A Whispering of Spies

by Rosemary Rowe

I shook my head. ‘Quite the opposite. They’re trying to blame me! The army brought you here because, if you’ve seen this cart, you may have information which will prove my innocence.’

  I saw him hesitate.

  ‘Two rich and powerful Roman councillors are taking me to court, and I have no witness in my own defence,’ I went on urgently. ‘Won’t you help a fellow Celt by telling what you know? I am just a humble tradesman, very much like you. They are members of the Glevum curia.’

  Perhaps the commandant had recognized the last two words. ‘Glevum curia’ is similar in either tongue. In any case, he interrupted me. ‘Libertus, I cannot allow you to go on with an interrogation which I do not understand. If you cannot use Latin, I must ask you to desist.’

  So my most useful strategy was denied to me! I turned to him. ‘Just one more question, commandant – then I promise that I’ll stop. Of course, I’ll tell you what’s been said so far.’ I gave a brief account of the nature of the farm – omitting the sentiments about the army’s part in this. ‘It’s just that I think Biccus finds the Celtic easier.’

  That was not strictly true, but the commander bowed his head. ‘Very well. I can see that you have managed to gain his confidence. At least you are getting something out of him. But just the one more question, then you will use Latin, please. Otherwise, you could be coaching him to lie on your behalf.’

  I turned to Biccus urgently. ‘You heard what he said! This is our only chance. I know this commander. He is an honest man. This matter was urgent – not for him, for me. My trial will be tomorrow, probably, that’s why they insisted that you come at once. I assure you, no one thinks that you’re a fool. So it is up to you. Will you help me fight injustice by telling what you know?’ I switched to Latin. ‘You saw a cart accompanied by an escort, is that right? When exactly, would you say that was?’

  A doubtful shrug. ‘Yesterday, about an hour before dusk, I suppose. Perhaps a bit before.’

  I saw the commander scribble a calculation on a slate. ‘Around the eleventh hour, shall we say?’ he interposed.

  The pig-man shrugged again. Obviously the Roman system did not mean much to him. (It can be difficult to calculate – even with marked candles or a proper water-clock. Total light and dark, respectively, are each divided into twelve to make an hour. Thus as daylight gets shorter at this time of year, so does a Roman hour – and night hours grow correspondingly longer, of course, to compensate.) Obviously Biccus did not bother with all that; he simply used the general estimation which our ancestors had used. ‘I can’t tell you that. The clouds were gathering. No shadows to judge by, even, since it was going to rain.’

  This was getting nowhere. ‘Can you describe the cart?’ I asked.

  ‘It was a fairly big one. Heavy, too – you could tell from how low it was sitting on its wheels. Good thing it was on the military road or it would have been down to its axles in the mud. Left to me I would have pulled it with an ox or two, but they were using horses – for greater speed, I suppose. Splendid ones as well. Good ones on the cart – and four beauties for the escort, too.’

  I shot a glance at the commander. He was nodding, looking grave. ‘That sounds like the cart that we’re enquiring about,’ he said approvingly. ‘Did you glimpse the cargo, or any part of it?’

  Biccus shook his head. ‘Something weighty, that’s all I know. No telling what it was. It was all done up in bags and boxes and even then it was mostly covered with a cloth. Not surprisingly. Like I said, it was coming on to rain.’

  I tried again. ‘So the cart wasn’t travelling towards Glevum very fast? Fast enough to get there before nightfall, would you say?’

  I saw a hesitation cross the pig-man’s face. ‘Very likely not, supposing it was coming to the colonia at all. Though that was the direction it was going in when it passed me, certainly!’

  I looked at him keenly. ‘Why do you say that? You think that it was headed somewhere else?’

  He shook his head. ‘I aren’t saying that.’ His Latin wasn’t good and his grammar left a lot to be desired. ‘I wondered, that is all. I can’t be positive. It’s just that when I had finished with the cabbages and I stood up again, I couldn’t see it further down the road.’

  ‘And you expected to?’ It was obvious that he’d stood up especially to gape.

