A Prisoner of Privilege, page 24
‘Libertus was not wearing his toga when he came. He never does.’ Rufus made the accusation, with a laugh. ‘Perhaps you should examine the tunic underneath.’ His own toga was immaculately clean, and Properus’s full-length mourning clothes – though dark – showed no sign of recent staining anywhere.
I dimly knew this was significant, but I was so hot and thirsty I could hardly think – I would almost have admitted everything to have a cooling drink. Or cold wind on my face. With desperate energy I escaped the guard and rushed towards the open window-space, gulping down air and twitching like a dying fish.
‘The man needs water,’ the commander said. ‘We cannot have said we let him die of thirst. Clearly we can’t release his slave to fetch it – he is implicated here – but you have a servant, aedile, I think?’
For answer Rufus clapped his hands and shouted ‘Page!’
The boy came running, ‘You called me, master?’
‘Certainly I did. Fetch the water bucket from the storeroom, over there, go out and fill it at the fountain in the communal court and bring it back again. No questions. Simply do as I require.’
The slave looked startled but he followed his master’s pointing finger, and went to find the pail. I tried to croak a protest, knowing what horrors lay beyond that door, but the soldier who’d been in there had the same idea. He stepped through, seized the water bucket and gave it to the boy who – with a swift bow to the assembled company – dashed off in the direction of the street. From the window-space, I watched him scampering, relieved to feel the cool rain on my fevered face and putting out my tongue to catch the precious drops. Not appropriate behaviour for a man of rank, but I was desperate.
‘Master?’ I heard an anxious voice exclaim, and I looked down to see my little Minimus standing on the pavement and looking up at me. ‘Master, are you ill?’
I shook my head – although the gesture was a lie. I felt as ill as I have ever been. The action made my head spin, too, and I was forced to grasp the windowframe with both hands to stop myself from plunging down into the street. ‘Marcus?’ It was all that I could contrive to say. But Marcus wasn’t there.
‘Gone before I got here, master.’ Minimus had raised his voice so I could hear. ‘Gone to the basilica with those visitors of his – something about a contract to be signed. I said it was important, and they’ve sent for him, but I only gave your message, word for word, and he won’t realize …’ He was still shouting and passers-by – shoppers, street vendors, scurrying slaves – were by this time turning round to stare. He became aware of this, and shook his head. ‘I’ll come up and tell you!’
I tried to stop him – I did not want him to be taken prisoner too – but I could already hear his footsteps on the stairs. And did my eyes deceive me, once again, or could I just make out – turning the corner at the far end of the street – the figures of three men in Grecian robes, Brokko and Boudoucus, with Comux at their heels? And in the company, not of Scito – as one might expect – but of that urchin child?
TWENTY-EIGHT
Minimus was not permitted to come in. I learned, in that moment, what it meant to be a prisoner in my own apartment, as the remaining guard crossed swiftly to the door, drew his sword, and thrust it across the entrance to the room, keeping my little servant pinned in the passageway.
‘Permission to address my master?’ Minimus beseeched.
‘You may address him, but from there,’ the guard replied.
The boy was clearly frightened, though ready to defy the sword and try to come to me – but I shook my head. I already knew what I required to know. Marcus was not here. He would get my message, but with no urgency – and doubtless he would call here later in the day. In the meantime, I was incarcerated here with a pair of murdered men for company. Any hour now, they would begin to smell. Already I was sure that I could catch the whiff of blood.
‘Take a message to your mistress, Minimus,’ I declaimed, with an absurd notion of theatrical effect. ‘Tell her I’ve been taken into custody, accused – by a fellow member of the curia – of murdering Laurentius and his bodyguard.’
‘And Josephus and his messenger, as well,’ Rufus added, with a wolfish grin. ‘Don’t overlook that detail. And most of all, caught in the act of issuing false coin, and thus of treason against the Emperor.’
‘But you didn’t, master,’ Minimus broke in, and I thought for a moment that he would be punished with a blow, but the Legate forbade it with a gesture of his hand.
