I shifted on my stool. ‘Perhaps he inherited from a relative?’
Marcus shook his head. ‘I can’t discover links with any major family. It’s hardly likely either. No member of a really rich patrician tribe would take a lictor’s post. The position was originally intended for the plebs, and even now is generally reserved for simple freemen citizens — though there are a few exceptions in the Senate, I’m aware, with people representing different clans in Rome. But Voluus was never one of those. He was simply a guard and torturer for a Provincial governor.’
He seemed genuinely to want solutions, so I cast about for some. ‘People might have paid him to reduce their punishment, perhaps?’ I said, and knew by my patron’s sigh that this was foolishness. ‘Or his master may have given him some sort of parting gift?’
‘Both those things are more than likely true — but cart-loads of treasure? Come, Libertus, we are talking of huge sums! He’s rumoured to be nearly as wealthy as I am myself. So how does that occur? I suspect that he has important friends somewhere — who either left him lots of money for some service in the past, or are paying him handsomely to hush up what he knows.’ He looked hard at me. ‘He could even be a spy who serves the Emperor.’
That was a thought more chilling than the day. ‘You think so?’ I said.
Marcus nodded. ‘And that is just the point. If he does turn out to have influence at court, it might be most imprudent to insult the man. And that’s where you come in.’
‘Me, Excellence?’ Matters had taken an unpleasant turn. I was so startled that I almost jumped up from my perch. ‘But what could it possibly have to do with me? I have not been invited to the feast.’
‘Of course not, Libertus.’ He was jovial now. ‘You’re not a councillor. Your own fault, of course, since you evaded my attempts to have you voted on to the curia, as I hoped to do last year. But that turns out to be very fortunate. Voluus will have never so much as heard your name, so that means that you can do this and he won’t suspect the link.’
‘Do what, exactly, Excellence?’ I was beginning to think that the Ides of March were every bit as nefas as they were said to be.
‘I want you to call at this apartment he has bought, and offer to lay a pavement there before he comes. I hear that the steward is already living there, making arrangements before his master arrives. I’ll write a letter recommending you. That way you can get into the house and see if you can find out where Voluus got his wealth. The steward is obviously in his confidence.’
I goggled at him. ‘Excellence! Rumour says the lictor will be here himself within a day or two.’ At that time I hadn’t heard about the marble floors, of course, so I just said lamely, ‘How could I make a pavement in so short a time?’
He waved the objection loftily away. ‘Oh, I know you have those pattern samples ready-made and fixed on linen backing to show your customers. You can use one of those. Offer to do the ante-room or something of the kind, a small one you could finish in a day or two. I realize that it’s very likely they will turn you down, but if you have my letter they will have to let you in and that will give you the opportunity to talk to the steward. He’s the one responsible for seeing that the lictor’s treasure — when it comes — is taken off the cart, so he’ll know exactly what it is and what it’s worth. He may even have witnessed how it was acquired and what favours it is — or was — intended to repay. If so,’ he smiled, ‘I’m sure you’ll manage to get it out of him. I know you, Libertus — you are skilled at things like that. I am quite certain I can rely on you. Come!’ He got to his feet and began to lead the way back to the villa door, motioning me to follow.
I rose stiffly to my feet. At least I had the prospect of going inside where it was warm — all the main rooms in the villa had a hypocaust — but all the same. . I hurried after him. ‘Excellence. .’ I stammered, still hoping to dissuade him from this wild idea.
He had reached the atrium by now and held up his hand to silence me. ‘I have the letter on a writing-tablet, ready scratched and sealed. I’ll have my page-boy fetch it and you can take it now. Then you can call there tomorrow — in the morning, preferably — and report to me by dark. If you have other clients I fear they’ll have to wait. I need to have results as soon as possible.’ He gestured to a servant who was lurking by the door. ‘Bring this citizen the writing-tablet which is on my desk.’
The slave-boy hurried to obey and Marcus turned, smiling, to me.
‘Well, now that is settled I won’t keep you any more. I’ll send your slave to you and you can go. We are expecting house guests later on — the chief Decurion from Corinium and his wife — and I’ve no doubt you have other projects to fill a day like this. Come to me tomorrow evening and tell me what you’ve learnt, and then I can decide what I should do about this feast.’
At least when I got home they had done the dye-house roof — but the prospect of this errand clouded the rest of the day.
However, there was no arguing with Marcus, so this morning I’d spent hours asking questions round the town — though to not much effect (apart from my brief conversation with my informant about the quality of decoration in the lictor’s flat) — and now I was hurrying to get there before noon. Judging by the shadows there was little time before the midday trumpet sounded, but at last I found the place. There was a row of coppersmiths along the lower floors and I hastened to the side entrance which would take me up the stairs.
I was dressed in just a tunic and a cloak against the rain — a toga was hardly fitting for an interview like this and besides would have made me too conspicuous — so my presence roused scant interest as I went inside. Lots of folk in tunics came and went round here — the whole top floor was crammed with little one-roomed flats, and the stairwell was noisy and crowded at every time of day. The whole area smelt strongly of unwashed humanity and echoed with the sounds of commerce from the street — in particular the hammering of the coppersmiths.
There were disadvantages to being dressed for trade. No one made way for me. Two girls with water-bottles on their heads blocked my path as they went giggling to the public fountain in the square. A bunch of children darted through my legs, carrying what looked like handfuls of kindling for a fire and there was a haze of smoke, although on the upper floors no brazier or cooking was officially allowed — there were no kitchen areas or chimney-vents up there, and some of the cramped apartments had no window-space. However, if there was conflagration it was not my affair. Perhaps the strong smell of greasy cooking really came from the hot-food thermopolium down the street, where the soup was dreadful but was cheap and warm.
A bent old woman struggled past me carrying a sack (half-rotting vegetables from the smell of it) and was sworn at by a group of fellows playing dice-games in the gloom. They glanced up as I stepped over them on to the landing space. The noises from below were almost deafening, but I was about to shout and ask them if this was the lictor’s place when the apartment door in front of me burst open suddenly and a man in steward’s uniform came out.
He was a stout man with a balding head and a protruding gut, but he had shoulders like a wrestler under the dark red tunic, and he was looking none too pleased. ‘You!’ he hollered, raising his voice above the din.
I was surprised to realize that this was addressed to me. I edged towards him.
‘I saw you from the window-space as you were coming in,’ he said, when I was close enough to hear. ‘Have you brought a message?’
‘I do bring a letter,’ I blurted, wondering how he knew.
‘Well, thank the gods for that. You’d better come inside.’ He stood back to let me enter and closed the heavy door again. The hammering and shouting was a great deal fainter now and someone had been burning scented oils to mask the smells. ‘Well?’ he said impatiently, ‘what message do you bring?’