A Prisoner of Privilege, page 18
She certainly did that. When she roused me it was not yet dawn, and the roundhouse was still dark and chilly as I pushed the covers back, though Gwellia already had a taper lit, and had poked the embers into life and stoked the fire. A smell of baking oatcakes filled the air. My favourite morning snack! I sat up reluctantly and rubbed my eyes.
‘At your service, master!’ Minimus was waiting by the bed with my overtunic and sandals, prepared to help me dress, and Kurso, the little kitchen slave, was also standing by with a bowl of fresh cold water in which to rinse my face. There was nothing for it, but to rise. And go to face Laurentius, and whatever threat he posed!
I groaned and swung my bare legs to the floor. The slaves sprang into action instantly, and a short time later I was washed and clothed and sitting by the fire while Gwellia withdrew the baking tray, shaking the remaining embers from the lid before tipping the fresh oatcakes onto a wooden plate.
My fragrant meal, washed down with a cup of water from the spring, revived my spirits enough for me to say, ‘Minimus, you can come with me, with the mule. It isn’t light yet, so you’d better fetch a birch-bark torch to light our way – I know we made a batch of them some moons ago, and I think there are a few left out in the dyeing hut. And Kurso, you can call on Junio, at first light, to tell him not to wait for us today. I’ll bring the money to the workshop when it comes, so I will see him then.’
Kurso was grinning hugely at me. ‘Master, there should be no need for that. He knows you’re leaving early and he plans to come with you. His slave was here to say so a little while ago – they were up with the children and they saw the lights.’
I nodded. Junio and Cilla had two small children now, the youngest small enough to still be cutting teeth, so it was no surprise to learn that they were stirring at this hour. ‘I shall be glad to have his company,’ I said.
I was doubly glad, when he met us at the gate a short time afterwards, because not only had he brought a second lighted torch, but his was a superior Roman lime-and-sulphur one which was not affected by the drizzle (unlike our homemade version, which sputtered out, leaving only a wisp of smelly smoke, long before the sun was fully up).
There was not much daylight, even then. The sun was wholly hidden by the clouds and – apart from the persistent misty rain – the wind was very chill. I hunched myself further into my hooded cloak, but – though it kept me dry – it could not protect me from curiosity. When we reached the town gates I was hailed at once by the sentry on guard.
‘Greetings! Duumvir Libertus, isn’t it? Not a pleasant day. Pity it isn’t officially ill-omened, so you could have stayed at home. Though I hear today’s a bad one anyway, for all the curia.’
I muttered something in reply, and hurried on. The story of Laurentius’s summons was clearly all around the town – it had been announced in the forum yesterday, of course – and there were whispering huddles on every street corner. I was anxious to reach the sanctuary of my flat as soon as possible. So, pausing only to take my precious parcel from the mule, I left Junio to hurry to the workshop, and Minimus to go and lodge the animal, while I went upstairs to my apartment to put the toga on. There were a few top-floor residents to greet me as I passed – on their way to market stalls or preparing to hawk some product round the streets – but the daytime idlers had not yet amassed, and it took me very little time to reach my door.
But when I did so – expecting to be greeted by my giant new doorkeeper – I was surprised, again. This time there was no answer whatever to my knock.
I rapped again, more loudly, wondering if – by some mischance, the slaves had failed to wake. Still there was no response. I was beginning to consider if I should try the door, when I heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and turned to see Fauvus hurrying up them from the street.
‘Master!’ he panted. ‘Forgive me that I was not here to welcome you. You’ve heard the news, of course? Laurentius has changed his mind again, and has decided to move in here at once. I received a message earlier to move all your servants out, at once, so I took them over to Josephus’s apartment, with instructions to assist in the lamentation at the bier and follow his body to the pyre. We’ve taken everything that was supplied for us. I hope that was in order?’
‘Thank you, Fauvus. You have done very well.’
