Murder in the Forum (26 page)

He hesitated for a moment, but temptation was too strong. He accepted the brimming cup which Junio offered him and, rather unwisely, drained it at a gulp. He was not used to mead, which can be potent when warmed, so I won the second game quite easily, even without Junio’s help. And the third. It did not matter. In a very short space of time our companion had become quite remarkably confiding and garrulous.

‘It’s my belief,’ he assured us, rather indistinctly, ‘that Pertinax is only coming to Glevum because that fellow Marcus has got married. He is threatening an enormous feast as soon as this funeral is over.’ He pondered over a move. ‘An attractive widow, so they say, and already ruling him like a general. Ah! My game, I think.’

I had with some difficulty managed to place my
dux
where he could not fail to take it. It was important that he win something. Tomorrow, when he was sober, he might regret his losses and I would still be liable for tax.

‘They say,’ the taxman said, reaching out for the coins on the table and sweeping them with one unsteady hand in the general direction of the other. The affected Roman accent was slurred with drink and it was with difficulty that I made out what he was saying. ‘They say,’ he lifted a drunken finger at me, ‘she is sulking . . . over some slaves of hers who were killed and refuses to leave Glevum until the murderer is found. Though Marcus,’ he smiled a stupidly beatific smile, ‘has somebody in cust . . . cust . . . has somebody locked up. Stupid fellow confessed. Silly sort of chap from Rome.’

Octavius, I guessed, and blessed whichever gods were responsible for that particular false rumour. I might have asked the taxman more, but he was already slumping forward on his stool, and leaning his head upon the table. Four or five beakers of hot mead had taken their toll. I made a mental resolution to leave the building next morning before the headache awoke.

I tiptoed off with some relief and availed myself of the bath-house. It was small, but adequate, and the sensation of hot steam and cool water – to say nothing of a quick oil and scrape-down from the bath-house slave – made me feel more human than I had done for several days. If I had only had a clean tunic to put on, I would have felt almost myself again. This one was becoming as battered and travel-weary as I was.

We returned to the communal eating room, where a cheerful stew was being served, and I made a comfortable meal. Junio, in the servants’ quarters, ate more simply, but quite well. The tax-collector had disappeared, though the sound of reverberating snores from one of the sleeping rooms suggested what direction he had taken.

After dinner I had a short discussion with the
octio
. He offered his contingent as escort for our carriage as far as Letocetum.

I was tempted. I knew that Egobarbus had been at Letocetum and Marcus had sent me (hadn’t he?) to investigate the death. Even if I took his carriage, I wouldn’t be exceeding my authority – much – and if I achieved results my patron would forgive me. Indeed, he would be likely to claim that it was all his own idea. However, I could not be in two places at once. I still had to deliver Zetso’s letter to the ex-centurion, and that would answer the question of where Felix spent the night. Regretfully, I was obliged to decline.

‘You were lucky tonight, master,’ Junio said with a grin, as he assisted me, still dressed in my tunic, to the floor.

‘On the contrary,’ I said testily. ‘I have failed. I have not solved the question of Egobarbus, and now Zetso has slipped through our fingers. But what could I do? Zetso was carrying an imperial warrant, and without evidence it is more than my life is worth to detain him. But it is a tiresome business. I should not have let him go. I am still convinced that he was involved in the death of Egobarbus.’

Junio looked at me. ‘It would be possible, master, for you to accept the
octio
’s offer. You could accompany the soldiers, perhaps in one of their carts, and I could take the carriage and deliver the letter. You could seek out Zetso and we could meet tomorrow evening in Letocetum.’

There was some sense in the suggestion, but I shook my head. ‘I do not trust him a thumbs breadth. For all I know this letter carries instructions to throw me in irons as soon as I arrive.’

‘But it will name
you
, it will not apply to me,’ Junio said. ‘And even if it does, better he imprisons me than you. You could go to Marcus – or even Pertinax – and sue for my release. It would be much more difficult to do the same for you. They would take days to grant me an audience. And I will have Marcus’s carriage-driver with me.’

‘Oh, very well,’ I said reluctantly. ‘I will think about it.’ I lay down on the straw and put the tablet under the pillow at my head. I had been clinging to it all evening like a nervous sailor clinging to a oar. ‘All the same, I wish I knew what that letter said.’

