The Fateful Day

by Rosemary Rowe

  The same centurion was still on duty at the gate. I’d rather hoped he would have been relieved by now. But there he was, as large and ugly as before. As soon as he saw us, he came lumbering across, but this time there was no drawn sword in evidence. Indeed, to start with, he was unctuously polite.

  ‘I’m very sorry, citizen,’ he murmured, with a courteous inclination of the head. ‘But the commander …’ He tailed off and finished, in a different tone of voice. ‘Great Mars, it’s you again!’

  ‘Indeed.’ I gave him a smile of huge beneficence. ‘Citizen Longinus Flavius Libertus, as I believe I told you earlier.’

  ‘You don’t give up, do you?’ he said sourly.

  ‘I might do, on my own account,’ I said. ‘But I’m here on business for His Excellence, Marcus Septimus Aurelius. I think I mentioned that before as well.’ I thought I saw a glimmer of recognition in his eyes, so I stressed the point a little. ‘Perhaps you haven’t heard of him. But if so, I’m surprised. His Excellence is the senior magistrate in this part of Britannia and a friend and personal advisor to the Emperor Pertinax. In fact he’s gone to Rome to visit at this very time – and something terrible has happened.’

  Cerberus (as I had named him to myself) looked at me with interest suddenly.

  ‘Marcus is my patron,’ I added helpfully. ‘And my business is urgent, as I said before. I’ve something very important to report. I need to send a message through the imperial post to Rome – and to Corinium as well. Today if possible. And I’m anxious that the commander should impound the cargo of a ship for me – if it’s not already sailed. So this time,’ I emphasised the words, ‘I would be obliged if you would let us in.’

  This strategy was more successful than I could have dreamed. Centurion Cerberus turned positively pale. ‘A messenger to Rome? This concerns the Emperor?’ He sounded horrified.

  ‘I didn’t quite say that,’ I backtracked hastily. ‘Though I’m sure that Pertinax would support me if he knew. My message is to Marcus Septimus.’ I could not resist a little boast. ‘Though that’s no slight matter either. He is likely to become the most influential man in all the Roman world. After the Emperor, I mean.’

  There was no response to that, though I could see that my words were having an effect. The centurion was biting his upper lip with his yellow lower fangs.

  I judged that he was weakening and I plunged in again. ‘So you appreciate that the matter is significant. May I see the commandant?’

  My plea was interrupted by the sudden thud of hooves and an Imperial courier came riding down the road from the direction of the praetorium – the commander’s private quarters behind the barracks block. He did not pause as he approached – just galloped at us so we had to leap aside. Cerberus had barely time to move the gate away before the rider was through it, scattering us with dust. I almost felt the movement of his cloak as he rode by, but he did not even glance in our direction as he passed.

  ‘What …?’ I looked at Cerberus, but the guard made no reply, just stared after the rider, shaking his head from side to side like a demented bull.

  ‘Now, look here, centurion,’ I said impatiently. ‘If you had only let me in at once, I could have sent my message with that courier. What do you think your commander’s going to say if he learns that you’ve insisted on turning me away? And what will Marcus do when he finds out, do you suppose? When he discovers that you’ve been impeding me – when this is a matter of murder, robbery and fraud. I wouldn’t be surprised if you got an Imperial reprimand …’

  But Cerberus was already stirring into speech. ‘Dear Jove, what should I do?’ He looked round wildly as if seeking inspiration from the walls.

  I followed the direction of his glance and realised that the crowd of councillors had gone, or at least they were no longer in the inner court. Either they were somewhere else within the fort, or they had all dispersed. In fact, the whole compound was unnaturally devoid of life – none of the usual training cohorts forming up, or groups of conscripts busy on fatigues. Only a solitary foot soldier could be seen, sitting at the doorway to the nearest barracks block – a stoutish auxiliary with large, hairy knees, industriously buffing up his helmet with a mix of lard and sand. That gave me an idea.

