Well, there was only one way to find out. I took a deep breath and tiptoed down the street towards the open door, still keeping circumspectly to the far side of the road. I saw that the females were not the wolf-house girls, as I had half expected at this hour, but a group of ageing, stoutish matrons in sturdy Celtic plaid. The men — by their fish-scale armour, brawny arms and leather tunics — looked like members of the town watch. All solid townspeople. No sign of Plautus or his youthful spies. Reassured, I crossed the road and made towards the doorway of the shop.
And then I saw what was lying on the floor — something which had been hidden from my view till now by the presence of the crowd of onlookers.
Lupus was sprawled against the counter, quite obviously dead. His tunic had been ripped aside and somebody had not only slit his throat, but savagely slashed that giant form from throat to stomach. There was more of Lupus oozing out onto the tiles than was good for anybody’s health. One of the watch was standing over him, holding the lighted taper in his hand.
Lupus’s wife was standing, shaking, in another woman’s arms, convulsed with silent sobbing, while the others looked on, silent and appalled. It was like a dumb-show at the theatre, representing death.
I suppressed the cry of horror which had risen to my lips, but before I could even think of slipping off again, Lupus’s wife glanced up and saw my face. Her eyes bulged with astonishment. She shrugged herself free from the arm that sought to comfort her and raised an accusing finger at me as she found her voice.
‘That’s him. That’s the man. The one I was telling you about. He came in and was drinking with Lupus here tonight. I saw them together with my own two eyes. See, he is still carrying a knife! Seize him, guards. I accuse him of this killing. You are all witnesses to that.’
Before I had the chance to think, let alone make any move at all, I found myself — for the second time that night — flung up against the wall. The town-watch guards were rougher than my drunken friends had been, and more efficient too. The knife was knocked flying from my hand, and I was bound — none too gently — at the wrists. At the same time a filthy rag was stuffed in my mouth and I was jerked painfully upright again by the remnants of my already thinning hair.
It was of no use to struggle and I was powerless to protest — the woman had made a formal accusation, in front of witnesses, and the only escape now was through the courts. A man can only be prosecuted, of course, if he is captured and delivered by his accuser to the authorities, but I had saved the watch the trouble and expense of catching me by walking straight into their arms.
The senior guard insisted on the usual formula. ‘Before Jupiter, and in the name of Rome, you accuse this man of crime?’
She nodded. ‘Didn’t I just say so? Who else could it have been? He was here with Lupus just before he died. When I came out, he scuttled off — I thought he looked suspicious at the time. There was no one else about. I went into the back room — just to rinse the dirty cups in a bowl of water which I keep out there — and the moment I was gone he must have slipped back here and cut my husband’s throat. There was no time for anybody else to get into the shop. I was gone an instant, no more, when I heard the thump. When I came back I found poor Lupus, lying there — like this. And he hadn’t even been baptised.’ She burst out again in helpless sobs.
The smaller guard nodded sagely. ‘Anything missing, that you know about?’
She looked down at the body on the floor. ‘He still has the arm-purse that he was wearing,’ she said, with some surprise. ‘I probably disturbed the villain before he had a chance to cut it free. The money chest from underneath the counter’s gone.’
I was amazed. Christians in general avoid the law — their refusal to swear upon the Roman gods, particularly the Emperor himself, often leads to their being executed for treason themselves. And here was this woman making baseless charges against me! I tried to make a protest, but the gag prevented it. I managed only a muffled ‘Mwmm!’ before a sharp jerk brought my head up painfully and almost pulled my hair out by the roots, reminding me that speech was not allowed.
‘You mind your manners,’ the guard said nastily. ‘You’re coming to the jail with us. We’ll soon see then what you’ve got to say.’
I nodded dumbly. This was not what I’d imagined earlier. I could have endured a night locked up in a military cell, inside the mansio. But this would take me to the public jail. I only hoped that I would have a chance to speak before they gave me to the torturers. If matters proceeded according to the letter the law, I would have a brief chance to state my case before a magistrate — and so reach Marcus, possibly — but I was not even confident of that. The evening had gone from terrible to worse. However, there was little help for it. I submitted to what was, in any case, inevitable now, and did not struggle as they looped a second rope round my neck and led me ignominiously away.
At least, I told myself, shivering with damp and tiredness and cold, this solved the problem of where I would spend the night.
Chapter Eight
The evening when they dragged me to the town jail in Venta is not one I wish to dwell upon and certainly not one I’m anxious to repeat. First I was hustled through the rainy streets, almost more quickly than my legs and heart would stand. One of the guards was holding the halter round my neck, and he kept jerking it and dragging me along so I was half choked to death and scrabbling like a stray dog on a leash. Nor was this a private spectacle. The clop of hobnailed sandals and the clank of armour must have alerted the sleeping townspeople, because doorways and window spaces which had been empty when I passed before were suddenly alive with curious onlookers. As we passed the closed-up bath-house, there were even jeers.
We halted at the prison, a dismal building in a courtyard. The stone walls were as thick as tree trunks and, judging from the steep steps leading downwards from the door, much of the accommodation was underground. A bleary warder with a torch came out to squint at us.
‘This one’s accused of murdering a hot-soup seller down the bath-house end of town, and stealing all his gold. Claims he isn’t guilty, but don’t they all? We found him with a knife. Stick him in a dungeon overnight, and tomorrow we’ll see what the inquisitors can do,’ my captor said, shoving me forward into the jail.
My mouth was still tightly bound so I could not protest, and they pushed me without ceremony down the flight of stairs to where a leering guard unlocked a heavy door.
There was very little light or air down there, but by the taper that the warder carried I could make out a sort of stinking cellar of a dungeon, where three wretched prisoners were already chained up. Not only were they tethered to the wall, but their hands and feet were linked by chains to a collar round the neck, so that the unfortunates could not sit or stand, and were compelled to grovel on their knees, like dogs, to lap for slops of food. It is a method often used by dealers when transporting slaves, so I know how uncomfortable it is.
The atmosphere was damp and foul, besides, and so cold that it struck instant chill into my bones. I shivered. I was already soaked through by the rain and a night in here would be the end of me, I thought — and even if I did survive, there would no doubt be torturers awaiting me at dawn, unless I could reach Marcus first. Something must be done.
I was almost at the limit of my strength after the progress through the town, but I gathered what effort I could still command and as one the guards undid the gag and pushed me down onto the filthy floor, I raised my head and managed to croak out the magic formula.