Requiem for a Slave (32 page)

‘You are going to tell me about that body in the woods. Pedronius’s land slave, I believe you said. You have some idea what he was doing there? I suppose you’re going to tell me that Virilis murdered him?’

‘Well, that’s what happened, if I am any judge. I hear he was strangled, like the other two. I presume that the cord had been removed? And perhaps there were marks on his armpits and his thighs, where he’d been carried on the saddle of a horse?’

The commander nodded. ‘Very well. Suppose that you are right. Why did he do it?’

‘Because the boy knew too much. It would not have mattered if the plan had gone aright, but it all went badly wrong.
I
went to the mosaic site instead of Junio, so the slave had to go and report to Virilis, who was forced to send him back to tell a blatant lie – that there had been an accident to me – which the boy knew was not true. That made him dangerous, though when Minimus sent him over to my house, taking the same message, Virilis let him go, knowing he could catch up with him on horseback later on and dispose of him. I think you will find that they were actually seen, and I can find you an urchin who could swear to it and no doubt identify the corpse and rider, if he got the chance.’ I frowned at him. ‘What made you think the rebels were involved?’

‘The fact that they had very clearly searched the corpse. Every seam and hem had been undone, his boots had been removed and even the soles had been slit open with a knife. They were looking for something – a message, we supposed. And someone is giving them information, I am sure. Before your patron left for Rome, we had defeated them – driven them back into the forests in the west – but recently they have been having more and more success. They evade our ambushes and there are constant raids – every time a convoy of military equipment passes through.’ He sighed. ‘Ever since Quintus became decurion, in fact. You don’t suppose . . . He couldn’t have used the same boy as a messenger to them as well?’

‘Why not? It wasn’t his slave, if he did get caught. He used to borrow him from Pedronius, ostensibly to move kindling about – and where would that take him other than the wood? And why move kindling, come to think of it? Unless there was a message of some kind in its midst, which the slave-boy might not know about, especially if the wood was bundled as it often is—’

He interrupted me. ‘Well, Quintus won’t tell us, you can be sure of that. And the slave-boy’s dead, so we have no proof at all. If only we could lure the rebels to a trap. They must have a signal, but we don’t know what it is.’ He got to his feet and stretched out a hand to me. ‘Well, goodbye, Libertus, thank you for your help. I’m sure we’ll catch Virilis before he does his worst, but that’s the best that I can offer, I’m afraid. I wish I could prove your case against the chief decurion, but I can only hold him on suspicion of corruption as it is. So there you are. By the power vested in me, I fine you one sestertius for indignity of dress, and declare that you are innocent of any other charge. So you are free to go. You can pay the optio if he is back by now. And I believe that I can see that red-haired slave that you were looking for, walking across the courtyard with a soldier by his side. And your son is with them, by the look of it.’

But I wasn’t moving. Not yet anyway. ‘Just a moment,’ I said slowly. ‘What you said just now. Something about a signal. I’ve just had an idea.’

Epilogue

I was not invited to Pedronius’s feast to welcome Marcus home, and I didn’t join the crowds who lined the streets to see him pass, scattering fresh rose-petals and herbs beneath his carriage wheels. But I did go to wait on him the next day – not too early, by his own request.

He kept me waiting, as he always did, but finally a pretty fair-haired page appeared and asked me to follow him to the
triclinium
. He didn’t know the way and I was forced to point it out – obviously the child had been purchased overseas – but dates and wine appeared, and shortly afterwards His Excellence himself.

‘Libertus, my old friend, I’m glad to see you!’ he exclaimed, extending his ringed hand for me to kiss, while I made a low obeisance at his feet. ‘Get up and let me see you. You’re in good health, I see. I’m glad of that. I gather we have much to thank you for.’

He meant, of course, that he owed me his life, but I didn’t mention that. Instead, I murmured, ‘No more than my duty, Excellence, and a pleasure too, of course.’ I risked a compliment. ‘You’re looking well yourself. And what a splendid toga.’

He looked down at the pale-blue garment that he wore. ‘Ah, the
toga picta
. It’s all the rage in Rome. Used to be a fashion for it long ago, they say. Not sure that I like it. It doesn’t bleach, like white. I’ve got a red one too. But that one’s at the fullers – it suffered a mishap.’ He shot a look at me. ‘Your idea, I gather – and a complete success.’ He reached out jewelled fingers to select a juicy date. ‘What was it gave you the idea about the wolf-howl anyway?’

I could have spelled it out to him, of course, but I did not. If truth were told, I was a little bit ashamed to think I’d been so slow. Glypto had told me that wolves were getting scarce, and that it was hard to keep the army well supplied with skins, and yet I’d heard that eerie howling in the woods – not only at night, but at all times of day, especially when Virilis was in the woods – and still I had not realized what it was. It had even crossed my mind that it sounded like a signal and I’d dismissed the thought again. But, of course, that was exactly what it had proved to be. And once we had searched a pile of bundled kindling (which mysteriously appeared one day beside the path) and found a note, it had been fairly easy to set up a trap.

