It was not a decorative area. There were a few sorry fruit trees and spindly herb bushes fringing the walkway either side, but apart from that the area was simply paved, with what were clearly storage pots set along the further edge. There was even a faint smell of putrefaction in the air – presumably the funerary herbs were not sufficient to disguise it here: though I did wonder if it was emanating from something overlooked and left to fester in the kitchen block, which I took to be one of the separate buildings at the rear.
I enquired of Loftus, who took this as invitation to point out the salient features of the whole house as we passed.
‘That is the master’s bedroom over there, with a spare room next to it, which would have been for guests, if any ever came,’ he told me with pride. ‘While on this side—’ he indicated a row of narrow doors – ‘are places for storage and for slaves to wait till they were called. And here’s the staircase to our sleeping spaces in the attic room upstairs. I had a central cubicle, so I could keep a watch on all the rest, though we kept no female servants – my master had no interest in such things – so there was not the trouble that some households have. And over there’s the kitchen.’ He pointed in exactly the direction I’d supposed. ‘It’s built across a channel from the stream, to provide fresh water and run under the latrine. And here—’ he gestured to a larger building on the left – ‘is what used to be the stable, where the horse and travelling coach was kept, and where the groom and driver used to sleep.’ He pushed open the heavy wooden door and stood aside to let me in. ‘Entirely empty now, as you can see.’
FIFTEEN
Not entirely empty. There was still a little pile of bedding straw in what had been the stall, and even the remains of what looked like oats half-eaten in the manger at the back. And above us, on a sort of gallery, a lumpy palliasse – with a folded blanket still on top of it – showed where the missing Aureax had once slept (with one eye half-open to watch the horse, no doubt). Of the carriage and animal there was no sign at all.
Loftus looked enquiringly at me. ‘Is that all, citizen?’
‘Not quite,’ I told him. ‘I take it that the large door opposite was designed to let the vehicle directly out onto the street?’
‘Onto the rear alley,’ he corrected. ‘Though we’re only a few paces from the market square – and so to the main road that you came on earlier, which leads down to the bridge. There is not much the other way.’
I stared at him as the implication dawned on me. ‘There is another way? An east gate to the town?’ Surely the solution to the missing carriage could not be so simple? I shook my head at my own stupidity.
Even Loftus was regarding me with undisguised surprise. ‘Certainly, citizen. Forgive me, but don’t most towns have at least two entranceways?’
Of course they did, though it was not altogether a ridiculous conclusion to have drawn. Celts didn’t, in general, live in towns until the Romans came, but they did build defensive enclosure-fortresses, where whole tribes might repair in case of an attack, protected by palisades, of course, and sometimes walls and ditches much like the ones around this town – but always with a single gate because that is so much easier to defend. ‘I was misinformed,’ I said, with what dignity I could. ‘A woman told me Uudum was the last place on the road.’
Loftus nodded. ‘The military road, no doubt she meant. And that’s true, of course.’
On reflection, that was exactly what she’d said. But I had no time to acknowledge this before the steward added, with a smile, ‘But there’s another ancient trackway leading through the hills, still passable by ox-carts, pedestrians and mules. I travelled to Corinium and back that way, the day I took the other servants to be sold.’
‘Corinium is reachable from here?’ I was surprised again. It is not far from Glevum, half a day at most, but we seemed to have travelled many miles to reach this lonely place. It was hard to credit that we were still so close to home.
But it seemed that was the case. ‘Fourteen or fifteen thousand paces, possibly? The old road is difficult but not impossible. Too far to walk, of course. My master arranged for us to travel on a pair of mule-carts which set off before dawn – a farmer and his brother who were going to Corinium market to buy geese in any case. It took three or four hours to get there, I suppose, with so much weight up on the carts – and winter hours are shorter anyway, of course – but we arrived in time to meet the auctioneer who runs the slave market before the trumpet sounded noon.’
