Requiem for a Slave

by Rosemary Rowe

  ‘So he did send the messenger after all?’ my son exclaimed.

  ‘A red-haired slave, exactly as described. And he gave the message to the garden slave, who seems, in fact, to have delivered it after he had spoken to Virilis again, though this time Glypto found them at the pile and heard him saying that “everyone was out” and, by implication, that the coast was clear.’

  ‘Dear Mars!’ said Junio, ‘So Minimus hurried to the villa, supposing you were hurt, but when he got there . . . what?’

  ‘I imagine that the steward took him in and sent to Quintus for orders what to do. I’m sure that Minimus was there. The gatekeeper told me that he’d seen no visitors, except a slave in a blue tunic. I thought he was talking about a different one –a boy that I myself saw scurrying out – but I realize now he must have meant Minimus all the time. The steward was no doubt perplexed in any case – first I turned up and then my slave-boy did, when he’d been told each time he was expecting you. He had orders to detain you in the garden, I expect.’

  ‘So he knew all about it? The attempt to murder you?’

  ‘I doubt that very much. It would be too dangerous. He was just obeying orders, as he always did – he used to work for Quintus after all, and no doubt his former master retains him as a spy. The man was saving for his slave price, and I’m sure he’d just received a small donation to the fund. When I went back later on, I saw him counting it.’

  ‘So he was the one who locked up your little slave?’ Scowler was incredulous. ‘I heard he’d been arrested by a private guard.’

  ‘Well, in a sense he was, though doubtless it was Quintus who began that rumour too – just as he lied to me when he denied that he knew who’d taken Minimus.’

  ‘But wouldn’t the whole villa staff have known of this? Someone would have told you when you visited the house,’ Junio objected.

  I shook my head. ‘Not necessarily. Pedronius wasn’t there, and the steward, in his absence, has full authority and controls the keys. In fact, when I went there the first time in answer to the summons that never was, I did not even see a door-keeper. The steward came out to me himself to tell me that my errand was in vain – quick thinking, since he was expecting you! With no one at the gate, it would have been easy for him to let Minimus come in and march him to some storeroom and turn the key on him. Quintus had really put a warrant out, of course, and the steward probably believed what he had been told – that the slave-boy was a thief – especially when Quintus later sent the purse, claiming it was evidence against the boy.’

  Scowler was still scowling. ‘This is all speculation. You have no proof of it.’

  ‘I think you’ll find that it is what happened all the same. As I am hoping that Junio will find out – if he gets there before Quintus Severus, that is.’ I turned to the soldier. ‘Then you can have your half-denarius.’

  A crafty smile spread over Scowler’s face. ‘I think we can arrange that, citizen, don’t you? We heard the decurion tell his litter-men to take him home. If we can delay him for a little while . . .’ He turned to his companion. ‘Get over there at once. Say that the garrison needs a written charge from him regarding this assault. Make sure you slow him down. And don’t say who sent you or anything you’ve heard, or I’ll have you down the lead-mines as fast as you can blink.’

  The soldier nodded and set off at a run.

  But Junio was still trying to follow what I’d said. ‘So when Virilis knew the coast was clear he came back to the shop and lay in wait for you? He must have spent a long time hiding close nearby. He might have been discovered – that was dangerous.’

  ‘Not for Virilis. He hid himself by visiting the tannery next door, pretending to be interested in buying hides. The tanner told me he’d had a customer with a jewelled cloak-clasp, and, of course, the cursor had one with a ruby set in it. I only saw the implication when it was far too late.’

  ‘Speaking of lateness,’ Scowler’s voice broke in. ‘I’m due off duty soon. Besides, you are supposed to be under my arrest. Come along, citizen, or I’ll have to draw my sword.’

  ‘I’m coming,’ I told him and made to follow him.

  ‘But, Father,’ Junio bleated, ‘suppose that you are wrong? Or the steward just denies that Minimus is there? Or locks me up as well!’

  ‘The steward thinks our slave-boy is a criminal and that he is holding him until he can be tried. Tell him that armed soldiers are already on their way, to take Minimus into official custody,’ I answered. ‘I’ll talk to the commander and try to make it true.’

