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First published in Great Britain and the USA 2014 by

SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

19 Cedar Road, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM2 5DA.

eBook edition first published in 2015 by Severn House Digital

an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

The right of Rosemary Aitken to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

Rowe, Rosemary, 1942- author.

The fateful day.

1. Libertus (Fictitious character : Rowe)–Fiction.

2. Romans–Great Britain–Fiction. 3. Slaves–Fiction.

4. Great Britain–History–Roman period, 55 B.C.-449

A.D.–Fiction. 5. Detective and mystery stories.

I. Title

823.9’2-dc23

ISBN-13: 978-07278-8439-8 (cased)

ISBN-13: 978-1-84751-546-9 (trade paper)

ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-593-2 (e-book)

Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

This ebook produced by

Palimpsest Book Production Limited, Falkirk,

Stirlingshire, Scotland.

To Lily, both Dianas, and Violet

FOREWORD

T
he story is set in Glevum (Roman Gloucester, a prosperous ‘republic’ and a
colonia
for retired soldiery) during spring AD192, a time when the Empire was rocked by an almost unimaginable series of events. The cruel, capricious and half-crazed Emperor Commodus had been assassinated at the turn of the year and the soldierly and austere Helvius Pertinax – a previous governor of Britannia and the supposed friend of the fictional Marcus in this story – installed in his place to popular acclaim.

Contemporary writers give differing accounts of the new Emperor’s short rule. Some – especially those who had enjoyed the flamboyant hospitality of his predecessor – describe him as mean to the point of cheeseparing; but others suggest that faced with empty coffers he was simply
a
prudent manager who eschewed excess. This is the version favoured in this tale.

Austerity did not win Pertinax popularity. In particular, he refused to pay the whacking bonuses that Commodus had always paid to the Praetorian Guard – the powerful military elite who acted as personal bodyguard to the Emperor – claiming, with truth, that there were insufficient funds remaining in the Imperial Purse. (One is irresistibly reminded of the story of the incoming treasury official in our own times, finding the note saying, ‘There is no money left.’)

Refusing the praetorians their bribe was dangerous: they had already engineered the downfall of earlier Emperors who had refused to pay them for their loyalty. There was an alleged attempt to oust Pertinax early on, while he was out of the city: but if there was indeed a plot, it failed. (This event is not mentioned in the narrative, as some ancient accounts don’t allude to it at all, and in any case it is unlikely that rumours would have reached Britannia, since there was no execution of those responsible. It is said that Pertinax attempted to win the loyalty of the conspirators by appealing to their honour.)

Indeed, the new Emperor had a reputation for being merciful: freeing those financially ruined by his predecessor, some of whom had been sold as slaves, pardoning those exiled on some trumped-up charge who had seen their assets forfeited to finance Commodus’s notorious, increasingly extravagant and lascivious lifestyle – though enemies said he charged a fee for this and so turned a small profit for himself. He even attempted to reform the currency by halting the recent decrease in precious metal in the coins.

In late March, the praetorians lost patience with all this and demanded payment. Pertinax faced them and attempted to explain that he did not have the funds. He was no orator, but (according to one contemporary account) it seemed that rational argument might win the day, until one disaffected soldier threw a spear at him – at which point all the other guards joined in and killed him on the spot. (This version of events is plausible, since the punishment for treason in the ranks was decimation of the regiment – executing one in ten of them – and this would have been a likely outcome this time, if Pertinax had lived. By killing him outright, they avoided this and gained the initiative themselves.) Pertinax – mindful of the safety of his young family – had never given his son Imperial titles or nominated him as successor, but had promoted his father-in-law to the Prefecture of Rome. Titus was therefore generally expected to succeed, especially as he undertook to pay the guard their bribe.

However (as outlined in the novel) another claimant, Didius, made his presence known, offering to pay the guard a larger sum. Titus responded with a larger offer still, and Rome was witness to the unedifying spectacle of the rivals publicly trying to outbid each other for the role of Emperor. Finally Didius made an offer which his rival could not match, and was duly proclaimed by the praetorians – an early form of military takeover. (It was not to last, however – there was genuinely no money with which to pay the guard. From the outset there were counterclaims and – as the commandant in the novel predicts – there followed a period of armed unrest which amounts to civil war, though this is outside of the scope of this story.)