He gave me his slow, self-deprecating smile. ‘The message said that we were all to go, and I should stay there, too, until he sent for me. But I am your servant and my duty is to you. I knew that you would come and expect to find me here. Besides, I doubted you’d have warning of his change of plan – there was hardly time to send a message to your house – so I hurried back, hoping to find you before he should arrive.’
I nodded. This servant was a model of what a slave should be, full of initiative and helpfulness. I was going to miss him when Laurentius was gone: he’d made himself so useful in the last few hours I was already wondering if I could contrive to make him permanent – despite what Minimus might feel.
What I said aloud, however, was: ‘All the same, I can’t conveniently walk away at once. Properus is promising to bring me my money bags, and I foolishly told him he would find me here. Though we did agree that he should come as early as he could.’ I sighed. ‘I’ll have to stay here till the money comes – though I don’t know what Laurentius is going to say to that. I was planning to take it over to my son, so we could carry it in the mule-panniers tonight.’
Fauvus smiled. ‘In that case, master, I have good news for you. I have just seen Properus and his servant in the street. I thought they had been visiting the early market stalls – which is doubtless the impression they intend. They have a hired handcart with them, and an urchin pulling it – though the load is covered with a woollen rug. If there is money, rather than produce, underneath, as I now suspect, then at this hour it is a good disguise.’
I could see his reasoning. ‘That slave said yesterday that lots of angry citizens had come up to the flat demanding what was due. Obviously they are delivering it now.’
‘And they’re not far away, so they should not be long with yours. There’s every chance they’ll get here before Laurentius does. I couldn’t lock the flat, Laurentius has the key.’
He stepped past me and opened up the door.
‘Thank you, Fauvus,’ I said, gratefully, though I glanced quickly round the apartment as I spoke. But nothing had been stolen, as far as I could see. ‘I’ll be prepared to move out instantly. Just come and help me put my toga on, and when the money comes you can go and hire a carrying-chair for me. There’ll be no problem in affording it, by then, and the bags are too heavy to carry on my own.’
I took my precious toga from its bag, raised my arms – like the pampered councillor I was becoming – and permitted him to wind the garment onto me. He was skilled and swift, and when he had finished the folds felt more secure than any other toga I had ever worn.
‘You had better stay here until Laurentius comes – though, on second thoughts, didn’t he tell you that he might send to Josephus’s for you? He might wish you to escort him here. In which case, join the others at the bier, and I will join you there as soon as possible. When I have my money I’ll be able to make sure Florea can send out for a meal for all of you, and herself as well – I doubt she’ll have sufficient in her house. And I’ll work out where you’re all going to sleep tonight.’ It might have to be on my workshop floor, I thought.
‘Should we take some sort of offering?’ Fauvus said.
‘Oh, and I’ve got a phial of something here, which should go on the pyre.’ I took the little bottle from its hiding place – taking great care not to disturb the toga tucks (though I need not have been concerned: they had been arranged to leave access to my purse). ‘I’ll bring it when I come. But first, I want to call in at the medicus again, to see if I can find out what it is – though I don’t greatly trust his expertise. I didn’t have time to do it yesterday, but – if Laurentius lets me go – there should be no problem in doing it today.’
Fauvus smiled. ‘I’ll take it for you, master. It would save you the walk.’ He saw my doubtful look. ‘I’ll ask him to write and seal his findings if you would prefer.’
‘I’m sure you’re to be trusted,’ I told him with a smile. ‘I’ll leave it here, and you can take it if there’s time.’ I put it on a handsome onyx table by the wall – one of the items my patron had provided yesterday. ‘But find a litter first, and have it standing by. I know it’s an expense. But if Laurentius is summoning all the councillors to visit here today, chairs are likely to be in short supply. And I will need one for carrying the cash. I can always take the phial to the medicus myself.’ I sat down on one of the two new, exquisite stools.
He bowed politely. ‘At your service, master.’ And he went out, leaving me alone.