  Scowler pushed his helmet back and scratched his head again. ‘If it’s worth another half-denarius, I will make it true myself. As I say, I am off duty soon. Give me a few minutes and I’ll follow this young citizen. I’ll bring the slaveboy back to the guardhouse, if we find him there. If we have a bargain, that is, citizen?’

  ‘We have a bargain, soldier,’ I told him thankfully. ‘You bring the lad back safe and I’ll pay twice as much.’

  So I let him march me towards the garrison while Junio scuttled off to find the bearers and the chair.

  Twenty-Six

  Even then it was not as easy as I’d hoped that it would be. There was no problem with my being charged, but my request to see the garrison commander was refused. He was very busy, the optio on duty told me with a sneer, trying to trace the owner of a murdered slave whose body had been discovered in the woods.

  ‘Hardly a matter for the senior officer,’ I said.

  ‘Depends what you believe. The commander seems to think the rebels are involved and that the boy was being used to carry messages. Nasty business: the brutes had strangled him.’

  A strangled slave-boy! I felt my blood run cold. I took a swift decision. ‘It may be that I can help. Did this slave-boy have red hair by any chance? And a light-blue tunic?’

  The soldier shook his head. ‘Not as far as I know. Scruffy little thing. We thought he was a street urchin, but he’d got a brand on him. Possibly a land slave, it says in the report. Dark-brown tunic and big boots. Nobody mentioned the colour of his hair.’

  I got up from the wooden form where they had made me sit. (If I hadn’t been a citizen, it would have been the floor.) ‘Then I believe I do know who it is. And I know who owns him – or I think I do.’

  He looked up from the written orders he was looking at. ‘And who would that be?’

  ‘Pedronius the tax-collector, if I am correct. I think this used to be a garden slave of his, though I believe that the boy’s been out on loan. To Quintus Severus, I think that you will find.’

  The optio shuffled his bark sheets aside. ‘Then I’d wish you’d been here earlier. It would have saved a lot of time. It’s taken the commander half the afternoon to find out that it was the tax-collector’s slave brand. It seems you do know something. You’d better come with me.’

  He led the way into the inner court and up the staircase to where the commander’s private office was. When we were summoned in answer to our knock, the optio pushed me in ahead of him, then stood stiffly to attention in the middle of the room. There was a smell of armour polish, lamp fat, sweat and grease.

  ‘In the name of his Imperial Divinity . . .’ the optio began.

  The commander waved these formalities aside. ‘Oh, very well! Forget the formula.’ He pushed away the pile of documents before him on the desk and leaned back on his stool. These – apart from a handsome oil lamp on a stand and the shadowy statue of a deity in a niche – were the only furnishings in this spare and spartan room. ‘What is it that you want?’

  ‘A prisoner requesting an audience with you, sir. Brought here on a charge, but has information on that dead slave in the woods.’

  The grizzled eyebrows rose an inch or two, and the commander turned a pair of weary eyes on me, but when he saw me his manner changed at once. ‘Citizen Libertus, you are here again?’ He sounded at once exasperated and amused. ‘Why is it that every time I find a corpse you are not far behind? Never mind. If you have infor
mation, I’ll be glad to hear. Optio, you may leave us.’

  The soldier snapped his sandal-heels together in salute and clattered off downstairs.

  ‘Now, what is it?’ The commander turned to me. He was a lively, weather-beaten man, with a stern though kindly face, who took his position of command more seriously than most – he had declined a position in the senate house at Rome in favour of continuing his military career. ‘I understand that you’re a prisoner in my custody? Do you deserve it?’

  ‘Only for tying my toga-ends around my waist,’ I said. ‘And for discovering the truth about the chief decurion, which, incidentally, is related to that slave-boy’s corpse you found. I think you’d better hear it. If I’m correct, my patron is in danger of his life – and so am I, of course. And there may even be danger to the state.’

  He leaned forward, making a spear-point of his hands. ‘Then tell me all about it – from the beginning, please.’

