Murder in the Forum (22 page)

He paused theatrically. I knew better than to interrupt when my patron was making one of his dramatic declarations. I waited.

‘You will recall,’ he went on, ‘that I asked the commander of the garrison to make enquiries on the road to Eboracum? About that so-called Egobarbus and his party?’

‘You said that you would.’

‘Well, my friend, he was better than his word. Yesterday he sent a courier with a message to a little
mansio
halfway to Letocetum, an official way-station for the military post about a day’s march away. It was a short distance, for a horseman, and he had time to ask some questions in the area. There were some interesting results.’

He pushed aside his platter and gestured to the slave at the door, who hurried forward with water and napkins.

Marcus extended his fingers to be washed, and went on, ‘It seems that Felix took a house near there for a day or two, before he came to Glevum. Paid gold for it, and insisted on solitude. The owner was to make it ready for him and then go away and leave him undisturbed.’

The slave poured him a cup of watered wine and offered some to me. I took a little – to refuse entirely would have been insulting – and the servant retired. Marcus raised his drinking dish and looked at me questioningly over the rim of it. ‘What do you make of that?’

It was so unforeseen, I could make nothing of it. But Marcus was clearly waiting for an answer. ‘The solitude you might expect,’ I ventured. ‘Felix would not care to share his lodgings with anyone. What surprises me is that he should rent a house at all.’

Marcus’s grin broadened. ‘A most unlikely house it was too, by all accounts – a modest freeman’s dwelling less than four hours’ drive from here.’

I frowned. ‘Why should he do that, Excellence? He had a carriage, and an imperial warrant too – the
mansio
itself would open its doors to him, offer him the best it could, and it would cost him nothing. Why would he choose to sleep in some rented hovel?’ I took a sip of sour wine.

Marcus smiled. ‘That is just the point, my dear Libertus. He did not sleep there. Perhaps he never intended to. It seems he took the house for someone else. Or at least someone else stayed there. The owner did not know the name, and – after his instructions – did not dare approach, but he glimpsed the man, he says. A big red-haired Celt in a plaid with a long drooping moustache.’ Marcus tossed down his wine in a victorious gulp.

I was so startled I almost choked on mine. ‘Egobarbus,’ I exclaimed, as he had no doubt hoped I would.

Marcus set down his drinking cup. ‘You see what that suggests? The two men did know each other. Felix arranged the house himself, although he pretended only to have dealt with Egobarbus through an agent. Of course he would expect Egobarbus to come to him, and not the other way about, but why select a place like that, instead of arranging to have him quartered at a military inn at no cost to himself? He was carrying an imperial warrant. Or why not simply summon him to Glevum? I never trusted this visit. I knew he was plotting something – no doubt with the help of his bewhiskered friend.’ He glanced at me. ‘What are you frowning at?’

‘I was merely wondering, Excellence, why – if Felix met the man at the house, or even simply sent word where it was – he did not invite him to the banquet then. Of course, Felix did not know whose mansion he would have here, but he was clearly intending to demand a feast as soon as he arrived. But the guard at the gate was quite specific on the point. Felix sent his invitation only when he learned that the Celt was being held for questioning in Glevum.’

‘I cannot answer that,’ Marcus said tetchily. ‘But there was clearly a secret meeting between them. There is confirmation of that, from an unlikely source. The driver of the hired carriage, you remember?’

I remembered only too well. I had hoped to question him myself.

‘You were right to think of it,’ Marcus said, magnanimously. ‘He did come back for payment, as you suggested. I had one of my guards waylay him and bring him in for interrogation. He was most co-operative.’

I felt sure he was. My heart went out to the poor fellow whose only crime was first to carry a party of Celts who failed to pay him properly, and then to return to claim what was his. It was likely to have proved a painful experience. But Marcus does not share my doubts on such matters. I said, briefly, ‘What did you learn?’

‘That he was engaged by one of Egobarbus’s slaves in Letocetum. That is where he comes from. On a given day he was to drive along the Glevum road, pick up Egobarbus and his party from a house – the same house from his account of it – and bring them here.’

