The Chariots of Calyx (24 page)

‘I doubt that very much. The fewer people involved, the greater the share of the profits and the less chance of someone betraying the rest to the authorities. But there is a lot of money in this, Excellence. Glaucus talked of making thousands from one race – and that was for each of them!’

‘Could he be sure of that?’

‘I think he could. All the money was on the Blues at Verulamium – so anyone who bet
against
them stood to win handsomely. At Camulodunum the opposite applies. The Reds are clearly favourites there, with Fortunatus hurt – and they have their wonderful new horse as well. Of course, Glaucus plans to tamper with the horse, just to make sure. Hardly anyone will be betting on the Blues at that meeting – their substitute driver is virtually unknown. So Glaucus will wager for the Blue team at the course and get attractive odds. Meantime, his illegal syndicate will privately take huge bets for the Reds. Both ways, they win.’

I turned myself tentatively on the bed, and tried to sit upright. My chest protested violently, but otherwise I seemed to be in working order. Pertinax watched me anxiously.

‘Thousands upon thousands of
denarii
– certainly enough to kill men for. You think they murdered Monnius?’ he said.

‘Perhaps they did not kill him, Excellence; they were at Verulamium. But there is some connection, I am sure. Everyone jumped like guilty fleas as soon as I mentioned his name.’

‘We shall find out,’ Pertinax said grimly, ‘when we get our hands on Glaucus. And we will. I’ll send a messenger to every legion and garrison in the province. He won’t get far. A racing fraud – the soldiers won’t think much of that. They’ll bring him in, if he is anywhere to be found. And when they do he’ll wish he’d shown a little more respect for my warrant. As for Fortunatus, if you are right we can pick him up at the race.’

‘If you time it carefully, Excellence, you could catch them in the act. Trying to get to Citus, for example. Otherwise all this might be difficult to prove. The attack on me is a different matter. I could testify to that – but there is no proof that anyone other than Glaucus was involved. And if we can’t find him, I can’t bring a charge. Now, if you will permit it, Excellence, I should like to try to stand on my feet again.’ It would not have been polite to make the attempt without his agreement.

He gave it readily, but was gratifyingly anxious for my strength. I lowered an exploratory foot to the floor. The world had not come apart, I discovered, and I cautiously allowed my second foot to follow the first.

‘Men who have been in slavery develop fortitude,’ I said, as Junio knelt to fasten on my sandals.

Pertinax nodded. I reached out a hand to Junio and another slave also came forward to assist me. Leaning heavily on their shoulders, I forced myself upright. The room swam, but I steadied myself and I was standing, rocky but vertical.

Pertinax smiled grimly. ‘You are a stubborn man, Libertus. In the circumstances, I have news for you. At first I thought you were not well enough to hear it. But since I find you determined to get up . . .’

I sat down again. ‘More trouble, Excellence?’

He laughed softly. ‘Some men might think so, though after what you have been through it seems trivial enough. Annia Augusta is here. She has been asking to see you – if “ask” is the appropriate word. I sent to tell her that you’d been badly hurt, but she only insisted all the more. She has a sovereign remedy for burns, she says, and now she has sent back to the house for that. She was not content to send a message to you, either – she insists on seeing you in person. She is outside now, in my reception room, no doubt terrorising the servants. I would have sent her away but she is a determined woman. She threatened to create a disturbance in the street and I believed her.’

I found myself frowning. What possible circumstance could drive Annia Augusta – a mother in mourning for her son – to abandon her home and come storming to the governor’s palace in search of me? She was in danger of undoing all the purification rites for the funeral. What did she want to tell me which one of her household servants could not have come and told me just as well?

I asked, ‘Has Caius Monnius been cremated yet?’

Pertinax looked surprised. ‘I believe the funeral is scheduled for tonight. I suppose I shall be expected to attend, or at least to send a representative . . .’ He stopped. ‘I see! She has left the house, so the matter must be serious. Nevertheless, citizen, I can have her sent away. You have been injured.’

I shook my head. ‘As you say, Mightiness, Annia Augusta is formidable, but after Glaucus . . .’ I let the sentence hang unfinished in the air. ‘Perhaps a little sustenance, and then I will see the lady – and her remedies.’

