‘Your food,’ he grunted and put it on the floor. ‘That’s all you get today, so make the most of it. There’s water in the pail – and when you’ve drunk that, don’t try using it for other purposes. You’ll have to drink from it tomorrow, too – though that doesn’t matter much. There’ll be times when you look back on this as luxury!’
‘I’m surprised that you were sent with this,’ I remarked. ‘The slave of a so-called important visitor. Surely Darturius has others to do such menial tasks?’
‘I volunteered.’ He gave me a gloating look. ‘They’re busy with the preparations for the wedding feast and I wanted to come and take farewell of you. Unfortunately by the time you’re taken out and sold, my father and I will be on our way to Gaul.’
Beside I heard Trinculus give a little moan, but I did not turn to him.
‘Your father?’ I said sharply, to the slave. ‘I realised that he was a relative. I didn’t know how close. Sold into slavery together, I presume?’
He didn’t answer, but went to shut the door.
‘Oh, come, Venibulus!’ I called, and was ridiculously pleased to see him turn, instinctively. ‘That’s your name, isn’t it? You should not have suggested it for me – if you had not done so, I might not have guessed the truth. I was still thinking that the courier was dead, the victim of the taxman’s murderers. But of course he wasn’t – he was one of them. You had played your father’s trick and found another corpse to take your place. Without a head it would look like Druid work, and ensure that it was not identified. Only this time I think he was not already dead – you murdered him on purpose. Who was it? The deserter? I know you had his sword.’
There was a silence, followed by a laugh. ‘You think yourself so clever, citizen. Of course it wasn’t him. How could we have got his corpse up there, unnoticed, on a horse? And we couldn’t take the carriage, we’d just covered it with pitch and it would have been noticed on the road. I just rode up there myself and chose a likely spot, found some peasant setting bird-traps, and then murdered him. I wanted an inconspicuous tunic anyway – and of course he had to wear the courier’s uniform. Did they find the belt-clasp? It had been much admired, and it was additional proof that it was me.’
I nodded. ‘And you cut your hair, and dyed it, completing the disguise? Using ink you stole from Flauccus, I presume?’ I’d even noted it was inky-black!
‘Only roughly then, but afterwards my father did it properly. Blonde curls are distinctive and I never liked them much. Though I was sorry, in some ways, to lose the uniform. It had served me very well – allowed me to ride anywhere I chose and with no questions asked. No one thinks it odd to see a messenger. But we’d killed Acacius by that time, and I wanted to be dead. The soldier’s outfit was of no use at all. There would have been questions all the time, and we could not have stopped at any mansio, despite the documents. Besides, it didn’t fit. I had sufficient trouble with the peasant’s clothes.’
‘Which were too big for you! And yours too small for him. That’s why you had to slash it from neck to hem like that,’ I said, seeing the answer to something which had puzzled me. ‘I wondered why, when there were no wounds below the shoulder area. I presume you strangled him? It seems to be the method you prefer, and chopping off the head would obliterate the marks.’
He laughed, but didn’t answer, except to say, ‘Enough!’
‘Venibulus,’ I said. ‘I don’t have long to live. A man of my age does not survive the mines. Indulge me by explaining something. Why the soldier? I don’t understand. I realise how you plotted to steal the tax money – you knew that Acacius Flauccus had been ill, and that he was applying to resign. The curia were discussing it in your master’s house the day the fire broke out, and your father – as steward on duty – must have overhead. And you were then promoted to carrying official messages – which you read, of course. Not all of them were sealed, I suppose?’
He smirked. ‘And even if they were, there are ways of melting wax which are difficult to spot. It was very easy to discover when Acacius planned to bring the gold, and to arrange that we should both be in Uudum on that day. We’d even discovered he was going to be alone – the slaves were going to market. He’d written to the Glevum curia asking for their help in obtaining new ones – and my master answered him, offering to sell him my father and myself.’
‘But how did you know that? That must have been when your father was still thought to be alive? And you were not a courier then.’
