Murder in the Forum (3 page)

Before I could speak, however, Junio forestalled me. ‘What is it, master? You look as if you have encountered a ghost.’

I thought about that battered, broken form in the forum and shuddered. ‘The next best thing,’ I said, and sinking down on my stool I told him all about it.

Junio fetched me a goblet of mead and heard me out in silence. When I had finished he shook his head. ‘This Felix sounds a real brute. And casually summoning Marcus to him, like a slave. Your patron will not care for that.’

‘He will care even less for my interrupting his love-life,’ I said irritably. ‘So if you have quite finished stating the obvious, perhaps you could find me my best cloak and a twist of bread and cheese for the journey, before Felix comes looking for me. I have no wish to travel in the same fashion as Marcus’s poor herald.’ That was an attempt at levity. Of course, I am a citizen and unlikely to be subject to quite such summary execution.

Junio shivered. ‘Do not joke about such topics, master.’ But he made particular haste to do my bidding. He scuttled up the stairs to the shabby sleeping-quarters above, calling as he did so, ‘Shall I bring my own cloak also? Surely you want me with you?’

I did. Very much. Not only because having a slave in attendance would visibly enhance my status and increase my comfort, but also because I have been teaching Junio my other skills as well. He has a sharp mind and has often helped me with his powers of observation and deduction. I would appreciate his company at any time, and never more than now, dealing with Felix Perennis. Whether Marcus agreed to accompany me or not, I was much more likely to come out of this alive if I had an observant witness at my side.

And it was possible that Marcus would not consent to come – after all, he was an aristocrat in his own right, and rumoured to be related to the Emperor himself. In that case I shuddered to think what my fate might be. All the same, I called back after him, ‘No, I think not.

‘There will not be room in the carriage,’ I said, when Junio reappeared. ‘Even if Zetso did condescend to carry slaves, Marcus will have his own attendants with him and they would take precedence over you. I should have to leave you behind.’ Even Junio could not argue with the logic of that, but he looked so crestfallen that I added encouragingly, ‘Besides, someone has to look after the shop.’

There was a measure of truth in that too, since my workshop is made of wood and situated interestingly between a tannery and a candle-maker’s, but Junio looked unimpressed. After all, he had accompanied me on many such expeditions before. However, he said nothing. He placed bread and cheese in my pouch and helped me into my cloak in silence, and – swiftly damping down the fire and putting up the shutter as if to wordlessly demonstrate how easy it would have been to shut up the premises – he accompanied me out of the house and back through the city to the East Gate.

Zetso was already there.

It was a fine arched gateway, with an imposing gatehouse over it, and set at the end of an impressive thoroughfare flanked with fine statues. It was intended to make visitors stop and stare, but nobody was looking at it today. All eyes were on the carriage, the imperial crest emblazoned on the doorway, the splendid golden horses and the even more splendid carriage-driver. Zetso was posing on the step, displaying his bronzed legs to advantage, to the obvious admiration of one of the soldiers manning the gate. I breathed a sigh of relief – my keeping Zetso waiting might otherwise have been dangerous.

All the same, I got in quickly; under the eyes of the crowd I felt like an actor in a spectacle. I tapped the side of the carriage to show that I was ready, and we were off.

I thought at first our cracking pace was for the benefit of the watching guard, but even after we had skirted the straggling northern suburbs and joined the main road over the escarpment where the town was far behind us, we still galloped towards Corinium as though our lives depended upon it.

As perhaps – considering the fate of Marcus’s herald – they actually did.

I had half hoped to use the journey as a time to collect my thoughts and prepare a conciliatory approach to Marcus, but it was impossible. I needed all my concentration to hold myself on the seat. If Perennis Felix travelled like this, I thought, alternately bumping his head and his nether regions, no wonder he was bull-shouldered and short-tempered. But, although the jolting addled the brains and numbed the hindquarters, it did reduce the journey to little over two hours.

Even when we reached Corinium there was no time for contemplation. The town guard threw open the gates at the first glimpse of the imperial blazon, and almost before I had time to lean out and shout directions to Zetso, we were bouncing along the crowded streets, scattering ladders, donkeys, handcarts and pedestrians as we went. However, we reached the house without any actual fatalities; the imperial crest worked its immediate magic on the gatekeepers and we drove straight in like the Emperor himself.