‘And you had time to sell two cartloads full of slaves? And still get back before the day was out?’ That sounded so implausible that I began to wonder if Loftus was lying after all.
But he shook his head. ‘I was selling them directly to the auctioneer, and that was all arranged. My master had written to him earlier and the trader had agreed to take them, “provided they were reasonably healthy”, as he said. He just wanted to inspect them before we fixed a final price – to look at their teeth and make sure they weren’t diseased. Of course they were exactly as described, so that did not take long. I had to haggle, as you might expect, but he paid a reasonable sum. I kept a record for my master’s sake.’
‘And came back with the farmers afterwards?’
‘Of course not, citizen.’ He sounded half-amused. ‘That would have taken hours. Flauccus had pre-arranged for another customer to bring me back here riding pillion on his horse, which took half the time. I don’t know exactly what hour it would have been when I arrived, about the eighth perhaps? It cannot have been more – there were hours of daylight left.’
I nodded, satisfied. Two hours past noon. That gave four more till dusk – just time enough to get a message to the Glevum curia that day. A break-neck ride, of course, even for an official courier, and even then the rider turned up at the villa after dark and must have exchanged horses more than once. But it was possible. I turned my mind to another line of thought. ‘I suppose there is a guard post at that exit, too?’
‘Of course. No toll point that way because there’s no official upkeep on the road – which, of course, is really what the toll is for – but there is a man on guard. Usually just a single soldier, or a watchman from the town, but the gate is always manned.’
‘So if your master’s carriage went out by that gate it might not be observed?’ I was pleased to have found a simple answer to the puzzle now – though it brought me no closer to bringing the criminals to trial. Corinium is a thriving market town with dozens of travellers passing through each day – and no Roman garrison, merely the town watch to man the gates. Our killers could lose themselves among the crowds there, easily – and dispose of a coach and horses, with few questions asked.
Loftus was staring at me as though I were insane. ‘But, citizen, naturally it would be observed. Everyone knows my master’s coach. It’s quite conspicuous – all red paint and gilding on the upper-works and crimson curtains at the window-space. If it went out towards the ancient track, it would have been the gossip of the town – there’s a bawdy house that way and not a great deal else, at least within this tax authority. The administrative boundary ceases at the stream.’
‘All the same!’ I was impatient with details of fiscal areas and disappointed that my promising theory was in ruins. ‘Surely it’s likely that the carriage went that way? No one remembers seeing it pass the western gate!’
He looked mildly at me. ‘No one remembers, citizen – but that does not prove it did not happen. Going that way was not remarkable. The carriage went across that bridge a dozen times a moon.’
‘But the guards were to escort it to Glevum later in the day!’ I was recalling what Marcus had told me at the start. ‘They were simply waiting for Flauccus to confirm the time – though he was intending to collect some outstanding revenue first.’
He raised a brow at me. ‘I had forgotten that. My master did not care for escorts, as a rule, even in his current … even in his weakened state of health. But, even so, if the guards believed that he was merely calling on
a defaulter to collect, they would have let him pass without a further thought. Though I had not heard that, citizen. I thought he was awaiting payments at the house. I wonder who took the message to the guards?’ He frowned. ‘It must have been Aureax. There was no one else.’
‘It’s not impossible.’ I did not want to state the obvious, that – since he’d disappeared – it was likely that Aureax had been party to the plot. ‘And presumably he also drove the coach, since surely the soldiers would have noticed, otherwise? He boasted that they knew him, so you said.’
Loftus looked doubtful. ‘That’s true. Do you think the killers forced him into it? Holding a dagger to his back or something of the kind?’ He sounded horrified.
‘Was he a person of distinctive looks? A small man, I think you said? That might be hard to feign.’
‘With red hair too – though he might have covered that. There was a heavy travelling cloak he used to wear.’ He glanced around the stable. ‘I can’t see it here. But why would Aureax disguise himself at all?’ Clearly Loftus did not wish to think unkindly of his friend. ‘Perhaps the killer put it on to drive the carriage through, hoping the guards would wave him past? Though it would take some expertise to manage that, perhaps, especially with an unfamiliar horse.’