‘My dear friend, of course. It shall be done at once. I have ordered something for you on the instructions of the
medicus
. It should be ready for you now.’ Pertinax clapped his hands and a servant scampered off to the kitchens at once, to reappear a moment later with a tray. It was the sort of soft food I have seen served to invalids – eggs whisked and cooked with herbs, barley gruel, hot milk and honey.

The governor made his farewells – ‘I am leaving some of my servants with you as well as your own slave. If there is anything you require, you have only to ask for it’ – and I was left to enjoy my nursery meal in peace.

It did not take long. I was not as hungry as I thought I was, but I ate most of the egg and I was as ready as I’d ever be to face the formidable Annia.

Formidable she was. She swept into the room like a black barge under full sail, towing a laden maidservant in her wake. Annia was veiled and cloaked, but hardly had the courtesies been fulfilled when she bundled off her constricting outer garment and thrust it unceremoniously at the slave. Then she folded her arms grimly and stood looking down at me.

‘Hmm,’ she said (I was reminded of the chicken-buying cook again), ‘you’re looking very pale. They told me you were hurt.’ She strode over to the bed where I was sitting. ‘Get rid of some of these slaves and let’s have a look at you. The governor has given his permission. All very well on a battlefield, these army
medici
, but when it comes to domestic injury you want a woman’s touch.’

I thought, rather sourly, that deliberate torture hardly came into the category of ‘domestic injury’ and if the woman in question was Annia Augusta her touch was likely to be – at best – robust. But I had no chance to argue. Most of the waiting slaves had already disappeared, and her maidservant, having disencumbered herself of the cloak, was juggling a variety of bottles, phials and bowls out of the woven basket she was carrying.

‘Take off that tunic and lie back,’ Annia said, and I found myself obeying – to the evident amusement of Junio who was grinning widely as he assisted me. I was glad that, in putting me to bed, the
medicus
had left my underbritches on.

The grin faded, however, as Annia peeled back the bandages. The linen strips had stuck in parts and I heard her tut to herself impatiently, but there was nothing impatient about the way she soaked the cloth (‘cooled boiled water, brought a flagon with me, much the best’) and eased it gently away with surprisingly expert, reassuring hands. It was like being under the care of my grandmother again.

‘Just as I thought,’ she muttered. ‘Those cuts are healing well. But the burns – no idea, some of these military men. Lavender and true aloe, that’s what we want here. Bring me that purple salve, girl, and the drops in that tall phial on the end.’

She might be poisoning me, for all I knew, I thought: but there were too many witnesses for that. Besides, the salve that she applied was blissfully soothing, and by the time she had bound my wounds I was feeling more comfortable than I had done all day. Even then Annia Augusta was not satisfied.

‘Sit up and drink this,’ she said, pouring a thick vile-looking yellow liquid into the goblet I had used earlier.

It smelt almost as evil as it looked, and tasted even worse, but – as I realised afterwards – it was effective, too. At the time, however, my only sensation was of a revolting taste and a consistency almost impossible to swallow. Not until I had signalled furiously to Junio and gulped down another half-pitcher of water did I feel able to look up and meet Annia Augusta’s eyes.

She was looking at me complacently, her ample hands clasped at her ample chest. ‘Well?’ she demanded. ‘How are you feeling now?’

I muttered somewhat ungraciously that I was still alive. In fact, I realised with surprise, I was beginning to feel a little better.

She nodded. ‘Very well, young man. You’ll do for now – especially if I keep an eye on you. Get on your clothes and come with me. You can’t walk anywhere, of course – I’ve got a litter waiting. We’ve got all sorts of problems at the house, and I think you should come and talk to Fulvia yourself.’

It was so unexpected that my mouth dropped open and for a moment I was speechless. Not merely that she had called me ‘young man’ (no one had done that for twenty years) but the calm assumption that I was now at her disposal, and could simply rise up from my bed of pain and accompany her as if nothing had happened.

