Scowler looked rather less than pleased, but he had asked to join our party and he could not well object. He bowed his head and said, ‘The commander is most gracious.’
His senior officer nodded and turned his attention to the escort once again. ‘As soon as the shadows start to lengthen and it lightens in the west, the outriders turn their horses and start back again, no matter where they are, even if there is another inn in sight. Is that understood? I don’t want anyone benighted on the road. Very well. Give orders to the drivers that we are ready to depart.’
The leader of the escort wheeled his horse round to obey. He shouted to his riders and two of them set off, while the others formed up loosely around the coach. Our driver, looking sulky, climbed back on to his seat and a moment later we were lurching off, with the death-cart taking up position at the rear.
I
glanced sideways at the commander as we jogged along. I was feeling rather uncomfortable by now – and not only because of the motion of the carriage. Though he had sent his riders out at my behest, I was not at all certain that much would be achieved.
I squirmed a little on my seat. What I had really hoped, forlornly, was that I might be permitted to go with them myself. Sending mounted soldiers to ask questions in this way – even the questions that I wanted asked – was not likely to be much of a success. Many villagers and country folk round here still clung to Celtic ways – much more so than people in the towns – and were generally suspicious of Roman cavalry. I would have spoken to them in their native tongue, but I doubted that the horsemen would get much out of them, especially given the constraints of time and distance which had been placed on them.
I could understand the commander’s reasoning, of course. He was thinking in military terms. A fully laden cart does not travel very quickly, at the best of times, and when the load is a really weighty one – like gold and marble statues, as this one had been – progress can be particularly slow. So as they would only have been travelling since dawn, five miles was probably a reasonable estimate.
Equally, if the attack had happened before dusk yesterday (as I was still personally inclined to believe), it was logical to suppose that they were aiming to reach Glevum before dark – no one willingly frequents the road at night without a torch – in which case they would almost certainly have made a rest-stop in the latish afternoon, if only to water the horses and buy some food themselves. Again, five miles was a likely radius.
But I had my doubts about the basis for that whole argument. I was still convinced that there had been two parts to this attack. If I was right in thinking that the treasure was removed along the way and the corpses loaded in its stead, the cart could have travelled a good deal faster and further than we were allowing for. Human bodies weigh a great deal less than gold.
The commander had turned in time to see my frown. He raised his brows at me. ‘Something worries you?’
I shook my head. There was no point in confiding my misgivings to him. It was too late now to bring the horsemen back and I’d already given him an outline of my views. I still found my own theory thoroughly bizarre. Even given that someone wanted to frighten Voluus, who would kill a half a dozen men and carry their corpses stacked up on a cart, simply to strew them in the woods and make it look as though the rebels had attacked? It seemed such an elaborately unlikely thing to do.
‘Libertus?’ the commander prompted, breaking through my thoughts. ‘I asked if something was concerning you?’
‘Everything about this worries me,’ I said, and made him smile. ‘I have a hundred questions. But there is one you might know the answer to. What will happen to Calvinus now – since it seems unlikely, after all, that he was involved in this?’
The smile faded and he looked surprised. ‘What makes you come to that conclusion, citizen?’
I stared at him. ‘But surely . . . ?’
‘Libertus, you are the one who convinced me that this whole affair was indeed a premeditated plot against the lictor, and not a simple accident of fate. That means that someone in his household must have been involved: somebody who knew about the cart, what it was carrying, when it would arrive and how big the mounted guard was going to be. Who else but the steward was in possession of those facts?’
I was about to comment wryly that half of Glevum could have made a guess, but the commander did not pause to let me speak.
‘And you yourself suggested why the escort was off guard and how they could be so quickly overwhelmed: because they supposed their attackers to be friends or, at least, a prearranged relief. People, in any case, they were forewarned about and expected to encounter at that time and place. Who but a steward arranges things like that?’
There – it was true – he had a valid point. ‘I can see the force of what you say,’ I answered carefully. ‘But I would swear that when I met him, Calvinus was shocked – and not a little frightened – by the news he’d just received. Wasn’t his first act to send to you for help?’