I was familiar with the house from a previous visit on official business with Marcus, but even so I was impressed again. It was a magnificent mansion, with a walled garden and carriage drive, more like a country villa than a town dwelling, and a pair of matched slaves was already hurrying out to meet us. Marcus was a lucky man, I thought. He was already legal guardian to his lovely widow under the terms of her husband’s will, but if he married her he would have the full usufruct of this estate in addition to his already considerable wealth. And here I was about to interrupt his courting. I was not looking forward to it a bit.

Other slaves came out to tend the horses and Zetso was led away, muttering, to the servants’ quarters to be fed and watered in his turn. I was led ceremoniously into the atrium, where dates and watered wine awaited me. I cared for neither, but I took a little for form’s sake – anything was welcome after that jolting in the carriage – stated my business and settled down to wait.

I did not wait long. After a very few minutes, in which I prepared and rejected a dozen little speeches, Marcus himself strode into the room. He was angry, tapping his baton against his leg in a way which would usually have had me cringing. He had evidently been disturbed at an unwelcome moment; his short fairish curls were tousled, his face was flushed and his fine purple-edged toga showed every sign of having been donned in a hurry – even the gold brooch at his shoulder was fastened askew.

But although he was scowling ferociously, by comparison to Perennis Felix he looked positively benevolent. My mind cleared, and I simply knelt before him, making a humble obeisance. ‘Most revered Excellence, accept my abjectest apologies for this unwarranted intrusion on your esteemed presence.’ Marcus, unlike Felix, was susceptible to flattery.

The scowl thawed a little.

I added for good measure, ‘A thousand pardons to your lady, too, for this unwarrantable interruption.’ With Marcus in this mood, I was careful to avoid naming her, for fear of sounding familiar. The widow was called Julia, in fact, but that was such a common name in the Empire – after the famous Emperor – that Marcus always referred to her as ‘Delicta’, or ‘beloved’, to distinguish her from the dozen other Julias that he knew. I hardly felt that I could do the same.

My circumspection seemed to have some effect. Marcus extended a ringed hand. ‘Well?’ He was still sounding stern. ‘There had better be a good explanation.’ He did not invite me to stand.

‘I hope that you will think so, Excellence. Tigidius Perennis Felix is in Glevum, and has sent me in his carriage to fetch you. I am to tell you that there is a banquet for him this evening and he hopes – requests – that you will attend.’

I was expecting an outburst, but there was none. Indeed, there was such a protracted silence that after a while I raised my forehead from the level of his ankle-straps and glanced up at my patron. He was staring into space with a strange expression on his face, as if in the grip of some unaccustomed emotion. I knew what it was, however. I have experienced panic often enough to recognise it when I see it.

‘Master?’ I ventured.

Marcus seemed to come to himself, and he gestured to me impatiently. ‘Oh, do get up, Libertus. I can’t think properly with you grovelling about down there.’ As I obeyed, gratefully (tiled floors are hard on ageing knees), he added, ‘Immortal Jupiter! Felix Perennis. In Glevum! You know who he is, I suppose?’

‘A relative of the former Prefect of Rome?’ I was proud of my earlier deductions. ‘And presumably, since he survived the executions, a particular favourite of the Emperor’s.’

‘Enjoys the imperial favour, certainly. A matter of money, I imagine. I doubt if even Commodus really likes the man.’

‘You know this Felix, Excellence?’ I am inclined to forget that Marcus spent most of his life in the Imperial City.

‘It would be difficult to avoid knowing him. He had a finger in every profitable pie in Rome – forests, vineyards, olive groves, shipping, sheep. No doubt, when his cousin fell, Felix could offer a sufficient sum to persuade Commodus of his own innocence.’

‘A loan?’

Marcus laughed. ‘A bribe. It will be called something else, of course, as these things always are. A donation to some public works, perhaps, but of course Felix won’t expect to have it accounted for. Besides, he has always provided the Emperor with other valuable services as well – women, horses, wine. He also keeps a substantial private guard of the toughest swordsmen that money can buy, and was known to be savagely jealous of his kinsman the Prefect. Altogether, it was obviously enough to save his life.’

‘So now he is enjoying his turn at influence? Travelling the Empire as an imperial envoy?’

Marcus sighed. ‘If only that was all.’

