The Chariots of Calyx (13 page)

‘And then,’ he said, in an affronted tone, ‘when I was just about to give up and come away, a big fat Celt in plaid trousers and a tunic came up behind me in an alley. Grabbed me by the shoulder, pushed me against the wall, and wanted to know why one of the governor’s slaves was hanging around asking questions about Eppaticus.’ He looked at me resignedly. ‘I imagine that he recognised my tunic borders. The palace servants are well known in the market.’

I nodded, rather guiltily. I had guessed something of the kind. ‘And what did you tell him?’

A strange expression crossed Superbus’ face, a mixture of self-congratulation and defensiveness. ‘I told him I was interested in buying one of the slaves.’

‘Well done, Superbus!’ I said, with more surprise than was altogether tactful. It was a more quick-witted strategy than I’d expected from him. It was entirely plausible for one thing – senior slaves in important households sometimes did have slaves of their own. It was more for status than anything, and in that case buying from someone like Eppaticus – selling old and worn-out slaves at a knock-down price – might well look like a better proposition than paying full price at the slave auction. ‘What did the man say?’

Superbus looked uncomfortable. ‘He wanted to know how much I was willing to pay. I didn’t want to offer a price, but he insisted, and in the end I suggested a figure. A very low one, of course.’

I winced. Under Roman law agreeing a price is tantamount to fixing a bargain, and Superbus seemed to have bought himself a slave, sight unseen. I could only imagine what kind of broken-down, or even diseased, individual he would find himself in possession of, and how he would provide for such a creature here in the palace. Most slave-owning slaves are very senior in the household hierarchy.

‘So you have acquired a slave?’

He swallowed. ‘Not yet, citizen. That is what enraged the Celtic gentleman. I didn’t have the money with me.’

‘Even though he picked you up by your tunic and shook you till your teeth rattled?’ I suggested.

Superbus nodded.

‘Then you have had a lucky escape,’ I said. ‘Now he will have to provide the goods in order to demand the money, and you will be able to escape from the bargain.’ I grinned. ‘Unless of course you want to buy a slave.’

I meant it as a jest but Superbus coloured, and I realised that his quick response had not been due entirely to cunning.

‘In any case,’ I went on, ‘you wouldn’t want one of those Eppaticus was selling. They were last month’s commodity, you said, so by this time he’ll only have the leftovers that no one else wanted to buy.’ Superbus looked so chastened at this observation that I hurried to change the subject. ‘Did you discover, by the way, whether he ever dealt in grain?’

Superbus’ face fell still further. ‘I am sorry, citizen. It did not occur to me to ask.’

I smiled. ‘Perhaps that is just as well. If Eppaticus is edgy about questions, as it seems that he is, asking about the grain trade might have been distinctly dangerous.’

‘You think my assailant was Eppaticus, citizen?’

‘I don’t think so, from your description,’ I said. ‘The most striking thing about Eppaticus is his height. And he did not wear trousers. More likely one of his attendants. But not a man to trifle with, all the same. Fortunately he won’t come looking for you here – the palace guard would soon see him off. Just make sure you keep away from the market for a while – in fact, it might be better if you did not leave the palace at all. A pity. I had hoped to send you to find the jeweller who made this necklace for Annia Augusta.’ I took out the bloodstained article from my pouch, still wrapped in its piece of protective linen. ‘Never mind, I will send it to Pertinax and ask him to despatch someone else to make enquiries.’

Superbus nodded, and withdrew, still hobbling. I finished my meal, and entrusted the necklace to the table-slave, who promised to deliver it to the governor with my request. When I joined Junio on the steps of the palace, he had already collected my few possessions for the journey.

