The Ghosts of Glevum
Rosemary Rowe
Copyright © 2004 Rosemary Aitken
The right of Rosemary Rowe to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
First published as an Ebook by HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP in 2013
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
eISBN: 978 1 4722 0510 0
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Table of Contents
Rosemary Rowe is the maiden name of author Rosemary Aitken, who was born in Cornwall during the Second World War. She is a highly qualified academic, and has written more than a dozen bestselling textbooks on English language and communication. She has written fiction for many years under her married name. Rosemary has two children and also two grandchildren living in New Zealand, where she herself lived for twenty years. She now divides her time between Gloucestershire and Cornwall.
The Germanicus Mosaic
A Pattern of Blood
Murder in the Forum
The Chariots of Calyx
The Legatus Mystery
The Ghosts of Glevum
Enemies of the Empire
A Roman Ransom
A Coin for the Ferryman
‘A brilliantly realised historical setting dovetails perfectly with a sharp plot in this history-cum-whodunnit’
Good Book Guide
‘The Libertus novels are among the best of the British historical detectives. The characters are well formed and the plots leave you guessing while giving you enough hints and clues to grip your attention’
Gloucestershire Life
‘The character of Libertus springs to life. A must for anyone interested in Roman Britain’ Paul Doherty
‘Lots of fascinating detail about what the Romans ever did for us . . . History with an entertaining if murderous twist’
Birmingham Post
‘Rowe has had the clever idea of making her detective-figure a mosaicist, and, therefore, an expert in puzzles and patterns. Into the bargain, he is a freed Celtic slave, and thus an outsider to the brutalities of the conquerors, and a character with whom the reader can sympathise’
Independent
‘Superb characterisation and evocation of Roman Britain. It transports you back to those times. An entirely compelling historical mystery’ Michael Jecks
‘Libertus is a thinking man’s hero . . . a delightful whodunnit which is fascinating in the detail of its research and the charm of its detective team’
Huddersfield Daily Examiner
‘Cunningly drawn and the very devil to fathom until the final pages’
Coventry Evening Telegraph
To John and Maria, with much love
(and thanks to Eric, who knew about eels)
The Ghosts of Glevum
is set in the winter of AD 187. At that time most of Britain had been for almost two hundred years the northernmost outpost of the hugely successful Roman Empire: occupied by Roman legions, criss-crossed by Roman military roads, subject to Roman laws and taxes, and ruled over by a provincial governor (now Pertinax) answerable directly to Rome where Commodus still wore the Imperial purple and ruled with an autocratic and capricious hand. In fact, the Emperor’s debauchery and excesses were renowned, and he had become so unpopular that there was continuous rumour of unrest. Following an attempt by his sister to assassinate him early in his reign, Commodus was particularly savage in his treatment of conspirators, as suggested in the novel.
The existence of Pertinax – and his promotion to the African provinces at about this time – is historical, although there is no reliable evidence to show the precise date of his departure or, interestingly, the name of his successor. In the absence of accurate information here, the story postulates that no immediate appointment to the post was made, and that Pertinax continued to maintain nominal control over both provinces at once, using local appointees until a new governor could be installed. This is entirely speculative, of course, and probably unlikely, but such an arrangement is not impossible and there are historical precedents elsewhere. The division of the province of Britannia into two for administrative purposes (suggested here as a temporary expedient) is not known to have occurred at this time. It was, however, a suggestion attributed to Pertinax by some authorities, and the arrangement was in fact implemented sometime early in the third century. (Thereafter the two regions had separate governors, so that by AD 219 Paulinus is described in an inscription as ‘Governor of Britannia Inferior’.)
Official authority within the province was divided between local, provincial and Imperial government, which all existed side by side throughout the period. Glevum (modern Gloucester) where the story is set, was a
colonia
– one of only a handful of such high-ranking cities in the province – and was effectively a self-governing city-state, founded as a retirement settlement for wealthy veterans, and enjoying such wealth and status that any freeman born within the walls was automatically a Roman citizen. A chief magistrate and councillor, such as Balbus, represented the local tier of government and would necessarily have been a person of considerable influence and wealth. Indeed, the term of office for the highest magistrate was usually restricted to a year or two, largely because the cost of tenureship – which included the provision of civic works and games – was recognised as cripplingly high.
In addition, each province had a procurator (or, in the case of smaller regions, a sub-procurator) such as Mellitus. These were Imperial appointees, responsible directly to the Emperor, but otherwise effectively autonomous. They were the chief fiscal officers, entirely responsible for the financial administration of the province, and although extremely influential were generally disliked, probably because they were responsible for tax. Their co-operation was nonetheless essential to local government.
