The Chariots of Calyx (3 page)

But it was too late. My promised reward was Eboracum, and to Eboracum I would have to go – although it would break my heart to have to leave the capital without searching for her. I had even considered pleading with my host, but of course realistically that was impossible. No sane man dares to appear ungrateful to the governor. All I could do was try to make a few discreet enquiries in the day or two before we left, though in a city this size there was very little hope.

I sighed.

Junio misinterpreted it. ‘I am sorry, master, if you wished me to attend you. There were strict instructions sent to the servants’ quarters. You were to be allowed to sleep.’

‘But that slave woke me. Said that the governor was asking for me.’

‘So he is, now,’ Junio said. ‘But only because of this murder.’

‘Murder?’

It was Junio’s turn to sigh. ‘You mean that supercilious slave didn’t even tell you? Pertinax was receiving his
clientes
this morning when the message arrived. An important official was killed last night in his own home. One of his slaves was murdered, and his wife – who only married him a few months ago, poor thing – had a narrow escape. There was an intruder, it seems, although the man’s mother is full of accusations.’

I frowned. ‘But surely this is a matter for the courts? Why does Pertinax want me?’

Junio grinned. ‘You underestimate your reputation for solving mysteries, master. Marcus must have sung your praises to good effect. The whole household here has heard of you, even the slave who cleans the stables.’

I might have guessed as much. Marcus Aurelius Septimus is my patron in Glevum and a particular friend and confidant of Pertinax – in fact, he is the governor’s personal representative in our part of the province. I knew that he boasted to Pertinax of my little successes in clearing up one or two earlier unpleasantnesses: not surprisingly, perhaps, since as my official patron Marcus himself received much of the credit. Without that, I would never have found myself in Londinium now, enjoying my ‘reward’. And now Pertinax himself wanted my services! That was alarming in itself, although no doubt it explained the use of my three-fold name.

I shook my head doubtfully. ‘But those affairs with Marcus were political matters – or they appeared to be. This is hardly the same thing. A domestic murder . . .’ I said it without much conviction. The murdered man had been an important official, Junio had said, but it only made me all the more reluctant to become involved. If I was occupied with that kind of investigation, there was the end of any hope of looking for my wife.

Junio smiled. ‘Not all that domestic. There is also the little matter of some missing document or other. To say nothing of an awful lot of tax money. Or so the servants here are saying – one of them overheard the messenger. So if you have quite finished with that medlar, master, perhaps you had better let me wipe your chin and then you can call that slave and go and see the governor. No doubt he will tell you all about it.’

The governor was waiting for me.

I was shown into his receiving room – a vast, pillared chamber dotted with statues, silken hangings and wonderful carved and inlaid furniture. At once His Excellence waved away his remaining
clientes
, rose from the magisterial couch and stood at the top of the shallow steps on the receiving dais to welcome me in person. Only his private bodyguard – half a dozen huge auxiliaries from the African provinces, the muscles in their naked arms rippling under their smooth brown skin – remained, silent and watchful around the edges of the room. However, I was favoured. For the Roman governor, this counted as a private audience.

The governor himself was an imposing sight. Publius Helvius Pertinax was of course a soldier – general-in-chief of all the cohorts and legions in Britannia – and he had chosen this morning to dress like one. He was only of middle height, and no longer young, but in that uniform he looked every inch a governor. Somehow the glittering breastplate and leather skirts made him seem far more imperial and intimidating than the splendid Roman robes he had worn to the banquet the night before. Add to that the watching guards, and his own naturally rather severe face and formal manner, and you will see why, despite Junio’s assurances, my agitation about being late was in no way allayed.

‘Ten thousand apologies, Mightiness,’ I stammered, hurrying up the steps as fast as I could, and flinging myself abjectly to my knees upon the topmost one. Uncomfortable, but unexpectedly effective. I had intended to make the humblest of obeisances, but in my hurry to prostrate myself I caught my kneecap on the edge of the stair. I bit back the exclamation that rose to my lips, but when I raised my eyes towards my ruler the tears in them were genuine.

