The Legatus Mystery (11 page)

Once we had got past the doorkeeper we were shown into the receiving room, a small antechamber off the atrium where visitors could sit uncomfortably on a bench and wait. There was a plate of rather ancient apples and a jug of very watered wine, of which we were vaguely invited to partake, but the prospect did not appeal. Optimus – with typical regard for money – clearly did not provide any other refreshment for his callers, unless they were very important, and there was nothing else to do but sit and look around.

My mosaic in the dining room still looked good, I thought, glimpsing it through the inner arch, but otherwise the house betrayed its master’s thrift. It had been built in the old-fashioned Roman style and the centre of the atrium was partly open to the sky. The gutters dripped into a sunken pool beneath, making the room disagreeably cold and damp. (Such pools were falling out of fashion in Britannia: one could see why on such a dismal day.) Under the shelter of the partial roof a fine carved table held a good bronze vase, but the wall decorations had been cheaply done – repetitious patterns in a poor paint which was already flaking.

A few damp pot-plants fringed the atrium pool, but by craning round the doorpost it was possible to glimpse the inner court and the more extensive formal garden there. Even that wasn’t a great deal more decorative, if I remembered rightly. The master had been frugal here as well. I’d noticed on my previous visits that the box shrubs which formed the borders were thin-planted, and what should have been handsome flowerbeds were full of straggling turnips, leeks and other strictly practical additions to the kitchen. I leaned forward on my bench to see more clearly.

It was raining slightly, but someone seemed to have been tending to the garden, for as I idly glanced I sensed a movement. A figure clad in some long bluish garment darted swiftly into the shadow of the colonnade and disappeared into the rear apartments of the house. Some garden slave, most probably, caught in the rain and scuttling out of sight of visitors. Otherwise the garden was much as I remembered. I watched for several minutes but the figure did not re-emerge.

Then someone finally appeared to greet us. It was not Optimus himself, as I had half expected. It was the Phrygian steward who came hurrying out, all unctuous excuses and eagerness at the sight of a visiting toga. I stood up. The shock on his face when he recognised me would have been comic if it were not insulting. Of course, he had never seen me dressed in anything but a tunic.

‘Why, thitithen! Libertuth! – it ith the pavement-maker, ithn’t it?’ The Phrygian, apart from his disdainful air, also adopted an affected lisp which made conversation with him doubly difficult. (‘Lithputh’ Junio and I had christened him between ourselves.) ‘What bringth you to my mathter’th humble houth?’ His words were those of conventional greeting, but there was nothing humble about either the ‘houth’ or the steward’s manner, now that he had identified me.

‘Greetings to your master Optimus. The Citizen Libertus presents his compliments.’ I chose the formal responses purposely, keeping my tone deliberately brisk. ‘I have come to see about a commission he was offering. Repairs to that faulty pavement in the entranceway. A hundred sesterces, I think it was agreed.’

He shook his head. ‘I’m afraid you’d need to thpeak to my mathter about that. Unfortunately he ithn’t here at prethent.’

That was a blow. Leave it too long, and Optimus might change his mind about his pavement, and I was relying doubly on this commission now. Not only would the money be welcome, but the house would give me a useful vantage-point over the high priest’s dwelling and the temple beyond it.

The Phrygian steward must have seen my frown. ‘I’m truly thorry that he wathn’t here,’ he went on. ‘I do not think he wath ecthpecting you.’

I gave him a forgiving smile. ‘I don’t expect he was. I had business this afternoon with Marcus Septimus, and since I was passing the door, it seemed an opportunity to see the floor. It would speed matters, you see, and Optimus was in a hurry for the work to be completed. With a little preparation tonight, I could no doubt start work first thing in the morning. No matter. No doubt your master is expected soon,’ I said. ‘I am content to wait here till he comes.’

I expected some conventional response. Instead, Lithputh glanced nervously towards the court. No more than the hastiest of looks, but Junio had seen it too. I felt him stiffen at my side, and under the cover of adjusting my cloak he bent forward and caught my eye. He raised his brows expressively.

I winked at him. ‘Something is troubling you, steward?’ I enquired of Lithputh, in a tone that was sweetly reasonable.