‘But not to take them from Letocetum to the house?’

Marcus looked startled. ‘I had not thought of that. You are right, my old friend – it is a little odd.’ He motioned to the waiting slave to come and refill his cup. ‘Although the Celt was expecting to receive some money. The driver kept repeating that, whatever they did to him.’

I winced.

‘He was promised a large sum,’ Marcus went on, ‘and payment for his return journey too. He arrived as arranged, but he had agreed a premium for a fourth passenger, and there were only three. When they got here the Celt refused to pay it.’

‘I have been thinking about that,’ I said. ‘That is odd too. Why should he demand an additional fare? Does he not have one of the devices on the wheels which counts the times they turn? I thought that was the agreed basis of all hiring charges now?’ The widespread introduction of the simple machine from Rome some years ago had enormously simplified the business of travelling – up to then the price of a carriage depended largely on chance, and how vulnerable you were to threat and extortion.

‘He needed to bring a bigger carriage, he says, instead of his usual lighter one. Three he could have managed, but not four. He swears he explained to the slave who hired him that there would have to be an extra charge. And then the Celt could not pay it – or would not. Instead he referred him back to Felix. And, remember, Felix arranged for the use of that house, and paid for it.’

I took another sip of my own watered wine before I ventured, ‘Do you suppose, Excellence, that they arranged to meet there, and somehow failed to do it? That would explain the fourth place in the carriage. Intended for Felix, do you suppose?’

Marcus looked at me. ‘Felix would have his imperial carriage. Why would he want to travel in that way?’

I had no answer to that. ‘Perhaps it was not Felix himself,’ I suggested feebly. ‘There are others of his party. Phyllidia, for instance – or that maid of hers. Her
custos
– the guard who travelled with her. Zetso Octavius even.’ I did not believe it, even as I spoke. Perhaps the wine had fuddled my brain – I am not accustomed to strong drink in the morning. ‘Though of course they had their own transport too. We must find Egobarbus, Excellence, and ask him. He cannot have gone far.’

‘You can ask him, my old friend, but I doubt that he will help you.’ Marcus’s face took on the satisfied look of an arena lion after a tasty snack. He knew something that I didn’t, clearly, and he was making me work for it.

I struggled for inspiration, and it came to me at last. ‘You have found him?’

Marcus shook his head. ‘I have not found him, no, but it seems that someone may have.’

‘Dead?’

Marcus raised his drinking cup as if to say, ‘Correct.’

I was, frankly, surprised. That attack in the alley the day before had convinced me that the counterfeit Egobarbus was still alive, and presumably in the city somewhere. ‘Where?’

‘In that self-same house I was talking of. He must have done as you suggested, crept past the gates disguised as a funeral mourner, and made his way back there. It is not impossible to walk at night, if one is desperate.’

‘But, Excellence – those ruffians yesterday – I am convinced they were his slaves.’

‘I presume he went alone. He could hardly smuggle his servants through the gates with him.’

It is dangerous to dispute with Marcus, but I could not let it pass. ‘But it is a day’s march. You are sure it is the same man?’ It occurred to me that this might be the missing passenger.

‘As sure as I can be. The owner of the house was questioned this morning when he returned to his home. A little later he came running to the
mansio
, saying that there was something in the well. A red-haired body, in plaid leggings.’

It was not one of the slaves then. They wore simple tunics. And it was a Celtic gentleman. No one else in these islands wore trousers. But I was still doubtful. ‘Have they examined the body?’

Marcus shook his head. ‘The owner tried to pull it up on his bucket but the weight broke the rope. But he thought he should report it, since the courier had been asking questions. I think he was hoping the military would help him to retrieve the body. It will poison his water supply.’

‘And did they?’

‘I imagine so. I do not know with what results. The messenger was just leaving, as it happened. He galloped straight to Glevum and the commander sent word to me. However, since you were so keen to visit Eboracum, I thought of sending you. You can confirm it is the same man. I will give you a letter, with my seal, and they will entertain you at the
mansio
.’

But this was not Eboracum, I wanted to shout. This was a poky military inn only a few miles away. But if my patron ordered me to go, I would have to do it.