He must have noticed them. The stern face softened to a smile. ‘Citizen pavement-maker.’ He extended a hand, upon which so many rings and seals were set that they looked like finger-armour. ‘Do not distress yourself. I am glad to find you rested.’

I accepted this as an invitation to rise, and having duly pressed my forehead to the hand I did so, although with difficulty. The blow to my knee had deprived me momentarily of all power of intelligent speech, so I simply nodded in what I hoped was a dutifully grateful manner.

The governor wasted no time. ‘I am sorry to have wakened you, my friend, but I am in need of your advice. No doubt you have heard about this unfortunate business in the city?’ He sat down on the couch again as he spoke, picked up an elaborate ebony-handled fly-switch from the table (a memento from his service in the Syrian legions, perhaps) and gestured to a footstool at his side.

I sat down where he had indicated, and said carefully, ‘I heard that there had been an unexpected death.’

He eyed me shrewdly. ‘A death, certainly. Of one of the city’s senior officials too. How unexpected it is I could not say. There have been so many plots and counter-plots lately – as you know, since you so brilliantly helped to uncover one.’

There was no decently modest answer to that, so I said nothing, and merely attempted to look at once grave and deeply interested. In fact, every alarm-goose in my head was already hissing urgent warnings. Ten minutes ago I had been concerned lest I had earned Pertinax’s disapproval – now it was his approval that worried me still more. And with reason. I had been lucky to escape from that last investigation with my life. If the governor was about to ask for my help – as I had a terrible premonition that he was – I could soon find myself playing political
ludus latinorum
again, with my head once more as the stake.

A stake that I would be very likely to lose. I could see that. The penalties for killing a senior public official are so horrible that people will do a great deal to avoid facing them. Like murder me, for instance; to anyone who has already disposed of a man of wealth and influence, the life of a mosaic-making ex-slave would mean very little. On the other hand, it means a lot to me. I have no wish to find myself prematurely designing pavements for Pluto. And yet I could hardly ignore the orders of the governor.

‘What kind of man was he?’ I asked brightly, as soon as Pertinax had finished outlining what he knew. ‘This Caius Monnius Loveinius? Do you know if he had enemies?’ If I asked enough questions immediately, I reasoned, I might deflect His Excellence from issuing any specific orders or from asking any favours, which – coming from the governor – would amount to very much the same thing.

The governor looked at me keenly. ‘Enemies? Half of Londinium held grudges, I imagine. He was
frumentarius
for the city – and doing very well out of it.’

I nodded glumly. ‘I see.’

I did see. No man ever became a
frumentarius
in the hope of making friends. When one individual is responsible for the constant provision, warehousing and sale of corn, even for a smallish town, resentments are inevitable. Here, in a large city, it must be a thousand times worse. The best a
frumentarius
can hope for is to avoid being dragged in effigy on the hook around the streets – by the inhabitants every time there is a famine, and by the farmers and carters whenever there is a glut. No one loves a corn officer.

‘Only half Londinium has a grudge?’ I said, with a smile.

Pertinax did not acknowledge the jest. ‘Everyone needs grain, and it is impossible for a
frumentarius
to please everybody.’

No doubt it
is
an unenviable job, given the British vagaries of wind and weather. Doubtless, too, there are corn officers who are ornaments to their office, trying to ensure good-quality grain at a reasonable price to all comers, and whose accumulation of golden treasure is limited to the edible variety in their granaries. I can only report that I have never met one. On the other hand everyone, from baker to town official, cavalryman to cook, will seek to bribe and flatter a
frumentarius
, at least to his face. As the governor so rightly said, everybody needs grain.

‘Well,’ I said, ‘he isn’t doing so well out of it any more.’

Pertinax regarded me severely, rebuking my unseemly levity with a glance. It reminded me of schoolmasters I had known. I remembered that Pertinax had, in fact, once been a teacher of grammar – before his father’s patron found him a place in the cohorts and set him on his rise to power. He must have been a formidable
paedagogus
.

He sounded like a schoolteacher now, weary and patient. ‘Libertus, you know that I have applied to be relieved of this appointment and be posted elsewhere?’

