Enemies of the Empire

by Rosemary Rowe

  I gestured the dimensions with my hands. ‘Unusually long.’

  ‘And it was here? For sale? In Venta?’ He shook his head. ‘I wonder . . .? It couldn’t be! Surely they wouldn’t dare!’

  Marcus says that I am good with patterns. Perhaps I am. Suddenly something slotted into place, like a tile in a mosaic pavement. ‘Wait a moment! Laxus had an uncle, didn’t he? He mentioned him in court. An uncle who “disappeared a moon or two ago”. That would be your brother, I presume?’

  Lucidus nodded.

  ‘So he would also have inherited an ancestral piece. An arm-band, possibly?’

  ‘You are right, of course.’ Lucidus was a different person now. Gone was the lofty townsman of a moment since – I was looking at a fellow Celt, with raw emotions written on his face. His fists were clenched and when he spoke, his voice quivered with baffled grief and rage. ‘His name was Claudinus, and he was dear to me. The first of our family to rise to citizen through service to the guard – though I have sons who I believe will one day do the same. I hoped that he was safe somewhere. But it seems that he was ambushed by those confounded bath-siders, after all.’ He muttered the last words with such venom, between gritted teeth, that I knew he was swearing vengeance, even then.

  ‘You think the arm-band proves that he is dead?’

  ‘Of course. They murdered him. Or their paid assassins did. Claudinus would never have surrendered that arm-guard to anyone, while he had breath left in his body. Particularly not to our sworn enemies. Ever since he disappeared the family has feared the worst – that something of the kind had happened. But I was not wholly sure.’ He glanced around, as if the mansio might even now be concealing spies. ‘You see, I knew that he was not simply going off eastward on a trading trip, as everybody thought, to find a good price for our fleeces at the ports.’

  ‘There was more to it than that?’

  Lucidus seemed to hesitate again, staring suspiciously at the slave-boy with the bowl.

  ‘This boy is a servant of the commanding officer,’ I said. ‘I’m sure he has no interest in local politics.’ Of course, I had no way of knowing this. I simply breathed a prayer to all the gods that it was true.

  Lucidus nodded. ‘Very well.’ He leaned forward and spoke in a low urgent voice. ‘The truth is, citizen, Claudinus was hoping to destroy our rivals, once and for all. He was convinced that he had found out something which would bring them down – something the Emperor himself would want to know.’ It was obvious what I was going to ask, and he held up his hand. ‘He wouldn’t tell me what it was – too dangerous, he said – but he was jubilant. Claimed it would change our family fortunes for all time – honours and distinctions and rewards. He set off, about two moons ago, pretending he was planning to ship our wool to Rome. He wanted to bring the news to someone senior in authority. That’s what he was really doing when he disappeared.’

  ‘He set off to the court of Commo— His Most Imperial Divinity, the Emperor himself?’ I remembered to add the honorific titles just in time. We were after all in an imperial mansio, and because I was sure that the page was not a spy, it didn’t follow that there were no spies at all. Commodus has informers everywhere. ‘That was surely very dangerous in itself?’

  What I meant, but did not dare to say, was that messengers who brought reports of treason to Rome were more likely than most to disappear. The Emperor almost lost his life once to a palace plot, and since then he has seen conspiracies against him everywhere. Yet perversely, like some generals in the field, he is famed for rewarding the bearers of unwelcome news – however true – by relieving them swiftly of their heads. ‘Paying the messenger with steel and not with gold’ as the wits in Glevum say.

  Lucidus understood exactly what I meant. He shook his head. ‘He was going to go directly to someone he knew in Rome, the same man who got my sons commissioned posts in Gaul. Claudinus did not trust anyone round here, especially messengers. Not even Laxus and his friends – he made me swear I would not say a word, and if I was not sure that he was dead, I would not break my oath. He got as far as getting to a port – at least I think he did: I got a message purporting to be from him, sent with an itinerant trader from the east. It said that he’d found one final piece of proof, he hoped to bribe a place aboard an olive-oil boat to Gaul, and he would send word again next day – and that was the last I ever heard of him.’