Annia Augusta, though, seemed unaware of my amazement. She had turned away and was packing up her potion basket again: flapping away the efforts of the slave to help, as though she trusted the job to no one but herself. ‘I sent a message to you the other day,’ she was saying, ‘but you didn’t come, only that silly stuck-up palace-slave. I told him then – I thought you’d want to know. Filius heard it somewhere – you know what he is like about chariots. Fortunatus was supposed to be at some big race meeting somewhere the night of the murder, but he wasn’t. He was here in Londinium all the time, claiming to be seriously injured, though Mars alone knows if it is as bad as he pretends. Of course, Fulvia heard of this and insisted on talking to the messenger, so the goddess knows what garbled version of the tale you heard.’

I managed to mutter that the story had reached me much as she had told it. If I had stayed in Londinium, I thought, this amazing woman would have brought me the information which I had travelled so far and worked so hard to find.

‘Of course,’ Annia went on, putting down the basket and holding out her arms to have her cloak put on, ‘I don’t believe a word of it myself. I know what Fortunatus was up to that night, if you don’t. Only of course, Fulvia refuses to admit it. Goes on insisting that it was some stranger who broke in. And that’s the problem, citizen. She claims that somebody is still trying to kill her.’ She plonked herself down on the stool so that her servant could adjust the heavy veil over her face.

‘Has there been another attempt to knife her?’ I asked.

Annia snorted. ‘Not that, citizen. But she has insisted for days that someone is trying to poison her – she even started to use that old slave of hers, Prisca or whatever her name is, as a poison-taster. Just the sort of thing that you might expect from Fulvia – my poor Monnius lying there dead, and she begins upsetting the house and making herself the centre of attention. Of course we are not eating prepared meals until the funeral feast, just dry bread and fruit, but she is still insisting on having hers brought specially, won’t drink water from a jug and all that sort of nonsense. The priest had to have a word with her – you know how mourning rituals have to be observed, just so, in the right order, or the whole thing is invalid and you have to start again. Monnius had a perfect fear of bad omens at a funeral, and she seems determined to bring it about. Well, you can see for yourself.’ She got to her feet. ‘Put on a warm cloak, citizen. You’ll find it cold outside after what you’ve been through, and you can hardly travel through the streets, like that, dressed as a palace-slave.’

While she was talking I had permitted Junio to ease me painfully back into my borrowed tunic. I could see what she meant, but I had no intention of going with Annia in any case. For one thing, I was still unsteady on my feet, and for another I was sure that Glaucus had known Monnius, and I didn’t wish to encounter him again except in the safety of an imperial courtroom.

‘Madam citizen,’ I began, in my most formal apologetic manner, ‘I am flattered by your confidence in my powers, but I fail to see what I can do to help. Fulvia is taking every precaution, and unless something further untoward occurs it seems my presence would only interrupt the rituals still further.’

Annia Augusta stared at me. She was veiled, so I could not see her face, but I could feel the contempt through several layers of net.

‘Untoward?’ she said. ‘Of course it’s untoward. That’s what I have come here to tell you. I don’t know how it can have happened – I was sure that the whole thing was nonsense – but it seems there might have been something in it, after all. Prisca was found last evening outside the study, dead. She seems to have been poisoned tasting Fulvia’s food. Now, are you coming, citizen, or not?’

Our appearance at Monnius’ house occasioned quite a stir.

The excitements of the funeral preparations – the comings and goings of priests, mourners, pipers, augurers and slaves – had drawn the usual little gaggle of onlookers and curious passers-by, who were being entertained when we arrived by an ancient itinerant viper-tamer. He had evidently seized the opportunity to set out his stall before a captive audience and was coaxing a less than impressive performance from a lethargic snake in a basket.

‘Drugged,’ Annia Augusta hissed at me, as she descended from her litter and prepared to follow her slave into the house.

The viper-tamer glared at her, but the crowd had lost interest in him anyway. I was lying on a carrying bed borrowed from the palace – my first attempts to climb into an ordinary litter having been conspicuously unsuccessful – and when that was borne along the street and up to Monnius’ door, with Junio trotting obediently alongside, everyone on the pavement turned to stare. Not surprisingly perhaps, people being more accustomed on the whole to seeing bodies carried out of a house of death than into one, but it made me feel very conspicuous. Even the appearance of a pair of city councillors, in their chalk-whitened robes, come to pay their official respects to the corpse and carrying a model of a corn officer’s
mobius
as a grave-offering, passed almost unnoticed in comparison.