  He was not at all abashed. ‘The area’s slightly hilly, but the road is pretty straight and my top field is right up on the rise, so – except where odd stands of trees get in the way – generally you can see anything, either way, for miles.’

  I nodded. Roman roads are always built as straight as possible, unless there is actually a river or mountain in the way. ‘So you are telling us the cart had somehow disappeared?’ My mind was racing – had the ambush already taken place and the empty wagon been hidden in the trees?

  ‘I don’t believe in Roman magic. But it was puzzling.’ Biccus was still attempting to justify himself without admitting that he’d meant to spy. ‘They might have speeded up a little, I suppose – as you say, in an attempt to get to Glevum before dark. Though they’d have had to move a lot more quickly than they were. Or perhaps they just found somewhere to stop before it rained. That’s probably what happened.’ He nodded, satisfied.

  ‘Is there an inn nearby they might have used?’ I asked. The scouts had reported denials from them all, but frightened people have been known to lie.

  Biccus shook his head. ‘There is only one place I can think of that they could possibly have gone. There’s another farmstead at the bottom of the hill, with a lane that leads to it – runs along the wooded valley by the stream. Part of what was once our tribal home. I suppose it’s possible the travellers might have turned in there – for shelter anyway – though I would not have thought they’d choose to force themselves on to a private farm.’

  ‘Private farm? I thought you said those lands were part of our terratorium?’ the commander challenged him, and then explained – since Biccus was obviously mystified, ‘Didn’t you say the land was annexed by the garrison, in order to grow provisions for the soldiery? The travellers might have gone there looking for some troops.’ He glanced at me. ‘Protection, possibly?’

  Biccus shook his head. ‘The army stopped farming out there years ago, when the full legion left. Most of the fields are back in private hands.’ He glanced at me and added in muttered Celtic, ‘Didn’t come back to our family of course – the confounded Romans bought it for a fraction of its worth, but when they sold it they asked the market rate – and naturally we couldn’t raise the price.’

  ‘Do you know the present owners?’

  He gave a bitter laugh. ‘Never met them, and would not wish to if I could. Roman sympathizers, all the lot of them. Anyway, the owner’s moving on. He’s already sold his stock and produce – not that there was very much of it to sell. Some ex-soldier who used to have the place but never made it pay.’

  ‘A legionary veteran?’ That would be logical. Legionaries were often given land (in addition to a handsome sum) when they had served their term. ‘Part of his retirement settlement, I suppose?’

  Biccus shook his head. ‘Not this one. I hear he bought it for himself. Of course, I never personally asked him, so I can’t swear to it – but you know how people talk.’

  I knew by this time how Biccus talked, when he felt encouraged to! I could imagine the pig-man’s family exchanging views and news about the incomers who’d usurped their lands. I nodded silently.

  His next words confirmed my thoughts. ‘My cousin met him once and found him disagreeable. Not the first idea of how to run a farm. No, though no doubt he got it at a bargain price – if he really was a soldier once, he would have known the appropriate officers to bribe.’

  The commander gave a warning cough. Of course, we’d slipped into our native tongue again. I glanced at him, suspecting that he’d taken offence, but the insult to the army had been lost on him. I gave him a more tactful version of what had just been said and he turned back to Biccus. ‘
Very well. Go on with your story. And this time stick to Latin, if you please.’

  Biccus ran his grubby arm across his face and again attempted to comply, although he sometimes struggled to find the proper words. However, it was intelligible enough. ‘Why the fellow wanted it is anybody’s guess – he’s done almost nothing with it and the lands have gone to ruin – but now he’s found a wealthy buyer to take it off his hands. Offering a small fortune for it, as I understand, and doesn’t even want the equipment or the stock, because he wants to build a brand-new villa on the site.’

  I turned to the commander. ‘There you are!’ I cried triumphantly. ‘That’s the solution! It must be Voluus! In which case that’s obviously where the wagon-party spent the night! I must get out there! Commandant, I beg you to arrange some transport for me at first light: I must go and see the place before the trial.’

