The Mammoth Book of Roman Whodunnits (49 page)

Marcus had me shown into his presence instantly. He was dressed for banqueting, in a toga of dazzling whiteness, set off by the glow of rubies at the clasp and his most glittering rings on either hand. In my smelly tunic, I felt peculiarly ill at ease.

“Well, Libertus, my old friend,” he said. The voice was not unkind, but the greeting troubled me. When I am “his old friend”, I’m alarmed. “This is about Calvus, I presume. Have you succeeded in releasing him?”

“Not yet, Excellence,” I confessed. “But I think I may have evidence which helps. Who will be presiding in the Calvus case?”

Marcus frowned. “Probably the ambassador from Rome, since he is here. This is a capital offence, so it will fall to a senior magistrate.”

I thought of my unfinished pavement piece. “He has arrived then?”

“I am entertaining him to a feast tonight. He is at this moment in the guest room here, preparing for the banquet with his slaves.”

I was thinking rapidly. “He has come straight from Rome?”

“Via Londinium and Corinium, of course. He wished to see a little of Britannia. He has never ventured to the northern provinces before. He is quite favourably impressed. You know what rumours circulate in Rome.”

I did. Marcus himself had come from Rome originally, and he never tired of telling me about the wonders of the Imperial capital, and how things were different there. However,
I had now learned what I’d been hoping for. “In that case, Excellence, there is hope. I believe he will dismiss it out of hand. And if the ambassador presides at the case, the populace cannot accuse you of favouring your own clientes, which they might otherwise have done. Calvus is not a very well-liked man.”

His face cleared. “You may have a point. I imagine the Ambassador won’t mind – and here he is, in fact. Perhaps you would like to speak to him yourself.”

The man who was entering the room looked what he was, a man of power. Not only was he elaborately dressed, he had that well-oiled, sleek, self-satisfied air that the rich and favoured always seem to have. He looked at me with something like disgust. I feared a whiff of Stortus hung about me still.

Marcus caught the look and hastened to explain. This was his apartment, after all. “This is one of my clientes, Ambassador,” he said. “He is a citizen, despite appearances. He has been engaged in an errand on my behalf – and would like to have a word with you.” I was not an “old friend” now, I noted with a smile, but Marcus was doing his best for me.

The Ambassador gave me a frosty smile. “About . . .?”

I had not meant to be catapulted into this, but suddenly there seemed no escape. I took the plunge. “About a case, your Mightiness, that you are scheduled to try tomorrow at the courts.”

“That cutler who was set upon and robbed,” Marcus put in. “I think I mentioned it to you earlier.”

“You did!” the Ambassador said loftily. “It seems to be a cut and dried affair. The man identified his assailant, I believe, in front of witnesses.”

Marcus looked at me.

“Ah!” I said. “That is just the point. He identified the voice, but not the face. He didn’t
see
the man who tied him up
and took his purse. Calvus seems a likely suspect, I agree. He had a grievance, and he had a knife. But did he have the opportunity? We know there was a trial in Corinium – which began just before the seventh hour. They got there just before the noonday trumpet-call, and no doubt the court officials can confirm the fact.”

“Well?” the Ambassador demanded testily.

“And then, by the knife-seller’s own account, he went off to the baths. It was only afterwards that he was robbed, when he had set off later from the town.”

“Well?” again.

“But I have witnesses to prove that Calvus was back in Glevum before the end of the tenth hour. There is no doubt. He hired a mule, and the owner is prepared to swear to it.” I sent up a mental prayer to all the gods that no one sent for Stortus to enquire. I did not know that he was “prepared to swear” at all, and he would not make an impressive witness if he did. “And Calvus was back at his market-stall at dawn,” I hurried on, pleased to have thought of it. “Anyone in the town will tell you that – which proves that he was back before they shut the gates.”

The Ambassador was looking at me with interest.

“Ambassador,” I said, “You came that way today. You know how long it takes to travel between Corinium and here. And you were in a swift imperial gig. This man was on a mule. How could he be outside Corinium at – what? – the ninth hour at least, and be back here in time to manage that?”

