‘Understood, sir.’ The soldier was getting more crimson by the minute. ‘But, if I may make so bold, we felt it was our duty to investigate. The cloak and helmet looked like Roman ones, and there was a lot of blood spilt on the ground.’
‘Never leave horses and equipment unattended, even on the edges of a battlefield, without one of your number standing guard,’ the optio said. ‘What kind of training do they give you lads nowadays?’ He sniffed. ‘Well, it’s too late now. Your steeds have fallen into rebel hands, and they’ll no doubt be used to harass Roman soldiers later on. You can think of that when you are cleaning out latrines. So, what did you do with the body of the messenger? Did you cut it down and bury it?’
This time the soldier did meet the optio’s eyes. ‘That is the extraordinary thing,’ he said. ‘The cloak and helmet were the messenger’s, I don’t think there is any doubt of that. But the body wasn’t his. This was no soldier. A pasty sort of fellow, when he lived, with soft hands and flaccid muscles and a slave-brand on his back. He seemed to be some kind of personal serving-boy.’
Chapter Twelve
A rustle ran around the table at these words, and Marcus half rose to his feet. ‘A slave-brand, did you say? What kind of brand? And what have you done with him?’ He seemed to recollect himself and added with a smile, ‘I ask, because it is just possible that he might be mine. Thanks to a’ — he flung me a reproachful look — ‘local, regrettable event, I seem to have lost a valuable slave.’
The soldier looked alarmed. ‘Your pardon, Excellence. We haven’t done anything particular with him — just cut him down, wrapped him up and buried him under some soft leaves in a ditch. Forgive us if we have given you offence.’
Marcus was looking really furious at this. I knew that he was unlikely to grieve very long over the possible loss of a single slave, especially one like poor Promptillius, whom he clearly did not value very much — after all, he’d lent the boy to me. However, he was not a heartless man and, besides, he was irritated as anyone might be at the unnecessary loss of something that was his.
It was if anything a deeper blow to me: not only was I appalled at what seemed to have happened to the lad, but technically, since he was loaned to me, I was responsible for replacing him, as I would be for any chattel I had borrowed and was not able to return in working order.
Regulus saw our faces and was apologetic now. ‘Forgive me, Excellence. We had no notion who his owner was — certainly we never dreamed it might be someone of distinction, like yourself. In fact, we concluded that he was merely the attendant of some hapless citizen who had been travelling through the woods — perhaps on some trading venture, since he clearly wasn’t rich — and been set upon by these vagabonds and robbed. We found a package of used clothes nearby which seemed to suggest something of the kind.’
It was my turn to sit up sharply. ‘A toga and a green linen tunic with a woven band, by any chance?’ I asked.
The soldier stared at me. ‘How did you know that?’
‘Because I rather think that they’re mine,’ I said. ‘As you can see, I’m wearing borrowed clothes. The slave that His Excellence lost had taken my spare clothes. . don’t ask for explanations. It’s a complex tale.’ I sighed. ‘So it was Promptillius, it seems. Poor fellow — he went out to his death, supposing that I’d summoned him. I hope his end was quick.’ I felt very guilty about this, in fact. If I had not left him in the marketplace it seemed quite likely that he would be with us now.
The soldier nodded. ‘I think I can assure you that it would have been. He clearly died without a struggle, citizen. Someone slipped a thin cord round his neck from behind and pulled it tight — the marks were clearly visible. He would scarcely have had time to know that it was happening.’
Marcus frowned. ‘Strangled? I thought that he was hanged?’
‘Killed first and strung up afterwards, I am fairly sure. We discussed it at the time. The rope was in the wrong place and the wrong size for the mark — there was no attempt to hide the fact and make the two things match. It all seemed very odd. He may have been put there in a hurry — it looked as though he had — and he may not have been dead for very long. We decided that he was most likely killed elsewhere and simply slung up to dangle where he was — together with the helmet and the cloak — just to get our attention and entice us from the path.’
I glanced at Marcus, who was scowling doubtfully. I had already offended proper protocol by interrupting twice without being invited to speak, and I had no wish to increase his irritation by doing so again. However, I was impressed by this soldier’s clarity of mind. He was clearly capable of cogent reasoning. ‘If I may ask something further, Excellence?’ I ventured. Mercifully, Marcus gave me permission with a nod, and I turned to the soldier. ‘I thought you said there was a pool of blood?’
‘There was. It wasn’t his. There was no wound on him. That is what made us suppose that he had a master with him, who was stabbed and dragged away — just as, I suppose, the messenger had been. We found the marks of heel-tracks in the mud as if a body had been dragged that way, but we couldn’t trace them very far before they disappeared in puddles and leaves. We even left a man on guard and searched the area, but we found no sign of any other corpse.’
‘Nor of the slave-boy’s tunic?’
He looked perplexed. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. I wonder why the raiders stripped him naked and took his things away, then left the other garments lying there? They were loosely tied up with a strip of cloth. It was quite evident that they were clothes — though they were of no great value, I suppose.’
Marcus, with faint signs of impatience, cleared his throat. ‘Is all this significant?’
‘It is significant to me,’ I said humbly. ‘And possibly to all of us, in fact. If I might make a suggestion, Excellence, do you not think it would be wise to make a foray out that way tomorrow, perhaps with a detachment from the garrison as guard, and make an examination of the spot?’
Marcus looked extremely sceptical at this. ‘And delay ourselves still further? For the sake of some old clothes?’
‘For the sake of the administration, Excellence. It seems that an official messenger has been killed, carrying a letter for you from the Isca garrison — which was no doubt sealed?’ I looked towards the soldier, who confirmed this with a nod. ‘Then surely we are dealing with a serious matter here — interfering with the imperial post. Isn’t that a capital offence? I’m sure the Emperor would not be pleased, and would expect you to investigate.’
Marcus nodded wearily. ‘I suppose you’re right.’ He brightened. ‘Though there’s no proof the messenger was killed.’
‘Only the bits of uniform,’ I said. ‘And don’t forget the heel-marks and the blood. Who else did they belong to? Not to the owner of the slave, as the soldiers quite reasonably thought, because you are his owner and he’d been serving me, and clearly it wasn’t one of us.’ I shook my head. ‘I suspect it was our poor messenger all right.’
‘Oh,’ Marcus said gloomily. He was obviously disinclined to bother with all this, but — as I had judged — his sense of duty compelled him to do something now.
The optio, who had been listening to all this, sprang suddenly to life, anxious to show that he could think as clearly as any mere auxiliary. ‘Dear Jupiter, you see the implications of all this? Supposing that the letter had not merely concerned arrangements for your escort to the fort, but private information about the movements of the troops? All that would be in rebel hands by now.’