Quintus’s tone, when he addressed me, was just as withering. ‘Citizen Libertus? Do I believe my eyes?’ He sounded quite aghast, and, looking around, I saw that I’d attracted a little crowd of spectators. ‘What are you doing here, and in that state of dress? Must you continually make an exhibition of yourself?’
I glanced down at my unconventional attire, undid my makeshift belt and pulled my toga down around me more decently again, painfully aware of its descending loops. ‘I’m sorry, councillor,’ I panted. It was wise to sound contrite. What I had done was a technical offence — a citizen is supposed to wear a toga in public at all times, especially in the forum, and I had just dishonoured that official badge of Roman pride. I could only hope that stickler Quintus would not choose to make an issue of my lapse. He was very clearly the sort of man who might, so I went on hastily, between painful gasps of breath, ‘But it was essential. . mightiness. . that I should speak to you at once. . on a matter of considerable. . urgency.’
He looked at me coldly. ‘Concerning what?’
I was still panting heavily, but I managed to get out, ‘It concerns the slave that my patron lent to me — the one that went missing from my workshop yesterday. I understand you put an order out for his arrest?’
If Quintus’s manner had been frosty up till now, it was positively dripping icicles at this. ‘I warned you at the time that I intended to do that. Your weakness for the boy has clearly blinded you. The evidence was clear for anyone to see — the empty purse was found upon his person, did you know? Quite enough to have him tried for robbery and possibly for homicide as well. To say nothing of the way that he had run off from his post — against your explicit orders as I understand.’
Of course, I hadn’t known that they had found the purse. As Quintus had expressed it, even I had to concede that things did not sound good, and the group of spectators (who had been following all this with fascinated ears) began to hoot and jeer. I said, with what tatters of dignity were left, ‘I’m convinced the lad is not a criminal. Just let me talk to him. I’m sure he can explain.’
One lone voice in the crowd called out in my support. ‘That’s right, councillor. Give the lad a chance before they nail him up. That’s only justice!’
My unexpected ally was shouted down, of course, and snatched at and severely jostled by the mob, but he gave me the confidence to press the point. ‘Just tell me where you’re holding my little slave-boy, Decurion Quintus, and I’ll go there at once.’ I paused, debating whether to offer payment for the privilege, or whether Quintus would choose to be offended by the thought and accuse me of attempting to bribe a councillor.
The patrician forehead had furrowed in a frown. One hand clutched his toga front and he lifted the other in a commanding stance, as if he were posing for a statue of himself. Then, raising his voice and addressing the onlookers rather than myself, he said, in the formal Latin of the court, ‘Citizens! Libertus! You misunderstand. I did put out an order to apprehend this slave and was intending to take him to the jail, but by the time I reached the garrison it seems I was too late. I learned that the boy had already been detained. And with incriminating evidence, as I said before.’
It took me a moment to take in the enormity of this ‘You mean. .’
He looked at me with condescension. ‘Exactly, citizen. I do not have your slave. And, before you ask, I do not know who has. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a meeting to attend. Important business concerning candidates for the vacant ordo seat, and we want to get arrangements finished before your patron comes.’ And with that he turned away and hurried up the steps.
There was sporadic clapping at this little speech — and a good deal of jeering and merriment at my expense — but after the decurion had left there was nothing else to see, and one by one the onlookers began to drift away.
Clearly there was nothing further here for me either. I was shocked and sickened by the news I had received — the so-called evidence would be almost certain to ensure that anyone accused, in particular a slave, was likely to be tortured until he had confessed — but there was no help for it. I was no closer to knowing where Minimus was held. No doubt Junio would be waiting for me at the workshop now and might have useful information about the messenger, and together we could make renewed enquiries. I ignored the few remaining gawpers, readjusted my dishevelled tunic folds as best I could, put on my cloak again and set off for my workshop as quickly as I could.
I was half-expecting to find Radixrapum waiting at my door, demanding the money that I owed him, but although the street was crammed as usual with passers-by — pedestrians and street-vendors and various scurrying slaves — the shop was closed and shuttered, as I‘d left it yesterday, and there was no sign of the turnip-seller anywhere nearby. Neither did it seem that Junio and Maximus were here. Never mind, I would find a stool and sit and wait for them.
I went over to unshutter the door and go inside — I had never invested in an elaborate lock — but the heavy board was not securely in place. I would have to speak to Gwellia and Junio about that; obviously they had not pulled it properly across the night before, though it seemed they’d shuttered the window space all right. The room was darkened as I pushed the door ajar.
I was about to enter, but suddenly I paused. I knew it was ridiculous, but now that I was here I was all at once reluctant to go into the room — the lingering memory of Lucius’s corpse was too much in my thoughts. I even imagined that I could still detect a faint unpleasant smell. Besides, I told myself, the workroom had yet to be ritually cleansed (though I had spoken to the priest about it at the naming day), and if I were to enter it again, this morning’s careful purification of myself would be undone. There was no need to go in there till the priest had been — I had my tools and everything I needed for the job I had to do, and Junio could meet me just as well outside.
So I reached around and found Minimus’s stool, then took up my position in the outer shop, where I could keep a lookout for Junio when he came. However, I was not destined to be long alone. The tanner had come out into the street and was heatedly talking to a customer at his gate, clearly haggling about the price of skins. He looked over and saw me, and raised one hand in a surprised salute. He went back to his wrangling for a little while, but — though with his crossed eyes it was hard to tell — he seemed to be glancing in my direction all the time.
So I was not entirely astonished, when the deal was struck and his visitor had gone off with his piece of hide, to see my neighbour hasten over, wiping his hands on his sacking apron as he came and baring his one tooth in his gummy smile.
‘My greetings, citizen,’ he said in his cracked voice, raising his usual mumble to a louder tone. ‘How nice to see you here.’ His uneven eyes were nearly popping from his head and he was clearly bursting with surprise at seeing me at all.
I could not altogether fathom why. Of course, he knew about the army cart — he’d mentioned it to Gwellia and my family yesterday — but nothing could be more commonplace than my coming to the shop, if only to arrange to have it cleansed. Most likely he was simply curious as to who had died, and I was not anxious to encourage him, so I stripped off my cloak as though I meant to work and said blandly, ‘Where else should I be? The naming day is over and I have contracts to complete.’ To give emphasis to this, I reached across to my precious stockpile of imported stone and began to sort the contents according to the quality of colour and evenness of grain.
‘Of course.’ He looked embarrassed. ‘Only I heard that you’d had some kind of accident. I was afraid. .’ he tailed off, spreading his stained hands apologetically. ‘But I see that it was just another of Glypto’s foolish tales.’
‘Glypto told you I’d had an accident?’ I looked up at him, surprised. I had half my mind upon the stones by now and, before I really thought it out, I blurted, ‘Did you send a messenger to my house saying so?’