The next few hours passed in a dreadful dream. Pertinax had been as good as his word, and an imperial gig was waiting to transport us. Gigs are a light, swift, open form of transport, and can rattle along the cobbled roads quicker than any closed carriage ever invented. On the other hand, any open carriage is at best a draughty affair, even if there is not a stiff breeze blowing, and ‘rattle’ is the operative word. We bounced and lurched northwards the whole long afternoon, through a countryside busy with agriculture. None of the wild lands that surrounded Glevum, here. Little hamlets had sprung up around the road for miles, and even when these had been left behind, much of the woodland had been cleared, and every valley seemed to have its little farm – sometimes a Roman villa, sometimes a Celtic roundhouse – each with its own assortment of animals, crops and fields of next year’s grain.

On we plunged, terrifying ox carts and mule waggons as we passed, swaying wildly up hills and still more wildly down them, while I clutched my narrow wooden bench with both hands and Junio crouched miserably at my feet.

And then, just when I thought that I could endure it no longer, we stopped at little
mansio
, an official staging post. But not for long. Time enough to change the horses and swallow a welcome drink of watered wine, and off we went, to repeat the whole bone-juddering experience again.

Even so, it was dark before we got to Verulamium. There was a brief argument at the gatehouse before they would admit us, but a glimpse of the governor’s seal and warrant, even by the uncertain light of a flaming torch, was enough to have the guards change their minds in a panic, and not only let us in, but organise stabling for the horses and have Junio and me escorted personally, and with fulsome apologies, to the commander.

Verulamium, like the capital, has maintained a small garrison-fort inside the town ever since the Boudicca uprising more than a century ago, and it was there that we were taken. The commander was in the
praetorium
having a supper party in the privacy of his home, but the official seal worked its charms again, and he did his best to offer hospitality at the garrison. I have a dim memory of being seated on a wooden stool beside a fire, and given a hearty meal of warm army bean-stew and coarse brown bread, before I was shown to a small, sparsely furnished chamber in the barracks, usually reserved for passing messengers.

A small brazier and an oil-lamp were promised, but I stretched out on the clean bunk bedding at once, pulled a blanket over me, and, with my young slave lying in another bunk at my feet, had closed my eyes and was fast asleep before anyone had time to return with the expected items. It had been an exhausting day.

Even so, one image haunted my sleep. The floor in Caius Monnius’ study had been lifted, and in my dreams I could see clearly what I had only glimpsed in those few moments before I had been interrupted. The secret hiding place beneath the floor was crammed almost to bursting with bags of silver coins. I did a rapid calculation. There must have been five thousand
denarii
at least: that is to say, at current market rates, roughly twenty thousand sesterces.

‘What was it doing there?’ I murmured as I slept. ‘And what becomes of Annia’s theory now?’ But my lost Gwellia, who always stalked my dreams, only smiled mysteriously and vanished like smoke before I could touch her with my hand.

The next morning we were woken by a soldier, a double-pay officer in full uniform, who brought us a breakfast of hard wheaten biscuits and thin wine.

‘Standard army rations,’ he told me, with a smile, ‘though the commander has sent you some fruit in too, seeing that you come from the governor. Oh, and I am to give you his apologies, citizen. He didn’t want to rouse you early, but I think you said you wanted to attend the chariot racing? It is already an hour after dawn, and if you and your servant want to be sure of a seat...?’

We did. Junio was on his feet almost before the
optio
had finished speaking, and was already splashing cold water enthusiastically from the jug beside the door into a large bowl which he had found on the stone bench. Very cold water, I suspected, since the promised brazier had never arrived, and I eyed these preparations rather reluctantly from the comfortable warmth of my bed, while the
optio
bowed himself out with promises to return as soon as I was ready to leave. He would personally escort us to the stadium – on the commander’s express instructions.

I was dressed only in my tunic, but I rose and stood shivering on the stone floor while Junio rinsed my hands and face. Then I gnawed my way through some breakfast and allowed myself to be dressed once more in my toga, though Junio was so excited by the prospect of the day ahead that he had to make two attempts at draping the cloth. He was so eager and anxious to be gone that I took pity on him in the end and fastened my own sandals, while he crammed food into his mouth. When I looked up he was standing ready at the door, before he had really finished swallowing. Army biscuits are said to breed hard men – certainly they exercise the jaws.

I clapped Junio on the shoulder and we set off together.

