The Chariots of Calyx (31 page)

Pertinax was watching me intently. ‘Go on.’

‘I began to see how pieces of the pattern linked together. Annia Augusta had a large estate, which she insisted on managing herself, through a steward, often against Monnius’ advice. It was “towards the sea”, you told me, which must mean to the east, because we drove to Londinium from the setting sun, and met no oceans on our way. But I learned from the warehouse I visited that there had been bad rainstorms in the east, and many harvests were ruined in their stacks.’

‘Including hers?’

‘That seems most probable. It was common knowledge in the household that Annia had scorned to use Monnius’ drying floors. Your boatman had the answer, Excellence. He complained of sacks of grain half rotting when the baker got them home, and I know how it was done. The chief clerk at the warehouse wearied me with his account of corn, but I am grateful now. Damp rye or barley can be mixed with spelt, which must be roasted before it’s threshed. The spelt is placed at each end of the sack and does not rot, although the poor grain in the middle sprouts and spoils. And the buyer cannot see it. Of course it is an easy matter, with the distribution chutes, to fill the sacks like that. And once the grain is sold, it is remarkably difficult to prove.’

Pertinax was frowning. ‘And what has Eppaticus to do with this? It was Annia’s corn.’

‘He bought the crop from Annia, and sold it back to Monnius. That way, if there were complaints, it could not be traced back to the family. It was a huge risk for Eppaticus, of course – you know the law. The bargain had to be settled in cash, and once the money had changed hands the owner of the corn was legally responsible. No wonder he panicked when Monnius was murdered before he paid.’

‘Yet he came back to the house a second time?’

‘He was desperate for the money to pay his gambling debts. Men like Glaucus are not patient with those who owe them money – especially large sums of it. He must have been delighted when Annia found the money and agreed to pay him – he was already down by the whole price of the transaction, since he was obliged to pay her in cash in the first place, to make the contract legal. But he was worried at not having a receipt, and no warehouse records. Without the documents he had no proof of anything.’

‘That was why Annia removed the documents? To see to it that he was still legally responsible?’

‘I don’t think so, Excellence. She was simply worried that any investigation into Monnius’ death – and the stolen cash – might bring to light the business of the corn. When the money went missing, she hid the documents. I have no doubt they’ll be found among her things. There was a lot of money at stake – it represented a whole season’s earnings for the farm. Of course, there was a profit for the warehouse too.’

Pertinax looked grim. ‘Buying half-rotten corn cheap, and selling it at the proper price – there was a little fortune to be made. The warehouse supervisor had to know, that’s clear, and he doubtless got his share of the profit. I shall have him arrested instantly. Odd that I have never heard complaints.’

‘There have been murmurs, Excellence. Of course, the army and the racing teams would always get the best, but the baker and his like can complain all they wish – nobody pays attention until there is a riot.’

‘But there are laws. Interfering with the corn supply is a serious crime.’

I grinned. ‘I know. The warehouse supervisor must have been terrified when we turned up and he had to show us round, though he avoided taking us to the particular grain loft in question. I did find damp rye and spelt grain mixed. I’m sure the system had been perfected many times. The only difference on this occasion was that the rotten corn was Annia’s own. No doubt, like any owner of a farm, she was glad to get any price at all for her worthless crop. Monnius saw that she did not lose, even though she had ignored his advice.’

Pertinax sighed. ‘Well, all those responsible will be charged at law. Eppaticus too. There will be heavy fines. Upsetting the supply of corn can destabilise the whole city.’

‘Poor Eppaticus! I doubt he ever saw the grain, although he stood to make a very neat profit by buying and selling it without asking too many questions. I don’t think he has even got anywhere to store it. That is what I sent Junio to confirm.’ I frowned. ‘What has happened to Junio, by the way? I saw him briefly when he first came back, but he went scuttling off again saying he had a mission to perform for you, and I haven’t seen him since. I hope nothing has happened to
him
?’

Pertinax smiled in earnest then – a warm, pleased smile that transformed his face. ‘He is a clever boy, that serving-lad of yours. When he checked the warehouse of Eppaticus he talked to the slaves and discovered something of great significance. He took it on himself to come and report his findings straight to me, and I have authorised him to go and act on my account.’

I found myself frowning. I would do much for Pertinax, but if he took a fancy to purchase my slave I would find it very hard to forgive him. Yet this must be something of the kind – a slave is not often empowered to act for the governor.

