‘He wouldn’t!’ I was thoroughly dejected by this time. I would be extremely late, and Marcus would take it as the gravest disrespect, not just to him but to his dead father too. Why had I not delivered those messages here myself? I had noticed the extensive nature of the seals – but I hadn’t guessed at the misleading instructions Lucius had sent.
‘Just a minute!’ I was sitting upright now. ‘Where did you say you were told to forward them?’
He was looking startled. ‘To the home of the commander of the British fleet. I told you that just now. I think I even mentioned it when you were here before.’
I stared at him. ‘You did. Of course you did. But I didn’t realise the implication then. Lucius claimed that he was sending a message of condolence to his aunt in Rome – not writing to his relations in Londinium! Yet you tell me that his letter was addressed to the commander of the fleet.’
‘Perhaps he was hoping that they would forward it? Obviously he was very anxious that it should arrive as fast as possible.’
I shook my head. ‘Then why did he not write the letter earlier? A messenger came from Rome today with news of his uncle’s death – it would have been simplicity itself to send a note back with him. But Lucius didn’t do it – so why was it suddenly so important later on that he had to borrow Marcus’s seal – and even arrange to use the military mail? What had happened to make him feel so differently?’
‘Too overcome with grief, perhaps, at first?’ the officer suggested sympathetically. ‘It was a member of his family, after all.’
I thought of Lucius as I’d found him at the sacrifice. He had been startled, certainly, when I’d walked in on him. So startled that he’d broken that jug of sacrificial wine. But overcome with grief? ‘I don’t think so.’
He misinterpreted. ‘Your patron’s father, is that not correct? And this Lucius is closely related to the wife? His Excellence explained it to me earlier. He was with me here when that messenger arrived. I saw him break the seals and open all three notes.’
‘All three notes?’ I echoed.
‘There was the one from Rome, and one from Londinium as well – with an enclosure from His Excellence’s page, I believe, Pulchrus is he called? – confirming the arrangements for the journey. It was given to the messenger to bring at the same time, since he was riding down. So that makes three. That adopted son of yours was here as well when the messenger arrived – I should have thought he would have told you that the notes had come.’
He had – of course he had. He’d told me in detail what the letters from Londinium had said. Yet . . . surely? I shook my head. Something disquieting had occurred to me. If Marcus had unsealed the letters – and two people now had told me that he had – how did Lucius know what they said? It was possible the messenger had simply told him verbally – but Niveus had said he saw Lucius cut a seal. So was there yet another note from Londinium, to Lucius himself? A note which he had afterwards destroyed? It would not be difficult to get rid of it – there were braziers enough. Indeed – I started up at this – I had actually seen him with a fire!
I was a fool, I told myself. A blind and ageing fool! I did not see what was in front of me. A jug of sacrificial wine, indeed! Where had he got that from? I had heard him tell Colaphus not to bring the wine jug that was in his sleeping room. That was the one that Marcus had supplied. So where had this second one come from, and what had it contained, that Lucius had been intending to pour on to the flames?
And then another terrible idea occurred to me. I suddenly realised what was different ‘later on’ when Lucius wrote that letter. Aulus had been found. And Aulus had somehow taken poison, hadn’t he? Though Lucius had tried to put us off the scent by pretending that a viper might have stung him in the woods. Vipers! It was only the glimmering of a theory, but if I was even partly right there was no time to lose. I got sharply to my feet.
‘Citizen?’ I realised the officer was looking mystified.
‘That messenger you sent. The one who took the letters to the fleet commander’s house? Would it be possible to catch up with him?’
The officer looked startled. ‘It would be difficult. He is a courier for the imperial mail. He will stop only to change horses at the military inns and perhaps to have a meal and rest at one or two of them. Of course he was not instructed to make the highest speed – the official mail that he was carrying was generally routine, no special orders or other matters of high priority. I suppose it might be feasible to overtake him on the road, if it was a matter of imperial concern. We could set up a pursuit using fresh riders at each stop. But that would be exceptional, requiring official sanction and huge expense, and even if we did catch up with him, it is a capital offence to interrupt the mail.’
‘Even if one is the sender of the document?’
He looked perplexed. ‘In that case, I suppose . . .’