The
optio
, true to his word, was waiting outside the door, and as soon as we made an appearance he took up a place beside me, gesturing for two other members of his company to bring up front and rear. Junio had naturally stepped deferentially behind me, so I found myself forming the central part of a little procession as we walked out of the barracks. The guards at the gate of the fort moved smartly to let us through, and in the streets outside, the townsfolk stood even more hastily aside, abandoning their business to whisper and goggle at us as we went by.

I am not used to being stared at, and I found myself falling into step with the soldiers and marching along rather importantly, the townsfolk in the busy streets parting before us like cheese under a cook’s cleaver.

‘Wonder what he’s done, poor fellow,’ I heard a trader mutter, as he and his laden donkey tried to squeeze themselves into a doorway to let us pass. I suppose I did look as if I were under some kind of military arrest. I walked the rest of the way to the stadium in a more chastened frame of mind, and my feet deliberately out of time with those of my marching escort.

The stadium had been set up just outside the town walls, at the foot of a small hillock, and was obviously large. A high wicker fence surrounded the enclosure, with an impressive entrance gate at one end through which the public were currently pouring.

As we made our way to the head of the jostling mob, I noticed a large and heavily built guard using a cudgel on an unfortunate youth in an ochre tunic who was trying to scale the fence, although entry to the stadium was free. I grimaced in sympathy, but the boy had been taking an obvious risk. The organisers of race meets always take a dim view of visitors who attempt to get in without running the gauntlet of fast-food sellers, wine and water vendors, souvenir stalls, soothsayers and official betting booths which have been granted expensive licences to operate inside the fence.

If the people in the streets had not known who we were, here we were certainly expected. The same cudgel-bearing guard appeared, and wielded his weapon – rather indiscriminately I thought – to open a path for us among the throng. People do not argue with a cudgel, and we were soon inside.

My patron, Marcus, would doubtless have thought it nothing, after the Circus Maximus in Rome, but compared to the races I had seen in Glevum this was a revelation. The stadium was huge. The slope of the hill itself formed a natural grandstand on one side of the track; a wooden framework had been erected on the other side, with tiered benches on top of it, while at the further end, behind the turning post, was a covered viewing box for town officials and any visiting dignitaries.

The track was impressive, too. There was a purpose-built central reservation, with a wide track around it – sand laid on hammered clay, by the look of it – and a dozen slaves were already raking the surface flat. Proper hurdle fences separated the spectators from the action and there were portable wicker starting-stalls provided for the horses. A pair of wide wooden gates under the civic box led from the stadium into the stables and changing yard beyond. At the turning point, six rocking dolphins, made of gilded wood, were permanently displayed on poles, ready for the circuit-slaves to tip them forward one at a time, as the horses passed, and so help the crowd keep count of the laps.

The
optio
was right about obtaining a seat. Already the far bank was packed with spectators, many of them waving red, white or blue scarves in anticipation. I was surprised how few Green supporters there appeared to be. In Glevum there are always hundreds of them, not least because the Green faction is notoriously ‘for the people’ and against the governing classes, and supporting them is one of the few ways in which ordinary citizens can safely demonstrate their lack of sympathy with the Emperor.

(In fact, as I discovered later, support for the Greens was very strong in Verulamium. The absence of scarves was on my account – rumour of my imperial warrant had spread, and upon my arrival at the racecourse all the Green colours had been hastily hidden. Even in this outpost of Empire, it is sometimes dangerous to be seen cheering for the wrong people.)

Perhaps because of the presence of my escort, finding ourselves somewhere to sit was not a problem. Spectators melted away at our approach, and we were able to commandeer an excellent vantage point on the hill, near the turning point. We had hardly settled ourselves there before a slave arrived to invite us to join the civic dignitaries in the box over the stands, but I (very politely) declined on the grounds that I was acting on the governor’s instructions and wished to have a closer view of the horses. I did not want to be part of the civic party – people in the official box become almost as much of a spectacle as the chariots themselves and I wanted to observe Fortunatus without half the town knowing I was doing so.