‘We’ve found out where the pavement-maker is. Or rather where he was. A boy has just turned up here with a cart — says he met the fellow in the town, and was promised money if he wheeled it here. He described the place, an alleyway behind the market stalls. I’ve sent the others down there to search. Our pavement-maker can’t have gone far; the lad was swift. I gave him a few quadrans for his pains.’ He smirked.
It was a travesty. I had already paid, and — far from being quick — there was time to have wheeled the cart round the city twice! But the boy’s indolence had turned out usefully for me.
The bigger man nodded. ‘Then I might as well go down to the market, too. You stay here for a bit, in case, but it doesn’t sound as if our man is coming here.’ To my amazement, he turned and left the room. Gwellia’s trick seemed to have succeeded. Only the red-headed man was left, and he was nothing like as threatening.
It was tempting to make a run for it, but he now stationed himself at the partition door from where he was attempting to watch both us and the street. Gwellia caught my eye and I subsided back onto the stool. Better to wait quietly and hope for my transport to arrive.
I waited, not daring to breathe, for what seemed eternity. At any moment, I was sure, my guard would come and take a closer look at me. He did glance towards me once or twice, as if suspicious, but nothing happened and in the end he went out to the street. For a long moment nothing went on happening.
Then all at once he reappeared around the partition. He came towards me, dangerously near. I closed my eyes, expecting the worst. His freckled hand fell on my shoulder and I winced.
‘The litter’s outside, citizen,’ he bellowed in my astonished ear. ‘Litter! Outside! Understand?’
I nodded, too shaken to speak.
The man didn’t move.
‘What now?’ I wondered, privately, and the realisation dawned. I was supposed to be a wealthy Roman citizen! I fished out my purse and offered him a coin. That was an embarrassment — I had only a bronze as or two about me, beyond the litter-hire, but I gave him one and he took it grudgingly.
‘Blind as well as deaf,’ I heard him mutter, and then he moved aside. He really was about to let me leave! I could hardly believe my good fortune.
He watched me sourly as I shuffled to the door, still in my role of aged citizen. The litter was filling up the lane outside, and the crowd was gone. I could have howled with relief. ‘The high priest’s house!’ I muttered to the slaves, as they lowered the litter and I climbed quickly on.
Too quickly? From the inner doorway of the shop my would-be captor could be still watching me. Had my sudden sprightliness alerted him? I was too afraid to glance behind me as my bearers hoisted me.
‘And be quick about it,’ I ordered, and they set off at a run. My makeshift hood, made from the loose end of my toga, dropped backwards as we went, revealing me more clearly.
But no one came lumbering after us. No shouts of ‘Hey you, come back!’ I closed my eyes and prayed to all the gods — Roman and Celtic — I had ever known.
If we could only reach the corner, I was safe, at least for now. Even if he came after me he’d never catch me then: he was fat and slow and my bearers were fast — and hoping to be generously paid. The litter lurched and swayed like a coracle in a storm, but I held on grimly for my life until we were safely out of sight around the bend.
Chapter Seventeen
As soon as we were out of sight I sat back heavily. I was safe — for the moment, anyway! But even as I felt relief wash over me, I knew that I could not really afford to relax for an instant.
If Junio was right, my pursuers would not give up easily. They were probably already on my trail. And if they found me. .! I shuddered. Think, foolish pavement-maker, think!
I tried. It was not easy while struggling to keep my balance on a wildly rocking litter, but I tried to put my fear aside and to think rationally about the day’s events. While I was in the workshop I had been too terrified to give a moment’s consideration to anything beyond getting out of there, but now that I turned my mind to it I began to recognise for the first time the full horror of my predicament. I was effectively a fugitive. Half the town was looking for me and even the faint protection of my toga was no longer a disguise. I could not go home, there was nowhere in the city I could hide for long, and the town gates would certainly be watched. Nowhere was safe. What was I to do?
I was concerned about Gwellia, too — and guilty. In making my escape as I did, I had left her at the mercy of that red-headed idiot with the stick. I could only hope that he would think a female slave too trivial to waste his time upon. Or, since he was convinced I was an evil-bringer, perhaps he’d be too concerned with chasing me! I sent up a prayer to whatever gods there were that — for whatever reason — the mob would not go back to the workshop and mistreat my poor ex-wife. But I wasn’t confident. Misery darkened my despair. She deserved better of me — without her quick thinking I would never have escaped. My own brain seemed to have deserted me entirely this afternoon.
It certainly had. Dear Mercury! I sat up suddenly — so suddenly that I almost fell off my perch. Why hadn’t it occurred to me before? The stories which that red-haired man had told! All those tales about signs and omens! Most of the information was correct! He was not just repeating wild imaginings, like the mob I’d spoken to this afternoon. He’d known about the corpse, the blood — the ‘water turning red’. So where on earth had the information come from?
Not from the temple, surely? Everyone there had been sworn to secrecy by the high priest himself — even Trinunculus had tried to be discreet! But — I had to face it — how else could the rumour possibly have spread? No one outside, except myself and Junio, had any inkling of the truth. Not even Marcus could have known all of this morning’s happenings.
And there was something else. If the crowd were looking for somebody to blame, what had possessed them to alight on me? Why not Scribonius, for example? He seemed a much more likely candidate. He was an Icenian — and there was that legend of a curse. Or the visiting legate perhaps, as Gwellia had suggested?
Because the augurers had told them it was me. That’s what the ruffian had said. I hadn’t taken too much notice at the time — but suppose that it was true? Even if the augurers had said nothing of the kind, surely the whisper must have started at the temple? It was not the kind of thing the populace would make up by themselves — most of them had never heard of me. This was not like rumours of Fabius Marcellus’s visit, which had spread through the town like a bakery fire. Or was it? That had become common knowledge, too, when the messenger had come only to Marcus and the priests.
If there was someone deliberately fomenting this, it would explain everything. Someone within the temple! Or someone with access to its dealings. I found myself shaking my head in disbelief. Everything pointed in that direction, and the more I thought about it, the more certain I became. This outcry against me was no accident. Someone was trying to frighten me off — or worse. I had made an enemy somewhere at the shrine.
Yet here I was, being conveyed of my own free will back in that direction. The realisation gave me a nasty shock. Unlike the Christians in the arena, who are said to actively embrace their fate, I have no taste for martyrdom. Yet where else could I go? It was getting late by now, and the mob were looking for me in the streets — and no doubt had watchers waiting at the gates.
We had reached the centre of the town by now, and I struggled to sit up a little more, ready to call to the bearers and have them set me down. I would stop outside the forum after all. With a little luck I could make it to Marcus’s apartment, over the wine-shop opposite. It was a risk, but it was not very far away, and if I was quick about it I should be safe from any rabble there.