It was an awkward journey, with Tenuis sitting with his eyes tight shut but babbling like a brook to quell his nervousness. He was mercifully oblivious of my own anxiety and how my heart quickened every time we passed another traveller on the road – even an aged woman gathering honey fungus from the trees and a goatherd ushering home his charges were enough to make me jump. But that was nothing to the nervous care with which I gazed around when the track was sinisterly empty.
Because now I was sure that someone was trailing us. Several times there were suspicious rustlings close by and once, in the steepest, darkest portion of the track, I saw a flash of blue among the trees which could not possibly have been an animal – but by the time I’d turned my head to look again there was no sign of anything.
I could not bear the tension any more. I glanced around. There were no other travellers about, so – quite deliberately – I braved the law. I dropped the rein, took out the knife and, reaching overhead, ostentatiously cut myself a switch, making quite sure my vicious blade was visible to anyone who might be watching us.
Tenuis had his eyes shut, so he didn’t see, but I’m sure I was observed because there was a sudden crackle in amongst the trees and then a total hush. I loitered for a moment – still brandishing the knife – then rode deliberately slowly down the path. But the rustling had abruptly ceased and there was no further evidence of movement in the woods. It seemed our unseen escort had been scared away.
I hoped so, anyway. Sending up a silent prayer to all the ancient gods, I put the knife away and urged Arlina on, using the fresh switch to persuade her to a faster pace.
Of course, because my nerves were stretched to breaking point, the forest seemed suddenly full of people dressed in blue. First we passed a fowler in a woad-dyed cloak squatting by the path, emptying his traps of birds; then a barefoot goose-boy came shepherding his flock, wearing a torn blue tunic far too large for him; then someone’s fleet-footed private messenger went loping past, though none of them gave us even a passing glance. But each occasion made the tension worse. It was almost an anticlimax – though an immense relief – when we reached the junction with the major road without further incident.
The military road that leads up to the South Gate of the town is much frequented by traffic of all kinds, so I felt much safer after we left the forest track. Not that there were many travellers today. Few people came to town on officially inauspicious days like this, but there was still a pedestrian or two – a woman with a bundle of kindling on her back, and a man with a handcart full of watercress – and their presence made me feel a good deal more secure.
Besides, as we approached the gateway to the town, I saw that there was still a soldier on duty at the arch, though I’d wondered if there would be, with the legion on the move. But there he was, a burly dark-skinned fellow with a spear – an auxiliary, judging by his uniform and helmet – with an expression of disdainful boredom on his face. When we arrived he scarcely glanced at us, just nodded us straight through – though he stopped and questioned the farmer with the watercress.
Tenuis, however, held back nervously. ‘What about Arlina?’ He nodded at the mule.
‘You can bring her with you – animals are permitted in the town – it’s only horse-drawn vehicles that can’t come in by day.’ By law the military has precedence on all roads everywhere – other travellers must step aside to let them pass – and in legionary towns, like Glevum, carts and wagons aren’t allowed inside the walls till after dusk, when they are less likely to obstruct the movement of soldiers and supplies.
Tenuis nodded nervously and did as he was told, but he was clearly anxious, so when we’d reached the corner by the military inn, just a yard or two within the walls, I left him there to hold the animal while I hurried the short distance further to the fort.
I bustled to the gate in the enclosing walls, preparing a little speech of introduction to the guard. I meant what I had said to Gwellia, earlier. Without a toga, at a time like this, I hardly expected to be ushered in to see the commandant, though with Marcus’s distinctive seal on the writing-block I did anticipate that I’d be shown inside to wait for a reply, like any patrician’s messenger. But today was different. I was not permitted even to produce the words that I’d rehearsed.
‘Greetings to his Worthiness the Commandant. I am—’ But the sentry cut me off.
‘You have a message? I will deal with that!’ He seized the writing-block from me, looked at it wordlessly and disappeared within, leaving me standing like an idiot outside. (I didn’t dare to glance at Tenuis – the same thing had happened to me once before and he’d been there to see it that time, too!)
I waited. And waited. The man did not return. It was most unusual! I’d never known a sentry leave his post before – even for a moment – and now there was a lot of shouting coming from within.
I peered around the gate. Not much of the enclosure could be seen from here but it was clear why the sentry had thought it safe to leave his post. There were soldiers everywhere. The legion really was preparing to depart. Military ox-carts were lined up on the central road that ran through the fortress, and even from my limited vantage point, I could see that groups of soldiers were busy loading them – Ides of June or not! They’d formed a human chain with crates and packages, under the eye of an officious optio who was obviously responsible for all the bellowing.
‘Now that’s enough on there! You two, fetch a rope and get that load secured, and look quick about it, you lazy sons of dogs!’ He was barking at a pair of burly young recruits. ‘The rest of you can go and move your kit outside, and get your sleeping room swept out! You won’t have time tomorrow if we’re leaving at first light. And see you do it properly, like that unit over there.’