‘Both of those letters you sent were under Marcus’s seal – one was to you, asking you to arrange transport for me later on, the other, as he thought, from Lucius to Rome. But they’re on their way to the commander of the fleet. Marcus did not intend that either of them should be sent to that address. But that is what you authorised, if I understand aright. I do not imagine that His Excellence will be very pleased.’
It shook him. ‘I suppose there is a rider I could send tonight. And I could give him a warrant for the top priority. But what about the cost? And if someone denounced me to the Emperor?’
I heard myself saying, ‘I will answer for the cost. On behalf of His Excellence, my patron, that is.’ I sought for a tactful way of putting it. ‘This affects his family – and is of great concern.’
The commander seemed to hesitate, and then he said, ‘I see. I know you enjoy his greatest confidence. Well, on your assurance I will send a messenger to intercept those notes. But, understand this, citizen, this is on your head and I will not take responsibility for opening the mail. I will have it returned to His Excellence – that is all that I can do. And Jove protect you if you’re misleading me.’
‘My patron’s letter was addressed to you, in fact,’ I said, as much to reassure myself as anything. ‘He cannot object if you send off after it.’
He acknowledged this with the faintest raising of his brows. ‘He will not be happy that I did not do as he asked.’
‘He was asking you to arrange a lift for me – in military transport, if it came to it. If you care to do that now, you could send word to him and ensure that he agrees that you should recall those messages.’
‘So I’ll delay the messenger until I hear from him?’
I shook my head. ‘There is no time to lose. The courier must be sent as soon as possible if we are to intercept the letters on the road. You’ll have to take my word for it, and if I am wrong, you will have me in your transport, won’t you, and can lock me in the cells?’
He looked at me, and nodded. ‘Very well. I’ll do as you suggest. But rather than send word to Marcus, I will come with you myself. It’s most irregular, but so is all of it.’ He went to the doorway. ‘Guard!’
The fat guard came puffing up the stairs.
‘Have my gig made ready, and find a courier. The best man available and the fastest steed. And a warrant paper, and some sealing wax. I will write instructions. In the meantime, take this citizen downstairs. He will want to see his page.’
‘At once, sir!’ With obvious distaste, he led me to the guardroom, where he motioned to a bench. ‘Sit there, citizen!’
And there I sat for what seemed like half an hour, with soldiers passing by and peering in at me, until the fat guard bustled in again with Niveus in his wake. A chastened Niveus, cold and shivering, despite the cloak and hood that covered him, which Minimus had been wearing a little while before. When he saw me his blue eyes opened wide.
‘Citizen! Master! There you are at last. I have been waiting at the arch for you, as you commanded me. Minimus gave up and rode ahead. He said you told him to.’ His small face brightened into a hopeful grin. ‘I managed to arrange the funeral with the guild. They are coming tomorrow to anoint the corpse, and get it ready for the pyre. They’ll provide the mourners and musicians too, and a priest of Diana to perform the rites.’
I thought about the poor creature we’d cremated earlier that day – already it seemed like several lives ago – and of poor Morella in the paupers’ pit. Aulus would have a better funeral than that.
I sighed. I couldn’t help it.
Niveus looked anxiously at me. ‘Did I do well?’ he said.
It seemed to take a long time, even then, before the soldier came and told us that the gig was ready and awaiting us. But once we were all three crammed into it – there was seating room for me beside the officer, but poor little Niveus had to crouch on the floor – we bowled along the road at a surprising pace. A military gig is built for speed, of course, and the driver was skilful, even in the dark – the torches which were mounted on either side of him gave off a cheerful glow and helped to keep him warm, but were not much help in illuminating the road.
Moreover, we had the advantage of military rank, and such other travellers as we passed moved smartly from our way. So, though we were jolted far too much for speech, we found ourselves turning off on to the lane which led to Marcus’s country house in not much longer than we might have done by day.
I would have liked to ask the gig to stop and let me go into my roundhouse and rinse my hands and face – Gwellia would be proud of my instincts there, I thought – but I feared to annoy my patron by any more delay, and I’d resigned myself to driving directly to the feast. I was just wondering what Marcus would have to say to me, and whether they’d begun without me several hours ago, when a figure with a lantern rushed out of my gate into the road.
‘M-m-m-master? Is that you?’ It could only be Kurso, stammering like that.
‘What is it, Kurso?’ The gig had stopped by now.
‘The m-mistress s-says that you’re to c-c-come inside.’ The lantern was bobbing in agitation now. ‘There’s s-s-someone here that you were l-l-looking for.’