‘There is more?’ I was surprised. What I already knew seemed alarming enough.

Marcus picked up a goblet from the serving tray which had been provided, and held it out absently to be filled. ‘Do you know what happened to Prefect Perennis?’

‘Not entirely. Surrendered to the crowd for justice, as I heard it,’ I said carefully, darting Marcus a warning look. There were slaves present – one was even now filling his goblet – and Zetso was waiting in the servants’ hall. No doubt he was, among other things, a spy, and Felix would have equipped him with adequate bribes. In the circumstances one could hardly be too careful. These were not even Marcus’s own slaves.

Marcus ignored my signals. ‘Thrown to the crowd,’ he said. ‘You know why?’

I did, of course, but I shook my head. ‘It was some time ago.’ I knew how to be cautious, if Marcus did not. I do not enjoy his privileges.

‘Accused of misappropriating funds from the public purse,’ Marcus said, swallowing his wine at a gulp and gesturing for more.

‘Perhaps that was true,’ I ventured. ‘The Emperor in his wisdom . . .’ Commodus is a fool and a lecher, but I wasn’t about to question his judgement with the servants listening.

Marcus snorted. ‘Of course it was true. It had been true for years. Commodus knew it, but he didn’t care. He virtually allowed Prefect Perennis to run the Empire – it gave him more time for debauching women, dressing up as a gladiator, flirting with his coachman and generally making a public spectacle of himself.’

‘Excellence!’ I pleaded. This kind of talk could easily get one executed for merely listening to it. ‘The servants.’

He looked surprised. Marcus, like many Romans, is so accustomed to slaves that he thinks of them as animated tools, no more capable of seeing and hearing than chairs or tables. I, on the other hand, was once a slave myself. I could imagine, only too easily, how readily a little gold could loosen household tongues. Every slave dreams of buying his own freedom.

Marcus followed my glance. ‘Ah! The servants. I should dismiss them, do you think?’

I shook my head. ‘With respect, Excellence, I think you should instruct them to wait here . . . outside the door.’

He thought about that for a moment, then nodded and gave the order. Then, with the servants safely out of earshot, he turned to me again. ‘Very shrewd, old friend. I should have sent them straight into the arms of Felix’s driver. I was saying . . .’

‘You were telling me about Prefect Perennis,’ I said, feeling so weak with relief that I would have welcomed a glass of wine myself. ‘There was a march on Rome by some disaffected lance-bearers, threatening to storm the city because they hadn’t been paid. Commodus was terrified of them, blamed it all on the Prefect, and had him thrown to the mob. That is, as I heard it.’

‘So you did know.’ Marcus sounded aggrieved. ‘Do you also know where those rebellious lance-bearers came from?’

I genuinely didn’t, and I told him so.

‘Well, that is the most significant thing,’ Marcus said, somewhat cheered to have part of the story left to tell. ‘They came from these very islands – part of the Britannic legions. They were in revolt. And when Perennis fell, another man was recalled from disgrace and sent here to restore control. Someone whom Perennis had hated, who was so successful that the troops wanted to make him Emperor. His name was Pertinax. You remember Pertinax?’

I was about to say, ‘Naturally I remember him, Excellence, since he is your patron and my Governor,’ when the implications of this struck me.

‘But surely,’ I burst out, ‘the Governor’s loyalty is not in question? He was almost killed last year putting down that rebellion against Commodus.’

Marcus shook his head. ‘Our revered Emperor distrusts everyone. Perhaps he is right. He had hardly succeeded to the purple before his own sister tried to assassinate him. And the legions did want to acclaim Pertinax as Emperor. Commodus will not forget that.’

‘You think that is why Felix has come? To seek out similar plots?’

Marcus looked at me gloomily. ‘You understand servants, my old friend, but you do not understand imperial politics. The Emperor would not send a conspicuous figure like Felix to discover a plot. He will already have a dozen spies in place.’

Remembering Marcus’s previous indiscretions before the servants, I could only blanch at this revelation. ‘Then why is he here?’

Marcus said gloomily, ‘I imagine he feels that he has scores to settle. It took the rebellion to make Commodus sacrifice his former friend to the mob, but Pertinax had always advised the Emperor against him. And vice versa. It was Perennis who had Pertinax disgraced and exiled in the first place. So when the Prefect fell, Pertinax was recalled to Rome.’