‘Including this ill-fated page?’ I whistled with surprise. ‘I see! And since Calvinus was obliged to watch him die, he had a special reason for hating Voluus. I suppose it might be true. Have you checked with Pronta?’
‘I would have liked to speak to her, but she’s run away as well — and Brianus refuses to say where she has gone. I even tried to visit Calvinus in jail, but they wouldn’t let me in, though I offered the jailer a considerable bribe to let me talk to him. But, if this story’s true — and there’s no reason to suppose it’s not — might it not make a difference to your case? It would give Calvinus a motive for revenge. Do you suppose that Porteus was right, and the steward has been plotting against his master all along?’
‘It has to be a possibility.’ My brain was racing like a chariot. ‘It would fit with what we know about the lictor’s character. He has a nasty temper, but he’s calculating, too. We heard that he plays cruel games with Calvinus all the time — dangling the dream of freedom and snatching it away.’
Junio nodded. ‘And if the steward wasn’t born in servitude, he must feel it doubly, I should think. So if that page-boy really was his son. .’ He left the words unfinished. ‘Though it wouldn’t be the case, officially, I suppose, after they were taken into slavery.’
That was true. A slave is legally a un-person, ‘a vocal tool’, owned like any other piece of household furniture and can no more have a family than a table can. I knew that to my cost. I had been married to Gwellia when I myself was seized — and I knew what it was to have one’s feelings swept aside and all existing relationships anulled.
‘Perhaps that’s why the lictor accused the lad at all,’ I said. ‘Because he knew that Calvinus would have to watch him flogged. He may have even known the slave was innocent. He seems the sort of person who delights in causing pain.’
‘That’s exactly what Brianus said to me — and he’s naturally wondering what that means for Pronta and himself, when Voluus gets here and finds out what’s occurred. The poor lad is half-insane with fear. But it does give you some insight into Calvinus, doesn’t it?’ Junio drained his wine and set the goblet down. ‘It would give him a motive for this crime.’
‘Establishing a motive would hardly be enough,’ I said, knowing that I sounded ungrateful as I spoke.
‘Motive and splendid opportunity. As everybody says, he was right here on the spot, and knew all about the treasure-load. He probably knew exactly where it was going to be and when. If he wanted his revenge, it would have been easy to arrange an ambush on the cart in return for what was in it. Any rebel would have jumped at such a chance, and paid him for the information, too.’ He looked at me in triumph. ‘Will you be able to use that plea in your defence?’
‘I doubt that it would help. They think I’m in collusion with the steward anyway. I wish you’d had the chance to speak to Calvinus direct,’ I said, meaning that I wished I’d had the chance myself. ‘But they wouldn’t let you, even for a bribe?’
‘He’s in no condition to speak to anyone, that’s what the warder said, though not until he’d taken the money anyway. I did get a sort of promise that Calvinus would get a better cell, with fresh air and daylight, and proper food and drink — though whether it will happen is another thing.’
‘You had sufficient money?’
‘I took some from the shop. I didn’t think you’d mind. I didn’t take it all, and anyway, I didn’t spend the whole of it.’ He scrabbled in his arm-purse and fished out some coins — a couple of sesterces and an as or two. ‘I’ll give the rest to you — tomorrow you may need it, although I hope you won’t.’ He put the money on the tabletop and slid it towards me.
I was grateful but I didn’t pick it up. ‘But surely you will need it for a hiring-coach yourself. You can’t walk back to the roundhouse at this time of night. It will be dark in half an hour.’
He shook his head. ‘I have already decided to bed down at the shop. It’s dry and warm and I can curl up by the fire and there’s still sufficient money left to buy myself a meal. And don’t worry — my wife knows where I am. I gave Minimus that message to take back with yours.’
‘But Minimus went home hours ago!’
He grinned. ‘I could see that this business would take a little while and I didn’t want her worrying that I’d been set upon by wolves — as she always does when I am in the forest after dark. You take the money, Father.’ He rose and dropped a friendly hand upon my shoulder as he spoke, and with the other gestured through the open window-space. ‘I see a soldier hurrying over here — no doubt that is the summons that you’ve been waiting for. I’ll be in the workshop if you have need of me. Anything, Father. You don’t have to ask. Otherwise, I’ll be there in the court to speak for you.’
‘But. .’ I was trying to protest that doing that was dangerous for him, but he’d already given my shoulder a quick squeeze and hurried from the room.
I just had time to scoop the coins into the draw-purse at my belt before Emelius came panting in, accompanied by the commander’s military slave who was carrying my cape.
The centurion wasted no time on formalities. ‘They’ve brought in the farmer who says he saw the cart. The commander wants you in his office instantly.’
SEVENTEEN
Dusk was approaching now, and the courtyard was full of shadows as we passed. Next time night fell across this normal scene, I was likely to be a fugitive. I gazed about, trying to take in every detail, as men who are sentenced to the beasts are said to do.
Soldiers were busy with their evening tasks, squatting in doorways to buff their armour up or rubbing goose-grease on their leather tunic skirts. Smells of cooking wafted in the air as each contingent made its evening meal — of beef and cabbage, porridge or whatever it might be — while torches and oil-lamps flared in every barrack block and the air was musty with the scent of tallow-smoke. How long would it be before I would have a home again, and enjoy the right to light and food and heat?
I went into the guard-room, which had seemed so threatening before. It felt almost like a cosy haven now, so full of body warmth that it was hard to feel the fire. It was crammed to bursting, with clerical officers preparing their reports and rota-lists, and night sentries getting ready to relieve the duty watch. Tomorrow night — if things went against me in the court — all these men would be my enemies, sworn to cut me down if I was found within the boundaries of the Empire, and ready to execute anyone who gave me food or fire.
My only hope was that the man awaiting me upstairs had some information which might prove my innocence. It was not probable. I toiled up the bleak stone steps to talk to him.
The farmer was standing on the far side of the room. He was not prepossessing, on first appearances: short and swarthy and not very clean. He gave off a strong smell of mud and pig manure, and he wore a pair of ‘country shoes’ — uncured hide which is bound around the feet until it takes on the rough shape of a boot. The resultant stink is always terrible, and in the fastidious commander’s office it was overpowering. The man looked up with sullen, fearful eyes as I came in, and rubbed a mud-stained arm across his grimy face — with no effect beyond creating further streaks on both.
The commander was sitting on the stool behind his desk, as far away from the pig smell as he could put himself. I was invited neither to take my cloak off nor sit down. He signalled the centurion to take up station at the door and waved a hand at me.
‘This is the citizen Libertus,’ he announced impatiently. ‘The pavement-maker that I told you of. He is here to help me with the questioning, though Jove knows we’re not getting very far. Libertus, this man is Biccus. He has a little farm and he thinks he saw the treasure-cart last night.’ He turned to the pig-man. ‘Tell the citizen what you have just told me.’