Pertinax seemed to read my thoughts. ‘Do not be alarmed, my friend. But it is clear that after your ordeal you are not well enough to accompany me to Eboracum, as I promised you, and with my new appointment overseas I cannot delay my visit there any longer. I am sorry to disappoint you. I wished to offer you some other reward, and Junio has made a good suggestion. There was something at Eppaticus’ warehouse that he thought you would particularly like. I have instructed him to purchase it for me. I believe he is in the palace with it now – although there is no obligation on you to accept. Would you care to see?’

My mind was racing. Inlaid cabinets and Samian ware? Such things were beautiful, but had no place in my humble workshop home. Perhaps there had been tiles or marble in the warehouse which I could use for pavements – that would be a valuable gift. I could trust Junio. I said, ‘I should be honoured, Excellence.’

He clapped his hands and sent a servant running. I took a sip of wine, and waited.

Not for long. Junio appeared at the door, his face a huge wide grin. And behind him . . . the glass slipped from my hand . . .

‘Gwellia!’

She was exactly as I remembered seeing her that last cruel time, when each of us was tethered to a cart, and for a few heartbreaking seconds I met her eyes and knew she was alive. Not the dark, lively beauty I had married but she still wrung my heart, though she was subdued and lined, bowed by a dreadful weariness.

I looked at her and saw the matching tears that welled up in her eyes.

‘Gwellia!’ I said again, in a voice that scarcely obeyed my will.

She looked from me to the governor, and seemed to hesitate. Then in a dreadful gesture of submission Gwellia came and knelt before me, bowing her head to the floor beneath my feet in the eternal sign of servitude. I do not think that I have ever seen a sadder thing.

‘Master?’ she said, and I thought my heart would break.

I took her by the hand and raised her up, but she evaded my eyes. I saw the tears on her lids. ‘You were one of the leftover slaves?’ I said gently. ‘One of the ones that Eppaticus had for sale?’

She nodded, and then said in that beloved voice, from which all laughter had fled, ‘Few people want an older female slave – we are too frail to work, too old to breed.’

A glimpse of what those years of servitude had been for her almost broke my heart. How many children had she borne, I wondered. How many owners had pawed that lovely frame? ‘Oh, Gwellia,’ I sighed.

Pertinax looked at me anxiously. ‘The gift displeases you?’

I shook my head, almost incapable of speech. ‘These tears are pleasure, Mightiness,’ I managed at last and saw him smile with satisfaction.

It was the same that night, in the
cubiculum
. I called her to me. She came and stood beside the bed, silent and shivering, to await my next command. For a moment I caught her eyes – and saw, or thought I saw, the ghost of the old fire that once had sparked between us. Then it was gone, and she was once again a picture of obedient resignation, tinged, I saw, with fear.

‘It’s all right, Gwellia,’ I said softly. ‘Lie down.’

She took up station at my feet, as Junio did.

‘You are my wife,’ I said. She shook her head.

‘That was dissolved,’ she murmured brokenly. ‘I could not have borne the shame of my life else.’

She was right, of course. Once we were taken into slavery the marriage between us was not recognised in law.

‘But I have found you now,’ I urged.

The phantom of a smile touched her lips. ‘I am happy just to be your slave,’ she said. ‘They told me I was purchased for Libertus, but I did not know the name. What should I call you?’

‘Don’t call me master,’ I said. But she was right again. The old name she had called me in my youth belonged to other days, another life, when we were free and young and full of hope. ‘ “Libertus” if you must.’

‘Then, sleep well, Libertus. Thank you for your care.’

‘I have dreamt of you every night,’ I said, my heart thumping.

‘And I of you,’ she said. She gestured to the bed. ‘Libertus ... if you wish...’

It was tempting, but I had read those eyes and I knew better now. ‘Not like this,’ I said. I kissed her on the head. ‘When you are ready, Gwellia. Not before. And never as a slave. I’ll take you to the courts, and set you free.’

She looked at me warily, those years of use and torment in her eyes. ‘And until then?’ she said.

I laughed. All desire left me and I felt only a great welling surge of protective love. ‘Until then, I am an old man,’ I said gruffly, ‘and I have had a difficult few days. Go to the servants’ room and get some rest. And send my slave – my other slave – to me. I want him to help me to undress.’

Her eyes lit up with a little of the old tenderness. ‘You understand! I didn’t think you would. You’re still the same man that I always knew.’

She left me with a smile. Junio, proud to be still wanted at my side, was grinning like a fish when he came in, but he had the grace to look surprised.

‘Master?’

‘I have waited for my wife for twenty years,’ I said. ‘I can wait a little longer. She will come to me one day, in her own time. Willingly.’

And she did. It was worth the waiting for.