The unexpected sally brought another hiss of discontent from some parts of the gallery. I thought of calling in the warder to speak in my defence — but Laxus was now firmly on my side. Before I had time to say another word, he volunteered, ‘There was no blood on his tunic when he spoke to us. I can swear to that.’
‘So, Excellence,’ I said, seeing a chance and seizing it at once, ‘if the killer was drenched with Lupus’s blood, as by the advocate’s account he must have been, then I am clearly innocent.’
There were louder rumbles now. The mood was beginning to swing in my favour, and, seeing this, the advocate began another tack. ‘There is still the question of the knife.’ He produced it with a flourish. ‘Here it is. The town guards took it from him at the scene. Carrying a weapon is a capital offence, and so is his claim to be a Roman citizen, if that is proved untrue. As I understand the matter, that is in dispute. He has brought no proof of it, of any kind.’
There was only one possible response to that. ‘As to those charges,’ I replied, ‘I call upon my patron — His Excellence himself.’
I could not have caused more of a sensation if I had conjured up Jupiter in person. All eyes turned to Marcus, and even the soldier who had been guarding me allowed his sword to drop and swivelled round to stare.
Marcus cleared his throat and raised a hand. His face was mottled scarlet and I knew that he was raging inwardly, but he simply rose to his feet and said with dignity, ‘What the man says on both these points is true. He is a citizen, and one of my clients. He is accompanying me to Isca, where — despite his present woeful lack of gravitas — he is to be an honoured guest. It is also true that I presented him with that dining knife in appreciation for a service he once rendered me.’
The advocate was obviously nonplussed by this, but he did not give up. ‘Then what was he doing at that shop last night? Not once, but twice. He does not deny that he was there. And at the crucial time. He also had a knife, whether it is a legal one or not, and it is proved that he came back to the scene.’
Marcus ran a ringed hand through his tousled curls. ‘There is no blood on that knife that I can see,’ he said. ‘You prove he had the opportunity-’
‘And the means and motive — he took the treasure chest,’ the man insisted.
He had interrupted Marcus, and that was a mistake. Marcus looked at him coldly. ‘Do not attempt to give me lessons in the law. Mere opportunity is not sufficient proof — and the man has witnesses to say he had no blood or money on him afterwards. So, I will ask the question for the third and final time — Libertus, did you kill this man and steal his goods?’
The third time of asking was required in law, and I replied as firmly as I could, ‘I did not, Excellence.’
‘Then by the power invested in me by this court, I give my verdict. He appears not to have done it.’ That was the official formula, and I found myself grinning helplessly, even before he uttered the final words. ‘I’ve half a mind to fine him for improper dress — he has failed to wear his toga in a public place, which is an affront to his status and the name of Rome — but otherwise I find no fault in him. Let the prisoner go.’
There was a little stir which the herald quelled by shouting, in a high-pitched monotone, ‘And that concludes the business of this court.’
Marcus turned and led the way majestically through the basilica, down the steps and into the official litter awaiting him outside. The other magistrates and officials trailed out after him.
I took a deep breath. I was free to go.
Chapter Ten
The soldier who had been guarding me throughout all this now put his sword away. ‘Seems you are a lucky man,’ he said. ‘Now, do you want me to escort you out of here? Always a crush when someone’s been released.’ Without waiting for an answer he began to force a way back through the throng. ‘Stand aside, there. Let us through.’ The spectators reluctantly complied.
He was right about the crush. Now that the official party had departed and the spectacle was over, most people had lost all interest in the court and were simply anxious to get out themselves. There were a few people jostling at the door, to greet me as I passed with cheers or cries of ‘Shame’, but most did not give me a second glance. If anything, their attention had now turned to the gallery instead, where there was clearly some sort of altercation taking place. I was being borne along by the movement of the crowd and it was hard to see, but I managed to move sideways from the crush and get my back against a pillar for a moment so I could look up and glimpse what was happening overhead.
The disturbance seemed to be an argument between one of the young veiled women that I’d noticed earlier, and a skinny slave with acne who was waving a purse of coins in her face. He was shouting so loudly that I could hear his words, and so could all the others in the court.
‘You tell your mistress that she is a cheat. You can’t pay less because we lost the case. I don’t care what you think we agreed. Just wait until the next time you come to court. You’ll be sorry that you tried to cheat us then.’
I was wondering what all this was about when to my surprise the slave turned on his heel and bounded down the steps. He didn’t join the departing multitudes but walked the other way, to join the advocate and Lupus’s wife, who were still loitering beside the rostrum steps. When he reached the lean-faced man he bowed, handed him the purse and gestured fiercely to the women up above. I couldn’t hear now what was being said, but Lupus’s widow glanced at the gallery and I saw a look of fury cross her face. When I followed the direction of her gaze I got a shock myself.
The girl who had led the argument had now thrown back her veil and I realised that the group were not the modest maidens I’d imagined them to be. Nor were they a bunch of Christian matrons, come here to support Lupus’s wife because she was a member of their sect, which had been my other guess.
On the contrary. The removal of the veil revealed a painted face: not merely showing a touch of chalk and white lead applied to face and neck, as women sometimes do for vanity, but flaunting a whole host of artificial tints. Even at this distance I could see bold smears of ochre on the cheeks, lines of sultry lamp-black round the eyes and lips dyed scarlet with the lees of wine. Given that her hair was also dyed an artificial blond and pinned up with jewelled trinkets in the curls, the lady’s profession was not hard to guess. Why would such a woman pay an advocate? It seemed more likely that he’d be paying her.
I was still gazing upwards, wondering about this, when I felt a sharp tug at my arm. My former guard was back. He followed the direction of my look and gave a mirthless laugh. ‘You’ve spotted one of Lyra’s girls, I see. No time for dreaming about that, my friend. I am to take you out of here as fast as possible. Your patron is awaiting you outside.’
I gave up on the little mystery and followed him at once. It is never wise to make my patron wait.
Marcus was indeed expecting me. He had given instructions for the official litter to delay, and another carrying chair to be fetched for me. However, he addressed no word to me, simply mounted his conveyance and left me to do the same. I returned to the mansio in solitary state, swaying in a hired litter borne by sweating slaves.
No question this time of a challenge at the gate; the sentry stood aside sharply to allow us in. Marcus had already dismounted and disappeared inside but, as soon as I had paid the litter-hire, a soldier came out to summon me.
I followed him, a little nervously, and found myself in the commandant’s offices, standing before a table at which my patron was already seated on a sort of folding stool, with the optio beside him, looking flushed and grim. It was like appearing in the court again, except that I could tell from Marcus’s face that this time I would not get off so easily.