Marcus saw my face. ‘Cheer up, old friend. At least, if you make the journey, you will escape the necessity of attending another funeral. There will be a
funus publicus
for Felix in two days’ time. I have decreed it. The Emperor will expect some such public gesture.’

I nodded. For these great state occasions a herald goes about the streets summoning all the citizens to attend and – whatever one’s dealings with the deceased – it is generally prudent to do so. It occurred to me with a shudder that at any other time it would have been Marcus’s herald that made the proclamation.

‘It will be a huge affair, with a decorated bier, trumpeters, hired dancers and a sung dirge,’ Marcus said. ‘I have given the instructions. If we are going to do it, we will do it properly.’

I could not have escaped it – trailing along in the procession with the magistrates and dignitaries, the Vestal virgins, crowds of soldiers – horse and foot – and every citizen in the town. Always at the back, too, so that when the golden litter stopped (as it inevitably would) for fanfares and panegyrics, it would be quite impossible to hear a thing. Suddenly the prospect of this journey seemed much more attractive.

‘So,’ I said. ‘You have no idea who this body is? Or was?’

Marcus looked inscrutable. ‘I have some suspicions. The courier brought us this.’ From under the cushions at his side he produced a small parcel wrapped in linen cloth. He watched me as I opened it. It was a small glass bottle with a loop at the lip. A faint aroma of almonds still lingered about it.

If it was not the poison phial which had been stolen from me the day before, it was one most extraordinarily like it.

I stared at Marcus. He was grinning triumphantly.

‘The soldiers found it hidden in the ditch a little way from the house. Conclusive proof, do you not think, that this is our missing murderer?’

I did a little rapid calculation. ‘But surely this cannot be the same phial, Excellence. This was recovered yesterday, you say, halfway to Letocetum. But it was only yesterday afternoon that I was robbed. Egobarbus might have gone there, but he did not have the phial. It cannot have been in two places at one time.’

Marcus’s face fell. ‘You think there are two phials?’

The moment had come. I slipped a hand into my folds and untied the knotted cord about my belt. ‘Not two, Excellence,’ I said, sadly, producing the little bottle. ‘Three. I found this yesterday at Gaius’s house.’ I could see the questions forming, so I hurried on. ‘Of course, this phial has poisoned no one. It has not been opened. But I think I should go and identify this body.’

‘Very well. You had better return home and collect your slave. I have requisitioned a carriage for you. My driver will take you to the
mansio
.’ He got to his feet and motioned to the slave to show me out. ‘Now, excuse me, I have
clientes
to receive.’

The interview was over. I was dismissed.

I shall gloss over the journey that ensued. I am getting too old to be joggled about the countryside, never mind doing it twice in three days. Suffice it to say that any bruises I had sustained in my fall in the alley were reinforced by the lack of springing, and that any threat of a chill after the funeral was redoubled by a dreadful river crossing, where the carriage wheel got stuck in a shallow ford, and Junio and I were obliged to clamber out and wade, with unpleasantly damp results for our footwear and lower garments.

I was glad I had forgone my toga for the occasion. The events of the previous day had taken their toll on my already pathetic garment. I reasoned that interviewing a freeman peasant did not require my formal badge of citizenship and I had sent Junio to the fuller’s with it before we set off, in the forlorn hope of having it cleaned and mended. Since even my long tunic and cloak were clinging damply to the backs of my knees, I blessed the gods at least for my decision. Marcus’s warrant and this carriage would give me all the authority I needed at the inn.

For once Junio’s company did not cheer me. He was miserably anxious himself. The further we got from the familiar roads around Glevum, the more nervous he became. He had been cast down since the stabbing of the fair-headed maid, and this journey seemed the final straw.

I could understand it. Places like Letocetum were merely names to him, and I doubt he would have been surprised if the road had suddenly vanished and we found ourselves galloping briskly into oblivion. Even I, who have travelled half the island (albeit most of it in chains), was sobered to reflect that Roman horsemen routinely cover fifty miles in a single day, and the army can do almost half as much as that on foot, with their heavy kit on their backs.