‘You and I know that, Minimus,’ I pronounced. ‘But it may be very—’
I broke off as we were interrupted by the page, struggling from the stairwell with a heavy pail. It was painful to see him permitted to come past, while Minimus remained exiled in the corridor. I was, however, glad to get the drink which Fauvus now poured out and offered me. It was a brimming cupful this time, though I still found it half-impossible to swallow anything.
I looked up, spluttering, and saw Minimus still there. I sent him on his reluctant way with an extravagant gesture of my arm.
‘Should you not, perhaps, have sent him to the undertakers too?’ Properus gave me that helpful smile again. ‘There are those that deal with visitors, who are not therefore members of any local guild. His Excellence will arrange things for his relative, no doubt, but one could at least arrange disposal of the slave. I could send Scito, he will soon be back and should be waiting for instructions on the stairs, or Rufus here could send his little page. Though, I suppose that might involve immediate expense and that might fall on us, since Laurentius was not carrying much coin.’
Fauvus bent forward and murmured something in my ear. It took me a moment to see the force of it, but I repeated it. ‘How do you know that?’ I said to Properus, though it was hardly a dignified enquiry. That lethargy had wholly left me now, and my legs and hands were moving of their own accord as though possessed of a mad desire to dance.
The young man looked startled – as well he might – but answered with a smile. ‘He must have told me. I am sure he did.’
‘I see,’ I murmured, and really felt I did. Another prompt from Fauvus. I took another gulp of water to refresh my brain. ‘And when, exactly, do you think that might have been?’
Properus glanced at Rufus, as if he hoped to find some inspiration there. But the aedile was frowning. ‘The duumvir is right. I did not know you’d had the chance to meet Laurentius. When did you speak to him?’
The Legate pressed his fingertips together and tapped his lips with them. ‘It must have been this morning, argentarius,’ he said. ‘It could not have been while he was at the fort.’
Properus had turned as scarlet as I felt. ‘You are correct, of course. I met him on the street. I was out with Scito and the cart and we encountered him – his servant asked the way and I realized who they were. In the excitement, I had forgotten that – or rather, I confess, I did not mention it, in case it raised suspicions about me.’ He flashed Rufus an artless, apologetic smile.
‘And what, meanwhile, had happened to the escort that I’d sent with him?’ The Legate’s tone had turned to ice by now, and his granite face was stonier than before.
Properus raised his hands in innocence. ‘Ah, they were an escort! I did not realize that. I saw them, of course, further up the street, but one does not pay undue attention to a pair of soldiers in this town. Perhaps he had deliberately moved away from them. You mentioned, Legate, that he hoped to be discreet.’
The Legate was still frowning, but he gave a nod. ‘You may be right.’
Properus smiled. ‘He said he had a meeting – with his informant, I suppose. Libertus. Though he did not tell me that.’
‘I am surprised he told you anything. And why should he enquire the way of you?’
‘I cannot answer that – but that is what he did. Legate, you cannot be meaning to suggest I had some hand in this? That I came up here, calmly murdered a man I’d never met, and then for good measure stabbed his servant in the back? For one thing, as Fauvus pointed out, I would be drenched in blood!’
This time I saw his error for myself. ‘Then how did you know the wound was in the servant’s back?’
Properus was breathing rather quickly now, and the look he gave me was simply venomous. But he maintained his outward calm. ‘Duumvir, you told me so yourself, when I first got here and you described the scene.’
I was certain that I hadn’t but that was hard to prove, with only Fauvus here to witness it. And I was hardly in a state to be reliable – even to myself. But what was Properus doing, I thought suddenly, in the street outside of my door when Laurentius arrived?
And then (thanks to that water, possibly) I understood! How almost right – and how completely wrong – my reasoning had been! Of course it had been Properus and Scito all along. Properus, ‘the hasty one’, who could not simply wait until he had his licence and could run the booth and make a comfortable living for himself, but had to try to make an instant fortune by dishonest means.
