‘Or proof that he is not!’ I protested earnestly. I did not hold the steward in very much esteem — especially when I knew how he treated Brianus — but I could not let this accusation pass. The steward’s fate was now bound up with my own. ‘As for having information,’ I went on, ‘weren’t there others, too, who might have known about the cart? People with equal motive and more opportunity? Porteus himself, for instance. We know that he is desperate for gold. Or Florens, possibly? He has a personal guard at his command — huge, well-armed brutes with muscles — who could have carried out an ambush of that kind, and with relish, too.’ That was daring, given Florens’s rank, but I felt that I could speak with some conviction on that point.
There was a silence broken only by the creaking of the carriage, the sound of the horses and the rumbling of the wheels and — very faintly — from somewhere in the rear, Scowler’s half-hearted ululation of lament. The commander made no answer, so I tried again.
‘Porteus, no doubt, has some sort of escort, too. And probably the writer of the threat to Voluus has something similar. Any band of heavy ruffians like that could have done what we have seen — especially if there was some question of reward.’
The commander still said nothing. He would not meet my eyes. All the same I felt that he was paying me the compliment of thinking carefully about my arguments.
‘How could the steward muster such a force?’ I urged. ‘He could hardly have done this by himself. He would have had to hire people — and thereby run the risk that someone would betray him to the authorities, or to anyone prepared to pay them slightly more. Does that seem probable? And where would Calvinus get the money to do that anyway?’
The commander leaned back on the seat. He ran his fingers through his hair again, creating another little waft of horseradish and spice, and then said — with finality, ‘I agree he was unlikely to be in this alone. That was never what I intended to suggest. I think he just provided information to the lictor’s enemies — doubtless for a fee. No doubt he has dreams — like every slave — of buying himself free.’
I nodded. ‘I believe he does.’
He gave me that slow, laconic smile again. ‘Well, there you are! I tell you, citizen, in cases such as this, nine times out of ten the servants prove to be involved — especially if the master is a brutal one and does not command his household’s sympath. .’ He broke off, leaned over and stared out at the road, from where a frantic clucking and squawking could be heard. ‘And what, in Vulcan’s name, is that cacophony?’
I could have made an educated guess, even without the escort-rider who arrived, saying urgently, ‘I am very sorry, commandant, there is a short delay. My men are attempting to move the people on, but there’s a donkey-cart ahead which has just overturned and spilt its crates of chickens everywhere. It will take a few moments to clear a passage through.’
The commander slapped his palm impatiently. ‘This is ridiculous.’ He had to raise his voice above the chickens’ outraged squawks in order to be heard. ‘. . Obliged to wait in line with common poultrymen!’
That was the least of it, of course — as he must have known. The roads were always crammed with wagons at this time of day: people wanted to reach Glevum before the gates were shut, but after the onset of official dusk — the time when civilian wheeled transport, forbidden during daylight hours, was permitted into town. We were sharing the roadway, not just with poultrymen, but with all kinds of cargoes from the neighbourhood: stones and barrels, wooden planks and nails, carpets, casks — anything too heavy to carry into town by hand. I even saw a ragged farmer on an empty cart — not bringing anything to town, but hoping, I surmised, to shovel up the stinking midden-heaps and carry them away for use as makeshift fertilizer on his fields. A strong smell wafting from the wagon-tray suggested that it had been used for this before.
The escort had succeeded in clearing us a route and we jolted into motion, past the upturned poultry-cart. I glimpsed the owner attempting to right it as we passed, surrounded by crates full of flapping hens. The frantic cackling faded as we lurched away.
Emelius grinned at me. ‘Singing like that steward’s doing, I shouldn’t be surprised.’ He saw my face, and added instantly, ‘And no doubt he deserved it, as the commander says.’
His commander acknowledged the comment with a nod. ‘I fear that he is right. Calvinus must have passed the information on. I can’t see how it would reach the killer by any other means. Don’t look so doubtful, citizen. I will wager he’s admitted it by now. Remember that Voluus had suspicions about him anyway.’
‘How do we know that?’
He looked at me, surprised. ‘Florens assures me it is true. The lictor himself wrote to Porteus saying so — though that was not common knowledge, naturally enough.’
‘But Porteus told Florens, who confided it to you.’ I was too concerned to be properly polite.
No offence was taken, luckily. The lined face creased in an unexpected grin. ‘Put like that it does not sound very confidential, I agree. But it has gone no further than the three of us. And now yourself, of course.’
‘And Emelius,’ I pointed out, knowing that I risked a serious reprimand.
The commander looked startled. He glanced across at the centurion, who turned his head away and affected to be looking at the countryside. His ears had turned an alarming shade of red. The commander raised his eyebrows at me with a shrug that said, as plainly as if he’d spoken it aloud, ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘I only mean to show you what is possible,’ I said. ‘For instance, that Porteus’s household might have known as well. And Florens’s servants, too. People talk too openly in front of slaves, you see. They think of them as almost furniture, and forget that these are people who have ears and eyes, and sometimes wagging tongues. One casual word from Porteus, overheard by slaves, could be spread around Glevum quicker than the plague.’
Both of the soldiers turned to frown at me.
‘I learned that when I was a slave myself, and I always warn Marcus to be circumspect when there are servants standing by. Or — in your case, commander — junior officers.’
The commander harrumphed and sat back in his seat. ‘In that case, citizen, we will talk no more until we are safely in the garrison. If you are to dine with me tonight, no doubt we will find an opportunity. I’ll ask for information about what Calvinus has confessed.’
‘Is it possible that I could speak to him myself, tonight? His evidence will be of great concern to me. Or perhaps tomorrow morning, if Florens and Porteus do not arrange to have him brought to trial as well.’
The commandant said brusquely, ‘I imagine they’d prefer to wait until Voluus arrives and gives permission for proper questioning, as — under the circumstances — I’ve no doubt he will. And I can’t release you from my custody to go and speak to him. I don’t have to remind you, you are also facing trial.’
‘Do you think they would delay the case against me, too? So there’s a chance of me establishing some proper evidence?’
He shook his head. ‘I doubt it very much. The steward may be called to witness against you, so I imagine they will want you summoned first, while he’s still in a position to comply. In other times and places I could have heard this case myself, and ruled for an adjournment — but this is Glevum, and under modern laws you must be brought before a civil magistrate.’ He lapsed into silence and gazed out at the passing countryside.
I rather wished I hadn’t pointed out that he was in danger of being indiscreet, but there was no undoing it. I sat back in my own seat and said no more, but this talk about ‘my hearing’ made my blood run cold. I had refused, till now, to contemplate what that would entail — indeed, I had positively tried to blank it out. However, I was forced to think about it now.