There were also the military authorities. The army in the second century was commanded by two different kinds of men: career soldiers, such as centurions, who were professionals; and the
legatus legionis
of each force, a senator or would-be senator, for whom a short period of military service was a necessary part of a political career. These so-called ‘senatorial officers’ were drawn from wealthy families and generally appointed by the provincial governor (who was the commander-in-chief of the army in his province) often as the result of representations from relatives or patrons. Once adopted in this way, a bright senatorial officer could expect swift promotion, appointment as soon as a vacancy arose, and a seat on the Roman senate in a year. Under Commodus, however, there was a dearth of willing candidates, especially for the legions in Britannia where there had been some disturbance and unrest, for which the officers were penalised. The pay of senior officers had recently been increased, and some of the existing senatorial officers – in particular those with real military prowess – seeing little hope of satisfactory political advancement in Rome under the increasingly unstable Emperor, elected to extend their tenure, sometimes for years, and held a variety of commands. Praxus, in the story, may be seen as one of these.
All these powerful men were Roman citizens, naturally. Citizenship – with its social, economic and legal advantages – was not at this time an automatic right, even for the freeborn. It was a privilege to be earned – by those not lucky enough to be born to it – only by service to the army or the Emperor, although slaves of important citizens (like Libertus) could be bequeathed the coveted status, along with their freedom, on their master’s death. Power, of course, was invested almost entirely in men. Although women could be classed as citizens and might wield considerable influence, even owning and managing large estates, they were excluded from civic office. Indeed a woman of any age remained a child in law, under the tutelage first of her father and then of any husband she might have.
However, most ordinary people lacked the distinction of citizenship. Some were freemen or freed-men, scratching a precarious living from a trade or farm; thousands more were slaves, mere chattels of their masters, with no more status than any other domestic animal. Some slaves led pitiable lives, though others were highly regarded by their owners: indeed the lot of a well-fed slave in a kindly household might be more enviable than that of many a freeman struggling to eke out an existence in a squalid hut, like some characters in the narrative.
Even below the slaves, however, there was another tier – the outcasts of society, who had no official status, home or name. The present story hinges on the intersection of two social worlds: that of the politically powerful and that of this underclass, which was politically powerless and had no rights at all. Its existence can be deduced, in particular, from the accounts of trials and lawbreaking. It is clear that old, ill and injured slaves were sometimes jettisoned and turned on to the streets, since legislation repeatedly attempts to outlaw the practice. Equally, the existence of the law forbidding a slave to run away (except to another master to seek sanctuary), and the severity of the punishment if he did, suggests that there were those who attempted it. It is also evident from contemporary accounts that there were thieves and vagabonds, that beggars often frequented the tombs beside the road, and that freak children who escaped the normal fate (of being exposed at birth until they died) were sometimes dragged around the fairs and exhibited by travelling showmen for a fee. There is some information (as to age, injury and sex) to be derived from common burial pits, but history has left us little evidence as to how such people lived, so the narrative in this regard is purely fictional.
The use of apparently modern nicknames such as ‘Fatbeard’ and ‘Bullface’ is historically apt. Such names were so commonplace that many eminent Romans are known by them today, rather than by their more official names. Caligula, for instance, means ‘Little Boots’, while Agricola was nicknamed ‘Farmer’ by his troops.
The Romano-British background to this book has been derived from a wide variety of (sometimes contradictory) written and pictorial sources. However, although I have done my best to create an accurate and convincing picture, this remains a work of fiction and there is no claim to total academic authenticity.
Relata refero. Ne Iupiter quidem omnibus placet
. (I only tell you what I heard. Jove himself can’t please everybody.)
It had been a long banquet. Course after course of exotic food, all disguised to look like something else. The final offering had consisted of a sow and nine suckling piglets, one for each member of the highest table, all made entirely of sweet almond bread and carried in on an enormous wooden plate by an equally enormous Nubian slave. That had earned a round of spontaneous applause, although it proved better to look at than to eat. Now the remains were being cleared away, the acrobats and jugglers had finished, and a dozen slaves were bringing out fresh bowls of watered wine. Loquex, an elderly poet, was ushered in to read.
I sighed. I knew his eulogies of old. Interminable banalities in lamentable verse. I was rather surprised that he had been engaged for such an important occasion, but of course it had all been organised rather hurriedly. Perhaps no one else was available. Loquex was almost overcome by the solemnity of the honour. He produced a depressingly large and densely written scroll of bark-parchment, and cleared his throat.