Or so I genuinely thought.
TWENTY-TWO
Fauvus seemed to be taking an unconscionable time fetching the litter and after a few minutes I grew tired of sitting there. I was impatient, too, for Properus to come, so that I could vacate the flat completely before Laurentius came. No matter that the change of plan was his, I was extremely anxious about displeasing him. The last thing I wanted was to have him find me here.
I found myself actually pacing up and down, though willing myself to keep away from the balcony, where I could be seen from the crowded street below and thus become a public spectacle. So I was very pleased to hear the echoing sound of footsteps running up the stairs followed by a tapping at the door.
In the absence of attendants I answered it myself, but it was neither of the men that I was waiting for. It was only little Minimus, reporting that he’d arranged to leave the mule with the hiring stables just outside the gate.
‘They’ve actually got room for her inside today, because several of their animals are out on long-term hire. So Arlina won’t be stuck out in their muddy field. And when I asked them what the cost would be, they said that it was free for councillors.’ He gave me a cheeky grin. ‘Though they hoped you would remember who’d been helpful now and then, next time you wanted to hire transport anywhere.’
I was in no mood for banter. ‘Never mind all that,’ I told him gracelessly. ‘We need to be ready to vacate this place as soon as possible. Everything of mine has already been removed – including my new servants, as you can no doubt see. I even took my damp clothes home with me last night.’
Minimus frowned. ‘What about my tunic, master? Has that gone as well? I left it yesterday, together with my cloak, because they had got wet. I exchanged with one of the other slaves – your patron ordered it. I thought I was going to change it back today, but has the new slave now taken it as his?’
I looked at him, ashamed to realize he was right. Minimus was wearing something we’d not given him. We’ve never dressed our servants in any shade of puce – largely because Gwellia spins and weaves most cloth herself and the mordant for puce dye is an expensive one. But I had been so concerned with other things I hadn’t noticed this till now, although he must have worn his borrowed garment overnight.
‘I don’t know what’s become of your damp clothes,’ I told him gruffly. ‘The household all left here before I came. You’d better go and check. While you are about it, look in every room. I don’t want to leave things here for Laurentius to find.’ Especially not wet slaves’ uniforms, I thought.
Minimus nodded and scurried off to search. I heard him, in the inner corridor, opening and shutting doors to the slave quarters and the storage rooms – apparently with no success, because he did not pause.
It was quite a large apartment (naturally, since it was designed to meet the size requirements for election to the curia) and – equally naturally – it was laid out to please wealthy Roman tastes. So apart from the small cell in the entrance corridor, intended as a waiting area for doorkeepers and slaves, and the large exedra where I was waiting now, there were several further rooms within, lying off a central passageway.
The left side had no windows and was relatively cramped, with a little study (which I used for meeting supplicants, but which could double as a sleeping room for guests) a copious storage room and a rather airless sleeping cell for slaves, (though that had not been a problem for me until yesterday). On the right was the attractive owner’s suite – adjoining but separate bedrooms for the man and wife, with shuttered window-spaces overlooking the communal courtyard at the back, with its water fountain and convenient latrine. Those were the rooms that had been readied for Laurentius’s use.
Though it was fairly pointless looking there, I thought. I had inspected those rooms only yesterday and not only were they stripped of everything of ours, they had been most energetically scrubbed and cleaned. But I’d instructed my young slave to make a thorough search and I heard his obedient footsteps move in that direction – and abruptly stop.
‘Master!’ If I had not known that it was Minimus, I would scarcely have recognized the voice. It was high with some emotion – suspiciously like shock. ‘Master, I think you’d better come.’
I hastened to investigate. All sorts of dreadful possibilities were flashing through my mind. The flat had, after all, been unsecured. Had Marcus’s new, expensive furniture been stolen – or destroyed? Had someone thrown ordure through the window-space? (Such things were not unknown – and people might go to surprising lengths when Imperial spies were due to stay!) Or, despite the frantic cleaning of the day before, was it possible that a rat – or something similar – had crawled in there and died? Any of these would be a dreadful augury, of course, and Laurentius would be justified in blaming me.
