He might have gone on ranting in this way, but Florens raised his hand. ‘Enough Porteus, we know what you believe. You’ve made it clear you wish to bring this matter to the courts and I’m inclined — reluctantly enough — to think there is sufficient evidence to support a case. Titus, you have a different view of things, I know. And Gaius. .?’
Gaius looked as though he wished that Jove would strike him dumb. His bony face was whiter than a newly-fullered sheet. ‘Marcus Septimus has been a friend to me. I wish that I could believe this pavement-maker here. .’ he began, his voice more tremulous than ever now.
‘But you can’t believe him, and I’m not surprised,’ Porteus interrupted, with a triumphant smirk. ‘You have the evidence of your courier-slave — you were the one who confided it to me!’
That was one mystery solved, at any rate. Now I knew how Gaius had come to be involved in this ‘friendly meeting’ so much against his will. But there was scarcely time for me to frame the thought, for Florens said briskly, ‘That makes us three to one in favour of taking this man into custody.’
‘I agreed to further questioning, that’s all. Not to have him thrown into the jail.’ Gaius was stubborn in his plaintive way.
This forlorn attempt to soften things was briskly waved away. ‘Then I’ll have him committed to the garrison instead. They’ll keep a watch on him till Voluus gets here. That should be within a day or two.’ Florens turned his still unsmiling face to me. ‘Libertus, I must ask you to accompany me. My guards will form an escort.’
And that was that. The old wood-seller and his ancient wife had been right in shunning me. I’d come in here a citizen, of my own free will, but I was leaving as a prisoner.
EIGHT
There was no doubt of my status as we left the curia — though I was not in bonds. Florens did not have lictors as he might have done in Rome, but he had the next best thing — a band of burly attendants all bearing clubs and arms. They were not even dressed in household livery but variously attired in different shades of brown, which matched their bronzed faces and their muscled arms, and they smelt overpoweringly of damp wool and sweat.
I was hustled between them as we went back down the steps and through the forum, where the rain had stopped. The crowd that had gathered for the reading of the will parted like butter to allow us through, though some of the urchins who always gather near the market stalls (more in the hope of finding a dropped coin than the expectation of earning anything) began to follow after me with mocking taunts and jeers.
As soon as we had got out on to the street again the company dispersed. The other councillors made polite farewells to Florens and — accompanied by their own attendants — went their separate ways. I thereby lost whatever faint support I had. There was one advantage to their departure though: it saved me the humiliation of a whole procession of purple-striped magistrates escorting me towards the garrison.
Florens on his own was eye-catching enough in his patrician toga, which he had now topped with an elaborate fur-trimmed cloak, dyed (of course) in expensive blue — thus making a striking contrast with Servilis, who walked in perfumed crimson, half a pace behind, while the motley guards propelled me after them. The councillor strode at a smart rate for such a pudgy man, and I was soon reduced to a state of breathlessness. I tried to pause beneath an arch to catch my breath again, but as soon as I attempted to slacken pace at all I found the grip of hairy hands upon my arms and heavy cudgels threatening my legs.
We took a route across the cloth-market. The streets were busy now and full of townspeople, but most of the cobbled pavements were still pooled with wet, so we were not hampered by the displays of merchandise — rugs, cloth and leather goods — which generally spilled out of all the little shops. Pedestrians are usually forced to slow and pick their way through these, so that the crafty traders can accost them as they pass — (‘Special price for you, citizen, highest quality’). However, there was none of that today and we made swift progress through the area.
Only when we reached the guard-house at the southern gate did Florens slacken pace. He strode straight up to the sentry on guard and was peremptory. ‘I am a senior member of the curia. I have business with the commander of the garrison. Have a message sent to tell him I am here. He is expecting me. I’m bringing in this pri. .’ he looked at me, and broke off in mid-word, ‘I mean “citizen”, of course, to him for questioning.’
The sentry gave him a jaundiced glance. ‘Name, citizen?’ he said. To a councillor, it was almost insolent.
Florens had turned pink, but he gave his name in full and the soldier nodded. ‘Very well. You there, orderly!’ He gestured to an off-duty soldier just inside the wall, who was lounging against the corner of the barrack-room, idly burnishing his helmet with a pumice-stone.
The young man jammed his headpiece on at once and came hurrying across and the sentry solemnly gave him the message to pass on — though the fellow must have heard what Florens said, in any case. The sentry watched him scurry off and then turned back to us.
‘Until there is an answer, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait,’ he said, as though the resplendent councillor was a common citizen. ‘You could come inside the compound and sit down over there.’ He gestured to the guard-room just within the gates.
Florens attempted to retain his dignity. ‘That would be convenient. I don’t imagine the commander will keep me waiting long.’ He moved as if to go in through the gate.
The sentry raised a casual arm to block his path. ‘One thing, though! I’m sorry, councillor — they’ll have to stay outside.’ He nodded towards the armed brutes who were guarding me. ‘We don’t let anybody come in here with weapons, I’m afraid.’ He grinned, showing a set of neatly pointed teeth. ‘Except ourselves, of course.’
Florens looked furious at this, but there was little he could say in argument. This barrack area was the property of the Roman troops and the Glevum town council had no jurisdiction here. ‘But what about guarding. .’ He broke off and waved a pudgy hand at me.
The sentry showed his pointed teeth again. ‘You can keep that attendant in household uniform.’ He jerked his chin towards Servilis as he spoke. ‘There’s nothing against that. He can keep watch on the pri. . I mean, citizen. . for you.’ He sniggered a little at his private jest. ‘Not that he is likely to get away in there. The place is full of soldiers at this time of day.’
It was. The inner courtyard was crammed with soldiery. Half of the unit was preparing for some training exercise, apparently a route-march carrying full kit. Such an event was not unusual. You often saw a marching column somewhere on the road — a spectacle designed not just to keep the soldiers fit, but to remind inhabitants of who their masters were. Florens paused, clearly flurried by this activity, and a plump centurion came hurrying across.
He addressed himself to Florens, ignoring me. ‘Excuse me, citizen, we can’t have you all out here. Perhaps if you, patrician, would like to come inside? One of the orderlies will find some wine for you. .?’ and he hustled the councillor away to the lower office of the guard-house tower. I glimpsed them through the window-space a moment afterwards, Florens comfortably ensconced upon a bench, while an orderly stood beside him offering a tray.
Servilis and I had no such luxury; we were obliged to huddle up against a wall where a chill wind etched itself into our bones. There was nothing to do but watch the route-march forming up. The century (which, like all others, was composed of eighty men and not the hundred which you might expect) had by this time ranged itself in ranks and now the musicians and standard-bearers took their place in front. There was a moment’s shuffling, a barked command — then all at once the very walls appeared to shake with sound, as trumpets and shell-horns blared out the signal-call and a thousand hobnails rang on the cobbled stones.