Quintus had obligingly walked head first into it, by arriving unsuspecting at the meeting point and helpfully agreeing to provide the optio – in his temporary role as rebel chief, of course – with further funds and useful information about likely troop movements. The decurion’s distress, when he discovered his mistake, was apparently quite comical to see, and his willingness to confess to almost anything, provided that he was not sentenced to the beasts, provided all the evidence required to see that the real rebel chief was caught and crucified. The plan for killing Marcus, which he suddenly seemed very anxious to divulge, was not to have him strangled by Virilis at all, but set upon, at a predetermined signal, by rebels on the lane outside his home, and put instantly to death, together with his unsuspecting wife and child.

Virilis’s only role in this was to delay the entourage, which, at another signal, would be permitted to arrive and discover the carnage. The blame would have fallen on the rebels, naturally, but after all – as their leader commented – one can only suffer crucifixion once, and one might as well face it for substantial reward and the lavish pickings of a wealthy man as for the paltry purse of some hapless traveller.

Of course, the carriage that they set on was not Marcus’s at all – the wolf-howl signal had made sure of that – and, with the help of a half-century of men disguised behind a wall, the soldiers in it had rounded up the rebels in no time, with the loss of only a dozen men themselves. It had all been very satisfactory, especially to me, since Quintus had confirmed that I’d been right in everything. He had been stripped of his office and everything he owned, and sent into lifelong exile, but he’d escaped the sword by confessing everything and conniving at the capture of the rebel force. Virilis, whose sentence had been death, had appealed to the Emperor and was going to Rome, where – so the commander told me – he was likely to be instantly reprieved and recruited to the ranks of the speculatores.

I did not say all this to Marcus. I just said, ‘The wolf-howl, patron? It simply came to me. An inspiration from the gods, perhaps.’

He nodded, as though he had expected this. ‘Of course.’ He took another date. ‘And speaking of white togas – as we were, I think – it occurs to me that we’ll need another councillor on the ordo now.’

I knew what he was referring to, of course. Candidates for office always dress in spotless white, the so-called ‘
toga
candida
’ in fact. I said evasively, ‘A chief decurion, you mean?’

‘They will appoint a chief decurion from the serving ranks, of course, but had you thought of standing for the other vacancy? I gather the commander had a word with you.’ He bit the last remaining date neatly into two and swallowed it. ‘We could arrange for you to meet the property qualification, I think. Perhaps he told you that?’

I had my answer ready. ‘I’m flattered, Excellence. And naturally, if you wished it, I would be glad to serve – with your kind endorsement, I would be elected I am sure.’ (In fact, I was anything but sure of that. The choice of Gaius Greybeard had caused quite a stir, and not everyone was ready to believe that Marcus had not sanctioned it. ‘Everybody has his price,’ the common gossip said.) ‘But,’ I continued, mentally blessing the commander as I spoke, ‘I fear that, after all, it will not be possible. The town apartment which I think you have in mind has been measured most carefully and is a foot too small.’

Marcus was looking positively vexed. ‘I am sure some small adjustment could be made . . .’

‘But if a property is bequeathed to you, and then you alter it before you pass it on, you will have acted as owner and be liable for tax.’ I had no idea if this was true or not. It was only based on something that I’d heard Pedronius say, but it seemed to work. I saw the look of mild alarm that crossed my patron’s face. Marcus was a rich man, but famously careful with his wealth.

I took advantage of the moment. ‘Have you thought of inviting Pedronius to stand? He would be a worthy candidate and very grateful for your support, I’m sure. Look at the splendid banquet that he arranged for you last night . . .’

Marcus waved a lofty hand at me, but his expression cleared. ‘I expect you’re right. Perhaps an ordo member should have experience of managing finance. And of public life, as well. I’ll speak to Pedronius on the matter when I can – in fact, he is coming here to feast with me tonight. And perhaps you will bring Gwellia to see us very soon. I know my wife would like to speak to her – in fact, I think she’s brought her home a gift.’ He looked round vaguely at the table-top. ‘I was going to suggest that you took her home some dates, but I fear we’ve finished them.’ He smiled. ‘I’m glad you liked the bell.’

‘And the town apartment, Excellence?’ I put in wickedly, noting that our invitation had not been to dine. ‘What will you do with that?’

‘Oh I shall sell it, since you won’t be needing it. I’ll use the money to buy some vineyards, I expect – something to occupy my son when he’s a man. But, in the circumstances, you should have some reward. Can you think of anything?’

He knew as well as I did how I would reply. The answer was waiting just outside the door. ‘Well, Excellence,’ I murmured, ‘since I have a choice . . . what about a pair of non-matching red-haired slaves?’

And I knew, from everybody’s smiles, that I had chosen right.