I hurried to join Minimus at my bedroom door.
It was not a rat, of course. If only it had been half so innocent! There was the ex-Praetorian himself, and he was clearly dead. Nor could this conceivably have been an accident. The ligature which killed him was still around his neck – the cord belt of his own dark travelling tunic, by the look of it.
He had been ugly yesterday – he was more ugly now, with his pig-like face mottled, his pale-blue eyeballs bloodshot and bulging from their lids and his throat scratched where his frantic fingers had clawed to free the cord. The bed and bedclothes were in hopeless disarray, as if he had been thrust struggling and lurching onto it – but otherwise the sleeping room was unnaturally neat.
His patrician toga was folded on the stool, as if in readiness for him to put on; a little travelling lararium had been set up in the niche beside the door, complete with tiny statues of his household deities; and (bizarrely for a bedroom in a private residence) there were signs that he’d been drinking – and not alone. On a chest beside the window was a fine glass barrel-jug, still half-full of wine, and two used goblets standing next to it, though there was no sign of any amphora from which the wine had come. Nor, of course, of whoever his companion might have been.
I do not often panic, but I did so now. For a long moment I was too terrified to move – the death of an Imperial representative obviously spelt trouble of the most appalling kind. The courts, even if one were not handed over to appear in Rome, dared not be lenient. The punishment was likely to be exile at best, deprivation of fire and water throughout the Empire – on pain of death for anyone providing it. Or something far, far worse. Furthermore, it was certain that some guilty party would be produced and charged, even if on the slimmest evidence – anything else was likely to bring down the Emperor’s wrath upon the town concerned.
And the authorities would not have far to look. The garrison commander had witnessed for himself the veiled threats towards my patron (and myself) made by the murdered man, and that – together with the fact that the crime had happened on my property – was already halfway to confirming that I’d had a hand in it.
Unless I could prove otherwise. Conclusively and as fast as possible. Preferably by producing a better candidate.
I took a deep breath and walked towards the corpse. Minimus, who was busy rubbing spit behind his ears in a hopeless effort to ward off both ill-luck and ghosts, looked at me in frank astonishment. But I ignored the omens and bent forward to lift one lifeless hand. Already cold, but not remotely stiff – Marcus’s unpleasant relative was only newly dead.
I drew in a breath between my gritted teeth. This was more troubling than if he had been dead for hours. I could have provided several witnesses – including the sentry at the gate – to say that I had not been in the town until a short time earlier. But obviously this must have happened very recently – Laurentius had clearly been alive when he set off from the garrison, and that could not have been till after the morning muster call. Which made it far harder to prove my innocence, and much more likely that I’d end my days starving to death on some far-off barren rock. All for a crime that I did not commit.
But think! Since I had not killed him, who else could have done?
My first thought was that his servant must have turned on him. Presumably that worthy had arrived, since Laurentius had spoken of waiting for him to appear before he moved into the flat – and no doubt he’d found his master in impatient mode. I could imagine the Praetorian being so continuously difficult to please – and so cruel and capricious in his choice of punishment – that it might drive any man to desperate things. In fact, if there was a slave about, he was already guilty according to the law. There was no sign of him attempting to protect his master from attack – as he should have done, or died in the attempt – nor even that anyone had rushed out to the street to raise the alarm.
But I was frowning as I straightened up. My convenient theory was, at best, improbable. Not so much because the punishments for hericide were so severe – this slave was liable to be condemned to death for failing in his duty, as it was! – but because Laurentius was a Roman patrician, through and through. There must have been another person here. He would never have consented to drink in company with a man of humble rank, let alone a person of no rank at all. And a slave was not officially even that – not a person, but a chattel, a sort of household tool.