It was Properus who had drugged his master, just before the visit to the baths – Josephus had declined to lunch elsewhere – which did not kill him, but led to his collapse. And Scito was the educated slave who brought the ‘soothing draught’ and finally smothered the old man in his unnatural sleep. I’d forgotten that Florea had never met the slave before. Properus’s dead father had lived in Hellas, once – as the young man’s name proclaimed – and he would have known about the Delphi drug. And as a manufacturer of salves for eyes, no doubt he knew importers who could find ingredients – just as Fauvus’s dead master had done.
No wonder Properus had been so anxious to guard his special wine, when he had shared the flat with Josephus! No doubt the location of that apartment gave him the idea for duplicating the new Severus denarius, before it was in general circulation here and imitations easily perceived. Right above the workshops of the silversmiths – one of whom he’d clearly bribed to coat his worthless forgeries. How cleverly he’d chosen to move away from there, though perhaps the ironsmith beneath his new abode had helped to make the dies from the original. And how supreme his cleverness had been, in choosing to identify the first few fakes himself – persuading Josephus that he’d been missing them, and thus removing all suspicion from himself. He must have been convinced there was a fortune to be made.
And then his master spoiled it, by reporting the forgery to Rome. That was a dreadful shock. An agent of the Emperor was despatched, and would not be deflected – though Properus and Scito obviously tried. It must have been one of them who wrote those warning messages. So Josephus must be silenced before Laurentius came – perhaps he had suspicions by this time – and his poor servant, too.
Not that they’d intended to kill the spy, at first. There’d simply been a hurried scheme to run away – Properus changing identities with Semprius, so that he’d never be looked for – and taking the money he’d been storing at this flat, leaving the forged coins in its place. But the gooseboy and I had interrupted that.
And so the forgers had recourse to this – and implicated me!
But I had no proof of this at all. Properus had made a few unfortunate remarks, which – when challenged – he had either brazened out, or just denied. The Legate might be inclined to take my word, not his – but Rufus socially outranked me, and he would be believed.
I could appeal to Marcus, when he came, but that could be dangerous for him, since I was known to be his protégé. And it was unlikely Fauvus would escape a dreadful fate. I had foolishly suspected him, myself. And worse, had made that clear. Or thought I had. Looking back, I could see that Properus had misinterpreted, and concluded that I was accusing him! That’s why he had turned the tables, as he had, with his usual cleverness.
I was still thinking slowly, although more clearly now, and was wondering how I could proceed when there was a tapping at the door. I was still by the window, and I glanced outside, half-expecting this to be the escort from the fort. But there was just the urchin boy, leaning on the wall of the wine shop opposite, talking to Scito who had clearly just returned.
I had just time to wonder where Scito might have been, and whether I dared demand that he be brought upstairs, before the door was opened by the ‘warder’ with the sword, and three astonished tradesmen were revealed beyond. They were already boggling at the naked blade, but the sight of the Legate made them goggle even more.
Boudoucus decided he was spokesman. ‘We were sent for, by the duumvir.’
The Legate looked enquiringly at me.
‘It’s not important,’ I said wearily. ‘I called them, it is true – to accuse them of involvement in the fraud. Importing forged coins and spreading them through trade. And of having schemed the murder of the Imperial spy, to prevent him from investigating this.’ I spoke with bitterness, though I did remember not to mention Fauvus and what I had imagined was his part in it. It would be hard enough to save him, as it was, without equipping Properus with snares to catch him with. I waved a hand at Rufus who was scowling back at me. ‘But we now have a different version of the truth, from this townsman and the aedile, and a formal accusation has been made – which I do not accept.’