‘It was written the morning of the fire, before the curia met. My predecessor had not yet dealt with it, so it was passed to me. I never delivered it to Uudum, naturally – and I think it was forgotten afterwards. But my father saw the high priest writing it (he never considered that a slave might read) and it confirmed his fears that he would never gain freedom by any normal means. When the fire broke out, that’s what goaded him to act.’ He shook his head. ‘But I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. No doubt you’ve worked it out – you have a reputation for deductive skills.’
‘Most of it,’ I said.
‘That’s why my master was so afraid of you. The plan was first that he would take a room nearby, and I would join him in a moon or so, and we’d use the money to begin again. No one was looking for him, we supposed. But as soon as he heard that you were being sent to Uudum to investigate – I took the message, so I let him know – he decided that we had to disappear at once, preferably by taking a ship for Gaul. So I staged my disappearance, we disguised the coach, and fled. And then we found you staying at the mansio.’
‘But you didn’t kill me?’
‘Oh, I wanted to – when you have done it once, it’s easier every time. Acacius was simple, he was feeble anyway. The hardest part was getting him hung up convincingly, especially when Father only had one working hand. How did you deduce that, anyway? I thought we’d made a splendid job of it.’
‘You should have realised that Acacius couldn’t reach the hook.’
He snorted. ‘I knew I should have killed you when I had a chance – but father insisted that would simply set your patron after us. Better, this time, to make you disappear. And so he has – or will do very soon.’
He turned to shut the door and move away.
‘And the soldier?’ I insisted.
He shook his head. ‘That was an accident. He was on fatigues and guarding a checkpoint on the road. He saw the carriage and he challenged us – if he’d simply let us pass I could have let him live, even though he saw my father driving it. But he would insist on opening the door, and of course there was no Flauccus – only money bags. He would have reported it to the army instantly. So I had to strangle him. We put him in the carriage and carried him for miles, until we found a useful spot to bury him. But I kept his sword-belt, because it showed his name and rank, and I hoped it might delay them in finding who it was, even if they happened on the corpse. And then, of course, we met you – and the rest you know.’
‘He became Libertus, and you became his slave – hiding in plain sight at a wedding feast! While I become the steward offered in the note – I presume you kept that and made use of it? – and poor Trinculus was cast as the deserter from the ranks, although there had never been one. The missing man was dead.’
‘Exactly, citizen. I think you have the picture perfectly. But you will never prove a single word of it. There are no witnesses to any part of this – and by tomorrow morning we’ll be safely gone, and nobody will pay the slightest credence to anything you say. A runaway slave and a deserter – who could be surprised? Anyone would swear that black was white to escape your likely fate. So farewell, gentlemen, I wish you luck of it. Sleep well and enjoy your meal – it may be your last.’
He slammed the door too and thrust the lock across. I heard him whistling as he walked towards the house.
In the darkness Trinculus had began to sob. I tried to rally him – reminded him that he was a military man and urged him to take a little bread and drink to keep his cour
age up. But he refused all comfort, and in the end I cradled him as though he were a child, and held him, trembling, as he wept all night.
TWENTY-NINE
We did not see the wedding, though we heard the flutes and trumpets, and the cheering afterwards. And Trinculus was able to discern that there were carriages – rattling on the causeway and stopping at the shore.
‘Two, by the sound of it,’ he said. ‘And at least one extra horse.’ Events had roused him from his misery and he groped towards the door, where I found him trying to peer out through the crack. ‘It’s no use,’ he reported, ‘I can’t see a thing.’
We almost did not need to. A moment later it was clear – even to me – that the bride and groom had got into a coach and wedding guests were shouting the usual rude jokes and yelling coarse suggestions after them. Trinculus said he heard a whip crack and the sound of wheels. Someone was presumably throwing walnuts too, because there was a lot of scrabbling and laughing cries. Then it subsided and the voices faded in the direction of the shore: presumably the procession was following the bride, at least across the causeway, even if – this time – it could not accompany her all the way to her new home.