  ‘Summon that fellow to ask the commandant,’ I said. ‘He gives the orders. If you doubt me, he’ll tell you what to do.’

  Cerberus looked at me for a moment with the return of something like the old contempt, but then he put two fingers to his lips and blew, letting out a whistle that made the arches ring – rather as I’ve heard a shepherd whistle for his dog. The effect, in fact, was similar: the soldier dropped his polishing and leapt up at once. He hastened over, pulling his helmet on as he approached.

  ‘You signalled, sir?’

  Cerberus looked at him, disdainfully. ‘Take a message to the commandant. Apologise for my disturbing him. Tell him I have a citizen out here who claims his patron has new influence in Rome and wants the garrison to send a message there. Say that I’ve asked him twice to go away, but he is insistent the matter cannot wait. Oh, and he’s brought a slave with him, as well.’

  The soldier saluted and made to move away.

  ‘Tell him it’s Libertus,’ I shouted after him, but I wasn’t sure he heard. He didn’t glance in my direction, just marched through into the inner court.

  We waited. Cerberus said nothing and I said nothing back. Maximus edged closer, clearly ill at ease. After what seemed a lifetime, the soldier hurried back.

  ‘I’m to take him to the guardroom,’ he said breathlessly. ‘The commandant will send someone to have a word with him.’

  ‘I want to see the commandant in person,’ I complained.

  The fellow looked at me. ‘You’re very fortunate to see anyone at all. The commander has refused to admit anyone today except the senior members of the curia and the priests – and that’s because he sent for them himself. Everybody else who’s come here has been turned away. I think it was the mention of your name which did the trick.’

  I glanced triumphantly at Cerberus but he was studiously looking past me at the wall.

  He contented himself with snapping at the messenger. ‘Well, man, what are you waiting for? You have your orders, I believe – however odd they seem. If the commander says so, take the citizen inside.’ He bared those horrid yellow teeth at me again. ‘Though the slave will stay out here. I don’t recall that any mention has been made of him.’ He gestured to Maximus, who had been waiting anxiously a pace or two behind.

  ‘Go back to the workshop,’ I murmured to my slave, who looked relieved at this. ‘Tell my son that I’ve gained audience, and I’ll be back as soon as I’ve finished here. Though, on second thoughts, perhaps I’ll look in at the dockside on the way.’

  Maximus sketched a bow – mostly at Cerberus and the soldier, I surmised – and hurried off as fast as his legs would carry him. It seemed that fetching water and sorting stones had become a more attractive prospect suddenly.

  Cerberus found his voice again. ‘Pass, then, citizen. It seems you’ve got your wish.’ He stood aside and let me through the gate.

  I was inside the garrison at last.

  THIRTEEN

  I was expecting to be escorted through the arch and into the lower offices of the guard tower, where I had been taken several times before. There is a familiar bench beside the window-space in the dim-lit room downstairs where visitors are often asked to wait, and I was preparing myself for a another lengthy period of twiddling my thumbs – no doubt under the incurious gaze of several junior officers. There was generally an octio or two, sitting at one of the tables in the room, writing up reports or calculating requisitions and supplies, or simply warming their chilled hands beside the fire.

  But to my surprise my escort led me past the guard tower and out towards the range of buildings in the very centre of the garrison compound. This was the heart of the whole establishment, where the central administrative building, the principia, lay, and – directly
opposite – the commander’s private quarters, with its own kitchen, courtyard and latrine. So that was where my guide was taking me? I had been invited to the residence before, but I hadn’t been expecting to visit it today. Perhaps the chief officer was in there talking to the town councillors?

  I was about to murmur something of the kind when a shouted order and the stamp of half a hundred feet in unison drew my attention to the exercise ground nearby. This was where the soldiers’ daily training sessions took place, mock skirmishes with wooden swords, javelin contests, and endless rehearsals of field manoeuvres like the testudo – the creation of a ‘tortoise’ by close formations interlinking shields.

