the trails. Besides, I’m sure I heard the howl of wolves, and they say there are rebel bandits in those woods – I didn’t want to blunder into them by accident. I suppose this other messenger of yours might have passed in the moments when I was off the path. Now, are you going to pay me or keep me standing here until it rains in earnest?’

I let him have the coin. He didn’t test it this time, just hid it where he had put the other one.

Junio laid an urgent hand upon my arm. ‘So that may be your answer, father. Either that or the other messenger knew the forest well, in which case he might have taken a short cut through the woods. Perhaps we’ll never know. Is it significant?’

‘It might help us judge exactly when the false messenger was sent.’

He nodded thoughtfully. ‘Whoever sent him must have done so very early on, while you were visiting the pie-seller’s mother, perhaps. Certainly not long after—’ I gave a warning cough and he broke off in dismay.

I shook my head at him, and he had the grace to blush. He was obviously about to mention Lucius’s corpse, and we didn’t want the urchin learning about that.

‘. . . after you parted company with the turnip-seller,’ he finished lamely, signalling with his eyes that I’d stopped him just in time.

I turned to the skinny little messenger, who was smoothing his filthy tunic round his knees again, as though that might offer more protection against the threat of rain. ‘Which brings us to another matter. Would you care to earn another coin?’

The boy looked rather doubtful. ‘You want me to go running all that way again?’

I laughed. ‘No, this time it is something rather different. I spoke just now about a turnip-seller. Do you know the man?’

‘The fat one who comes to Glevum once or twice a week, selling his turnips from a handbarrow?’ He gave a brief unflattering account. ‘We egentes call him “Turnip-head”.’

I nodded briefly. ‘That seems to be the one.’

‘You want me to find out where he is and take a message?’ The urchin gave me a calculating sideways look. ‘That might take a little time. I haven’t seen him on the streets today, and if he’s on his turnip farm, I hear that’s miles away.’

‘But you do know where it is?’

‘Not exactly, but I could very soon find out. I know a market stall that he occasionally supplies – I think the man who runs it must be a relative, because sometimes the turnip-seller rides home in their cart. I’m sure the market-trader could direct me to the place.’ He flashed his blackened teeth in a triumphant grin. ‘Might cost you another as or two for me to go that far, of course.’

I made a swift decision. ‘Of course. So I shall not require you to go. But bring me the stallholder within half an hour, before . . .’ – I glanced up, but it was already drizzling and there was no way I could estimate the time from the position of the sun. So I improvised – ‘. . . before the rain fills up that pothole in the road, and you will get your quadrans. Is that understood?’

The boy was a little disappointed, I could see – he had been looking forward to a larger tip – but he nodded glumly. ‘You don’t want me to look for Turnip-head himself? He may be in the town. I saw him yesterday – just a little while before you came along. Though, come to think of it, until I saw his face I didn’t realize who it was – he seemed to have some kind of half-built pavement on his . . .’ He brightened. ‘Oh, I suppose that it was yours, and that is why you want to send a message to him now? Wouldn’t it be easier to have me bring him here? The stallholder might not want to come until the market shuts, and by that time I could have found old Turnip-head himself.’

I shook my head. ‘I don’t think you could. As it happens, I know where he is and you will not find him on the streets today. Bring me the stallholder and that will suffice. Tell him that it’s urgent – there’s been an accident. Now,’ I added, seeing that he was still havering, ‘that’s all you need to know. I’ve offered you an errand. Do you accept or not?’

‘Oh, I accept,’ the urchin said, ‘though it’ll take a long time for the rain to fill that hole. You can already see that it drains away as soon as it arrives.’ He gave an impudent, triumphant smirk and started off at once, skirting the piles of dampening hides outside the tanner’s house.

I turned to Maximus, who had been looking increasingly perplexed.

‘I am sorry, master,’ he began, ‘I brought you the wrong boy. If I’d known, I could have brought you the stallholder instead. Why didn’t you send me back there, instead of using him?’

I looked at him wryly. ‘Would you know which stallholder it was?’

He saw the force of this. His freckled cheeks turned pink and he bit his lower lip. Then he said, to cover his discomfiture, ‘But what’s all this about the turnip-man? Is he the one that had the accident? Is that the explanation for the other messenger?’ His voice was so shrill with embarrassment that a passing oatcake-seller turned to look at us, balancing his tray of increasingly soggy goodies on his head. I was suddenly conscious of Virilis’s warning about spies.

I took the little slave-boy very gently by the arm. ‘You’d better come inside,’ I murmured. ‘There’s something here that you don’t know about.’

Twenty

When Maximus saw the body on the floor, he turned so deathly white I thought that he would faint. It was a ghastly spectacle, it’s true, but the strength of this reaction shocked and startled me. As I’d said to Radixrapum himself the day before, there are worse sights at the side of every road. And my slave had not even known the turnip-seller.