A Whispering of Spies

by Rosemary Rowe

  I leaned forward – very gingerly – and caught a glimpse of it: a foot or so below the level of my feet and slightly to one side. I eased one buttock forward and found that I could touch the bracket with my still-bare toes. Another inch and I could get my instep on to it – having no sandals on would make it easier – so that I could swivel round and grab the window-ledge.

  The result was not as I’d intended it. My instep reached it, fairly easily, but in leaning forward I dislodged myself. The iron stanchion was slippery with wet, and as I lurched forward my bare foot slipped on it, so that – far from standing on the bracket with my weight upon my hands, as I’d hopefully supposed – I found myself astride it, like a rider on a horse, with my tunic riding up disgracefully around my thighs. My descent to this position had been so abrupt, and the iron post had caught me in such a painful place, that I gave a shriek, let go of my shoes and clung with both hands to the sign instead.

  My own shriek alarmed me. I was afraid that I’d disturbed the house, but my eyes were watering and I could not move. no light flared in the window-space above and no angry voices shouted down at me. The only sound was that of loud laughter further down the street, and I realized that a group of people were approaching fast. I held my breath, praying that they would not look up at the sign, or stumble on my sandals, which had fallen to the street, though it was far too dark to see where they had gone.

  But the gods had something else in store for me. There was a creaking, cracking sound from somewhere near my ear and – very slowly – the bar began to bend, tipping me forward as the bracket parted from the wall. I slid down it like a snowball running down a hill and landed with it, on the pavement, in a heap. I was so winded that I could neither speak nor move, so when the revellers reached me I was lying there, together with the shop sign and little bits of pebble from the wall.

  One of the passers-by had stopped to look at me, holding his torch high to get a better view. ‘Swinging from the shop sign by the look of it. You’d think that he’d know better at his age, wouldn’t you?’ He reached out and turned me over with his foot, just as I had seen the centurion do to the drunk youth earlier.

  I could do no more than lie there, looking up at him. This was the end of my little escapade! I thought. Any minute now I would be dragged off to the watch for causing damage to the wine-shop property. I would be questioned, the story would come out, and this time I would be locked up in the jail. At least, I told myself, I still had Junio’s money in my purse. It might buy me the opportunity to talk to Calvinus.

  The man with the torch was bending over me and I could detect the smell of cheap wine on his breath. He wore a tunic not a toga, I was glad to see, and so did his companions, by the look of it, so these were not people of great authority. A group of freemen, possibly, united by a trade, coming from some bibulous meeting of their guild? In that case, they were probably not natives of the town – freemen born within these walls are citizens by birth and entitled to wear togas when they go out to dine.

  ‘Leave him, Hilarius.’ One of the others was impatient to be off. ‘You don’t know who he is or where he’s been.’

  Hilarius giggled – it was not difficult to see how he had earned the name – but he had the stubbornness which comes with too much wine. ‘You can’t be sure he isn’t one of us.’ He leaned right down and stared into my face. ‘Not a carpenter, are you, by any chance? Though I didn’t see you at the banquet, come to think of it.’

  I relaxed a little. ‘Different trade,’ I muttered, with what breath was left to me. ‘Though I work with buildings, too.’

  Hilarius looked triumphant. ‘There you are, you see!’ he cried exultantly. ‘He may not be a carpenter but he’s the next best thing! Come on, old fellow – you can’t stay here all night.’ He grasped me by the arm and hauled me to my feet, though he was by no means steady on his own. ‘Can’t have a fellow drinker picked up by the watch. No doubt you’ve got a family who’ll reward us for returning you – say a cup or two of Rhenish, or something of the kind, or better still the means to buy it with? Or are they pleased to see the back of an old reprobate like you?’