Lithputh flushed. ‘Not at all. A pity your journey thyoud have been in vain.’ His eyes strayed to the courtyard once again. He gestured towards the outer door. ‘Another time, perhapth?’

The man was hiding something. He could not have signalled it more clearly if he had hung a swinging shop sign on the wall, like the one outside the potter’s shop next door. I tried to recall that scuttling figure I’d seen. Who was it? I wished that I had caught a better glimpse. Optimus himself, perhaps – I had not had time to take a proper look, but I would have seen a toga, I was sure, and my impression was of a smaller figure than the old centurion. It wasn’t Lithputh, either – unless he’d taken the trouble to go and change his clothes. He was still wearing the bright ochre tunic which I remembered as the household uniform. Ochre is cheerful, Optimus had told me, and it is not an expensive dye.

Lithputh was still trying to usher me out. I made another attempt to resist. ‘I’m sure your master would not be pleased at losing the chance to have the work begun as soon as possible. I understand he was most emphatic about it.’

Lithputh licked his lips. His disdainful manner had vanished like a tallow candle on a brazier. He thought for a moment. ‘In that case,’ he said at last, so agitated that he almost forgot to lisp, ‘perhaps, if you would care to thee the pavement? I am empowered thometimeth to act on hith behalf. I am thure that thome arrangement could be reached.’

‘Perhaps a small payment in advance? And a written bond from you, to guarantee the rest?’ I said. That was impertinent. A written contract for work of this kind was almost unheard of in the Empire, and as for payment in advance! That was like buying a ‘pig’ of iron sight unseen, without having it assayed – a positive invitation to be cheated.

But if I had redoubled the asking price I firmly believe that Lithputh would have signed, he was in such a hurry to usher us away. By this time, naturally, I was more curious than ever.

I contrived to send Junio to do the measurements, while I remained in the ante-room to keep a stealthy eye on the courtyard, but there was nothing further to be seen. Lithputh left me in the care of the doorkeeper, and came back after a moment carrying a writing tablet, with the agreement for the commission scratched out in the wax – not the most permanent of records, but still a good deal more than I deserved. He pressed it with his seal-ring in my presence, and brought out some silver coins from his purse.

‘Twenty thethtertheeth, pavement-maker,’ he said, with a return to his old lofty manner. ‘I will tell my mathter—’

‘For the purchase of preliminary tiles only,’ I said swiftly, slipping the sesterces into my pouch. ‘Black, red and white ones, I presume? Like the ones he wants me to replace?’ It was a silly question really, but I was looking for any excuse to prolong my visit.

Lithputh was not deceived. ‘I imagine that will be what he had in mind. Tho now, if your thlave hath finithed meathuring?’ He motioned to the door – and to the doorkeeper to see us out. ‘We will thee you in the morning, thitithen.’

The doorkeeper was a stout fellow with a stick, as doorkeepers in this city tend to be, so I was not disposed to argue with him. I collected myself and my slave with as much dignity as I could muster and we made our way back onto the street.

It was raining hard by now, and the street was deserted. We would be glad of our cloaks, I thought, as I wound mine around me, and began walking briskly back in the direction of the workshop. ‘Well,’ I said to Junio, who was trotting obediently beside me, ‘what did you make of that? The fellow was positively anxious to get rid of us. What do you suppose? That Optimus was somewhere in the house all the time?’

Junio peered up at me, his hood raised against the rain. ‘I hardly think so, master. Lithputh looked more guilty than anything, to me. But he would have lied for Optimus without a second thought, I’m sure. I think something else was troubling him. There was someone there, I’m certain of it. I thought I saw someone in the garden earlier . . .’

I nodded. ‘I thought I caught a glimpse of someone too. Someone who was very anxious not to be seen. Was it a man or woman, did you see?’

Junio shook his head. ‘I am very sorry, master. Wearing some sort of long bluish cloak, I think. Or it might have been a woman’s robe. I can’t be certain, it was all too quick. Tomorrow, when we go back to the house, I’ll see if I can discover anything from the servants.’

‘Mmm!’ I demurred. ‘You can try, by all means. But you know what Optimus is like – he doesn’t keep half as many slaves as any normal man, and the ones he does have are kept so busy you never see them. I found that out last time I was working there.’ It was true. Optimus had promised me some water for the mortar, but he’d left no pitcher and I couldn’t find anyone to ask. In the end I had to go out to the public fountain and fetch some myself in my mortar bucket.