  I told him the whole story: the fruitless visit to Pedronius’s house, the discovery of the pie-seller’s body, and how Virilis had mysteriously known the details of the face, when no one but myself and Radixrapum were supposed to have seen the corpse.

  ‘What about the soldiers who brought the army cart? Could one of them have told him?’ the commander asked. He was scribbling down details on a piece of wax, though he’d nearly filled the writing-block by now.

  I shook my head. ‘We’d bandaged up the face. It was not visible,’ I said.

  He nodded and poised his pointed stylus once again. ‘Go on.’

  I went on: all about Glypto, and the message that brought my wife to town, and the appearance of Virilis at the naming day. ‘He must have been astonished to find me there,’ I said. ‘When he killed Radixrapum just the night before, he thought that he had strangled me.’

  ‘So both of the murders took place yesterday, and you think he moved the turnip-seller to your workshop after dark? Which means that he rode to Marcus’s villa very late indeed – though he was an expert rider, I suppose. Yet he had already been there earlier in the day, I think you said.’

  ‘In the morning, after he had visited the curia,’ I said. ‘And that’s another intriguing thing. Of course, the forenoon is when the council generally meets – unless it is some special session like today – but how could a messenger, riding from the west, have contrived to arrive there yesterday so early in the day, deliver a message, wait for a reply and still have time to get to the villa before noon? Even Corinium is at least two hours away, even on horseback, at this time of year.’

  The commander gazed at me. ‘Meaning that he had probably spent the night nearby?’

  ‘I’m almost sure of it. It may have been an inn – I don’t suppose that Quintus would ask him to the house, but I expect the two made contact that evening all the same.’

  ‘We’ll make enquiries of all the establishments nearby.’ He scratched another sentence on his writing-block. ‘If they were seen together, that will prove you’re right. And you don’t believe the message that the cursor brought – naming Gaius Greybeard as his nominee?’

  I looked at him a moment. ‘You know Marcus. What do you suppose?’

  He made a wry face. ‘I was doubtful too, but eventually I concluded – as I’m sure many people did – that Gaius had offered money and Marcus had succumbed, perhaps when the candidate he really favoured refused to stand. I have seen it happen many times before.’

  ‘But not involving Marcus,’ I said indignantly. ‘He is sometimes foolish, but he never takes a bribe. Not over anything important anyhow.’

  The sharp eyes twinkled. ‘I won’t tell him you said that. Now, about this murdered turnip-man . . .’

  I went on with the story, and he made notes of it, occasionally pausing to ask me to expand. When I had finished, he leaned back on his stool and folded his arms across his armoured chest.

  ‘So, in summary, you think that Quintus tried to have you killed because he’d falsified your patron’s message to the curia – presumably in return for a considerable bribe – and he thought you’d find him out? You have a high opinion of your talents, it appears.’

  ‘It isn’t my opinion that is relevant,’ I said, feeling a little snubbed by this remark. ‘If Gaius feared me, that might be enough. Perhaps he thought that I would write and tell my patron too, since it is no secret that I send to him each moon with news of what is happening in the town.’

  ‘Such as the unexpected death of that town councillor?’ The commander grinned at me. ‘I know that your patron found that very interesting. He wrote to me about it under seal. It was inconvenient, he said, having a sudden vacancy when he wasn’t here himself, and he intended to propose a trustworthy candidate.’

  ‘Inconvenient is not a word I’d choose. I wondered if it was a little too convenient.’

  ‘So did he, Libertus. That’s why he decided to come home so suddenly. But, returning to your patron’s nominee, it had to be someone with sufficient property, of course, and he told me he would need me to look into that before the voting day.’

  ‘So he didn’t nominate a candidate at all? Because he didn’t know if the man he had in mind owned enough to qualify?’

  The old soldier got slowly to his feet. ‘Oh, he had decided on a nominee all right. He told me who it was. Can you really not guess whom he intended to propose?’

  I shook my head. ‘It would have to be someone who’d agreed to it. I suppose that one could make enquiries and find out who it was he had approached. There are not so many people who would qualify.’ I broke off suddenly. ‘It wasn’t Pedronius by any chance?’