  Obviously, something of the kind was happening now – over the palisades I could see the helmet tops of serried ranks of soldiers as we passed. Almost the whole contingent, by the look of it. That explained the absence of troops elsewhere, but instead of engaging in any military drill, they seemed to be listening to a fat centurion, who was standing on a makeshift dais at the end – obviously reading something from a scroll – under the metal standards of the signifers.

  I was not allowed to linger. ‘This way, citizen,’ my guide said, in a tone that brooked no argument. But instead of going to the praetorium where the commander lived, I found myself following him towards the administration block.

  I had never been in the principia before. It is not a place civilians would expect to be. Its contents are a mystery to mere citizens like me, but I’ve heard that it contains the regimental shrine, as well as its treasury, and record scrolls. So it was a complete surprise when the soldier led me straight inside the portico and tapped at the door of a little ante-room that gave onto the entrance lobby.

  A muffled voice replied, ‘Who’s there? Identify yourself.’ It did not sound like anyone I knew.

  ‘Auxiliary Lucus Villosus, returning with the citizen as commanded, sir,’ the soldier shouted back. He contrived to holler deferentially, though still addressing the stout wood of the door.

  ‘Very well. Enter.’

  Villosus – the name means ‘shaggy’ and it suited him – pushed the door open and stood back to let me in. ‘This is the individual, with your permission, sir.’ He gave a smart salute. There was no attempt at the customary rigmarole of invoking the Emperor by all his titles first. Perhaps my escort wasn’t used to carrying messages to senior officers. I blinked in the cool gloom of the ante-room, trying to make out how senior this one was.

  I did not have long to wonder. The man who rose to meet me from the desk was none other than the commandant himself. ‘Libertus! You may leave us, soldier.’ He waved a dismissive hand at Villosus, who gave another hesitant salute and sidled out again.

  ‘So citizen, we meet again,’ the commander said, without enthusiasm. He was as elegant as ever, his armour gleaming in the light of the candles burning on the desk, but his lean and weather-beaten face was drawn and lined and his air of easy authority had abandoned him. ‘You insisted you must see me. Something about a messenger to your patron, I believe.’ The accent was patrician, as it always was, but the voice was flat and near-expressionless – not a bit like his usual light, educated tone. No wonder I had not recognised it earlier. ‘I trust this is a matter of some consequence. I’m not in general seeing anyone, though I have made a special exception in your case. I am occupied with urgent business, as no doubt you can see.’

  He gestured to the table-top, which was littered with half-opened vellum scrolls and rolls of bark-paper. The pots, which had obviously contained them, lay strewn around the floor, though it was clear where they had come from: there were shelves of similar containers ranged around the walls, some of them with empty spaces here and there. Evidently this was a storage room for records of some kind and he had been taking them out and sifting through them with some haste.

  I made a deepish bow – more than the token inclination of the head which etiquette required. I was still reeling with surprise. I had been expecting an interview with a centurion, at best, and here I was with the most senior-ranking officer in half Britannia. I recognised that this was a compliment to Marcus, rather than myself, but I did appreciate that it was done at all. Besides, I have learned a personal respect for this tall, athletic man. ‘I’m sorry if I disturb you at an inconvenient time, commander,’ I began, apologetically. ‘But thank you for agreeing to see me anyway.’

  He cut me off impatiently. ‘Spare me the formalities, just tell me what you want.’ This brusque response, like the disorder in the room, was most untypical. I knew him to be aesthetic, calm and disciplined, but now tension was etched in every feature of his face and his thinning, but normally neatly barbered hair was all awry – he kept running his fingers through it as I watched. I began to feel distinctly uneasy about this interview.

  ‘It concerns my patron, Worthiness,’ I began. ‘You know he’s gone to Rome?’ I was almost sure he did. He often dined with Marcus, both at the villa and my patron’s apartment here in town – and travel arrangements were certain to have been discussed.

  A curt nod answered me.

  ‘Well, there has been a terrible incident at his country house. Somebody who clearly knew he was away.’ I outlined the grisly details of today’s discoveries.