  ‘So why do you suppose your rivals captured him? Why should you think that, when he was so far from home? He could have fallen prey to bandits – or anything.’ Marcus had put down his peach and was suddenly taking an interest in all this, now that affairs of state might be involved.

  ‘I thought so too, at first. All sorts of possibilities occurred to me – that he’d been set upon and robbed, or the captain of the olive boat had cheated him and thrown him in the sea – even that he’d never left the town and the whole message from the trader was a hoax, though it contained the password we’d agreed. There was no way of tracing the itinerant to find out. But I was never sure. Of course, if anything happens to one of us, our first suspicions are always of the bath-side boys. But to be honest, citizen, if they had taken him, I would have expected to receive a sign.’

  ‘What sort of sign?’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. A blood-stained tunic in a parcel, perhaps, turning up outside my door. And a note scrawled on a piece of bark – “This happened to your brother. Mind your own business or we’ll do the same to you.” Something of that kind. But there was nothing. He simply disappeared.’

  I shuddered. ‘That was their way of proving they’d captured one of you?’ I echoed, still hardly able to believe my ears.

  ‘Exactly so. If the person is someone of not much account, they are not above asking for a reward to return the mutilated corpse, so that we can bury it and give the spirit peace.’ He grimaced. ‘The minute we leave the protection of the town we have to be on our guard. And it’s not over yet. Even in my lifetime I’ve had body-parts – hands, or ears or fingers – delivered to my door. Sometimes they wanted money for the man’s return, mostly it was just to prove that he was dead.’

  Marcus looked pained. ‘And all this under Roman law? I wonder you didn’t call on the authorities for help. Especially if you suspected that the victims were robbed and murdered on the road. That is a crucifixion offence and we’d be glad to help. That sort of thing is very bad for trade.’

  ‘We’ve never bothered the authorities,’ Lucidus said. ‘Our two families were mortal enemies long before you Romans ever came. Indeed, that’s probably why my forefathers welcomed your legions here in any case – because the other lot were Caractacus’s men. Obviously there was no town of Venta then, but we were given confiscated property as a reward for our services, and property in the civitas as soon as it was built. Of course, our rivals had been largely dispossessed, but they hid out in the local caves and woods. Then, when the fighting had died down, and they were able to appear respectable, they crept into the cheaper area of town around the baths. They made those stinking alleyways their own, and it’s been their centre of influence ever since. Kidnapping, murder, blackmail – anything to harm and harry us. And we’ve paid them back in kind – great Pluto take them all to Dis!’ He seemed to realise that he’d just confessed to criminal intent, and backtracked hastily. ‘Of course, there hasn’t been a serious instance of this sort of thing for years. But that is what they always used to do – so if our old enemies had captured Claudinus I would have expected to receive a severed hand at least.’

  ‘And if you didn’t pay them what they asked, they’d string the victim’s body up in mockery, in some very public place, with his private parts cut off and stuffed into his mouth?’ I looked round for somewhere to dispose of my plumstones. The slave-boy brought me the water and I washed my hands.

  The Silurian was looking at me with renewed respect. ‘You have heard about that barbarous little trick? Well, that’s true as well – and typical of them, though they swear it was a prac
tice they learned from Rome – it was done to Boudicca’s followers, they say. Whatever may be the truth of that, it didn’t take them long to copy it. They once used it on a distant relative of mine – admittedly a long, long time ago.’

  ‘And your family has retaliated since? I don’t imagine that proud folk like you would take such insults quietly.’

  It was a guess, but the dull flush on his cheek showed me that my hunch was justified. ‘Once or twice. But only in revenge. How did you learn . . .?’

  ‘Young Laxus and his friends again,’ I said. ‘So, your ancient enemies would be only too glad to kill your brother if he fell into their hands. Of course, if he was right in his suspicions, and was about to denounce them in some way, they had a double motive to dispose of him. But you decided that they hadn’t, because you had no sign?’