I was not prepared for the result of this. Comux rushed forward, ducked beneath the sword and flung himself abjectly at my feet. ‘Believe me, councillor, we are innocent. We have never been involved in fraud, or any plots to kill. All we did was falsify a shipping manifest, and keep a pair of hunting dogs to breed. I freely confess it and admit that it was wrong – we are ready to pay reparation and a fine, and would pay for the reshipment of the dogs, but no one knows where the ex-commander’s gone …’ He glanced up and saw my face. ‘Is something else the matter, councillor?’
I had heard of course, like everybody else, of the interrogation methods the authorities employed – accusing someone of a major crime, with hideous punishments, to induce them to admit to a more minor one. It seemed I had employed this, most effectively, without intending to. I said, with some attempt at dignity, ‘Your confession has been noted, in front of witnesses. I shall tell His Excellence what you have said, and no doubt he will assess the fine.’
Comux kissed my feet in gratitude, scrabbled to his own and was about to bow out backwards, when I thought of something else. ‘That was the “business opportunity” in which you hoped to interest Josephus? Breeding British hunting dogs, is that correct?’
Comux nodded. ‘We needed some investment. They’re expensive things to keep. Though if we were successful there were profits to be had. They are hard to get and men will pay a lot for them, not just in Britannia but throughout the empire. And there was already a litter of puppies on its way. He would certainly have earned his money back.’
I thought of the rustling, squeaking creatures in the warehouse gloom. ‘Except that the creatures were not yours to breed,’ I said. ‘We’ll see what Marcus says. In the meantime, see they’re warm and fed.’
Comux was almost incoherent in his thanks. He blushed and burbled back towards his friends, and I realized that the other people in the room were staring at me in a kind of disbelief.
I turned to the Legate. ‘Part of one’s duties as a councillor,’ I said. ‘Investigating infringements of cargo manifests. One matter, at least, is satisfactorily resolved.’
‘And I see you also paid that medicus …’ Brokko was speaking from the hall. ‘I’m glad you managed that.’
It was my turn to stare. ‘The medicus?’
‘Well, I assumed you’d paid him. We saw him just outside. Wearing a different tunic, but I’d know him anywhere.’
‘Brokko,’ I said quickly, ‘come over here to me. Look out of the window. Can you see him now?’
Brokko looked out of the window-space. ‘There!’ he said pointing. ‘What’s the mystery? If you set out to pay him, you must know that yourself?’
‘Brokko,’ I urged him. ‘Be careful what you say. Remember you are speaking in front of senior rank, from both the civil and military authorities. Do you confirm that is the medicus that visited the argentarius when he was ill?’
Brokko nodded. ‘Seemed to help him too. Had some sort of soothing medicine which made him sleep, and left some more for the maidservant to give him when he woke – though he said that he was resting and was not to be disturbed.’ He frowned at me. ‘And I will swear to that – as no doubt Florea will. If it is important, citizen.’
‘Oh, it is important, Brokko,’ I replied. ‘You see, that is not a medicus at all. That is Scito, Properus’s slave. And Legate, I believe I have the proof I need—’
Properus was past me like a ballista from a sling. ‘I should have killed you in the forest, when I had you there alone, or strangled you today – but Scito thought it better to foist the coins on you. And just when we were ready to escape!’
The soldier had recovered from his shock and had lumbered over, brandishing his sword. ‘I should arrest him, Legate?’ he enquired, and when this was answered with a nod, he advanced on Properus, with a nasty smile. ‘Don’t try resisting!’
But it was too late. Properus had already made his choice. He reached the window-space. For one agonising moment he teetered on the sill, and then plunged downwards. There were screams from passers-by as he fell and hit the road, but none from Properus.
He did not die at once. Perhaps he was even conscious of people crowding round – including the Legate, Rufus, the soldiers and myself – but he gave no sign of it. Only a faint twitching of the shattered limbs, and bleeding from the ears. And then there was nothing.
I turned to Rufus, who was shocked and white. My throat was dry again and that dreadful buzzing had returned. I fumbled at his sleeve. ‘Where’s Scito?’ I managed, before my legs betrayed me and I, once more, crumpled to the ground.