“By Hermes,” the Ambassador exclaimed. “I do believe you’re right. It took me three hours at least to make the trip. It would have taken a man on mule-back more.” He scowled. “If this is true, I shall have this Nicodemus flogged and fined for wasting the court’s time.”

Marcus stepped forwards as if to intervene, but caught my eye. “And Calvus the butcher? What of him?”

“We’d better hold him, since he is arraigned. But see that he has fairer lodging, overnight – on my authority. Tomorrow we’ll hear what Nicodemus has to say. It is preposterous. Attempting to identify a robber by his voice.”

“As you say, Excellence,” I murmured.

Marcus said, “I’ll send a messenger to the jail at once – if you would seal the order, Mightiness.” He nodded to one of his attendant slaves. “Fetch me some bark and writing ink at once. Best octopus, none of your watered soot.” The boy scuttled off to do as he was told, and Marcus turned to me. “Well done, Libertus. Wait here for the letter and you can deliver it.”

I did more. Once Calvus was released into the jailer’s house I found the inn where Nicodemus was. That wasn’t difficult. The whole town was abuzz with news of this colourful visitor. Nicodemus eyed me doubtfully.

“I have a warning for you, knife-seller,” I said. “The Ambassador from Rome is here, and he has heard about your case. He has unchained Calvus, on new evidence, and plans to have you flogged and fined when you appear.”

Nicodemus laughed. “Don’t be foolish, townsman. I have proof. The man threatened me in court, and robbed me afterwards.”

“You will find it hard to prove,” I declared. “Of course, you know the law – it’s clear you understand it very well, that’s why you make your contract as you do. But if this comes to court, I promise you, I will be a witness in the case. And I will tell them, if Calvus does not, how you have two sections to your box. You put the good knife into one, get some simple bystander to sit on it, then sell the poor knife from the other side. Isn’t that the case?”

His smile faded, but he still said, “What if there are two sections? Both are empty. Anyone may look.”

“No doubt they are, at present. That knife is too precious
to leave there, in case someone works out your trick. But I know . . .” I leaned forward and whispered in his ear.

It was a guess, but he confirmed it by the way that he turned pale.

I pressed my advantage remorselessly. “I shall tell them about that, if you appear. It will be the gossip of the town – and rumour spreads like fire before the wind. Before you have reached the next town your reputation will be ahead of you.”

His voice was almost a whisper. “And if I don’t appear?”

“Then I say nothing. Although, of course, some of the story’s out. Calvus accused you of cheating him – that will have spread for miles by this time. If I were you, knife-vendor, I wouldn’t try to sell my knives round here again. Now, it is getting dark. If you – for any reason – wish to leave, it would be wise to do it very soon.”

I am not good at threats, but that one worked. The next morning there was no Nicodemus at the court, and without him, of course, there was no case to bring. Calvus was released without a charge.

I had turned up at the court to see, and Marcus came across. “Well done, Libertus. You did well. I confess I was surprised myself. I didn’t think you’d prove him innocent. I was convinced he did it all the time.”

I looked at him. “Of course he did it, Excellence. I didn’t prove him innocent at all. I simply persuaded the Ambassador of that, which isn’t the same thing. Surely you realised the trick I played? The Ambassador has spent his life in Rome – he doesn’t realise that in Britannia, when you divide the daylight into twelve, it varies so much with the time of year. You told me how surprised you were yourself. An hour three months ago, when the attack took place, was naturally far longer than an hour yesterday.”

Marcus stared. “That’s why Nicodemus spent time in the
baths after the trial in Corninium, before he set off for the
oppidum
? I wondered about that.”

I nodded. “There was obviously still a lot of daylight left. But Calvus was furious at the legal trick. He waited till Nicodemus left the town, and then crept up and jumped him from the rear – threatening him with that useless knife he’d bought. Ironic really. He wanted to find the other knife, but though he broke the cutler’s box in two and discovered how it worked, there was no knife. He betrayed himself there, incidentally. He knew there was a secret. He might have deduced that, possibly. I did myself. But he also told me that the thief hadn’t found the knife and that the soldiers laughed when they found Nicodemus by the tree. So he must have been nearby. How could he have known that otherwise? I’m quite sure Nicodemus didn’t report it to the
aediles
.”