‘And isn’t that exactly what a guilty man would do, to divert suspicion from himself?’ the commander countered. ‘As for being tense and frightened – what else would you expect if a man had just connived the theft of half his master’s fortune and the murder of that same master’s – no doubt expensive – hired escorting slaves? It’s hardly evidence that the steward’s innocent.’
‘Or proof that he is not!’ I protested earnestly. I did not hold the steward in very much esteem – especially when I knew how he treated Brianus – but I could not let this accusation pass. The steward’s fate was now bound up with my own. ‘As for having information,’ I went on, ‘weren’t there others, too, who might have known about the cart? People with equal motive and more opportunity? Porteus himself, for instance. We know that he is desperate for gold. Or Florens, possibly? He has a personal guard at his command – huge, well-armed brutes with muscles – who could have carried out an ambush of that kind, and with relish, too.’ That was daring, given Florens’s rank, but I felt that I could speak with some conviction on that point.
There was a silence broken only by the creaking of the carriage, the sound of the horses and the rumbling of the wheels and – very faintly – from somewhere in the rear, Scowler’s half-hearted ululation of lament. The commander made no answer, so I tried again.
‘Porteus, no doubt, has some sort of escort, too. And probably the writer of the threat to Voluus has something similar. Any band of heavy ruffians like that could have done what we have seen – especially if there was some question of reward.’
The commander still said nothing. He would not meet my eyes. All the same I felt that he was paying me the compliment of thinking carefully about my arguments.
‘How could the steward muster such a force?’ I urged. ‘He could hardly have done this by himself. He would have had to hire people – and thereby run the risk that someone would betray him to the authorities, or to anyone prepared to pay them slightly more. Does that seem probable? And where would Calvinus get the money to do that anyway?’
The commander leaned back on the seat. He ran his fingers through his hair again, creating another little waft of horseradish and spice, and then said – with finality, ‘I agree he was unlikely to be in this alone. That was never what I intended to suggest. I think he just provided information to the lictor’s enemies – doubtless for a fee. No doubt he has dreams – like every slave – of buying himself free.’
I nodded. ‘I believe he does.’
He gave me that slow, laconic smile again. ‘Well, there you are! I tell you, citizen, in cases such as this, nine times out of ten the servants prove to be involved – especially if the master is a brutal one and does not command his household’s sympath . . .’ He broke off, leaned over and stared out at the road, from where a frantic clucking and squawking could be heard. ‘And what, in Vulcan’s name, is that cacophony?’
I could have made an educated guess, even without the escort-rider who arrived, saying urgently, ‘I am very sorry, commandant, there is a short delay. My men are attempting to move the people on, but there’s a donkey-cart ahead which has just overturned and spilt its crates of chickens everywhere. It will take a few moments to clear a passage through.’
The commander slapped his palm impatiently. ‘This is ridiculous.’ He had to raise his voice above the chickens’ outraged squawks in order to be heard. ‘. . . Obliged to wait in line with common poultrymen!’
That was the least of it, of course – as he must have known. The roads were always crammed with wagons at this time of day: people wanted to reach Glevum before the gates were shut, but after the onset of official dusk – the time when civilian wheeled transport, forbidden during daylight hours, was permitted into town. We were sharing the roadway, not just with poultrymen, but with all kinds of cargoes from the neighbourhood: stones and barrels, wooden planks and nails, carpets, casks – anything too heavy to carry into town by hand. I even saw a ragged farmer on an empty cart – not bringing anything to town, but hoping, I surmised, to shovel up the stinking midden-heaps and carry them away for use as makeshift fertilizer on his fields. A strong smell wafting from the wagon-tray suggested that it had been used for this before.
The escort had succeeded in clearing us a route and we jolted into motion, past the upturned poultry-cart. I glimpsed the owner attempting to right it as we passed, surrounded by crates full of flapping hens. The frantic cackling faded as we lurched away.
Emelius grinned at me. ‘Singing like that steward’s doing, I shouldn’t be surprised.’ He saw my face, and added instantly, ‘And no doubt he deserved it, as the commander says.’