  In my enthusiasm I had said too much. He looked at me coldly. ‘There is no “must” about it, citizen. You know quite well that I can sanction nothing of the kind. I might be swayed sufficiently to send a scout, perhaps – if your patron will defray the cost, and if you can persuade me that the trip will be of use.’

  EIGHTEEN

  I should not have been surprised. It was sufficient concession for him to have allowed me to stay here and speak to Biccus at all.

  ‘I apologize, commander, if I sound presumptuous,’ I said, forcing myself to sound properly contrite. ‘But you can see that this might solve the mystery of where the cart was overnight. If Voluus has just bought property of his own nearby, it would be an obvious place to stop: he could arrange to have the horses and the men provided for. And being on his own land, he’d assume that it was safe. Much safer than stopping at any public inn . . .’ I trailed off. I was not convincing him.

  He shook a disbelieving head at me. ‘But did Biccus not just tell us that the purchaser intended to build a villa on the site? Doesn’t that suggest that it wasn’t Voluus? Why would he require a second country house when he’s already bought a site from Porteus? And I’m assured he has. Forest-lands on the other side of town. I believe I mentioned it to you.’

  I could only say feebly, ‘Perhaps he’s changed his mind.’

  ‘Then he has changed it since I spoke to Florens earlier today. He says the lictor has sent on detailed instructions for the plans, and asked Porteus to set his slaves to work to finish clearing off the land. He’s even listed the materials he wants – marble and all sorts of expensive building stone – and requested Porteus to buy them in for him, so that construction can begin as soon as he arrives. Obviously he’s anxious to oversee the actual building work himself. I simply can’t believe that he’s bought a different site instead. When would he have had a chance to do it, anyway?’ He shook his head again. ‘It must be someone else. Even another moneyed veteran perhaps. Plenty of people are anxious to settle hereabouts, and Biccus tells us that the land is good.’

  I had to concede that the commandant was right. No one builds two brand-new villas outside of the same town, and certainly not both within an hour’s easy ride. That would be a pointless exercise, quite apart from the phenomenal expense it would entail. But I was reluctant to give up my idea that there was some connection between the farm and Voluus. I could not believe in pure coincidence.

  ‘Perhaps the story about wanting to build a country house there isn’t true. Or . . .’ I was struck by an interesting new idea, ‘. . . perhaps the new owner isn’t actually Voluus himself, but someone that he knows.’ I turned to the pig-man. ‘Biccus, do you know any more about this purchaser?’

  The pig-man shrugged. ‘Only that he is a foreigner. That’s all I know for sure. Somebody said they’d heard he might have come from Gaul.’

  ‘Gaul!’ I pounced upon the word excitedly. ‘Then it could easily be a friend of Voluus.’

  The commander raised an eyebrow and said wearily, ‘A friend who robbed him and murdered all his slaves? Or betrayed them to the rebels – which comes to the same thing?’

  I stared at him. ‘Great Mercury! Then perhaps it’s not a friend at all, but an old enemy? You don’t suppose those threats that Voluus received . . . ?’ I turned to Biccus.

  The pig-man seemed to positively blanch under the furrows of dirt upon his face. ‘Did you say threats?’ He looked beseechingly at me. ‘You can’t blame me for that. Look, citizen, I admit that I once stormed down to the farm and shouted to the owner that I would burn his ricks if he didn’t stop his dogs from harrying my pigs. But I’m just a humble freeman and I’ve already told you everything I know. I’ve never heard of this man Voluus – whoever he may be – and I’ve certainly never sent him any messages.’

  ‘No one is accusing you,’ I said. ‘Voluus is the owner of the treasure-cart and he is on his way from Gaul. I simply wondered if the man who’s newly bought the farm could be the person who wrote the threatening note, especially if he comes from over there.’

  ‘A note!’ Relief spread over Biccus like a water-stain, and seemed to give him sudden confidence. ‘Well, in that case, citizen, I can prove it wasn’t me. I don’t know how to read or write. Besides, if you’ll excuse me saying so, I think you’re flogging the wrong ox. Would this Voluus – whoever he may be – deliberately arrange to have his treasure go to the home of a man who sent him threats?’

  He was right, of course. It would be like walking deliberately on to someone’s sword. I murmured something to that general effect.