  ‘Yet it looks as if they must have, after all, since you found his arm-band in the marketplace. Not over in the east, where we supposed he was, but here in Venta all the time, which suggests that he was almost home again before they set on him. I’m just amazed they didn’t send the arm-band – and probably the forearm wearing it – back to me, with a demand for gold. I’m even more surprised they had the impudence to try to sell it openly in town, where it was possible that I would hear of it. Though it was in the bath-house end of town, I suppose?’

  ‘I suppose it must have been,’ I conceded. ‘It wasn’t in the main forum area.’

  He grunted. ‘You’ve heard they have these back-street stalls that sell old Roman armour, and that sort of thing? They claim they find the pieces in the forest area where they were lost in the revolt – though I have my own ideas on that.’

  ‘Probably they’d claim the same for this,’ I said. ‘I suppose you have absolutely no idea what your brother’s suspicions were?’

  ‘Only that it was a matter of enormous consequence. Our enemies would be utterly disgraced and very likely executed too. Claudinus told me he expected to be made a knight, at least, when the Emperor learned the truth.’

  I nodded. Elevation to equestrian rank was coveted – a considerable fortune was a requisite and it was the first step to many civic honours and rewards. No wonder Claudinus had hopes of that.

  Lucidus was still speaking earnestly. ‘That’s why I lent him the money for the trip. Our family wouldn’t be overlooked for office as it is if we had a few equestrians in our rank.’ He glanced at Marcus, who had eaten all his peach and was availing himself of the finger-bowl again. ‘Of course, you spoke of services my son had rendered you. If Your Excellence is disposed to think of a reward . . .’

  Marcus made a gracious gesture. ‘When I return from Isca, I shall look into it,’ he said. ‘I am sorry to learn of your brother’s disappearance, too, especially in the service of the Empire. Do you wish to lay an official charge and try to bring his murderer to court? I would happily preside when I return.’

  That was a handsome offer. Cases brought by non-citizens were generally tried by lesser men with less appreciation of the law. However, Lucidus shook his head and turned his eyes away. ‘As I say, I have no proof of anything. It is a Caractacus supporter – that is all I know. A member of the family that rules the bath-house end.’

  ‘But who are they? You’ll need to name an individual.’

  ‘That is the trouble. No one knows who really has the power. Some shadowy rebel figures who live out in the woods and operate from there. And they act in gangs. There is no one individual that you could bring to court. Even if we knew who was responsible for killing Claudinus, it would be impossible to prove. The family have supporters everywhere, bound to them by blood-ties, or by a mixture of bribery and fear. Most of them look like honest townspeople, but they are liars, butchers, bullies, thieves and cheats. All of them would be prepared to swear in court that black was white, if necessary, in order to provide one of the others with an alibi. They tolerate no disloyalty amongst themselves – there are stories of bodies with their limbs cut off – and anyone from outside the clan who dared to bring any one of them to court could rely on instant retribution from the rest. So no one does, and certainly I am not willing to. Who wants to take a risk like that, when there is no certainty of a result?’

  Marcus looked piqued, though if I had been in the Silurian’s sandals, I’d have felt the same. Under Roman law a man must not only personally ensure that the accused is brought to court – which might be physically difficult with these vendetta gangs – but also he must stand before the judge and make the charge. From what Lucidus had said, that would be a quick way to ensure that portions of your anatomy would shortly be delivered piecemeal to your relatives.

  ‘In that case . . .’ Marcus was rising to his feet. He took the napkin which the pageboy brought and wiped the peach juice fastidiously from his fingertips, then extended a ringed and perfumed hand to show that the interview was at an end, ‘I do not think that we can help you much. You might circulate a description of your brother, and we can ask the town guards if they know anything, but otherwise there seems little we can do. Unless you would like Libertus to take you to that stall tomorrow, where the arm-guard was?’

  Lucidus turned pale. ‘In the back streets at the bath-house end of town? I think not, citizen. I’d never venture there without a guard – since we are not permitted to wear knives in self-defence. Though somebody might make the trip on my behalf, perhaps, and try to purchase the item for me?’ He was looking at me meaningfully as he spoke, and it was quite clear which ‘somebody’ he had in mind. ‘At my expense, of course. I will pay whatever price the wretches ask.’