This, then, is the extraordinary background to this tale. It is frankly doubtful that the news would have arrived in Glevum as quickly as the story suggests – in early spring the mountain passes are still difficult – but claims were made that news of Commodus’s death had reached every part of the Empire ‘within half a moon’, and for the purposes of the narrative the same thing is taken to be the case here.

The Britannia to which these tidings caused such shock was the most far-flung and northerly of all Roman provinces, but still occupied by Roman legions, criss-crossed by Roman roads, subject to Roman laws, and administered by a provincial governor (indeed on the death of Pertinax, Clodius Albinus was one claimant to the Imperial throne). Latin was the language of the educated, people were adopting Roman dress and habits, and citizenship, with the precious social and legal rights which it conferred, was the aspiration of almost everyone, though – as the narrative suggests – there still were small groups of dissidents who refused to yield, especially in the forest of what is now modern Wales.

These rebellious Celtic bands were often associated with Druid practices – perhaps as an act of additional defiance against Rome, since the religion was officially proscribed. (Unlike Christianity, Druidism had been outlawed for some time, because of the cult of the severed human head, and adherence to the sect was technically a capital offence.) Stories were circulated of its gruesome practices: the sacred groves adorned with severed heads of enemies, the wicker man-shapes filled with human forms and torched, and the use of living human entrails as a divination tool. This suppression of the cult served to drive it underground and secrecy soon added myth to mystery. However, at this date, there is no record of any incidents occurring as far east as this story would suggest.

Glevum (modern Gloucester) was an important town. Its historic status as a colonia for retired legionaries gave it special privileges: all freemen born within its walls were citizens by right. Most inhabitants of Glevum, however, were not citizens at all. Many were freemen born outside the walls, scratching a precarious living from a trade. Hundreds more were slaves – what Aristotle once described as ‘vocal tools’ – mere chattels of their masters, to be bought and sold, with no more rights or status than any other domestic animal. Some slaves led pitiable lives, but others were highly regarded by their owners, and might be treated well. A slave in a kindly household, with a comfortable home, might have a more enviable lot than many a poor freeman struggling to eke out an existence in a squalid hut.

Power, of course, was vested almost entirely in men. Although individual women might inherit large estates, and many wielded considerable influence within the house, they were excluded from public office, and a woman (of any age) was deemed a child in law, while the killing of an errant or unfaithful wife – though not encouraged – was legally defensible. Marriage and motherhood were the only realistic goals for well-bred women, although tradesmen’s wives and daughters often worked beside their men, and in the poorest households everybody toiled. It was, however, a superstitious age so there was a market for female soothsayers and ‘wisewomen’ (often skilled in herbal remedies), who, if successful, were accorded unusual respect, regarded with suspicious awe, and even – as suggested in the text – regularly consulted by the credulous.

In the same way there were important rituals surrounding any death. It was believed that if these were not properly observed, unquiet spirits might return to walk the earth – especially those of murder victims considered ‘innocent’. Infants, however, were not regarded as having souls as yet, and so could be interred without remark, while slaves were often buried without any rites at all, unless the deceased had been a member of the Funeral Guild, which (for a regular subscription) would see that the proper rituals were observed – all matters integral to the narrative.

The rest of the Romano-British background to this book has been derived from a variety of (sometimes contradictory) pictorial and written sources, as well as artefacts. However, although I have done my best to create an accurate picture, this remains a work of fiction, and there is no claim to total academic authenticity. Pertinax, Didius Julianus and events in Rome are historically attested, as is the existence and basic geography of Glevum. The rest is the product of my imagination.

Relata refero. Ne Iupiter quidem omnibus placet.
I only tell you what I heard. Jove himself can’t please everybody.

ONE

P
erhaps it was my own fault that I got involved in this affair. It was none of my business who was calling at my patron’s country house. But since I knew that Marcus was away – gone to Rome, in fact, and likely to be gone for several moons – when I saw the expensive private carriage standing at the gate, I thought it only fair to warn the occupants. Marcus had left only a few slaves to run the place – his wife and son had moved back to the town-house in Corinium while he was gone: she was expecting a second baby soon, so it was risky to go with him, and this way she’d be closer to a midwife if need be. So, I was only trying to be helpful, or so I told myself. Of course, there were still gatekeepers and slaves to pass on this kind of news, but to be honest – given the magnificence of the equipage – I was hoping that there might be a few
quadrans
in it for my having taken the trouble to explain.

As it turned out, I could not have been more wrong. I have wished a thousand times since that I’d not happened by.