Junio finished arranging blankets over me. ‘You should get some sleep, master. You will have to rise very early to avoid the tax-collector. He might want another game with you, and you would never beat him, sober. At least, not without me.’

He gave me a cheeky smile, and blew out the candle and curled up at my feet. I wanted to think of a reply, but it had been a long day and he was already asleep. I lay a long time on the straw, the events of the last few days swirling through my brain like unconnected pattern pieces for a pavement. Then I too, drifted into sleep.

I awoke next morning with a jerk and sat up so suddenly that I banged my head sharply on the wall. Something (apart from the wall) had struck me. Why had I not thought of it before? I felt for the writing tablet beneath the straw and held it up hopefully, but it was still too dark to see.

My movement had awoken Junio, and he raised himself with a groan. ‘Master, what is it? Even the sun is not yet out of bed. Can I not stay in mine a little longer? There is time yet to escape before the taxman wakes.’

‘A candle, Junio.’ I scrambled out of bed, pulling stray pieces of bedding from my hair. ‘If am right there is no time to lose.’

‘Very well, master.’ He hauled himself to his feet, dusted himself down and disappeared through the door. I glimpsed him, a slim shadow in the darkness, groping towards the main building of the inn. Like every other establishment, they would not let the fire die if they could help it: if nothing else there would be a bucket of hot coals in a brazier where he could light his taper.

It seemed an age, to my agitated mind, before I saw him return, the light glimmering like a beacon in the darkened yard.

‘Come here, Junio,’ I greeted him. He brought the lighted candle closer, and held it aloft. I held up the wax tablet, and saw with a rush of triumph that I had been right. ‘You see that? I should have thought of it before. Look at that seal.’

Junio gazed at me. ‘The seal, master? What is wrong with it? It looks impressive enough to me.’

I found myself grinning at him. ‘It is the seal of Perennis Felix, and that cannot be lawfully used, because the man is dead.’

‘Felix’s seal? You are sure?’

My grin widened. ‘As sure as I stand here. I saw the seal on Felix’s ring the first time I met him. One could hardly miss it. He meant it to be noticed. I marked the design at the time – I am not a pattern-maker for nothing. Three crossed swords and curlicues over a sheaf of wheat. I wonder I did not recognise it before. Give me my knife from the table there.’

Junio gulped, but he obeyed and watched as I carved at the cord that bound the tablet together. He did not voice his anxiety, but I could hear it in his tone as he said, nervously, ‘So why did Zetso have it? You think he stole it from his master?’

I shook my head. ‘In that case he would not use it so openly. More likely that Felix gave it to him, or even had the seal-stamp made for him. Zetso told us that Felix used him as an agent in business matters.’ It was thick cord and my knife had not been sharpened, but I had almost sawn it through.

‘Men do not often lend their seals.’ Junio was still sounding doubtful. ‘Felix must have trusted him implicitly.’

I thought again of Felix’s pudgy face. ‘That man would not willingly trust his own reflection in a mirror, unless he held it firmly by the neck. He must have had some additional hold on Zetso – or perhaps Zetso had a hold on him.’ I moved aside the cord, taking care not to disturb the seal – I might need that later, if I was called to account for my actions – and opened the latch on the writing tablet. Junio held the candle closer.

The message was short, scratched out in a bold but uneducated hand. ‘We are too late. The man is dead. Send word to Glevum. I ride to warn the rest.’

‘So!’ Junio said eagerly. ‘You have it in your hands, master. Conclusive proof that there was a conspiracy. Zetso may not have killed his master, but he certainly planned to.’

‘This message certainly puts a new complexion on the matter, Junio, though I confess I still do not altogether understand it. However, on one point I have been peculiarly stupid. I should have noticed the seal. Go quickly now and find the
octio
. We will have need of his soldiers after all.’

Junio gave me another startled look and disappeared again, while I tried rather ineffectually to rouse myself by rinsing my face and neck in a bowl of water which my slave had set in readiness the night before. If I was right I needed my wits about me, and I was beginning to regret the several goblets of spiced mead that I had allowed myself the night before.

