‘You did not succeed in discovering anything while you were at the apartment?’
‘On the contrary,’ I said, ‘there is alarming news. But not exactly what I set out to learn.’ I told him briefly about the missing cart and what I had learned about the lictor’s wealthy bride.
Junio whistled softly. ‘Dear Jupiter! A murdered escort and a robbery. There’s certain to be a lot of trouble, then. I hope it didn’t happen anywhere near us. I would not care to be a suspect with a lictor in the case and no doubt suspicion will fall on everyone within a dozen miles.’
I hadn’t thought of that — it was not a pleasant idea. ‘I’m going to see Marcus later on tonight and I’ll ask him to get the local garrison to look into it and try to find out who was responsible. It may have been just brigands who struck a lucky cart — but there hasn’t been any banditry on that road for several moons, and I find it difficult to credit that it was merely chance.’
Junio frowned. ‘More likely someone who knew the value of what was on the cart. Could it be the steward, do you think?’
‘I didn’t think so, from his manner. He seemed really shocked, though it had clearly occurred to him he might be held to blame. And now he’s just had word that his master is only days away.’
‘Dear Mercury! I should not care to be the steward, in that case. Or is this Voluus not the savage man that we are inclined to think?’
‘It seems he’s even worse.’ I told him the story of the tortured page. ‘But that’s one of the things I wanted to check with Brianus. And the two of them have met. I understand the lictor personally bought him at the slave-market.’
Junio grinned. ‘Well, if you meant to gain the slave-boy’s confidence, you’ve certainly done that. I rather suspect he’d walk on burning coals for you. You should have seen him eyeing that little piece of cake. You’d think he hadn’t seen a proper meal in days.’
‘It’s possible he hasn’t,’ I said soberly. ‘I think the steward at the house mistreats him dreadfully — though there can’t be any shortage of nutrition in the house.’
My adopted son gave my arm a gentle squeeze. ‘Not everyone has masters as kindly as my own.’
That was an unexpected compliment — he had been my servant before I set him free — but it was not the sort of thing he often said. The moment might have been embarrassing, but he turned away and began to search for something on the shelf. ‘You will want that pot of sealing-wax. I know I’ve seen it here. You had it when you were sealing that bill for the councillor the other day. Ah, here it is.’ He brought down the little jar and bent down to set it on the trivet by the fire, where it would soften in the heat.
I had eaten every crumb of cake by now so I turned my attention to the writing-block. I did not often use a folding wax-tablet of this kind — most of our calculations are simply chalked on slates — but I had used such things before. I opened it out flat. The wax had melted slightly, as I’d hoped it would, and though it was badly crazed it was just usable. I smoothed out the surface as best I could, erasing the words that had been scratched on it before and, picking up the stylus, inscribed a message of my own.
Junio was still standing at my shoulder as I wrote and he read the words aloud. ‘“I have received your urgent message and will report developments to my patron as soon as possible. I have chosen not to send a verbal message with your slave, because I am not certain how much he should know, but I will call on you again tomorrow and let you know what Marcus says.”’
He grinned. ‘That is clever, father. Giving a reason why you had to send a written note, though in fact you just wanted to get the boy in here. I know your little ways.’
‘As I said, I want to find out what he knows.’
‘Nothing to do with feeling sorry for the lad?’
I made a mock-rueful face. ‘I’m sorry that my motives are so obvious.’
‘All the same, what makes you think he’ll talk to you, however much he wants to please? You can see that he’s been trained in the old-fashioned Roman way: where a slave should never speak until he is spoken to, and preferably not then. He’ll be far too shy and awestruck to tell you anything.’
It was my turn to grin. ‘Why do you think I sent him off with Minimus?’ I gestured with my head towards the outer room from where a murmuring of voices could be heard. ‘A slave will often prattle to a slave. That’s what I’m hoping for. But enough of that — I think they’re coming now.’
Junio nodded and went back to his work, while Minimus ushered our visitor back into the room. A little food and warmth had clearly done Brianus good — there was a touch more colour in the sallow cheeks and he seemed a lot less nervous than he was before, although he still hung back against the wall.
I did not confuse him by addressing him direct, but busied myself with tying the cords around the writing-block and securing them with a little dab of heated wax. I don’t have a fancy seal-ring, like patricians do, but I do possess a seal — a piece of wood with a raised iron pattern set into the end. I gestured to Brianus that he should pass me that, and — rather shyly — he stepped up to comply, while I winked at Minimus, who was sulking slightly at being overlooked.
I took the seal and pressed it on the wax across the knotted cords, so that the writing-block was securely closed despite the faulty hinge, then chalked the word ‘Calvinus’ on the outside of the frame. ‘It is not elegant, but it will have to do,’ I said. I looked up to find Voluus’s slave-boy gazing at me as though I were some sort of conjurer. It occurred to me that writing might be a mystery to him: not every slave-boy in Roman households learns to read. ‘Here you are!’ I held it out to him. ‘Make sure the steward gets it as soon as possible. Now take your cloak — I think it is a little drier now — and my slave will show you to the door.’
Brianus took the tablet and bowed himself away. A moment later we heard Minimus ushering him out.
Junio raised an eyebrow at me as he looked up from the floor. ‘So much for your questioning of the boy,’ he said. ‘You treated him so gently, you haven’t got any information out of him at all.’ He frowned at a piece of pattern that did not seem to fit.
‘That depends,’ I told him, wiping the seal-block clean and returning the lid to the pot of sealing-wax, ‘on what he might have said to Minimus.’ I looked up as the boy in question came back into the room. ‘And here he is. Let’s ask him.’
Minimus looked from Junio to me with obvious concern. ‘Have I offended, master? I didn’t like to ask while Brianus was here, but you seem annoyed with me. Is it because I did not climb the ladder straight away? Or is there something that I’ve not done well enough? If it is about the preparation of the mead. .’
I cut him off. ‘The mead was excellent. Almost as good as Junio used to make. And you are quite mistaken, I am not annoyed at all — unless it’s with myself, for failing to find out what my patron hoped to learn.’
‘If my father spoke sharply,’ Junio put in, ‘it was for the benefit of that unfortunate young slave.’ He took a piece of coloured stone and tried it in the space, first one way and then the other, before rejecting it. ‘Brianus is not used to kindnesses, I think — and would not have accepted our warmth and succour otherwise.’
‘Oh!’ Minimus looked visibly relieved. He turned to me. ‘Well, you may be right. I know that he was terrified the whole time he was here — he could not believe you’d given him a part of your own meal, but he was dreading what might happen when he gets home again. Apparently his master’s left a steward in the house who beats him savagely for almost anything. Poor thing! You should have seen his back!’