‘The Fourth Gauls Half-Mounted Auxiliaries, you mean?’ The centurion looked at me, surprised that a civilian had such a grasp on things. ‘I remember them. That was part of the outfit that we took over from. They moved out in stages just as we moved in. Obviously there has to be a bit of overlap, to ensure that the takeover is smooth.’
‘But your commander wasn’t here then?’
‘Oh, he came just after we were settled in. The previous one died.’
I nodded: in fact, it had been murder, which I’d helped to solve.
But Emelius was still talking. ‘The commander’s post is a praetorian appointment from above, of course. Men like him can be appointed anywhere, at any time — usually part of their bid to be senators in Rome. This present one is quite an oddity: he really has seen service in the field and when his statutory period of command was up, he opted to stay with military life and come and join us here.’
‘So he chose to come to Glevum?’
He grinned. ‘Not like the rest of us. This is the fourth posting I’ve had since I joined up. Another few years and they’ll shunt us on again. We could end up like the Fourth Gauls ourselves — up on the northern frontier freezing half to death — or it might be Africa, or anywhere at all. Though, with any luck by that time I’ll be able to retire.’
Someone came out of the guard-room as he spoke and directed the stretcher-party to a nearby barracks block. ‘It is going to the infirmary, by the looks of it,’ Emelius approved. He saw Scowler’s party looking and he raised his blade again. ‘And that’s where you’ll be going yourself, if you don’t hurry up. This knife is not for decoration purposes. I am under strict orders to deliver you inside.’ He motioned me towards the praetorium again.
I took the hint and turned into the court and for the first time got a full view of the house. It was pleasantly appointed, with a stable and what was obviously a bath-suite taking up one wing and — from the odours which emanated from the corner opposite — a personal kitchen and a small latrine. The court itself was paved and bare of ornament apart from half a dozen boundary trees providing shade and two large statues set on matching plinths: one a large and unremarkable image of the Emperor, and a smaller piece depicting someone on a horse — a sculpture of astounding vitality and form. I am no expert, but I recognized the skill.
There was no time, however, to admire that now. A young male orderly — he seemed to be the commander’s personal slave — in a green tunic and with civilian sandals on his feet, came hurrying out to meet us from the doorway opposite. ‘Citizen Libertus? I’ve been expecting you. Let me relieve you of that damp cape of yours. Then, if you would care to follow me?’ With these words he left Emelius standing in the court and ushered me inside.
I had scarcely time to wonder how the young man knew my name and how — since his master had been out all afternoon — he came to be expecting me, before I was led into a sort of atrium, roofed-in, as is common in chill Britannia. I looked around. The room was sparsely furnished, but what was there was of fine quality: a black polished table, made of ebony and decorated with a single inlaid band of ivory; a pair of matching vases on a pair of matching stands, framing a niche devoted to the Lars; a series of fine mural paintings depicting Jupiter, in a range of guises from soldier-god to swan; and, taking the place of what would in Rome have been a central pool, a tessellated pavement of Neptune and the waves, of a quality which I recognized as excellent.
Most strikingly of all there were a pair of painted stools, and on one of them there was a seated man. He was turned away from me, busy with a dish of figs and cheese, which had been placed on a folding table next to him, together with a goblet and a jug of watered wine. Only the back of his mop of fairish curls was visible. But there was no mistaking the enormous seal-ring on his hand and the patrician toga with its ostentatious stripe.
‘Marcus!’ I would have known that figure anywhere: even without the heavy torc around his neck, given to him by a grateful Celtic chief. What was he doing here?
My heart sank to my sandal straps again. Of course! Florens had threatened to have him arrested, too, and brought here to the garrison for questioning. I fought down a wave of panic that made my skin turn cold. If my patron was a prisoner too, he couldn’t help my trial, and would almost certainly blame me for having said too much and managing to get him involved in this. I was not looking forward to this interview.
He raised his head and saw me, stretching out the hand that did not hold the fruit. ‘Libertus! There you are at last!’
I saw with relief that he was not annoyed. Indeed, he was almost smiling as I knelt to kiss the ring. ‘Patron!’ The smile emboldened me. I got slowly to my feet and dared to ask, ‘What brings you to the garrison?’
His first words were not encouraging. ‘I had a visitation to the villa earlier today. Some idiotic soldiers on the hunt for Voluus’s gold and other valuables, they said. Apparently there’s been a vicious robbery. For some reason they supposed that I was part of it.’ I braced myself for a torrent of abuse and blame, but he was simply nibbling at his fig with unconcern.
Oddly, that unnerved me more than curses would have done. ‘Patron, it has all been an unfortunate mistake,’ I burbled anxiously, ‘the result of something that a page-boy overheard, when I was with you yesterday.’ (It was only yesterday, I realized with a start — so much had happened since, it seemed a moon ago.) ‘Then when the lictor’s cart was set upon. .’ I began again, but he held up a restraining hand.
‘I understand all that. I got the full story from Gaius earlier — he was so disturbed that you’d been dragged away that he came and told me everything. It seems that fool Florens had made up his mind, for reasons of his own, that I had the stolen gold — though how he expected to distinguish it from mine, Mithras only knows. Fortunately I had my house-guest with me at the time.’
‘The senior Decurion from Corinium and his wife?’ I said, remembering.
He dabbed at his lips with a napkin from the tray. ‘Exactly so. In fact, it turned out that it was no simple social call — they wanted to persuade me to sell them our town-house there. It irritated me, but in the end I was grateful he was there.’
‘But you didn’t sell the house?’ I had visited that residence and knew it to be fine — no wonder the chief councillor had wanted it. It had come to Marcus when he married Julia: part of her personal estate as the widow of a past Decurion.
‘Of course I didn’t. He made a reasonable offer and I was tempted for a while, but then he said that since I hardly use the house myself, it would make an appropriate residence for someone like himself. That changed my mind, of course. And he doesn’t really need it. He already has a substantial dwelling in the town! Quite big enough to cover the property requirements for a mere councillor.’ Marcus turned away to select another fig — a delicacy of which he was particularly fond. ‘But apparently his new wife does not like the one that he’s got — there’s always been a problem with the outlet to the drain and she declares it stinks. She insisted that he came to bid for mine. Travelling with him all that way — and on the Ides of March as well. Ridiculous. Though fortunate for me, as it turned out.’
‘Because the Decurion spoke in your defence?’ I said.
Marcus smiled. ‘More than that! He put the soldiers firmly in their place, saying that, since he had been there as a witness all the time, almost ever since you left the house yourself, none of Voluus’s treasure could have found its way to me. If they searched my house, they’d have him to answer to. Just as well, since there was plenty of my own gold in the place. And he had brought some of his as well, to make down-payment with, though fortunately Florens’s people never learned of that. No doubt they would have thought it highly suspicious if they had.’