  I shook my head. ‘My son will pay you, but I live outside the walls.’ My mind was racing now. Clearly I could not let them take me to the shop, any more than I’d identified my trade – that would make it easy to work out who I was – but with their protection I could walk the streets of town and not draw further attention to myself. Even if the bear and page-boy woke and noticed that I’d gone and sent the household out to hunt for me, no one would be looking for a man in company. ‘Perhaps if you could just escort me to the gates . . . ? I’ll see you get the money for your Rhenish wine. Just tell me where you live.’ I had enough wit left not to mention that I had money in my purse, which might have been an invitation to be robbed.

  My rescuer was rocking – with laughter or with wine, it was difficult to tell. ‘Outside the walls, eh? You should have thought of that a little earlier, my friend. All the gates are guarded at this time of night, and only official business gets you through – though of course easier getting out than in. But as it happens, it’s your lucky day. We’re on our way to see a funeral – one of our members died and the guild’s providing him a pyre. We’ve just been to the pre-cremation feast.’

  ‘Then you will be going out through the northern gate,’ I said. Bodies of adults cannot by law be laid to rest within the city walls and the northern road was the site of most cremations and even burials. It was lined with the graves and memorials of the great, and there was also a funeral columbarium, a so-called ‘dove-cote’ wall, comprising little niches in which the ashes of the dead could be immured. ‘That would be most convenient for me. Though I mustn’t keep you from the pyre.’

  Hilarius was not so easily deterred. ‘Oh, that’s all right. We didn’t know the man. He happened to be a member of the guild. We’ve only recently arrived in town – we used to have a business near Corinium,’ he said, confirming my guess in all particulars. ‘But we heard that opportunities were better around here. More now, since this fellow fell off the scaffolding. They put him on the pyre at least an hour ago – we’re merely going to see them put the fire out and collect the ashes up into the urn. Only polite since we were invited to the feast.’

  One of his companions interrupted him, giving a hiccough that was supposed to be a laugh. ‘Trouble is, we’re not exactly sure which way to go.’

  Hilarius shrieked with mirth. ‘We lost track of the procession, I’m afraid. Stayed behind to help the servers finish up the wine. But if you say the north gate, that’s good enough for me, though we can always ask. Someone must have seen the funeral – the guild provided musicians and all sorts.’

  It occurred to me that I might have seen it pass myself – in which case it was going the other way, towards the south. But I didn’t say so. For one thing, I did not want them talking to the watch, and for another I wanted their company till we left the town. ‘Then the north gate it is?’

  There was a murmur of agreement from his friends. ‘Well, we’d better hurry,’ one of them remarked. ‘Or it will be all over before we reach the pyre. Hilarius, if you insist you’re going to bring your pal, you’d better see he’s quick. Here, I’ll support him on the other side.’ He thrust his shoulder under mine and went as if to lift me off my feet.

  ‘But I’ve lost my sandals,’ I managed to protest. It sounded like a bleat.

  ‘Fell off when you were swinging on that sign? Silly person!’ Hilarius chided me, but he took his torch and hunted for my shoes. It didn’t take him long. He picked them from the gutter and handed them to me. ‘Full of mud and muck and the gods-know-what. Still, it serves you right.’ He gestured to the shop sign which was lying at his feet. ‘Don’t know what the wine-shopkeeper’s going to say, when he comes back tomorrow and sees what you’ve done. Just as well he didn’t catch you in the act.’

  He didn’t know how very true that was! And I wasn’t out of danger yet. I had just s
at down to put my filthy sandals on, when there was a noise above our heads and a flustered page was shouting down at us.

  ‘Hey, you!’

  My heart stopped in my chest.

  ‘What’s all this noise? You’re waking half the street – there are people here who need to get some rest! Go on, be off with you, before I call the watch.’

  He was holding his lighted taper in one hand but since Hilarius had a torch and I was sitting very close to him without it actually illuminating me, I realized that I’d not been recognized. What is more it was clear that I had not yet been missed.

  Hilarius almost gave the game away. ‘Sorry!’ he hollered cheerfully, waving an explanatory hand at me. ‘Our friend here had a little fall, that’s all.’

  ‘Then take him home before he falls again, and let respectable people get a little sleep!’ The taper disappeared and there was the sound of shutters being sharply closed.

