It was late afternoon before we came to Letocetum. The mansio was not much bigger than the one we had left, and only partially completed, although the enclosure here was more elaborate, a paved compound protected by a rampart and ditch with the road running through the middle of it. I left Junio to settle in at the inn, while I drove on to the fort which was built on a commanding hilltop nearby.
The courier had been better than his word. I was expected, and with urgency. As soon as our contingent came in sight — obviously the soldiers would spend the night at the camp rather than the mansio — the commander of the post came bustling out to meet me, in full regalia: an effect rather spoiled by the sight of his armourer scuttling after him to tie up one of the leather bows that held the polished chestplates at the back.
If he was surprised to see a togaless old man emerging from the carriage he did not show it — perhaps the courier had alerted him. It was clear, however, that he was in some agitation.
‘Hail, citizen.’ He raised his hand in salute as though I were indeed representing Helvius Pertinax in person. ‘I have good news to report. The individual you were seeking has been apprehended, and is in confinement awaiting your arrival. He had no letters with him.’ He avoided my eyes in obvious embarrassment. ‘I presume you are aware that he appears to be travelling under an imperial warrant? He keeps referring to his “seal”. I hope you are right about him. I am holding him solely on your supposed authority.’
I gave a short laugh, which was supposed to sound dismissive. The officer’s manner left me in no doubt of the dreadful consequences of error. ‘Have you examined the seal?’
‘No, citizen, that was not in my instructions. I have left that to you. I prefer to involve myself as little as possible. If it proves authentic. .’ He did not complete the sentence. He did not need to. If I was wrong the only question remaining was which agonising death awaited me: being burned alive for treasonably ignoring the imperial warrant, or being crucified for bringing false accusations against its bearer. Commodus was not only the most powerful man in this world, he was (according to the law) an incarnate deity.
I tried to still my thumping heart by reminding myself of the equally unpleasant consequences — at least for a non-citizen like Zetso — of passing off a lesser seal as the Emperor’s. That made me feel a little better until I remembered that I had rashly claimed to have the governor’s authority, in a not dissimilar fashion. I took a deep breath.
‘The matter is soon settled,’ I said. ‘Lead me to the man.’
They had tried to ride both horses, as the saying goes. Zetso had been detained, but in a warm and well-aired room in a little outbuilding beside the tower. He was unfettered, and had been allowed to keep his possessions, with a stool, blanket and pillow at his disposal. Bread, cheese, fruit and watered wine had been thoughtfully provided. If Zetso were proved innocent, he could not complain to the Emperor about his treatment at the hands of the guard.
He looked up sullenly at my approach, and from the look on his face I was certain of my victory. I wasted no words.
‘That worthless warrant you carry,’ I said, with a dramatic flourish. ‘Give it to the officer.’
Zetso said nothing, but produced the scroll and handed it to the soldier. I have never seen a man look more defeated.
The officer looked at the elaborate seal-box in dismay.
‘Open it,’ I said. ‘And let us all see how valueless it is.’
The man obeyed. I saw his hands tremble as he forced the box open and revealed the flamboyant seal within. His face, when he saw it, was a picture of amazement. Wordless, he handed it to me.
I took it with a little smile, which died upon my lips. The warrant that I held in my hands was sealed, beyond a doubt, with the great imperial seal of the Emperor Commodus himself.
Chapter Twenty-five
They threw me into a cell, without light or water, to shiver miserably on the stone floor, while they considered what to do with me.
I learned later that I was lucky to escape execution. Only the protestations of Marcus’s carriage-driver that I was indeed a Roman citizen, enjoying the personal protection of Marcus Aurelius Septimus, saved me a brutal flogging there and then. At my age I would have been lucky to survive it. As it was, the testimony of a terrified Junio, marched up from the inn, and the production of the all-important document from Marcus, saved my life.
Of course, I did not know this at the time, so I did not know whether to hope or despair when they came for me a little later. Two silent and surly guards hauled me to my feet. They bound my arms, and — ignoring both my questions and my explanations — took me in silence to the jailer’s own quarters, to spend an uncomfortable night on his lumpy mattress with a regiment of fleas for company, and a lump of sour bread and sourer wine for sustenance.
It did not matter. I could not have slept or eaten if all the pleasures of Bacchus were spread out at my feet. In the brief intervals between the bouts of terror I was racked by a kind of self-reproach. I had been so sure that the seal was worthless and that Zetso knew that it was. And I was convinced, on every rational ground, that he had poisoned Egobarbus. Yet he had equally convinced me that he did not think he had.
The man must be a consummate performer. That was, perhaps, why he had been so useful to his master. Whom he had in the end, it seemed, conspired to murder. And now they would let him go. I would be executed; even if I could send to Marcus and he commuted the sentence to ‘interdiction’, by which a man is legally refused the necessities of fire and water, that would come to the same thing in the end, only more slowly. I could not flee into exile like that citizen in the matrimonial case. The tribunes would never let me go, and I should die in prison, a nasty lingering death of cold and thirst. But there was no certainty that I could even send to Marcus.
And Junio, what would happen to poor Junio?
My thoughts tormented me almost as much as the fleas. Through the little window space above the bed I strained my eyes against the dark until the stars faded and the chill light of dawn began to brighten the sky. I wondered whether I should ever see it again.
I was soon to know.
It was hardly sunrise before the secundarius marched into the room. He was boiling with truculence and indecision, though he tried to hide it, and I realised that I had created a dilemma for my captors. Free Zetso, and they risked offending Pertinax: free me, and there was likely to be a complaint to the Emperor. The officer’s solution was born of desperation.
‘I’ll pack you both off to Glevum,’ he announced. ‘Shackled and under guard. Pertinax has gone to Glevum; he can take care of it. I shall send that so-called imperial warrant with you, to be used as evidence. Then we shall see if that authority was real.’
I felt myself pale. Since I had claimed the governor’s authority, without his approval, I was guilty of a crime myself. I had usurped his authority, and in his name defied the Emperor. That would endanger Pertinax and I could expect no mercy. But there was still a glimmer of hope. Pertinax was a friend of Marcus, and my patron at least would intercede for me.
Or would he? The Emperor was not a man to cross.
The secundarius shook his head like a maddened bear in the arena. ‘I do not understand you,’ he roared, suddenly. ‘You bear false witness in front of witnesses: he carries an imperial warrant which should prove his case. Yet you look hopeful and he seems in despair. I shall be glad to see the back of both of you.’