  ‘I don’t think the new man’s there yet, in any case,’ the pig-man eagerly went on. ‘And I’ll tell you something else. This Voluus person couldn’t have made arrangements in advance for his cart to call there. The old owner was due to leave there just before the Ides. And, as I say, the new one hasn’t come. So when would a message have the chance to reach the person it was intended for?’

  ‘But Voluus is a lictor who has just retired from Gaul. Isn’t it . . .’ I began, still unwilling to extinguish the only glimmer of a theory which I had.

  The commander gave that cough again and shook his head at me. It was a warning not to say too much. Too late! I could already see Biccus pricking up his ears. The pig-man would have another story to tell his relatives and another grudge against the conquerors. Even though there were no lictors in this colonia, they were known by reputation everywhere and ranked even above taxmen as the most hated officials in the Empire. It was likely that the story of the lictor and the threats would be all round the countryside as soon as Biccus got back home.

  The commander pushed back his stool and got slowly to his feet. ‘I think we’ve learned everything we’re likely to from this. It’s been a stressful day for all of us. However, I concede that this farmstead should be searched. The lictor’s cart may still have gone there to shelter from the rain, as Biccus originally said, and – even if this was purely by chance – there may yet be something to be learned.’

  ‘A thousand thanks, Mightiness!’ I cried. I was ready to fling myself at his feet in gratitude. ‘I promise you’ll not regret your confidence in me. I think it is possible that’s where they were attacked, and I swear that if there’s any clue at all I will find it . . .’ I had spoken eagerly, but the commander waved a hand to silence me.

  ‘Libertus, I said nothing about permitting you to go. What I will do, for your benefit, is send a man out there at first light tomorrow to have a look around, in case there are any of these signs that you are hoping for. There is no question of your going out there yourself. Now, let me hear no more about it. Is that understood?’

  I nodded ruefully.

  ‘Can I go home now, in that case?’ Biccus enquired, in a plaintive tone, adding without conviction, ‘I was promised a reward.’

  The commander shook his head. ‘It is far too late for you to journey home tonight. I’ll make arrangements to have you put up at the hiring-inn, where they can accommodate your donkey, too. That is your reward for coming here and what you’ve said so far. If your information proves to be of use, we’ll conside
r if there should be something more. Tomorrow you can accompany my scout and show him exactly where the lane and farmstead is.’ He turned to me. ‘As for you, it’s getting late. Time I delivered you to Marcus’s, before his servants start to wonder where you are. Besides, my slave will have started to make my evening meal and I still have other duties to perform.’ He sat down at the desk again and unrolled a document, calling as he did so, ‘Centurion, are you there?’

  Emelius, who had been standing outside all this while, bustled in and snapped smartly to attention. ‘Present and awaiting orders, sir.’ He smacked his centurion’s baton on his leg, as if for emphasis.

  ‘Accompany Libertus to his patron’s flat and when you have delivered him, report back here to me. Take Biccus downstairs with you and find a man to take him to the mansio and have him fed, then send to the hiring-inn and request a bed for him. Say I sent you and the garrison will pay.’ He glanced at me. ‘I hope your patron is as generous as he claims to be and will meet all these expenses made on your account.’

  It was obviously the best that I could hope for now and I bowed my thanks before allowing Emelius to escort me down the stairs, with Biccus trailing reluctantly behind.

  The pig-man was given into the hands of an optio downstairs, who looked him up and down with ill-concealed disgust. ‘We’d better get you cleaned up first of all, I think. I can’t deliver you to the mansio to eat smelling like a pig-enclosure. And I’ll have to burn those clothes before I take you to the public hostelry – even there you’re likely to disturb the other guests. Doubtless there’s a cleaner tunic somewhere you could use, though there’s not much we can do about the shoes.’ A deep, reproachful sigh. ‘You’d better come with me!’ And Biccus was seized roughly by the arm and hustled off in the direction of the military baths. The last I saw of him, he was protesting all the way.

  There was scarcely time to take in this little scene before I was hustled off myself, out of the fortress and back into the town.