There was no doubt of my status as we left the curia – though I was not in bonds. Florens did not have lictors as he might have done in Rome, but he had the next best thing – a band of burly attendants all bearing clubs and arms. They were not even dressed in household livery but variously attired in different shades of brown, which matched their bronzed faces and their muscled arms, and they smelt overpoweringly of damp wool and sweat.
I was hustled between them as we went back down the steps and through the forum, where the rain had stopped. The crowd that had gathered for the reading of the will parted like butter to allow us through, though some of the urchins who always gather near the market stalls (more in the hope of finding a dropped coin than the expectation of earning anything) began to follow after me with mocking taunts and jeers.
As soon as we had got out on to the street again the company dispersed. The other councillors made polite farewells to Florens and – accompanied by their own attendants – went their separate ways. I thereby lost whatever faint support I had. There was one advantage to their departure though: it saved me the humiliation of a whole procession of purple-striped magistrates escorting me towards the garrison.
Florens on his own was eye-catching enough in his patrician toga, which he had now topped with an elaborate fur-trimmed cloak, dyed (of course) in expensive blue – thus making a striking contrast with Servilis, who walked in perfumed crimson, half a pace behind, while the motley guards propelled me after them. The councillor strode at a smart rate for such a pudgy man, and I was soon reduced to a state of breathlessness. I tried to pause beneath an arch to catch my breath again, but as soon as I attempted to slacken pace at all I found the grip of hairy hands upon my arms and heavy cudgels threatening my legs.
We took a route across the cloth-market. The streets were busy now and full of townspeople, but most of the cobbled pavements were still pooled with wet, so we were not hampered by the displays of merchandise – rugs, cloth and leather goods – which generally spilled out of all the little shops. Pedestrians are usually forced to slow and pick their way through these, so that the crafty traders can accost them as they pass – (‘Special price for you, citizen, highest quality’). However, there was none of that today and we made swift progress through the area.
Only when we reached the guard-house at the southern gate did Florens slacken pace. He strode straight up to the sentry on guard and was peremptory. ‘I am a senior member of the curia. I have business with the commander of the garrison. Have a message sent to tell him I am here. He is expecting me. I’m bringing in this pri . . .’ he looked at me, and broke off in mid-word, ‘I mean “citizen”, of course, to him for questioning.’
The sentry gave him a jaundiced glance. ‘Name, citizen?’ he said. To a councillor, it was almost insolent.
Florens had turned pink, but he gave his name in full and the soldier nodded. ‘Very well. You there, orderly!’ He gestured to an off-duty soldier just inside the wall, who was lounging against the corner of the barrack-room, idly burnishing his helmet with a pumice-stone.
The young man jammed his headpiece on at once and came hurrying across and the sentry solemnly gave him the message to pass on – though the fellow must have heard what Florens said, in any case. The sentry watched him scurry off and then turned back to us.
‘Until there is an answer, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait,’ he said, as though the resplendent councillor was a common citizen. ‘You could come inside the compound and sit down over there.’ He gestured to the guard-room just within the gates.
Florens attempted to retain his dignity. ‘That would be convenient. I don’t imagine the commander will keep me waiting long.’ He moved as if to go in through the gate.
The sentry raised a casual arm to block his path. ‘One thing, though! I’m sorry, councillor – they’ll have to stay outside.’ He nodded towards the armed brutes who were guarding me. ‘We don’t let anybody come in here with weapons, I’m afraid.’ He grinned, showing a set of neatly pointed teeth. ‘Except ourselves, of course.’
Florens looked furious at this, but there was little he could say in argument. This barrack area was the property of the Roman troops and the Glevum town council had no jurisdiction here. ‘But what about guarding . . .’ He broke off and waved a pudgy hand at me.
The sentry showed his pointed teeth again. ‘You can keep that attendant in household uniform.’ He jerked his chin towards Servilis as he spoke. ‘There’s nothing against that. He can keep watch on the pri . . . I mean, citizen . . . for you.’ He sniggered a little at his private jest. ‘Not that he is likely to get away in there. The place is full of soldiers at this time of day.’
It was. The inner courtyard was crammed with soldiery. Half of the unit was preparing for some training exercise, apparently a route-march carrying full kit. Such an event was not unusual. You often saw a marching column somewhere on the road – a spectacle designed not just to keep the soldiers fit, but to remind inhabitants of who their masters were. Florens paused, clearly flurried by this activity, and a plump centurion came hurrying across.