Then nothing. We sank back on the unforgiving floor. After a little while, Trinculus exclaimed, ‘Do you think they are going to feed us anything, or leave us here to rot?’
‘It’s probably not as late as it appears to us,’ I said, still trying to control my anguish by assuaging his. ‘Everything here is dependent on the tide. I think it is still morning – but the wedding’s taken place so that everyone can cross the causeway while it’s dry. But now its over and the guests have gone. Someone may bring us something very soon.’
I spoke without conviction, but – as if my words had summoned magic from the dust – a moment later there was a rattle at the door. I looked up, doubtfully, to see who it would be. I knew it wasn’t Paigh – and the strangler and his father would have gone as well – free to be wealthy and undisturbed in Gaul.
‘Well!’
To my astonishment it was the sulky messenger. I looked at him without affection. ‘Well, indeed!’ I said, ‘I hope you’re satisfied. It’s you that put me here.’ (Not altogether fair, but there was some truth in it!)
‘Paigh said the same, but what I said was true. I did not remember you. But when I considered it, I did remember someone on the road. So I offered to come and feed you – they are busy at the house. I wanted to have another look at you.’ He pushed the door open to its ultimate extent and looked me up and down.
I was filled with sudden hope, but he dashed it instantly. ‘As I thought, I could not have changed my oath. He didn’t look like you. He was dressed as a citizen, more like that other man, who I’m pretty certain must be what he claims. He’s sent a personal message to His Excellence. I’m to deliver it as soon as I have finished here, while the causeway is still passable. Another day of galloping from dawn to dusk.’ He sighed, thrust in a loaf and half-refilled the pail. ‘Meanwhile – there’s bread and water and you are to eat it fast. They are going to send you on the salt cart to the port and sell you straight away, so Aigneis can have the proceeds as her wedding gift. So let’s hope you sell – though I expect you will. There are always shipowners looking for more slaves.’
I gave an inward groan. I loathe the sea. I would almost prefer consignment to the mines. But the youth was going to Glevum, and there was something that I had to know.
‘What message?’ I demanded. ‘Does this “Libertus” send?’ Of course, it was a gamble. He should not tell me that.
He did, though. ‘Nothing personal. Only to say that he would report again when he got back from Gaul.’ He shrugged. ‘His patron will be simply furious. He has already told him not to go – with the wedding over he wants him back in Glevum instantly – he’s even sending his private gig to bring him home.’
‘Marcus is to send his private gig?’ I said, feeling as if the world was spinning round my feet. I had visions of Victor, who could rescue me – if I had not already been taken off and sold. ‘When is this to happen?’
‘It is already on its way. And Libertus knows that. I brought him a private message from Marcus yesterday. But he’s ignored it, and gone driving to the port, following Gnaeus Verus and his bride. There’s talk of him hoping to take ship today – he’s found a captain who is willing to risk the passage, for a price.’ He shrugged again. ‘None of my business, but I was surprised.’
‘And well you might be. And you are right in saying that Libertus knows. Because I am Libertus, I told you that before – however much that wretch declared the opposite. And if Marcus sends his fast gig, as I suppose he might, there’s a chance the driver might arrive in time to tell you so. He knows me very well. You remember Victor?’ I said to Trinculus, who had been standing behind me all this time, obviously listening and afraid to hope. ‘He could vouch for you, as well.’
But the sulky messenger was frowning. ‘I would not wager on that, though it’s a clever thought. Marcus has sold his driver on to someone else – the Priest of Mercury – whose driver-courier was attacked and murdered by Druids recently. Not encouraging, when I’m to ride that way myself.’
I did not enlighten him. I had more urgent things to say. ‘You are certain about that?’