‘Taking Aureax? Since he is not here?’
‘Perhaps he was their prisoner.’ Loftus looked sharply at me. ‘But you think the killers stole my master’s coach and used it to escape?’
I was still inclined to think that Aureax was involved, but I didn’t tell him that. ‘I’m almost sure of it. It’s fairly certain now that Flauccus didn’t send it on an errand, as you hoped.’
‘But, citizen, these people must have had transport of their own. They got here somehow.’
That was true of course. ‘Unless they hid that outside of the town – or lived locally themselves.’ I was thinking fast. Anyone contributing to tax was a potential suspect here, especially those with grievances at being overcharged – not merely cash tax but the annona too. (That dreaded Imperial corn tax is so unpopular that there have been riots, and not merely in Britannia.)
Some local farmers would have motive, then. They should be identified and questioned, one by one. I sighed. All that would take at least a half a moon – and I was instructed to be at this wedding feast.
Well, the tesserarius would have to deal with it, I thought. He was better placed than I was to do so anyway. Not only did he know the chief inhabitants and who was therefore liable for tax, his men might know if any of them came to town that day. Perhaps, if he asked the proper questions, he might discover if the dead man’s coach had been noticed anywhere else in the vicinity.
The little officer would not be very pleased at the implication that he’d not investigated properly before – though admitted he’d believed then that the death was suicide. Perhaps he would enjoy this opportunity to flaunt his authority by interrogating half the town.
Either way, he would be arriving very soon, and we must be there to greet him when he came. I nodded to Loftus.
‘Time that we went back to the house. Thank you, though, for showing me the stable area.’ Not that it had helped much – rather the reverse.
Loftus gave a deprecating little bow and stood back to let me out into the court, where I was instantly aware of that vague unpleasant smell again. It must be the height of the adjacent buildings, I thought, trapping vapours on the ground: it did seem stronger here than in the stable block. And – quite clearly – it was not from the latrine. I stopped and glanced towards the kitchen area. ‘Is it possible that food was left behind? There’s a peculiar odour in the court. Faint, but obvious once you’ve noticed it …’
Loftus looked surprised. ‘I don’t think so, citizen. I’d taken all the kitchen slaves to sell, and what we had not eaten had been sent ahead. My master would not have thought of preparing food himself – that’s what slaves are for – if he’d wanted anything he would have bought it from the stall. Anyway he was proposing to leave here shortly afterwards, so he could have stopped at an official inn …’ He broke off. ‘But you’re quite right, citizen, there is a smell out here.’
‘Could there be something in the storage pots?’ I asked.
He shook his head. ‘A little flour or olive oil, perhaps – it’s difficult to clean amphorae out completely when they’re set into the ground. But nothing that would make that sweetish putrifying smell. You don’t think it’s coming from the corpse …?’ He tailed off and turned to stare at me wide-eyed. ‘Or …?’
The same thought had occurred to both of us at once. I nodded. ‘There is only one way to find out.’ And without another word we bent in unison, and began to lift the lids and peer inside the pots. It was not an easy task, given my aged joints and the steward’s recent ordeal in the cells: the covers were heavy, and overlapped the apertures, and each had a flange that was close-fitting at the neck – necessary for storage vessels out of doors. Our first attempts revealed no result, but nearer the ground the scent was more pronounced and it did not take us long to locate the source of it. With a glance at each other we stood on either side and between us raised the lid.
We had hardly lifted it a thumb’s-breath when we let it fall again. The stench which emerged was overpowering and I was almost forced to join the steward as he turned away and retched into the shrubs. But when he came back to join me a moment afterwards – apologetic, shaken and white-faced – I realised that it was not the stink alone which had affected him.
‘Did you see what was in there?’