I followed his pointing finger and saw another group of men outside the barrack block, bringing out the personal equipment – mattocks, shovels, blankets, cooking pans – that soldiers always carry when they are moving camp, and placing it on the ground nearby in tidy piles. Another orderly was bellowing at them.
I was leaning forward to get a better view, when a hand on my shoulder made me literally jump. I froze, not daring to turn round. The hand – on the periphery of my sight – was covered with a plethora of rings, and the arm emerged from a drape of toga with an impressive purple stripe. A curial magistrate, by the look of it. Varius, perhaps? I still wondered if he might have been the writer of that note.
The very thought had turned me into stone, but as my brain began to work again I realized – with relief – that these fingers were too plump and the hairs upon them far too dark and thick for Varius. He was tall and blond and lean, conspicuously handsome and aware of it – so he always had his barber-slave shave all his body-hair, as he liked to demonstrate in ball games at the public baths. But if it wasn’t Varius, whoever could it be? Was this a magisterial arrest? Had someone reported that illegal weapon at my belt?
My mind was still racing when a voice spoke in my ear. ‘Citizen Libertus!’ The hand propelled me round to face the speaker and I gulped.
‘Councillor!’ I muttered, certain now that different trouble lay in store.
I was looking into the plump, pink face of Porteus Tertius, a patrician member of the town curia with whom I’d had dealings several times. He had sometimes dined with Marcus and I’d seen him there, but he was not a man I cared for. Quite apart from his unattractive appearance (he was pompous and portly, with acne on his face) he had conspired to have me arrested, once. That had been on a wholly baseless charge, but if he knew about that knife he would have proper grounds this time.
He had no cause to love me, either, I was aware of that. Not long ago, he had lost much of his fortune on a commercial deal – tricked into it by a fellow councillor. I did no more than find the culprit out, but Porteus was inclined to blame me for the whole event – and the consequent loss of a dowry for his ugly daughter too.
‘Councillor!’ I said again, ready to burble some excuse.
He cut me off. ‘Pavement-maker!’ To my amazement he seemed quite affable. ‘What brings you to the fort?’
‘My patron’s business, worthy councillor,’ I fawned, not quite certain that I dared believe my luck. However, Porteus was famous for enjoying flattery and I knew how to grovel. It seemed worth a try.
It appeared to be effective. He blinked his pink-rimmed eyes at me and gave me a thin smile. ‘Ah, your patron, naturally! I had heard that he was back. And how is His Excellence? I’m sure he’s sorely grieved that Pertinax is dead.’
I remembered what had been said about the new Emperor’s decrees. Was Porteus looking for a careless word from me? I tried to find a neutral form of words. ‘The whole Empire was shocked to hear about his fate.’
Porteus moved a little closer, giving off faint wafts of musk and spikenard. ‘But it must affect your patron in particular,’ he murmured in my ear. ‘He would certainly have risen to eminence at the imperial court if the Emperor had lived.’ He waited for a moment, and when I did not reply, he added, ‘I was sorry to hear that was not to be the case.’
I shot him a doubtful look, but he almost seemed sincere. Perhaps he really was. If Marcus had moved to Rome as adviser to his former friend, as he’d intended to, Glevum would have needed a senior magistrate – and Porteus had no doubt hoped to be a candidate for that. So he might well regret that Marcus had returned. He’d made several attempts to rise to eminence before. Not content with being a mere town councillor, he had also spent a fortune a year or two ago attempting to gain the nomination as Imperial Priest, though without success. The more recent losses – the ones he blamed me for – had therefore been a double blow to him, and the experience had left him an embittered man.
Now, however, he seemed determined to be agreeable. He gave me the smile again. ‘And now the garrison is leaving. That will be a loss for Marcus, too. He was very friendly with the commandant, I think?’
Was this a veiled threat about what the curia would do without the legions here? Or the simple gloating that it appeared to be? I produced a civil smile. ‘Indeed. He has sent me specially with a message of farewell.’
A strange look crossed Porteus’s acned face. ‘Merely a message of farewell! I see. I wondered if he …?’ He trailed off suddenly, his plump cheeks turning pink. ‘It wasn’t that he …?’ He moved a little closer, overwhelming me with scent. He was renowned for it; I remembered a rumour that he rubbed his slaves with perfumed oils, to mask the smells of animals and sweat and urine-pots that might reach his town apartment from the marketplace. The effect was overpowering and I flinched away, but he grasped me firmly by the sleeve. He glanced around as if the soldiers in the fort might hear. ‘It wasn’t by any chance because he had received a threat?’ This time the whisper was hardly audible. ‘I saw you send a writing-tablet in.’
‘A threat?’ I glanced at him, sharply. ‘What gave you that idea?’ And then, seeing that Porteus’s cheeks were turning pinker still, I realized what should have been obvious at once. Of course, he had been coming to the garrison himself. With a message for the commandant, perhaps? There was a leather container dangling at his waist, just big enough to take a writing-block. I took a gamble. ‘You got a letter, too?’