  ‘It was not Pedronius.’ He was smiling now. ‘The man that your patron had in mind is a troublesome old fellow, though he’s bright enough and honest in a dogged kind of way. A pavement-maker who has a workshop on the northern edge of town . . .’

  I was gaping at him. ‘Me! But he never mentioned it! And I don’t have a property within the walls at all.’

  ‘That was the reason he consulted me. However, the councillor who died possessed a large estate, including several properties in town. He had no family, so everything went automatically to the residual heirs – Quintus, as you know, received the country house. Your patron got a town apartment as his share. He wanted me to go and look at it, to see if it was big enough to meet the regulations. If so, he was intending to make a gift of it, on condition that you kept it up and left it to his son.’

  I was still reeling. Of course, this was the kind of gift in which Marcus specialized: I would have had to keep the place in good repair, at my own expense, and in the end his family would reap the benefit. And public life required the lavish financing of public works and games, which would be crippling, though it was possible to recover something of the cost through patronage. But if Marcus had instructed me to stand, I could scarcely have refused. Thwarting the wishes of a man like that is apt to be severely detrimental to the health. Fortunately, I had not been called upon to choose.

  I said, ‘But Marcus never wrote to me of this!’ And then I realized. ‘Or at least I never received it if he did.’

  ‘I am sure he meant to. I know he was planning to send a present for your child.’

  I nodded. So that was the explanation for the expensive gift! It was a kind of bribe, by proxy as it were. ‘And that was the reason Quintus wanted me removed?’ I made the link at last. ‘Not simply because he was afraid I’d find him out, but because I might have been a rival to his chosen candidate.’

  ‘I am sorry if that is an insult to your pride.’

  ‘So I was wrong in my assumption. Marcus is not in danger after all.’

  He whirled around on me. ‘But of course he is. More than ever, after what you’ve told me here. I thought that he’d asked you and you had refused, and he had succumbed to Gaius’s pleadings in disgust. But if that is not the case, and Greybeard was elected on the basis of a lie, then Quintus cannot expect to get away with it for long. Obviously, Marcus will reveal the truth
as soon as he returns.’

  ‘So Quintus will want him silenced? By Virilis, no doubt, since he is on his way to see my patron now.’

  ‘I doubt that the attempt will take place straight away – that would be too suspicious. It will happen nearer home. But after what you tell me, we cannot take the risk. I shall send a rider after Virilis at once and have him stopped. Wait here a moment.’ He took a piece of vellum from the drawer beneath his desk, dipped a sharpened quill into a bowl of soot-black ink, scribbled a sentence and then folded the paper and attached a seal, pressing his seal-ring on to wax that he had melted at the lamp. He went outside and shouted down the stairs, ‘Optio!’

  The man was there so quickly that it seemed he must have been fired from a bow. ‘You called me, sir?’ he panted.

  ‘Have this sent at once. The fastest messenger. It is to be relayed to every military inn between here and Londinium. It is only to be given to the commanding officer, who is to send it on at once. The man named is to be put under immediate arrest and brought back here as soon as possible. He is not to be permitted his weapon or his horse, or to change his clothing. Oh, and send a detail to the house of Quintus Severus as well. I know that he’s the chief decurion, but have him brought in here for questioning. Is that quite clear?’

  The optio was looking startled, but he rapped out a reply. ‘Clearly understood, sir.’ He clattered off downstairs.

  The commander sat down at his desk again. ‘We’ll catch him, Libertus; have no fear of that. We’ll have fresh horses and fresh riders at our disposal at the inns, and Virilis won’t know that we are after him, so he will be making no especial speed.’ He sighed. ‘We’ll pick up Quintus too, though your accusations of conspiracy might be hard to prove, since he never actually murdered anyone himself. Besides, as decurion, he would not be put to death, even if we did find proper evidence – the most he could expect is lifetime exile or confiscation of his property. Though I am very interested in what he said to you: that Virilis might accuse him of assisting the rebels in the wood. Why would he say that if there’s no truth in it? And, of course, Quintus is an Ordovicius by birth. But, as he says himself, it will be hard to prove.’