“So Calvus stole the money?”

“He was really looking for the knife. I’m sure of it. That’s why he stripped Nicodemus to the skin – why else would a robber strip his victim bare, but leave the clothes, and break up that lovely box as well? Much more sensible to steal it all. Anyway, most of the money in that purse was his – Nicodemus tricked him out of it.”

Marcus looked doubtful. “So what happened to the knife? Nicodemus had it yesterday.”

I smiled. “That was the interesting part. It was Calvus who gave me the clue. He pulled down Nicodemus’s turban to blindfold him. ‘The outer folds,’ he said. So obviously, he left the turban on. I believe the knife was under it, wrapped in the inner folds. Probably Nicodemus always carried it that way when travelling. I imagine Calvus was not the first to waylay Nicodemus on the road and try to get the knife he’d bargained for – but Nicodemus would just show the box and demonstrate that it was empty. He virtually admitted that to me last night.”

Marcus said, “I see,” again, and turned to go. Then all at once he turned back to me. “So – why did you save Calvus from his fate? I didn’t think you even liked the man.”

I didn’t rise to that. “You asked me to, Excellence,” I said. “Besides, though he was legally at fault, I am not sure that he merited that fate. I had a certain sympathy with him.”

I didn’t add, although I might have done, that I bought a knife from a pedlar once. A credulous fool in a tunic, eager to be parted from his coin. I think I may have mentioned it before.

A knife that would scarcely cut a piece of cheese.

R
ain sheeted endlessly across heath and hill in drenching curtains, rendering visibility virtually nil. It brimmed potholes faster than anyone could fill them in and turned every gutter and conduit into miniature torrents. Well, that’s what you got in northern Britain.

Lucius Valerianus, known as Apricus – Etruscan born; army engineer by training and achievement – had no choice but to call a Stand-easy and allow his men back to their neat, palisaded camp to coax up sulky fires and try steaming themselves at least half dry. All the same, he set sentries. He was optio-in-charge on this job, on his own for the very
first time. The northernmost territories of this Province – subtly seething with disaffection – were not the place just now to be caught on your back foot.

He was road-mending: himself and four craftsmen from Legio VI Victrix, and a draft of twenty troopers of the auxiliary Cohors II Nerviorum. He’d claimed use of the draft because he and the craftsmen had already seen to refurbishing doors, shutters, tiling and drains for the Nervians, who were the incoming garrison of a fort overseeing and guarding a lead mining enterprise in high Brigantian land well to the north and west of Eboracum. They were mending a back road which connected the fort to main routes either side: Stanegate, behind them, which serviced Hadrian’s boundary, and the road somewhere south in front of them which ran obliquely south-east to north-west over desolate moorland from Cataractonium to Brocauum, and eventually down to Luguvalium. So far, in these parts, they had not set eyes on one single Brigantian – which wasn’t to say there weren’t any.

They had already reinstated the back road on the fort’s northern side from the Stanegate junction on. Now they faced the remaining two thirds of it, due south to where it met the cross-route at Bravoniacum.

Apricus had decided early that this was the wildest, loneliest terrain he had ever experienced. Now even the weather had gone against him. He sat astride his standard-issue folding stool staring out from under his spattering tent-flap, contemplating a problem.

This problem was one very large, very deep rectangular pit which had been cut across rather more than the entire width of the road, then cleverly obscured with light branches and heaps of leafage from what purported to be a naturally fallen tree. Wrong. Roman roads – even relatively neglected back roads – did not have trees next to them. Trees and scrub were
routinely cut back in broad corridors on either side at the time of making, and in general people were responsible for keeping them that way.

Once the tree’s bole had been cleared of dirt, it was found to possess no root structure, and had been artfully positioned. While the whole thing wasn’t that new – it shouted ambush. As such, it required reporting. Plus: to fill in the trap and make it good meant: i) extra materials; ii) trouble in securing same; iii) considerable delay to the work schedule. Messages would have to be sent to Bravoniacum for relay to Supplies (Catarac.), and to Centurion Ursus – overseer of Works – wherever he might be.