I glanced at the commander. ‘You’d better go,’ he said. ‘It may be the girl in question. I’ll wait here for you. Don’t be very long. I don’t have to remind you that you’re already late.’
And Gwellia knew that as well as anyone, I thought, as I climbed down from the gig. I was getting skilled at managing on carts. I went through the enclosure and through the roundhouse door, and was startled by the domestic sight that met my eyes. There was a man – a stranger – sitting on my stool, beside my fire, drinking from my bowl and laughing with my wife. I felt a surge of helpless jealousy, even as I noticed that Junio was there.
He looked up and saw me, and jumped to his feet. He had been crouching by the stranger, near the hearth. He came across and seized me warmly by the arm. ‘Father, at last. We’ve found that man for you!’
‘Man?’ I was bewildered.
‘The farmer in the cart. You went to the villa gate to keep a watch for him, and said that you’d be looking for him on the way to town. Well – we saw him passing, or rather Mother did, and she persuaded him to come and wait for you in here. It wasn’t easy – he wanted to get home – but you know what Mother’s like. She charmed him into it.’
I did know what Gwellia was like, indeed, and I was ashamed of my reaction when I first walked in. I might have known my family would find some way to help. I nodded and went over to stand beside the fire. My wife, who had been stirring something in a pot, looked up and saw me and greeted me at once.
‘Husband! This is the farmer from the uplands that you were looking for. He knows Morella – he was just telling us.’ She gave him an understanding smile. ‘I have explained that her parents have been to see us here, and that you were trying to find news of her.’
‘That’s right.’ His mouth was full of something, but he gestured with his hands. He was just as Niveus had painted him, thin and ancient and not altogether clean. He spoke reasonable Latin, with a heavy burr. ‘Knew her well, I did – poor little lass. Your wife assures me that you only want to help, and you are worried for her safety, so I’ll tell you what I know. I don’t want to get her into trouble with her father, though – if he lays hands on her he’ll beat her black and blue.’
I closed my eyes, thinking of a wretched naked body in the common pit. ‘He won’t hurt her any further. I can promise that.’
‘Well then.’ He took another bite of something in his hand. ‘What can I tell you? Last time I saw her she was looking happier – better than I’ve ever seen her in my life. Turned out nicely, too – new clothes and everything. Little bit skimpy round the top, perhaps, but she looked quite good in it.’
‘And she had a bundle with her, of her other clothes?’
He spluttered crumbs at me. ‘That she didn’t, mister. Nothing of the kind. Just a pair of sandals hanging round her neck – tied up by their laces, though they looked too big for her.’ He gave a barking laugh. ‘Had her hands full, just holding on to that dratted animal – couldn’t even let him go to wave goodbye to me. She wasn’t holding bundles! I’m quite sure of that.’
‘She had the dog with her?’ Suddenly I wasn’t making any sense of this.
‘Dog? Course she didn’t. I’m talking about the horse. Lovely animal. Must have cost a fortune, if I am any judge, and good-tempered too, judging by the way she was clinging to the mane. And she didn’t really have to; the chap was holding her.’
‘The chap?’ I remembered the descriptions that I’d heard of Hirsius. ‘Big fellow, was he, with sandy-coloured hair? Wore an olive-coloured tunic and a cloak to match?’
He nodded sagely. ‘That’s the very one. Didn’t look too pleased when she called out to me – I suppose he was afraid he’d have her father after him. But if he makes her happy, who am I to grudge? Time that poor creature had a bit of happiness.’
‘What did she say, exactly? Can you recall her words?’
‘Said to tell her parents that she had run away. Gone to join the entertainment troupe and work with animals. I said I saw she had got some pretty clothes, and she said that she was going to have some others by and by, and another pair of sandals that would be a better fit. “The other fellow’s got them in his bag,” she said, “but he couldn’t stop to sort them out just now. He’s got to ride the hard way as it is, along the lane, to catch up with the carts before they reach the town. He’s got all the costumes and the wigs with him. You better not go down that way along the lane,” she said, “because he’s still there changing his costume for the act and he hasn’t even got his tunic on. I would have walked right into him and seen his you know what, if my friend hadn’t stopped me in time! And wouldn’t that have been embarrassing.” And then she giggled – you know what she was like. Or, pardon, citizen, probably you don’t.’