I nodded. I did know. The proposed journey to Eboracum was to have been part of his farewell procession around the major cities of the province. ‘The Insula Britannica will miss you, Mightiness.’ I meant it. To have a just and noble governor is every subject’s dream. To have an intelligent and upright one – however severe he might be with wrongdoers – is an unusual privilege.

‘Then, my friend, spare me your wit and use that patternmaker’s brain to better purpose. Assist me to leave the province in good order. If the provincial council refuses to pass the customary vote of thanks on my departure, there will be an imperial enquiry into my governorship. That could be serious. The Emperor is becoming more’ – he glanced towards the guards, but they stood motionless and impassive as the statues which surrounded them – ‘more – shall we say – “individual” at every turn. For instance, did you know that as well as renaming Rome Commodiana in his own honour, he has now decreed that the months of the year are also to be changed? August is to be Commodus, September Hercules, October Invictus . . . and November has disappeared in favour of “Exsuperatorius” – all named after His Imperial Divinity, of course.’

I had not heard of this latest excess, although the Emperor’s increasingly ‘individual’ behaviour was whispered throughout the Empire. I tried to make light of it. ‘At least the changes will keep the imperial scribes busy.’

‘He is becoming less and less forgiving of any kind of civil unrest,’ Pertinax went on, as if I hadn’t spoken. ‘He sees it as dissent against himself – and the local governor is held responsible. This murder would not look well at an enquiry. This is not a joking matter, Libertus. My future as well as yours may depend on it.’

I could see why the governor was alarmed and I hastened to redeem myself by sounding businesslike. ‘The question is, Mightiness, whether any of these grudges that you speak of were personal – directed at Caius Monnius in particular – or were merely irritation with the corn taxes in general.’

Pertinax nodded thoughtfully. He began fanning imaginary flies from his face with the horsehair whisk. ‘They might be both, I imagine. Caius Monnius introduced some new measures which have won him little popularity: big drying houses by the river, for instance – the local landowners didn’t like that – and his system of compulsory loans for the corn trade almost caused riots in the street.’

‘Compulsory loans?’ I did not live in Londinium and this was the first time I had heard of this.

‘If a man wants money for seed corn, or to build a warehouse-granary, or merely to purchase large quantities of grain, he is now obliged to borrow it from the town treasury – at a high rate of interest, naturally.’

‘Part of which finds its way into Caius Monnius’ private coffers?’

The governor almost smiled. He toyed with the fly-whisk, and his tone was ironic as he said, ‘I imagine so. I could not really say. That is a matter for the city, not the state. As provincial governor, it is hard for me to intervene, unless specific charges are brought against him – as, of course, they never have been.’

Of course they hadn’t. A man would have to be exceedingly desperate, or influential, to bring an accusation like that against the city corn officer. For one thing, under Roman law, there can be no trial unless the accused can be physically brought before the courts – difficult with a wealthy, influential, well-guarded man like Caius Monnius. For another thing, the accuser still has to eat. As I said, everyone needs grain.

One thing surprised me, however. I had always regarded the Roman governor – second in command only to the Emperor in matters relating to the province – as having almost unlimited powers. Of course, like every other major city, Londinium was a republic in its own right, with its own urban administration, but it had never occurred to me that Pertinax might have to tread with care in order not to offend the sensibilities of the civic council.

Like Pertinax a moment earlier, I glanced towards the guards against the walls and lowered my voice. This matter might be sensitive. ‘That would explain the money which is missing? Some disaffected borrower, perhaps, pressed beyond the limit? Taking forcible possession of what he believes is rightfully his?’

Pertinax put down his whisk and leaned a little closer. He too was aware that slaves have ears – perhaps because his own father was once a slave himself. He was unusual in that: most Romans regard their servants as ‘vocal tools’ – merely part of the furnishings and as incapable of independent thought as a chair.

The governor, however, was more circumspect. His voice was a murmur as he said, ‘It might be so. And the document too. That disappearance worries me, though it is not clear exactly what it was. A list of transactions, perhaps, or a register for taxation. No one knows. It was merely noted that there was a sealed official scroll locked into his study chest last evening, and it is not there now. His slaves confirm it.’