  The commander stood with his hands behind his back, and heard me out, his face expressionless. I had hardly expected exclamations of dismay but this complete impassiveness was not what I’d anticipated, either.

  ‘So most of my patron’s valuables are gone and all his household slaves are dead,’ I finished, to re-emphasise the facts. ‘It’s fortunate his land-slaves have escaped. This loss will be a dreadful blow to him – not just financially. You can see that this is a meticulously plotted fraud, by someone who knows him fairly well.’

  ‘Lot’s of people knew that he was going away.’ The voice continued to be emotionless.

  ‘But not the details of what he had in every room,’ I pointed out. ‘It had to be someone familiar with the house. And Marcus should be told as soon as possible. That’s why I’ve come to you, in the hope that you could send a message with the imperial couriers – and one to his wife Julia in Corinium as well.’ He remained impassive, and I said urgently, ‘I understand it’s probably too late for that today. But there’s just a chance that we could intercept that ship …’ I paused, expectantly

  For a long moment the commander made no reply at all. Then he made a helpless gesture with his hands. ‘“We”, Libertus? What do you expect that I can do to help?’

  I stared at him in honest disbelief. ‘But, surely, commander, even if you can’t spare the men yourself, a single word from you and the dock authorities would search the hold for us. Even a sealed letter that I could take down there myself would be enough – your seal alone would ensure that it was done. Marcus is likely to lose a fortune otherwise.’

  He sat down heavily on the small three-legged stool. It was much too low for him, and it occurred to me to wonder – belatedly – why he had chosen to come here and read the scrolls instead of having them sent to him in his usual upstairs office in the guard tower. Not that the room there was luxurious at all. It was so masculine and soldierly it bordered on the austere (this one, if anything, had more amenities), but it suited his nature. He’d chosen that unconventional location for himself, and its contents were designed for him, including a handsome desk-table, efficient oil lamps and a stool of better height. So why was he sitting in discomfort here?

  And why was he looking through the scrolls himself? Usually there’d be a dozen octios to search out what he required. Surely there could be no lack of personnel – the whole of the garrison was at his command.

  I would have liked to ask him, but I did not dare. In any case, before I could say anything at all, he got to his feet and began to pace restlessly around the shelves. When he spoke it was still in that strangely neutral tone.

  ‘I’m afraid he is in danger of losing more than you suppose. And as for sending messages, I have no communication
to relay to Rome today. It’s probably too late to reach him anyway. When is he scheduled to reach the capital?’

  It was such an unexpected question that I shook my head. Surely the commander knew that sort of thing. ‘I couldn’t tell you, Worthiness. I only know he set off before the Nones of Mars – and we are well into Aprilis now. How long it takes him will depend on roads and weather, I suppose – and whether the rivers are in spate or not. If the mountain tracks or bridges are impassable it could take the best part of another moon, but with favourable conditions he could be there by now.’

  The commander had paused by the table and was staring into the candle flame like someone in a trance. I heard him mutter, almost to himself, ‘That would make things very difficult.’

  ‘Forgive me, Worthiness. I don’t mean to contradict, but you’ll remember that he still has property in Rome. I believe a distant cousin is occupying it, but there is always accommodation there awaiting him, so whenever he arrives that’s where he plans to stay,’ I explained, although I was fairly sure that the commander was well aware of this. ‘So it shouldn’t be hard to locate him once he’s there.’

  I glanced at the officer for some acknowledgement, but he made no reply, just went on frowning at the candle flame.

  Something was clearly troubling him, but what? Perhaps Marcus had really not discussed his plans and I was foolish to have come at all. I have never travelled outside of Britannia myself – the slavers who captured me had put me in ship, but only to bring me to Glevum from my homeland in the south – but I understand that Gaul is very big indeed. There must be a score of roads that lead to Rome, so if he really didn’t know which one Marcus planned to use, how could a courier hope to intercept him on the way?