His commander acknowledged the comment with a nod. ‘I fear that he is right. Calvinus must have passed the information on. I can’t see how it would reach the killer by any other means. Don’t look so doubtful, citizen. I will wager he’s admitted it by now. Remember that Voluus had suspicions about him anyway.’
‘How do we know that?’
He looked at me, surprised. ‘Florens assures me it is true. The lictor himself wrote to Porteus saying so – though that was not common knowledge, naturally enough.’
‘But Porteus told Florens, who confided it to you.’ I was too concerned to be properly polite.
No offence was taken, luckily. The lined face creased in an unexpected grin. ‘Put like that it does not sound very confidential, I agree. But it has gone no further than the three of us. And now yourself, of course.’
‘And Emelius,’ I pointed out, knowing that I risked a serious reprimand.
The commander looked startled. He glanced across at the centurion, who turned his head away and affected to be looking at the countryside. His ears had turned an alarming shade of red. The commander raised his eyebrows at me with a shrug that said, as plainly as if he’d spoken it aloud, ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘I only mean to show you what is possible,’ I said. ‘For instance, that Porteus’s household might have known as well. And Florens’s servants, too. People talk too openly in front of slaves, you see. They think of them as almost furniture, and forget that these are people who have ears and eyes, and sometimes wagging tongues. One casual word from Porteus, overheard by slaves, could be spread around Glevum quicker than the plague.’
Both of the soldiers turned to frown at me.
‘I learned that when I was a slave myself, and I always warn Marcus to be circumspect when there are servants standing by. Or – in your case, commander – junior officers.’
The commander harrumphed and sat back in his seat. ‘In that case, citizen, we will talk no more until we are safely in the garrison. If you are to dine with me tonight, no doubt we will find an opportunity. I’ll ask for information about what Calvinus has confessed.’
‘Is it possible that I could speak to him myself, tonight? His evidence will be of great concern to me. Or perhaps tomorrow morning, if Florens and Porteus do not arrange to have him brought to trial as well.’
The commandant said brusquely, ‘I imagine they’d prefer to wait until Voluus arrives and gives permission for proper questioning, as – under the circumstances – I’ve no doubt he will. And I can’t release you from my custody to go and speak to him. I don’t have to remind you, you are also facing trial.’
‘Do you think they would delay the case against me, too? So there’s a chance of me establishing some proper evidence?’
He shook his head. ‘I doubt it very much. The steward may be called to witness against you, so I imagine they will want you summoned first, while he’s still in a position to comply. In other times and places I could have heard this case myself, and ruled for an adjournment – but this is Glevum, and under modern laws you must be brought before a civil magistrate.’ He lapsed into silence and gazed out at the passing countryside.
I rather wished I hadn’t pointed out that he was in danger of being indiscreet, but there was no undoing it. I sat back in my own seat and said no more, but this talk about ‘my hearing’ made my blood run cold. I had refused, till now, to contemplate what that would entail – indeed, I had positively tried to blank it out. However, I was forced to think about it now.
If I could afford a bribe, or persuade Marcus to provide one on my behalf, I could have a well-bred lawyer, skilled in argument, to plead in my defence. I could wear sack-cloth and ashes – as many people did – to show how distraught I was, and to try to influence the court to pity me. If necessary, as a very last resort – which meant, if I were condemned to death, instead of merely to lifelong exile – I could even appeal to the Emperor himself, although from what I’d heard of Commodus that might not help me much.
Even another diversion on the road – this time a travelling magician, in a red and orange robe, with a parrot on his shoulder and a gibbering monkey on the cart – failed to divert my attention very long. I was rather like the monkey – about to be produced as a public spectacle – and like the parrot I would be obliged to talk.
It was not a happy prospect, taken all in all. Two important councillors were accusing me, circumstances seemed to point towards my guilt, and as the commander said, ‘the court will decide on what is probable’. So if I were exiled, what would happen to my wife? I could not expect her to share the harshness of the flight. Perhaps I could find some way to start again so I could send for her – though that was fraught with danger, too. I wished I’d spent a little longer bidding her farewell – it was possible that we would never meet again.