It was mere chance that I was in the area at all. It was only because I’d gone out on my newly acquired mule to look in at some additional new farm fields that my patron had bought, quite close to his existing property but further down the lane. The land had been allowed to run down dreadfully for years – the previous owner being short of funds – but Marcus was now full of plans for it and since I’d been instrumental in the purchase of the place, he’d left me to supervise the work.

‘I’ll speak to the commander of the garrison and you can send me a message with the imperial post from time to time,’ he told me loftily, the day before he went. ‘Let me know how things are getting on. I’ve left orders for the land-slaves to grub up all the ruined crops and try planting a few grapevines in their place. Other farms round Glevum have had good results with them, but I’m afraid my slave-master is rather sceptical and thinks the plants won’t prosper in the cold. Far too damp out here, he told me openly. He will do as I’ve instructed him, of course, but his heart’s not in the task and I think he would be gratified to find that he was right – so I need a trusted pair of eyes to keep a watch on things.’ He put a ringed hand on my shoulder with a smile. ‘And naturally, I thought of you, Libertus, my old friend. You only live a mile or two along the lane, and there’s no one else that I would trust as much.’

This was intended to be flattering, of course, but it was not quite the honour which he seemed to think it was. The round trip was considerably more than ‘a mile or two’ and the task necessitated my going out there almost every day in addition to attempting to ply my trade in town. I have a mosaic workshop to maintain, and every hour it took me to ride out to the farm and back was an hour of laying pavements which was lost to me – and it also meant that I was obliged to hurry home each day in order to get out there before the daylight failed. Besides, the land slave-master was a new man, whom I didn’t know, and I did not think my presence would impress him very much.

But one does not argue with a powerful patron like Marcus Septimus Aurelius, especially when he’s a personal friend and favourite of the brand-new Emperor. So there I was, in the encroaching dusk, spurring on my skinny mule as fast as possible, when I saw this carriage at my patron’s villa gate.

I could hardly have missed it, even in the dusk. It was extremely large – a handsome covered travelling coach with heavy leather springs and it was facing towards me, its four fine horses stamping and snorting in the cool evening air of spring. The fancy oil-lamps at the corners had not yet been lit, but all the same I could see how elaborate the conveyance was: the shafts and wheels were painted red, its wooden panels gilded, its side-posts decorated with elaborate ivory figurines, and it was completely blocking up the lane. I was obliged to stop.

I shambled my faithful Arlina to a stop, looked up at the driver and was about to speak, but before I could say anything at all, the shutters at a window-space were dropped, the curtain was thrust back and a florid, frowning face leaned out and looked at me.

‘What are you doing, gawping, you stupid piece of scum?’ The voice was every bit as unpleasant as the words. ‘Get that wretched animal off the track at once. It is late and we are wanting to depart and you are in our way!’

The injustice of this outburst was almost breathtaking – it was not my poor animal that was blocking the road – but of course it was not prudent to protest as much; a man of such obvious wealth and status was not someone to cross. No doubt there was a broad patrician stripe around the toga that I had glimpsed. So I fixed an obliging, foolish smile upon my face and said, with careful courtesy, ‘I merely stopped to warn you, citizen, that if you hoped to find His Excellence Marcus Septimus Aurelius at home, you will be disappointed. He has gone to Rome – to congratulate his long-time friend and patron, Pertinax, on his elevation to the Imperial purple.’

Actually, that wasn’t quite the case – Marcus had gone to see the Emperor, it is true, but more to warn him of the dangers of the role than to congratulate him on his rise to power. Pertinax, he’d told me, was too honest for the job: it would never occur to him, for instance, to offer bribes to the Praetorian Guard as Commodus had done, and therefore (since the praetorians were officially responsible for protecting the Imperial Person) his life might quickly be in jeopardy if they felt that they could replace him with someone who would pay what they believed to be their due. However, that was not something that I wished to share with this unpleasant visitor.

The florid face set in a scornful scowl. ‘Gone to seek preferment in the Imperial Court?’ He gave a furious snort. ‘Why in Dis was I not informed of that? I’ve made a wasted journey, and at this time of night. Someone will pay for this. You, if you’re not careful. Get out of my way, you son of Celtic swine, or I’ll have my horses trample over you.’ And before I could answer he had slammed the shutter down and thumped the carriage as a signal to depart.