He addressed himself to Florens, ignoring me. ‘Excuse me, citizen, we can’t have you all out here. Perhaps if you, patrician, would like to come inside? One of the orderlies will find some wine for you . . . ?’ and he hustled the councillor away to the lower office of the guard-house tower. I glimpsed them through the window-space a moment afterwards, Florens comfortably ensconced upon a bench, while an orderly stood beside him offering a tray.
Servilis and I had no such luxury; we were obliged to huddle up against a wall where a chill wind etched itself into our bones. There was nothing to do but watch the route-march forming up. The century (which, like all others, was composed of eighty men and not the hundred which you might expect) had by this time ranged itself in ranks and now the musicians and standard-bearers took their place in front. There was a moment’s shuffling, a barked command – then all at once the very walls appeared to shake with sound, as trumpets and shell-horns blared out the signal-call and a thousand hobnails rang on the cobbled stones.
The soldiers marched away, the standard swaying high. The court felt oddly silent after they had gone. The grey stones echoed the bleakness of my mood. As if on cue, it began to rain again.
Servilis looked resentfully at me. ‘This is all your doing, pavement-maker . . .’ he began, but he was interrupted by the plump centurion bustling over from the tower.
‘Now then, you two, if you would like to follow me. The garrison commander will see you straightaway. The councillor is with him and they’re ready for you now.’
I glanced towards the guard-room window in surprise, but obviously Florens was no longer there. I had been so busy watching the departure of the troops, and so consumed with my own wretched thoughts, that I had not seen him go.
The centurion used his baton to point the way for me, making it clear he wanted me to walk in front where he and Servilis could keep an eye on me. I already knew the way to the commander’s room – so off we went, through the cool dark of the guard-room, where candles flickered in sconces on the wall, and through towards the steep stone staircase at the rear.
A youngish officer, perhaps an optio, was seated at the table in the guard-room as we passed, busily working with an abacus and scratching something on a piece of bark. He looked up as we went past. ‘Ah, there you are, Centurion Emelius. I should be quick if I were you. The commander does not like to be kept waiting, as you know.’ And he turned his attention back to his accounts.
I was more than willing to meet the commandant. I had met him several times before and had found him to be both sensible and intelligent, so there was hope I could persuade him of my innocence. I climbed the staircase as quickly as I could, even without the soldier’s baton flapping at my heels. Servilis was still grumbling as he toiled up after us.
The centurion rapped sharply on the door of the commander’s room and was answered by a shouted instruction to come in.
The commandant was exactly as I’d remembered him: tall, rangy and athletic, with a weather-beaten face, and armour so gleaming you could see the room reflected in the scales, right down to the objects on the table top: oil-lamps, ink-pot, seals and scattered scrolls. Apart from a lamp-stand, the commander’s desk and stool and the shadowy statue of a god set in a wall-niche at the rear, there was no other furniture to see. The commanding officer had ascetic tastes.
The room, which smelt of lamp-oil and pomade, and the beeswax which had obviously been used to shine the desk, seemed more austere today, against the flamboyance of Florens and his slave.
‘Centurion Emelius reporting, Worthiness. In the name of His Imperial Divinity, the Emperor . . .’ The plump centurion was launched on the lengthy list of honorific titles which Commodus had assumed, and which was required by army protocol as the proper preamble to addressing a senior officer.
The commander (for the first time in my acquaintance with him) stood and heard him out, presumably because the councillor was there – Marcus was not the only one to fear Imperial spies. Servilis, meanwhile, had abandoned me and gone to stand behind his owner with a smirk.
The centurion completed the formalities at last. ‘I have brought the prisoner Libertus as you requested, sir,’ he finished breathlessly.
The commander raised an eyebrow laconically at me. ‘Well, pavement-maker. So we meet again. And in connection with more deaths and robberies, I hear? This member of the curia has explained the facts to me and requests that I should keep you here for questioning. He wants me to put your patron under guard as well, and thinks he has sufficient evidence to bring a formal charge against you both in court.’
Florens was looking exceptionally smug. ‘I want this matter settled before Voluus arrives. Libertus may in the end be glad of that himself. I did not meet the lictor personally last year, when I went to Gaul, but I did meet his household – and I warn you, citizen, he is a man who demands the fiercest penalties. He will doubtless hold the town responsible if this is not resolved.’
The commander shook his head. ‘Given that, Libertus, what am I to do? It almost seems that troubles follow you about. I’m beginning to think it would be sensible to do as he proposes and to lock you up – if only for the safety of the rest of us.’
