Biccus looked at me distrustfully. ‘What is there to say? I saw a cart all right. You could hardly miss it, with an escort of that size. Went past my farm a little before dusk. Otherwise, I don’t know what else I can say. Didn’t take much notice. It wasn’t my affair — I was busy digging up the ground for cabbages. I’ve said all this before. There’s nothing more to add. And now that I have told you, am I free to go?’
The commander raised his eyebrows helplessly at me, as if to say, What now?
Biccus was chewing on his lower lip. I recognized the signs. He was reluctant to cooperate, but at the same time scared, so was answering all questions as briefly as he could; not refusing information — which would be an offence — but not volunteering anything of his own accord. He would tell us nothing that he was not specifically asked.
However, I had one weapon which the commander lacked. I said in Celtic, ‘You’re freeborn, I think?’ The local tribal dialect was not quite the same as mine, but I knew from experience I would be understood. ‘You own the land you live on?’
He looked at me, surprised. ‘Yes, I do, though there’s not much left of it,’ he answered using Celtic, too. ‘My ancestors had acres and acres of good land. Until these accursed Romans came and annexed most of it.’ He jerked his head at the commander, with a scowl. ‘They didn’t call it that of course — just paid a pittance and called it ‘‘purchasing’’ — as if my great-grandparents had any choice at all.’
‘Good farming soil, you say?’
He made a snorting nose. ‘Not the miserable corner that has been handed down to me! The Romans naturally seized the best land for themselves. And even what was left has been divided up, of course, as it was handed down. I’m only left with three remaining fields and one of those is pretty well a swamp for half the year.’
‘Not very much,’ I sympathized. It was a common story — farmland subdivided among surviving sons each time, so that in the end the meagre parcels scarcely paid their way.
‘Hardly enough to feed my family on — and even then I have to use the forest for the pigs. Miles I have to walk. And then these accursed Roman soldiers come, when I’m busy planting out — won’t even give me time to wash and change my clothes, but drag me in here like a stinking fool. .’ He checked himself and frowned. ‘But I shouldn’t talk like this. You must be one of them, because they brought you here and I understand that you’re a citizen. How do you speak our tongue?’
‘I am a Celt myself. I too had lands once, but I lost everything. I earn a living making pavements now.’ I saw a new expression dawning in his eyes and I went on earnestly, ‘I think that you can help me. There has been a dreadful crime. .’
He broke me off with a derisive laugh. ‘I thought as much. And now they’ve brought me here to pin the blame on me.’
I shook my head. ‘Quite the opposite. They’re trying to blame me! The army brought you here because, if you’ve seen this cart, you may have information which will prove my innocence.’
I saw him hesitate.
‘Two rich and powerful Roman councillors are taking me to court, and I have no witness in my own defence,’ I went on urgently. ‘Won’t you help a fellow Celt by telling what you know? I am just a humble tradesman, very much like you. They are members of the Glevum curia.’
Perhaps the commandant had recognized the last two words. ‘Glevum curia’ is similar in either tongue. In any case, he interrupted me. ‘Libertus, I cannot allow you to go on with an interrogation which I do not understand. If you cannot use Latin, I must ask you to desist.’
So my most useful strategy was denied to me! I turned to him. ‘Just one more question, commandant — then I promise that I’ll stop. Of course, I’ll tell you what’s been said so far.’ I gave a brief account of the nature of the farm — omitting the sentiments about the army’s part in this. ‘It’s just that I think Biccus finds the Celtic easier.’
That was not strictly true, but the commander bowed his head. ‘Very well. I can see that you have managed to gain his confidence. At least you are getting something out of him. But just the one more question, then you will use Latin, please. Otherwise, you could be coaching him to lie on your behalf.’
I turned to Biccus urgently. ‘You heard what he said! This is our only chance. I know this commander. He is an honest man. This matter was urgent — not for him, for me. My trial will be tomorrow, probably, that’s why they insisted that you come at once. I assure you, no one thinks that you’re a fool. So it is up to you. Will you help me fight injustice by telling what you know?’ I switched to Latin. ‘You saw a cart accompanied by an escort, is that right? When exactly, would you say that was?’
A doubtful shrug. ‘Yesterday, about an hour before dusk, I suppose. Perhaps a bit before.’
I saw the commander scribble a calculation on a slate. ‘Around the eleventh hour, shall we say?’ he interposed.
The pig-man shrugged again. Obviously the Roman system did not mean much to him. (It can be difficult to calculate — even with marked candles or a proper water-clock. Total light and dark, respectively, are each divided into twelve to make an hour. Thus as daylight gets shorter at this time of year, so does a Roman hour — and night hours grow correspondingly longer, of course, to compensate.) Obviously Biccus did not bother with all that; he simply used the general estimation which our ancestors had used. ‘I can’t tell you that. The clouds were gathering. No shadows to judge by, even, since it was going to rain.’
This was getting nowhere. ‘Can you describe the cart?’ I asked.
‘It was a fairly big one. Heavy, too — you could tell from how low it was sitting on its wheels. Good thing it was on the military road or it would have been down to its axles in the mud. Left to me I would have pulled it with an ox or two, but they were using horses — for greater speed, I suppose. Splendid ones as well. Good ones on the cart — and four beauties for the escort, too.’
I shot a glance at the commander. He was nodding, looking grave. ‘That sounds like the cart that we’re enquiring about,’ he said approvingly. ‘Did you glimpse the cargo, or any part of it?’
Biccus shook his head. ‘Something weighty, that’s all I know. No telling what it was. It was all done up in bags and boxes and even then it was mostly covered with a cloth. Not surprisingly. Like I said, it was coming on to rain.’
I tried again. ‘So the cart wasn’t travelling towards Glevum very fast? Fast enough to get there before nightfall, would you say?’
I saw a hesitation cross the pig-man’s face. ‘Very likely not, supposing it was coming to the colonia at all. Though that was the direction it was going in when it passed me, certainly!’
I looked at him keenly. ‘Why do you say that? You think that it was headed somewhere else?’
He shook his head. ‘I aren’t saying that.’ His Latin wasn’t good and his grammar left a lot to be desired. ‘I wondered, that is all. I can’t be positive. It’s just that when I had finished with the cabbages and I stood up again, I couldn’t see it further down the road.’
‘And you expected to?’ It was obvious that he’d stood up especially to gape.
He was not at all abashed. ‘The area’s slightly hilly, but the road is pretty straight and my top field is right up on the rise, so — except where odd stands of trees get in the way — generally you can see anything, either way, for miles.’
I nodded. Roman roads are always built as straight as possible, unless there is actually a river or mountain in the way. ‘So you are telling us the cart had somehow disappeared?’ My mind was racing — had the ambush already taken place and the empty wagon been hidden in the trees?
‘I don’t believe in Roman magic. But it was puzzling.’ Biccus was still attempting to justify himself without admitting that he’d meant to spy. ‘They might have speeded up a little, I suppose — as you say, in an attempt to get to Glevum before dark. Though they’d have had to move a lot more quickly than they were. Or perhaps they just found somewhere to stop before it rained. That’s probably what happened.’ He nodded, satisfied.