I just had time to swerve the mule aside before the driver raised his whip. The horses moved away and a moment later the whole heavy vehicle was trundling down the lane, gaining speed until it disappeared in clouds of dust – much of which settled on Arlina and myself.

I was distinctly shaken. Another instant and there would have been an accident – to the horses and carriage as much as to myself – and it was obvious that the driver of the coach had feared the same. I had glimpsed his face as he urged the horses on – white, set and terrified – but determined too: there’d been no hesitation in obeying the command. Florid-face was clearly not an owner to thwart or disobey.

I shook my head and turned Arlina round, abandoning my visit to the fields for the night. I would go first thing tomorrow, I promised inwardly – before I even set off for my workshop in the town. That wasn’t what I’d promised Marcus that I’d do, but it might even be presented as a clever move: the land-steward would not expect me at that hour. My visits up till now had been, perhaps, far too predictable. Besides, although the little incident had happened very fast, it had caused me a delay and I could persuade myself that it was getting too dark to proceed. Mostly, however, it had given me a fright.

So I was not sorry to get home to my roundhouse and my wife, and the delicious stew she had prepared for me. The pair of red-haired slaves who had come back from town with me, but had already preceded me indoors, were waiting with warmed water to rinse my hands and feet and the kitchen slave had put a pot of spiced, honeyed mead to warm. Relaxing in the pleasures of my simple home, I soon forgot the horrid little incident. Or tried to, anyway.

I thought of sharing it with Gwellia, my wife, but she had learned from the slaves that I had earned a lucrative contract for a pavement at the baths, and I decided that it was a shame to spoil her joy by dwelling on the threat and the rudeness of the carriage passenger. I simply mentioned that I’d seen a visitor, apparently hoping to find Marcus in.

She looked up from kneading flour into a dough. ‘I wonder who that was.’

I shook my head. ‘I’ve no idea,’ I said. ‘Nobody that I have ever seen before. Somebody wealthy by the look of him. Great big carriage blocking up the road – a proper
carpentum
, with four horses pulling it. Shutters and oil lamps and leather springs, besides. Could have come a long way with a vehicle like that.’

She punched the bread-dough with an expert fist. ‘Well, wherever it came from, it won’t go far tonight. I suppose they were hoping to stop at Marcus’s. I wonder where they’ll find accommodation now?’ She stretched the dough, then punched it down again and set it by the fire to rise a bit before she sealed the pot with clay and placed it in the embers to bake overnight. ‘If they were known to your patron – and as wealthy as you say – I’m a bit surprised the servants didn’t let them in. I know that there are hardly any slaves left in the house, but they could have offered a traveller some sort of hospitality, I’m sure.’

‘I think I prevented him from asking at the gate,’ I said, wondering why I hadn’t thought of that myself. I suppose the sudden fright had addled my poor brain. ‘He was sitting in the carriage when I came along the lane, and so was his driver – and they didn’t seem to know that Marcus wasn’t there. When I told them so, he got quite cross and drove away at once.’

‘So he hadn’t sent his slave in to enquire?’ Gwellia had started on the morning’s oatcakes now.

‘If he’d sent in an attendant, he’d have waited for him to come back to the carriage, wouldn’t he?’ I said. ‘I didn’t see a servant, come to think of it – apart from the driver, and that hardly counts. Though I suppose there must have been one.’

‘In the coach, perhaps? It’s an odd place to seat a mere attendant, but men like that don’t drive around the roads without an escort as a rule.’

‘Mmm!’ was all I murmured in reply. Trust Gwellia to see the obvious.

I watched her for a little, going about her evening tasks. She was a pretty woman, even now, although her hair was grey. And sharp-witted too. It was not the first time that she’d thought of things I should have seen myself. ‘Perhaps I should tell Marcus about that visitor,’ I said at last. ‘Especially if no one in the house had seen him come. It does seem an odd encounter. I wonder who he was.’

‘That’s what I said half an hour ago.’ She grinned across at me. ‘But you didn’t ask him and now we’ll never know. I don’t suppose it matters, anyway. Whoever it was has come and gone and there’s an end of it.’ She had set the cakes and bread to cook by now, so I raked the ashes over them and lit a slow taper in a jar to keep a flame alight.

‘I’m sure you’re right, as usual,’ I told her tenderly, as I blew the candle out and pulled her down beside me on the bed of reeds.

We could not guess how wrong she’d prove to be.

BOOK: The Fateful Day

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