I hoped this was ironic but I could not be sure. My chances of getting home to Gwellia tonight were looking very slim. Florens – urged on by Porteus, no doubt – was obviously intent on having me kept at the garrison in chains, in order to bring me securely to trial. It is the responsibility of the man who brings a charge to ensure that the accused appears in court on the appointed day; otherwise there can be no trial at all. Obviously, that can often prove difficult to do. However, if I were already in Roman custody it would be easy to compel me to appear before the magistrates.
That was clearly what Florens had in mind. He gave a mirthless smile. ‘Then I will leave him in your hands.’
‘Thank you, councillor. This man will show you out.’ He nodded to the plump centurion who snapped to work and held the door ajar.
Florens gave me a mocking bow as he passed close to me. ‘Then farewell, Libertus. I doubt we’ll meet again, unless it is officially in court. I’ve told the commander everything that points to your involvement in all this – including your excuses and explanations for today, although I don’t believe that he’s much impressed with them. However, he is willing to let you plead your cause. If you fail to convince him of your innocence, he has agreed to summon your patron in for questioning as well – and in any case, I’m sending my escort to search both your properties. Come, Servilis. Your grateful servant, commandant!’ And still accompanied by his crimson slave, he bowed himself away.
There was a little silence after they had gone. After a moment I said daringly – since it was not my place to be first to speak – ‘I swear I had nothing to do with stealing from the cart. Nor Marcus either.’
‘I’m tempted to believe you,’ the commander said, sitting slowly on his stool and looking up at me. ‘Though the evidence against you is looking rather black.’
‘But surely,’ I said, ‘we know that there are rebel bandits in the wood, and they mount raids on passing carts from time to time. It would not have been difficult for them to learn that there was gold – it seems to have been common knowledge in the town. Isn’t it more likely that they carried out the theft?’
The commander ran both hands through his thinning hair. ‘That might seem the obvious solution, certainly – if it were not for what happened before Voluus left the town last time.’
I felt a sudden sinking feeling in my guts. ‘And what was that?’
‘I’m surprised you haven’t heard. He had a letter threatening that he would be robbed and killed if he attempted to move to Glevum. They found it when he’d left. It wasn’t signed or sealed of course – just a scribbled scroll left anonymously at the mansio. It was done so fast they did not even catch the messenger.’
I remembered Brianus’s story of his master’s outburst at the military inn. That had been in answer to a message he’d received. I managed not to nod. I said, rather shakily, ‘That does not sound like the way the rebels operate, it’s true. And I suppose a lictor does make enemies.’
‘Voluus clearly thought so. He was evidently so worried by the threat that it appears he paid . . .’ he hesitated, and obviously decided against mentioning the name ‘. . . someone to keep watch on his apartment day and night while he was gone.’
I did nod this time. That explained how I came to be observed. ‘I see. He was obviously alarmed. So you are taking this threatening message seriously?’
He looked at me gravely. ‘Very seriously indeed. And whoever made the threat is serious as well. There is not only this robbery to take into account. There has been murder, too – and of a citizen.’
‘Not the lictor?’ I wondered if there was something I had not heard about.
‘Not the lictor, but a Roman citizen all the same. He was with the cart.’
‘One of the mounted escort? I’d assumed that they were all slaves, either owned by Voluus or hired from somebody to guard the cart for him.’
‘I believe they were. I understand that there were slave-discs discovered round their necks. Of course those deaths are most unfortunate, but obviously the killing of a citizen is of more immediate concern. He seems to have been the driver of the cart. I’ll show you what was brought here by the traveller who happened on the scene and brought us word of it.’ He stooped and picked up a bloodied bundle from the floor beside his desk, and slowly unwrapped it so that I could see.
‘Dear gods,’ I murmured. I was looking at a handsome travelling cape – or the remains of one. It was not difficult to see what had occurred – it was slashed in several places and each hole was drenched in blood. ‘Someone was clearly savagely attacked. But how can you be certain it was a citizen?’
‘Several reasons, citizen. That cloak was wrapped around the driver’s hacked remains. It is clearly not the sort of garment a common slave would wear. And the man who found him recovered this from round his waist.’ From a drawer in the table he produced a balteus, a handsome military belt, distinguished by the silver chasing on the front and the holster for a dagger on one side. ‘Most veterans choose to keep these when they leave the force, though the studded apron is – naturally – removed. Perhaps we are lucky that the finder brought it in. If it were not so clearly a military thing, he might have tried to sell it for the silver it contains.’