I shook my head. I had jerked my head back, half-instinctively, screwing up my eyes, and in the gloom I had not glimpsed anything.
‘It’s Aureax – or at least it was,’ he said. ‘I’m almost sure of it. I saw the red hair and the uniform. What is he doing in the storage pot?’ But, of course, he did not really need to ask. It was hardly likely the fellow had climbed in willingly.
We raised the lid again, more cautiously this time and – holding my cloak before my nose to help suppress the smell – I gazed into the aperture myself. It was a large amphora and Aureux was a smallish man, but storage pots are not designed for human occupants. He was crammed stern-first into the space, his bare legs folded to his shoulders in a way which only a Nubian dancer could have naturally achieved, and would have torn the sinews and dislocated bones. Not that he would have felt it: the cause of death was clear – the throttling tunic-belt was still tight around his neck, so his eyes and tongue bulged from a black contorted face, which was upturned at a dreadful angle and staring straight at us.
But someone had beaten him very savagely before he died. The flesh on his back and shoulders had been whipped into a bloody mass – that much was evident from the little we could see – and he would most certainly have been alive for that.
‘Aureax?’ I murmured, though it obviously was.
Loftus nodded speechlessly then – after a moment – managed, ‘Poor man, this isn’t fitting. Can we get him out of there?’
It wasn’t easy. He was firmly wedged and – unlike his killers – we were careful with the corpse. And there was little that we could lay hold of decently. I was beginning to think of sending for Victor to assist. But Loftus managed (with a struggle) to insert his hands and grasp the body underneath the arms while I pulled up the feet, and slowly we began to inch the lifeless form out of the hiding place. If it had not been for the presence of a trace of olive oil, which served to grease the sides a little as we worked, I doubt we could have freed him, even then. But finally, with a lurch we hauled the body free and laid it face-upward on the courtyard floor, both of us panting with exhaustion from the task.
And that was how the tesserarius found us when he came swaggering from the atrium a moment afterwards, with a flushed and nervous Trinculus at his side.
SIXTEEN
The principalis began in his usual bustling tone. ‘I hear that you have something to show me, citiz—’ He broke off in dismay, staring at the dis
hevelled body on the ground. ‘Is this all you wanted me to see? A slave? Whose is it, anyway?’
‘This is Flauccus’s missing coachman,’ I explained. ‘Killed by the same hands that murdered his master, I suspect, and which subsequently stole the coach in which to flee.’
‘Murdered …?’ The tesserarius looked genuinely shocked. ‘But surely …?’ He glanced at Loftus. ‘Is this the result of what the steward has been telling you?’
I shook my head. ‘Obviously you have not seen what we have found,’ I replied. ‘You would have come to the same conclusions as myself. Come into the house and I will show you, too. Though someone had better make arrangements for disposal of this dead servant, as soon as possible.’
‘With your permission, citizen, he will be a member of the local slave guild,’ Loftus put in, deferentially. ‘Our master saw that all our dues were paid. It’s not a large association, in a town this size, but there are obviously more slaves than free inhabitants so there was an arrangement with the funeral house.’
‘The same one that was called in for your master?’ I enquired, surprised. I was accustomed to Glevum, where the slave guild had funeral directors of its own.
I glanced at the tesserarius, who nodded. ‘I imagine that’s the case. To my knowledge there is only one such business in the area.’ He seemed to feel the need to exert authority, and began to snap out orders. ‘Trinculus, go to the place that arranges funerals, explain that this concerns a member of the guild, and fetch the women with herbs back here to deal with him.’
‘And you may tell them that they can recommence the interrupted funeral for Acacius Flauccus, too,’ I put in. ‘I think I have completed my enquiries here.’
Trinculus looked doubtfully at his superior.
‘Well! You heard the citizen! Do as he suggests!’ the tesserarius muttered. And then, lest he should seem to have deferred too much, he raised his voice again. ‘Snap to it, soldier! Say that I have sent you and be quick about it too.’
The Price of Freedom Page 14