We were none too soon in reaching the
octio
. Soldiers keep early hours. The contingent was already afoot and preparing for the day’s march.

The
octio
came in, his natural air of assertive bustle restored now that Zetso had left us. He was ready to be obliging, though – I still held Marcus’s warrant in my pouch. ‘How can I assist you, citizen?’

I outlined what I wanted, and the affability flowed out of him like dye from an octopus. A little of his confidence went with it. ‘Citizen, I already have my orders. This is impossible. We could escort you to Letocetum if you wished it – but to arrest that horseman again, with that warrant still in his pocket? And then abandon our march and return with him to Glevum? That is more than my life is worth.’

I could hardly blame him for this. He was speaking literally, if a charge of disobeying orders was proved against him. He was not even a centurion, only a second-in-command. If I was wrong in my deductions I was risking not only my life, but his. And, although he did not know it, I was about to flout the Emperor’s own warrant. My only hope lay in an appeal to rank.

‘Listen,
octio
,’ I said, with as much authority as I could muster, ‘Helvius Pertinax is governor of this island. Every soldier in it is under his command. I issue you this order in the name of Pertinax, on the authority of the seal I hold.’ I held up the wax tablet. ‘I assure you it has more authenticity than this one.’

He glanced at the little recess on the tablet-cover where Felix’s seal still nestled on its broken cord, and his jaw dropped – for all the world like a mime at a banquet caricaturing surprise. For once I had occasion to bless the ugly Roman’s taste for ostentation. One could almost see the
octio
’s brain working. I could not have cut an impressive figure at that moment, in my tousled tunic with pieces of bed-straw still adhering to me – but if I had the authority to unseal that tablet, and boast of it in front of witnesses, I must be more important than he thought.

I said, to encourage him, ‘I have doubts about that warrant he was carrying, too.’

He ran a thoughtful tongue around his lips. ‘Of course, citizen, when you put it that way . . . But surely, by the time we get to Letocetum, the man may easily have gone? He is an excellent rider, and he has a night’s advantage on us, and in any case my men are on foot.’

He was right, of course, and I acknowledged that. ‘Nevertheless, it is my guess that he will stay there for a while. He speaks of “others” in that tablet – it will take him a little time to find them all.’

The
octio
looked doubtfully at the unsealed tablet again. ‘But, citizen, even if he is still in the vicinity, how will you know where to look? Letocetum is not a large settlement but it is far bigger than this. There was most of a legion stationed there at one time, and a whole little
vicus
grew up around it. Besides, Letocetum is a meeting of the ways. If he has left, how will you know whether he went to Deva, Danum or Londinium?’

He was right, again. The fellow had more knowledge of the roads than I did. ‘There is a good chance that he will not have left,’ I said, with more certainty than I felt. ‘He does not expect to be followed. Once he has found his contacts, there is no need for hurry. And as for finding him in the village, that should not be difficult. Zetso spoke of Egobarbus bursting in on a meeting “in the house”. Glevum is a large
colonia
, but any inhabitant could tell you everywhere that Felix visited. He was not an inconspicuous person. I imagine in a small village, even on a crossroads, such information should be easy to obtain.’

The
octio
swallowed and nodded. He was clearly very unhappy. ‘In a while then. I must see my men are fed, and then we shall be on the road. Your servant, citizen.’ He went out, looking like a religious prisoner on the way to the arena.

I too had breakfast to attend to, although here it would be a miserable Roman affair of bread and water, with an apple if one was lucky. Oatcakes are a Celtic taste. I could find it in my heart to envy the soldiers their morning issue of thin, watery vegetable soup – the army, at least, recognises that a man must eat before he marches.

I was swallowing my crust of bread (no apples), and hoping that the taxman would not waken and join me, when the
octio
burst in on me again.

‘Apologies, citizen,’ he blurted, looking askance at Junio who was scrambling to his feet from my side with his mouth full of breadcrumbs, ‘but I have a solution. You could send ahead to Letocetum – there is a postrider newly arrived from Isca, with urgent orders for the garrison there. He will pause only to eat and to exchange his horse, and – although it is irregular – no doubt he could alert the garrison of your wishes. There is still a small
vexillation
posted there, in case of any repeat of that regrettable Boudicca affair.’