‘So the driver was almost certainly a veteran, you think?’ The commandant’s concern was making sense to me. ‘Retired cavalry, do you suppose?’ Most soldiers simply married when they left the force and used their accumulated pay to buy a piece of land, but those in the mounted units – having spent a life with horses – sometimes chose to carry on, purchasing an animal and a cart which they could ply for hire and so make an honest living for their remaining years.
The commander nodded as he put the things away. ‘Exactly so. We think he was an auxiliary from this very garrison: one of the Gallic contingent that was here before I came. One of my officers thinks he recognizes the pattern of the belt. This kind of silver chasing is distinctive, as you see – typical of the kind those Gallic horsemen wear.’
I drew a sharp breath inwards. ‘So you think the dead man was, at one time, stationed here?’ No wonder he was interested in pursuing this. ‘And that’s why you think he was a Roman citizen! Even if he was not born into the rank, he would have gained his diploma on retirement, of course.’
‘That is the assumption that I am working on. It looks as if he served until retirement age.’ He ran the fingers through his hair again, and because he was closer to me now, I caught the faint whiff of horseradish and spice – the most famous cure for baldness in the world. In any other circumstances it would have made me grin. I had not expected the commandant to be vain.
He took my silence for disagreement with his argument. He sat down to face me, leaning forward as he pressed the point. ‘Look, Libertus, he could hardly be a private driver if he were not discharged, and the body – or what is left of it – appears to be unmarked. No mention of any ancient scars, as you’d expect if he was wounded and invalided out.’ He looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Though I suppose there might have been damage to an arm. I understand that both were missing when the corpse was found.’
‘What’s happened to the body?’ I demanded suddenly, earning myself a disapproving glare: it was not my place to be putting questions here. I added, by way of half-apology, ‘I ask because I feel it should be checked again. Whoever found it might not have looked for things like that. It is enough to find a mutilated corpse without stopping to examine it for signs of ancient wounds. And of course there might be other clues as well.’
The commander put his veined hands on the desk in front of him. ‘I believe there’s a detachment of my men out at the site of the attack. They were going to move the bodies – there are five or six of them – and bring them back to Glevum to be buried here. I had not considered travelling to see the place myself, but you rouse my interest.’ He looked at me wryly. ‘Would you care to come? I understand you are an expert in this kind of thing. Marcus Septimus is always telling me as much.’
I was so astounded that I could only mutter, ‘Me? Accompany you? But Florens has demanded . . . ?’
The lean face softened to what might have been a smile. ‘Oh, don’t misunderstand me, citizen. I don’t mean to set you free. The law obliges me to keep you under guard. And you will have to answer questions as we go along. However, I would be glad to have your views. Officially, we’ll regard it as cooperation on your part, and I can quote that in your favour if you come to court.’
I had really expected that I’d be dragged away in chains, so I could hardly believe my good fortune as he shouted a command and the plump centurion, Emelius, came hurrying in again.
My elation vanished very quickly, though, as the commander said, ‘Take this man away and shut him in a cell until I send for him. When you have done that, see that some transport is arranged for me, with the fastest horses that we have available. Something substantial, not a military gig – I intend to see this crime scene for myself, and I’m taking the prisoner with me when I go.’
You could see the question forming on Emelius’s face, though he was too well-trained to say anything aloud.
‘It’s perfectly in order. He has agreed to help us with the crime. I’m not releasing him, he will be under guard. In fact, I can’t think of a better person to guard him than yourself, so I am relieving you of duties here and you’ll accompany us. I shall want a mounted escort, too, of course. Half a dozen horsemen should suffice. Report to the officer of the day and tell him what I’ve said.’ He turned back to the documents on his desk again and picked up an iron-tipped pen. ‘Well, man, what are you waiting for? You have your orders. See that they’re obeyed.’
The centurion, who was still looking very much bemused, came to a smart salute and then marched – a careful military march – across to me. Before I realized what was happening he had seized me by the arm and twisted it cruelly up behind my back. Thus pinioned and unbalanced I could not resist as he propelled me expertly towards the door.
He was about to thrust me through it when the commander called him back. ‘One more thing, officer!’
I relaxed, hoping that this heralded relief from my discomfort, but I was disappointed.
‘While you are about it bring me a report from the officer of the day, saying who has been deployed to bring those bodies in. That is all – dismissed.’
Another swift salute and then I found myself being bundled headlong down the stairs again, through the guard-room – under the startled stare of the man with the accounts – and out into the court. I scarcely had time to recognize that it was raining hard again before the centurion had propelled me round the corner of the tower, unbolted the door of a small and airless cell, pushed me unceremoniously into it and slammed the door again.