He nodded sheepishly, and slipped his hand into the bag and brought out what it contained. The item was indeed a writing-block, so strikingly similar to the one I’d brought myself that – almost without thinking – I seized it from his hand. The rudeness was compounded when it fell open at my touch.
‘You have been warned,’ was all the writing said. I recognized the script.
‘This is a second message!’ I exclaimed. I looked at Porteus.
Taking it from him, without permission, had been inexcusable, but far from chiding me he almost seemed relieved. ‘So Marcus did receive one?’ He glanced towards the fort. ‘And he’s applied to the garrison for aid? I was wondering about doing that myself. But I’m not sure they’re likely to be of any help. They circulated a message only yesterday, to all the members of the curia, saying that the army is about to leave the town. So even if they did consent to send a guard, which I doubt they would – a man is expected to provide his own protection, in a general way – they could not keep it up for very long.’
‘So whoever wrote the letters only has to wait?’ I was looking at him keenly, noticing the way the acne scars showed white against the pinkness of his piglike face.
‘Obviously your message was very similar to mine,’ he muttered, sheepishly.
‘Have you any notion who might have written it?’
‘Someone with a grudge.’ He looked at me sideways. ‘There’s always somebody who blames the magistrate if things go badly for him in the court – I’ve heard your patron say that many times.’
‘It’s what he said to me,’ I assented, thoughtfully. ‘But is this a grudge against the two of you alone? Or have all the members of the curia received a threat?’
That would put a different complexion on everything, in fact. Not all the magistrates could possibly have been involved in the same trial – even the most serious cases were heard by two or three at most, usually with Marcus as the senior man. So if all the members of the council had received a letter too, that made the whole thing much less personal – and might, indeed, be simple posturing.
Porteus, though, shook his head decisively. ‘No one else!’
‘You’ve asked them?’
‘I’ve made a point of visiting as many as I could.’ He was still huddling up against the fortress wall and talking in an undertone. ‘Though I haven’t managed to speak to all of them quite yet.’
‘So when did the first message get to you?’
The pink face flushed again. ‘Just this morning, a little after dawn. It was thrown through an open window of my apartment, here in town. Of course I was alarmed. I went to all the curia members I could find. I didn’t ask them outright, just enquired tactfully, whether – with the omens as they are – anything unsettling had occurred today.’
‘And they did not think the enquiry was odd?’
‘I pretended that it was connected with the Ides.’ He preened with satisfaction at his own cleverness. ‘While Marcus was away, many of his duties were transferred to me, including dealing with the public augurers – and I claimed that this enquiry came from them. But none of the council members had anything to say. Some of them had tales about portents of bad luck – altar flames at household shrines that wouldn’t light, or stepping through a door the wrong foot first – but when I mentioned messages, they just looked blankly at me. It was clear that no one had any notion what I meant.’
‘And when did you get this?’ I handed back the open writing-block, with an apologetic bow.
‘Awaiting me when I got home again. Delivered in the same way, by the look of it. I can’t imagine who the writer is.’ He put the tablet in the bag and drew the string again.
‘You and Marcus are the two recipients. That might make the writer easier to catch,’ I pointed out. ‘Not everyone would have a grudge against you both, specifically. What exactly did the earlier message say?’
‘Oh, I imagine it was much the same as yours.’ His ringed hand made a vague gesture in the air. ‘Violent threats against my life and family – I have a daughter, as perhaps you know. “The next time that you hear from me will be the last” – I think that was the phrase.’
‘And now that time has come?’
He seemed to take a moment to work out what I meant, then nodded vigorously. ‘If I had a house away from Glevum I would move to it at once. Will Marcus take his household to Corinium, do you think?’
I shook my head. ‘My patron sees it as his duty to remain—’ I broke off as he touched my arm again and gestured down the path. The sentry was returning, at a run.
‘Here comes your answer from the commandant, by the look of it. I’ll leave you to your message, citizen,’ Porteus said. ‘Otherwise the soldier will give me precedence.’ And to my surprise – Porteus is famous for insisting on his rights – he backed away politely as the fellow hurried up.
The soldier beckoned me. He did not have my writing-tablet, I observed, nor any other kind of written message in his hand. ‘No reply?’ I asked, astonished. Marcus’s rank should have required a quick scratched note, at least.
‘Only a verbal message, I’m afraid. The commandant sends his greetings to your patron,’ the man said, full of self-importance. ‘And apologies. He will send a personal reply to Marcus Septimus in due course – a proper written one – but at the moment he is fully occupied. There is army business to be dealt with urgently, as you can no doubt see. So take that message to His Excellence.’ He nodded curtly at me and took up his post again, striking a pose with feet apart and leaning on his spear, while ostentatiously looking past me down the street, where Porteus was hovering.
He saw the purple stripe and his manner changed at once. ‘Councillor, did you have business at the fort?’ he called out. ‘A thousand apologies for causing you to wait. I was dealing with this wretch. How can we be of any service to you, citizen?’
Such is the privilege of rank, I thought, sincerely wishing I had listened to my wife and brought my toga with me. But I had not done so, and I had clearly been dismissed.