  There was a lot of wine-fuelled giggling from the carpenters, one of whom suggested going upstairs to ‘sort it out’ but eventually our little party lurched away. I was supported by an arm on either side but in fact I was the least fuddled person in the group, despite the several cups of wine I’d swallowed earlier. The fright the page had given me would have sobered me, if I’d drunk twice as much – and the night wind blowing through me kept me wide awake, since I did not have the benefit of a cloak, of course.

  That was a double inconvenience, in fact, not only because my skin was coming up in pimples with the cold, but because a man out on the street without a cloak at night is noteworthy, especially if he is supposed to be attending at a pyre – and the last thing that I wanted was to be conspicuous. Perhaps the best defence was – after all – appearing to be drunk. People look away from inebriated groups, I told myself, so I permitted my companions to half-carry me along.

  They themselves were nothing if not jovial. I was treated to a song with a dozen choruses – none of which the carpenters could totally recall, though they continually urged me to join in. I dared not offend them, so I made a droning noise and in this fashion we made it to the walls.

  There was, of course, a soldier on duty at the gates and I was worried lest he’d seen me at the guard-house earlier, but he scarcely glanced in my direction. His attention was entirely on Hilarius, who asked directions to the cremation pyre.

  ‘Guild of carpenters? There has been a funeral come this way tonight, but I’m not sure it was that one, from what you’re telling me. All the same you’re welcome if you want to go and look.’ He pointed to a faint glow in the distant dark, far beyond the suburb where my workshop was: a pyre had been set up among the monuments.

  I had an inspiration. I hauled myself upright, and turned so that the soldier couldn’t see my face. ‘I’ll go and ask some questions if you like. Save the rest of you traipsing all that way, if it turns out that it is not your guild at all. I did see a funeral, come to think of it, going out of the southern gate a little earlier. Might be the one that you were looking for. Shall I go and see?’

  And without waiting for an answer, I slipped out of their arms and was through the open gate before Hilarius could object.

  It was not enough, however, to have got outside the walls. I had to give an answer before I disappeared back to the workshop, or the carpenters might have all come out after me. I was ready to invent one, on the strength of what I knew, but there was a beggar lurking in the shadows by the wall and he sidled over to beg an as from me.

  ‘A quadrans if you tell me who that funeral was for,’ I told him, whispering.

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. It’s no concern of mine. I keep away from funerals: the mourners never give you anything and they’re likely to report you to the authorities – not that I’m actually breaking any laws, I’m not within the walls.’

  ‘A quadrans,’ I reminded him, jangling my purse.

  ‘Wife of some merchant, that is all I know. Probably died in childbirth from the wailing that’s going on.’

  ‘That is worth a quadrans,’ I told him, fishing out some coins. ‘And here’s another for forgetting that you ever saw me here.’

  ‘A bargain, sir!’ He snatched the money from my hand and vanished into the dark.

  I went back to the gatehouse, taking care to stand in the shadows so that the sentry could not see my face. ‘It’s not the one you want, Hilarius,’ I called. ‘Try the southern gate.’ Then, I added, to the soldier who had opened up to let me in again, ‘I don’t think I’ll bother now, thank you very much. It’s too far to go. My home’s in this direction.’ And I trotted quickly off, before anyone decided to prevent me doing so.

  TWENTY-TWO

  It isn’t easy, walking through the unlit northern suburb in the dark. The lesser roads are horribly uneven here – not the paved surfaces that you find inside the walls – and even when there hasn’t been a lot of rain, the gutters run with mire. The area is full of shops like mine and little factories – many of them hot and smelly businesses, candle-makers, brewers, tanners and the like – all of whom get up at dawn and lie down with the sun, since (having no armies of servants to command, nor banquets to attend) they are careful to save money on unnecessary heat and light. These streets are unlit and treacherous at night: there was scarcely even the glimmer of a taper to be seen.