‘Quite certain. And Marcus made a splendid profit from the sale, according to the gossip in the servants’ hall. He has acquired a new driver in his place, though this one’s very young – some stripling whose father sold him as a slave, but who is talented with animals. Took to the position like a fellow twice his age – so good that one of the chariot-teams is making overtures – but he will never have encountered you, even if you are Libertus, which I’m beginning to suspect.’ He did that sulky shrug. ‘If so, I’m very sorry, citizen.’
It was days since anyone had called me by my rank, and it was oddly comforting, even though the news and situation was so dire. I thanked him for the information, and he briefly smiled.
‘Well, I must go, and you must eat your food – quickly, if you propose to eat at all. You’ll have to be loaded on that wagon very soon. Another few minutes and it will be too late – the causeway will be covered and you won’t get away.’
I wanted to gain time, but I was powerless. I made one last, despairing, try. ‘Will you take a message to Marcus Septimus from me, as well? I cannot pay you, they’ve deprived me of my purse, but he will recompense you, I am sure.’ (I could only hope that I was right.) ‘Just tell him that the prisoner – tell him who and why – before he was taken to the market to be sold, told you to ask if Marcellinus had yet learned to whip his top. That should assure him of who I really am. Even if they’ve sold me, he might buy me back – or find a way to nullify the sale.’
I was not really hopeful. If I were on a galley, I would not be seen again – and much the same could be said about the mines. Those who were slaves there had no identities, they were simply living tools, to work until they died.
‘I will do that. If you are rescued, remember that I helped.’ The courier seemed tempted to offer me a bow, but instead he simply nodded and shut the door again, bolting it behind him.
I felt for the bread and water and was in the act of sharing the meagre meal with Trinculus, when the door was opened for a second time that day. This time the arrival was a bearded, heavy man, dressed in Celtic trousers and a cloak like Paigh’s. In his hand he held a whip and he was pointing it at me. ‘You first then, come on – up onto the cart. We’ve only a few minutes if you don’t intend to swim.’ He spoke in Celtic, but the meaning was quite clear, even to Trinculus, who scrambled to his feet.
‘Hands together and behind your back!’ our captor barked, and when I reluctantly obeyed, he bound them firmly together at the wrists. Then, having done the same to Trinculus, he prodded us across the courtyard and down the slope towards a heavy wagon which was standing on the shore – the causeway stretching out in front of it across the mud. In the middle I could see the water starti
ng to encroach.
‘On the cart!’
It wasn’t easy without one’s hands to help, but threat of whipping is a potent spur, and I managed to spill myself onto the floor of the device, where I lay shaking as my companion joined me there. The driver took his place and was picking up the reins, when he let out an exclamation of dismay.
‘Dear gods, who’s this? And in a vehicle. They’ll fill the causeway up – and we shall not get past. Get back, you idiot!’ He stood up, making gestures with his arms.
I managed to raise myself an inch or two by leaning on my elbows and straining up my neck. It was just enough to get a glimpse ahead, and I saw what he was shouting at. A gig was rattling merrily towards us on the path, being pursued by a gesticulating horseman in a cloak. I could not hold the posture, there was too much strain, and I was forced to lie back and await developments. I was secretly not sorry if we missed the tide. By tomorrow my patron would have heard my message, and – I hoped – would be sending a reply. Though by tomorrow there would also be another daylight tide, and I might be on my way to Portus Abonae. If indeed, I did not go today. Our driver seemed intent on leaving anyway – we were already rattling towards the marsh. I wondered what would happen when the two carts met – but to my relief he pulled the horses to a stop.
I craned my head again, and saw what he had seen. The horseman was none other than Darturius himself – his hood thrown back and his fine cloak flying as he rode. He was gaining quickly on the other vehicle, though of course he could not safely pass. And the water behind him was rising all the time.
The approaching cart was almost at the shore by now. I just had time to verify that the sulky boy was right – the driver clearly was not Victor, it was someone small and slight – before I slid back on the boards again. Trinculus looked enquiringly at me, although he dared not speak.
I shrugged and, raising my eyebrows mouthed silently, ‘Blockage.’
The Price of Freedom Page 25