I quickly outlined what the situation was.
‘So it’s the fact that Voluus received a written threat which really caused the problem?’ Junio said. ‘That’s clearly the letter that Brianus was talking about. I wonder if he could tell us any more? I’ll see if I can find him when I leave.’
‘I wanted you to tell your adoptive mother where I am and warn her that I might not be coming home tonight.’ That was the least of it, as Junio well knew. If things went ill for me, I might not be coming home at all, but there was no point in worrying Gwellia with that — for now, at any rate.
He inclined his head to show he understood. ‘If there is nothing more that we can do to ease your plight, I think I’ll go and see if I can talk to Brianus. Minimus can take your message to the roundhouse straight away and I will follow when I’ve finished with the lictor’s slave.’ He turned to me. ‘I’ll look in again here before I leave the town, and make sure that at least they’re still treating you aright. If I learn anything from Brianus, of course, I’ll tell you then. Come, Minimus. Take leave of my father and then take that message to your mistress as fast as possible.’
Minimus came to kneel a moment at my feet. It wasn’t a gesture I expected from my slaves and I found it rather touching, especially as he whispered as he kissed my hand, ‘Don’t lose heart, master. We will get you out of here.’
Then he and Junio left the room — just as the optio came in with the wine, followed by a skinny domestic orderly carrying a basin of clean water and a towel.
It felt wonderfully normal to rinse my face and hands, and to have the freedom to take my muddy sandals off and wash my grimy feet, though I was still uncomfortably aware of Emelius and the optio watching every move.
My ablutions took a little time and I didn’t hurry them. I have become so spoiled in recent years that I am not accustomed to doing this without a slave, and the orderly did not offer to assist except to hand me the towel afterwards. However, after my confinement in that airless cell it felt like luxury merely to be clean — and besides, the chill had clearly been taken off the water for my benefit.
When I’d finished, I was almost looking forward to my drink. Watered Roman wine is not my favourite beverage — especially not the rough kind which the army use — but today it seemed a symbol of respect. However, I did not get a chance to so much as sample it, for no sooner had the optio lifted up the jug to pour me a beakerful, than a stout soldier in burnished scale armour and military boots came bustling in and told us brusquely that our transport was outside.
TEN
‘Ready and waiting,’ this apparition said. ‘And the message has been sent up to the commander too and he is on his way — so I hope that we’ve managed to get him what he wants.’
I looked at Emelius, surprised, ‘Was that so difficult? I thought the army had lots of carts at its command.’
The plump centurion shrugged. ‘It’s all a question of the type of vehicle. The commander asked for something that would hold all three of us — I think you heard him saying so to me — and there will have to be a driver, too, of course: I am no use in that capacity. The army expects the cavalry to ride and the rest of us to march: it doesn’t have many carriages to transport passengers. And he specified fast horses, so we couldn’t use an ox-cart, though we do have lots of those, for transporting food and all that sort of thing. But I gather something suitable was found?’
The reporting soldier looked extremely smug. ‘We didn’t have anything available ourselves — except for the commander’s gig, which carries two at best — so I’ve requisitioned a carriage from the hiring-stables just outside the walls.’
‘And who is driving it?’
‘I demanded one of theirs. The stable-owner wasn’t very pleased, but I quoted the regulations about angaria — “the army has first call on private transport at any time and civilian owners must cooperate, by order of the Emperor” — and there was nothing he could do. So he’s got this carriage waiting at the gate. Our own escort is armed and mounted and ready to depart. I hope all this is satisfactory.’ He waited for the centurion to nod, then went on silkily, ‘If so, perhaps you’d mention this to your superiors? I’m hoping for promotion to be in charge of stores.’
Emelius waved this loftily aside. ‘Later, perhaps. There is no time now for anything like that. The commander is likely to be there ahead of us and he does not like to be delayed. Come, citizen prisoner, I’m afraid your wine will have to wait.’ So saying, he took the half-full beaker from the optio’s hand, put it on the table and marched me from the room.
Heads turned to watch us as we crossed the court and left the military enclosure, then past the sentry and through the public gate that led out of the town. The carriage and the horsemen were assembled there, as promised, and the commander, too. He was talking to the leader of the escort-party as we approached, but he looked up, saw us and signalled with a wave that we were to precede him into the vehicle.
The carriage was of a kind that one often sees for hire: a two-horse vehicle with a driver’s seat in front and a covered compartment for the passengers, complete with leather curtains at the side to keep the dust at bay. The driver was already sitting in his place, a picture of resentment, studiously looking the other way and making no attempt to help. He had not even provided any temporary step, although the sill was high, so I must have looked remarkably undignified as I hoisted myself in.
Emelius gestured me to take the central seat, then scrambled up himself, puffing and clanking his armour as he came, though the garrison commander — with the assistance of a military slave — managed to mount the other side with grace.
He fastened back the leather curtain, so that he could see (after the recent rains there was no chance of dust), then signalled to the horsemen and they trotted on ahead, while we lurched into motion and jolted after them. We had no sooner started, though, than I expected we would have to stop again — for as we pulled away a plump figure in a patrician toga came hustling through the gate, calling after us and waving something in his hand. Our driver must have seen him because he slowed the cart, but the commander briskly banged the floor and told him to drive on, leaving the purple-striper standing helpless in the road.
As soon as we were safely on our way and had cleared the outskirts of the town, the escort wheeled and cantered back to take up close formation round the coach: one pair to the side of us, another to the rear, and the last two continuing as outriders in front. This might have been for the commander’s safety, I suppose, but it underlined the fact that I was under heavy guard.
It was an uncomfortable journey, as such trips always are: though this carriage had the luxury of being hung on leather straps, and as we were on the military road there were no huge bumps and potholes to bounce us from our seats. However, we were travelling as fast as possible and the constant rattling over cobbled stones still set up a vibration in your skull which seemed in danger of loosening your teeth. I pitied Voluus and his party who must have suffered this, and worse, for days and days on end while they were travelling through Gaul to reach the coast.
There was a leather loop provided on the frame and the commander was holding grimly on to it. ‘I wonder what Porteus wanted. . He seemed to be in haste. . Nothing to your advantage, I imagine, citizen?’
So it was Porteus at the gatehouse, and the commander knew that he was there! I dared not ask for reasons, so I shook my head. ‘Perhaps he’s found another witness to swear that I was visiting Voluus today. Anything to prove that I’m involved in stealing from that cart. He obviously believes I’m guilty, although I don’t know why — or why he is so exercised about this theft, in any case. People are set upon by brigands every month or two.’