  It took me a long time to pick my way along and several times I stumbled in the mud. My sandals, which had been dirty before all this began, were caked by now in things unspeakable, and my tunic was also much the worse for wear. I was freezing cold by this time, and my teeth were chattering. But I knew the streets by daylight and I persevered and finally I found myself outside the workshop door.

  It was likely that Junio would be abed himself, on some makeshift mattress on the floor beside the fire, and I was ready to have to hammer for a long time at the door. But the shutter to the workroom was still a bit ajar and I was able to edge down the adjoining lane and look inside.

  The room was so familiar that a lump rose to my throat. Suppose that this mad enterprise of mine had no result? Suppose that I discovered nothing, and was dragged up before the court to be found guilty, not only of the crimes involving Voluus, but of breaking bail as well? This might be the last time that I ever saw the shop.

  Junio was sitting on a stool beside the embers of the fire, clutching a beaker of something in his hand and staring gloomily into the coals. The remains of a street-vendor’s pie was lying on the hearth. Of course, he did not have a servant here with him tonight and he would have had to make his own arrangements for a meal.

  I tapped the shutter softly and it made him jump. He picked up a length of wood and came across with it, clearly ready to protect the premises. ‘Who is it?’

  I had forgotten that I would be invisible. ‘It is I, your father. Let me in.’ I was shivering so much that speech was difficult.

  The transformation in his face was wonderful to see. He dropped the plank and bounded to the door and I heard him throw the bolt and open up the latch. ‘Father!’ He threw his arms around my neck. Then he looked down and saw the state of me. ‘What has happened? What are you doing here?’ But he stood back as he spoke to let me in.

  I sank down on the stool that he’d been sitting on, letting the warm embers thaw my ageing bones. Without my asking Junio was already refilling his cup and handing it to me, and I recognized that he had warmed and spiced some wine beside the fire – he had not been raised as a child-slave in a Roman house for nothing. Warmth flooded through me with the unfamiliar brew and already I was feeling much more like myself, but Junio hadn’t finished. He had taken a candle and was ferreting upstairs, and when he came back I saw that he’d been searching through the rags and had found a patched and ancient tunic of my own which I had put aside to give to some deserving pauper by and by. Tonight, however, I had need of it myself, and with that and the spare birrus – the hooded woollen cloak – which I always kept hanging up behind the door, my teeth stopped chattering and I could talk ag
ain.

  Junio, who had lit a taper by this time, and poked the embers into life again, would also have urged his piece of pie on me, but I explained that I had dined extensively. ‘At Marcus’s expense,’ I told him, with a smile, and gave him an account of my adventures of the night.

  ‘So you climbed out of the window and ran away from there.’ Junio shook his head. ‘You realize if they catch you, there’ll be Dis to pay?’

  I nodded. ‘But I can’t believe this farm is just coincidence. If Voluus sent his cart there, it must have been arranged.’

  He poured me another beaker of warm, watered, spicy wine. ‘If he sent his cart there. But you’re not sure that he did. Even this Biccus isn’t sure it stopped there, after all.’

  I shook my head. The beverage – far from interfering with my brain – seemed to be helping me to think. ‘Then where else did it go? He says himself that there isn’t anywhere. But there seems to be no way that the owner of the land could possibly have been expecting it. However, there may be some connection, all the same. If, for instance, the new owner was someone Voluus knew, who’d already told him he was going to buy the farm.’

  ‘More likely an acquaintance of someone that he knew, since Voluus hardly knew anyone round here?’ Junio thought for a moment. ‘A friend of the retiring governor of Gaul, perhaps?’

  I seized on this at once. ‘That would make a kind of sense. A governor would have sufficient influence to request a favour on Voluus’s behalf. He might not even trouble to arrange it in advance, simply sent a message with the cart. “Citizen so-and-so, I commend these travellers to your care. I request that you give them hospitality” – that sort of thing. Sent under seal, of course, but certain to arrive. Much more secure than any messenger.’ I was warming to this theme. ‘Besides, if the traveller’s on the doorstep with your letter in his hand citizen so-and-so cannot very well refuse.’