‘It’s my belief,’ he assured us, rather indistinctly, ‘that Pertinax is only coming to Glevum because that fellow Marcus has got married. He is threatening an enormous feast as soon as this funeral is over.’ He pondered over a move. ‘An attractive widow, so they say, and already ruling him like a general. Ah! My game, I think.’
I had with some difficulty managed to place my dux where he could not fail to take it. It was important that he win something. Tomorrow, when he was sober, he might regret his losses and I would still be liable for tax.
‘They say,’ the taxman said, reaching out for the coins on the table and sweeping them with one unsteady hand in the general direction of the other. The affected Roman accent was slurred with drink and it was with difficulty that I made out what he was saying. ‘They say,’ he lifted a drunken finger at me, ‘she is sulking. . over some slaves of hers who were killed and refuses to leave Glevum until the murderer is found. Though Marcus,’ he smiled a stupidly beatific smile, ‘has somebody in cust. . cust. . has somebody locked up. Stupid fellow confessed. Silly sort of chap from Rome.’
Octavius, I guessed, and blessed whichever gods were responsible for that particular false rumour. I might have asked the taxman more, but he was already slumping forward on his stool, and leaning his head upon the table. Four or five beakers of hot mead had taken their toll. I made a mental resolution to leave the building next morning before the headache awoke.
I tiptoed off with some relief and availed myself of the bath-house. It was small, but adequate, and the sensation of hot steam and cool water — to say nothing of a quick oil and scrape-down from the bath-house slave — made me feel more human than I had done for several days. If I had only had a clean tunic to put on, I would have felt almost myself again. This one was becoming as battered and travel-weary as I was.
We returned to the communal eating room, where a cheerful stew was being served, and I made a comfortable meal. Junio, in the servants’ quarters, ate more simply, but quite well. The tax-collector had disappeared, though the sound of reverberating snores from one of the sleeping rooms suggested what direction he had taken.
After dinner I had a short discussion with the octio. He offered his contingent as escort for our carriage as far as Letocetum.
I was tempted. I knew that Egobarbus had been at Letocetum and Marcus had sent me (hadn’t he?) to investigate the death. Even if I took his carriage, I wouldn’t be exceeding my authority — much — and if I achieved results my patron would forgive me. Indeed, he would be likely to claim that it was all his own idea. However, I could not be in two places at once. I still had to deliver Zetso’s letter to the ex-centurion, and that would answer the question of where Felix spent the night. Regretfully, I was obliged to decline.
‘You were lucky tonight, master,’ Junio said with a grin, as he assisted me, still dressed in my tunic, to the floor.
‘On the contrary,’ I said testily. ‘I have failed. I have not solved the question of Egobarbus, and now Zetso has slipped through our fingers. But what could I do? Zetso was carrying an imperial warrant, and without evidence it is more than my life is worth to detain him. But it is a tiresome business. I should not have let him go. I am still convinced that he was involved in the death of Egobarbus.’
Junio looked at me. ‘It would be possible, master, for you to accept the octio’s offer. You could accompany the soldiers, perhaps in one of their carts, and I could take the carriage and deliver the letter. You could seek out Zetso and we could meet tomorrow evening in Letocetum.’
There was some sense in the suggestion, but I shook my head. ‘I do not trust him a thumbs breadth. For all I know this letter carries instructions to throw me in irons as soon as I arrive.’
‘But it will name you, it will not apply to me,’ Junio said. ‘And even if it does, better he imprisons me than you. You could go to Marcus — or even Pertinax — and sue for my release. It would be much more difficult to do the same for you. They would take days to grant me an audience. And I will have Marcus’s carriage-driver with me.’
‘Oh, very well,’ I said reluctantly. ‘I will think about it.’ I lay down on the straw and put the tablet under the pillow at my head. I had been clinging to it all evening like a nervous sailor clinging to a oar. ‘All the same, I wish I knew what that letter said.’
Junio finished arranging blankets over me. ‘You should get some sleep, master. You will have to rise very early to avoid the tax-collector. He might want another game with you, and you would never beat him, sober. At least, not without me.’
He gave me a cheeky smile, and blew out the candle and curled up at my feet. I wanted to think of a reply, but it had been a long day and he was already asleep. I lay a long time on the straw, the events of the last few days swirling through my brain like unconnected pattern pieces for a pavement. Then I too, drifted into sleep.
Chapter Twenty-four
I awoke next morning with a jerk and sat up so suddenly that I banged my head sharply on the wall. Something (apart from the wall) had struck me. Why had I not thought of it before? I felt for the writing tablet beneath the straw and held it up hopefully, but it was still too dark to see.
My movement had awoken Junio, and he raised himself with a groan. ‘Master, what is it? Even the sun is not yet out of bed. Can I not stay in mine a little longer? There is time yet to escape before the taxman wakes.’
‘A candle, Junio.’ I scrambled out of bed, pulling stray pieces of bedding from my hair. ‘If am right there is no time to lose.’
‘Very well, master.’ He hauled himself to his feet, dusted himself down and disappeared through the door. I glimpsed him, a slim shadow in the darkness, groping towards the main building of the inn. Like every other establishment, they would not let the fire die if they could help it: if nothing else there would be a bucket of hot coals in a brazier where he could light his taper.
It seemed an age, to my agitated mind, before I saw him return, the light glimmering like a beacon in the darkened yard.
‘Come here, Junio,’ I greeted him. He brought the lighted candle closer, and held it aloft. I held up the wax tablet, and saw with a rush of triumph that I had been right. ‘You see that? I should have thought of it before. Look at that seal.’
Junio gazed at me. ‘The seal, master? What is wrong with it? It looks impressive enough to me.’
I found myself grinning at him. ‘It is the seal of Perennis Felix, and that cannot be lawfully used, because the man is dead.’
‘Felix’s seal? You are sure?’
My grin widened. ‘As sure as I stand here. I saw the seal on Felix’s ring the first time I met him. One could hardly miss it. He meant it to be noticed. I marked the design at the time — I am not a pattern-maker for nothing. Three crossed swords and curlicues over a sheaf of wheat. I wonder I did not recognise it before. Give me my knife from the table there.’
Junio gulped, but he obeyed and watched as I carved at the cord that bound the tablet together. He did not voice his anxiety, but I could hear it in his tone as he said, nervously, ‘So why did Zetso have it? You think he stole it from his master?’
I shook my head. ‘In that case he would not use it so openly. More likely that Felix gave it to him, or even had the seal-stamp made for him. Zetso told us that Felix used him as an agent in business matters.’ It was thick cord and my knife had not been sharpened, but I had almost sawn it through.
‘Men do not often lend their seals.’ Junio was still sounding doubtful. ‘Felix must have trusted him implicitly.’