The thought of that bucket reminded me of home, and Gwellia who was doubtless waiting for us there. ‘Come on, Junio,’ I said, stepping over a slippery patch on the glistening pavement. Some citizen had brought his dogs this way. We had reached the main road now, and were about to cross. ‘Gwellia is preparing food for us.’ I glanced at Junio.

He tried to disguise it, but even under the hood I saw the look of disappointment in his face. Up until now, Junio had always prepared my humble supper, or fetched me something from one of the cooked food stalls nearby. I was about to say something comforting, but suddenly he interrupted.

‘Look, master, look!’ He jerked his head in the direction we had come.

I looked back. Sure enough, from the doorway we had lately left a tall muffled figure had slipped out and was already hurrying across the road away from us. The person – it was impossible to say at this distance whether it was male or female – was cloaked from head to foot against the rain, and the hood was pulled right down to shield the face. But as the figure turned away, the cowl billowed in the wind, and I thought I caught a glimpse of auburn hair.

It was, of course, impossible to be certain who it was, but – now I came to think of it – there was something familiar in the manner of the walk as well.

‘Dear Mercury, I do believe that’s Hirsus! Whatever was he doing in that house?’

‘Who is he, master?’ Junio turned to me.

‘One of the Imperial priests,’ I said. ‘I saw him earlier at the Emperor’s shrine. What is he doing here?’

But when we looked again, the hurrying form had disappeared. I sent Junio chasing after him, if only to try to find out where he’d gone – we could hardly go and knock on people’s doors and start demanding explanations. Besides, I had no wish to alienate the priest. He was doing nothing wrong in visiting a neighbour in broad daylight and Optimus, of course, could entertain anyone he liked. But if it was Hirsus why had he gone to such lengths to avoid my seeing him? And if it wasn’t Hirsus, who was it? It could have been anyone, even a woman, under the disguise of that long, hooded cloak.

Whoever it was, he had disappeared like smoke. Junio could find no trace of him, and nor could I, although we looked down every street around the forum.

In fact, we were very wet indeed by the time we finally got home.

Gwellia came out to meet us as we arrived. She had clearly taken my instructions seriously, perhaps as a way of redeeming herself for destroying my tunic earlier, and from her air of half-suppressed excitement it was obvious that she was bursting to tell me what she had discovered.

I led the way back into my unnaturally tidy workroom. ‘So?’ I said to her, as Junio helped me to remove my sodden cloak. ‘Did you learn anything at the market stall?’

‘Indeed I did, master,’ she replied, bringing me a towel to dry my dripping hair. ‘And I bought the cloth. At the stall you recommended. Good cloth they have in Glevum, too – but at such a price! Of course, I brought them down a little by threatening to walk away – they could not resist a sale – but it was a dreadful price, dear master. If you could construct a loom for me, in future I could buy a fleece and spin and weave my own. No doubt I could arrange something with the dyers . . .’

‘And Fabius Marcellus?’ I said gently, as Junio disengaged me from my damp toga.

‘I did not learn as much about the legate as I hoped,’ she said, rubbing my hair briskly with her clean dry cloth. ‘But I learned a lot about the Priest of Jupiter and that Honorius Optimus of yours. Once the cloth-seller’s wife learned that I was taken prisoner from the southwestern tribes, she couldn’t do enough for me. Apparently she came from there herself.’ She took my toga from Junio and began to fold it. ‘Besides, I told her that I was new to the city, and that I’d come to her stall because I’d heard it rumoured that the wives of really important men came there to buy their cloth. She was only too anxious to impress me, by telling me what illustrious clients she had and how much she was in their confidence.’

I nodded encouragingly, but at that moment Gwellia’s attention was diverted by the pot on the fire, which had begun bubbling urgently. She darted towards it, and rescued it with an iron hook. ‘But see,’ she said, gesturing towards where she had stood it on the stone hearth, ‘I have prepared a stew for you – the kind you used to like when you were young – and it will spoil if you don’t eat it soon. Besides, you should have something warm to eat. If you will be pleased to sit down at the table, Citizen Libertus, I will tell you as you dine.’