  I had no wish to venture to the bath-house end again, after my worrying experience of a day or two before. Of course, in daylight, things were different – clearly the whole town used the public baths – but the stall was down an alley, and I didn’t relish the prospect of returning in the least. However, if Marcus ordered it, I would have to go.

  I need not have worried. Marcus had a different plan in store for me. He said loftily, ‘Perhaps the optio can spare a servant to do the task for you – if you prefer not to send one of your own. Libertus will instruct him where to find the stall. He cannot go himself. We hope to leave for Isca shortly after dawn, as soon as fresh mounts and guards can be arranged.’ My face must have betrayed how horrified I felt, because he added with a smile, ‘My dear Libertus, don’t look so aghast. Of course we must undertake the trip again, otherwise the rebels will have won. We will re-equip the carriage and take a larger force, and this time we will keep up a proper pace – no stopping to investigate the deaths of slaves or interviewing swineherds about herds of wretched pigs.’

  This was a rebuke to me, I recognised. Those investigations had been at my behest, and Marcus was making it clear that he held me morally responsible for everything that had delayed us up to now. He was still in this condescending mood as he permitted Lucidus to kiss the ring and take his leave, with many protestations of thanks and loyalty.

  When the Silurian had finished bowing himself out, Marcus turned to me. ‘Well, I think that was dealt with satisfactorily. He’s forgotten that he came here to complain.’ He was so pleased with himself that I essayed a smile, but in doing so I clearly over-stepped the mark.

  He frowned and formally proffered me the ringed hand in my turn, and I was obliged to make obeisance too. He hadn’t demanded that of me for days. ‘I will have the optio send your rations to your room,’ he said, as I struggled to my knees and bent to press my lips against the ring. ‘When I dine tonight I do not think your presence is required.’

  He turned and allowed the slave to show him out, leaving me kneeling rather stiffly on the floor. I smiled a little wryly as I struggled to my feet.

  I had not entirely escaped his displeasure, after all.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  So I was condemned to eat my meal alone, I thought, as I made my way slowly back across the court towards my room. I had taken care to keep my face appropriately chagrined while Marcus was about, but in
fact I was secretly relieved. My little punishment was not the deprivation he intended it to be.

  For one thing the kitchen at the mansio had been busy half the day preparing a special meal for my patron’s sake, and I am not an enthusiast at the best of times for strong-tasting Roman treats. Sow’s udders are not my favourite dish, even when exquisitely baked, and kitchen orderlies at a military staging post are not apt to be the most accomplished chefs. Judging by the odours from the kitchen as I passed, tonight’s offering would be burnt and tough, and liberally doused with liquamen to disguise the fact – that revolting fish-paste sauce of which my patron is so fond, and which smells and tastes so powerfully strong that it will mask any shortcomings of the cook. If I was eating on my own, I would be spared all that. I could settle down to honest army stew and even send out for some good old-fashioned mead, instead of being obliged to drink watered Roman wine, of which I have never been particularly fond.

  There was no one in the court or corridor to tell me otherwise, so without thinking about it very much I turned towards the sleeping room I’d occupied before. However, it seemed I was mistaken in assuming that it would be mine again. As soon I approached the door I heard the sound of voices from within. There seemed to be some sort of argument going on inside, though from here I could not make out the words.

  I paused, surprised. Not so much because the room was occupied – this was after all a military inn, and they had not been anticipating our return. It was entirely to be expected that they would give my room to someone else. But one of the voices sounded like a girl’s – and that was astonishing.

  Mansiones are military establishments, reserved for soldiers on the move, or travellers and messengers on imperial business. Women are not permitted past the gates unless they are accompanying important men – their husbands or their fathers – and rarely even then. I shook my head. There must be some other explanation for the voice. A castratus, or perhaps the youthful favourite of some wealthy man – some rich officials do keep pretty boys as ‘pets’ until their voices break.