The temple slave was looking doubtful. ‘I have heard that Meritus was formerly the estate-manager for a very wealthy man. He must have made a great success of it, too, because when his master died he bequeathed Meritus his freedom and a large part of the estate as a reward. Since then it has become an even bigger success. Or so they say. Charcoal, wool and timber apparently. Though I believe the real money came from metals, Excellence. Lead, iron and silver, and a little gold.’
‘Metals? I thought that all the metals locally were in the hands of Rome?’
The temple slave shook his head. ‘I only know the rumours, Excellence. There was some disused mine on the land, it seems, but Meritus got a licence and started working it again — and has done very well out of it. There’s a good market for all these things in Rome. He even trades in artefacts these days, I hear, provided that the metal’s good enough. But of course that’s only gossip, Excellence. I’ve never heard him talk about himself.’
I could believe that. Ex-slaves, especially those who have risen to a fortune, are not often anxious to talk about their humble origins.
Marcus nodded. ‘I see.’
The temple slave paused in the act of wrapping himself in his outdoor cloak again. He had not had the benefit of a cold plunge and a toweclass="underline" his face was still scarlet, and his hair and tunic were looking dismally damp. ‘But surely you have met the sevir, Excellence.’
That was an unwise question. Marcus flushed with irritation. ‘Certainly I have.’
Of course he had. As the highest-ranking local dignitary, Marcus had probably spent more time than he wished taking part in public sacrifice, and he could scarcely have avoided the senior local sevir. But I could see what was happening. One Imperial high priest is very like another, and the office is usually held only for a year. If I knew Marcus he would have paid no particular attention to the man. Yet he could hardly admit to that, in the light of this dead ambassador. It might be interpreted as proof of a dangerous lack of seriousness in emperor worship, and anything of that kind would certainly be reported to Rome — the Seviri Augustales tend to have a very high opinion of their own importance. Marcus was sensibly trying to find out what he could, so as not to create a social embarrassment.
I did my best to help him. ‘An older man, I seem to remember, with greying hair?’
It was a reasonable guess. Few men came to be Seviri Augustales under the age of forty at least. But the temple slave shook his head. ‘Perhaps you are thinking of the Sevir Praxus, citizen — he was last year’s high priest. Meritus is a much younger man than that — a very big man, broad-shouldered, with darkish skin and curly hair.’
‘Ah, that sevir,’ Marcus said knowledgeably, though I was privately convinced that he had no more memory of the man than I had. He held out his hand, so that his slave could slide the heavy seal-rings onto his finger. ‘Where was this estate of his, exactly?’
The temple slave looked surprised at the enquiry. ‘On the western borders, Excellence. Near Ariconium.’
‘The western borders?’ Marcus looked at me and raised his eyebrows. That part of the province is notoriously wild. The thick forests there are rumoured to be stalked by wolves, bandits and worse — the rebel red-headed tribesmen of the Silures, who have never really accepted Roman rule. There are still occasionally skirmishes there, and even the Roman army rarely moves in the remoter areas without a cavalry escort. An ex-slave from that area was likely to have dangerous antecedents.
‘So he was not from Glevum? But I presume this is where he took the wreath of office?’
‘He has contributed a great deal to the Augustales here. Of course he came here often — exporting wood to Greece and Rome, and selling wool and animals in the local markets. And the metals, too, have always been brought to Glevum to be shipped down the river. He is quite a figure in the city.’
‘Ah, of course,’ Marcus said briskly. ‘Now I recall. Very well. Go back and tell this Meritus we are coming. Libertus and I will follow shortly.’ He took it for granted that I was going to the temple with him, I noticed.
‘As you command, Excellence!’ the temple slave said, and bowed himself out of the changing room at once, almost backing into a couple of incoming bathers as he did so.
‘When you are ready, Libertus my old friend,’ Marcus said heartily, as if I were the one who had been taking a long time to get dressed, and I found myself following him through the outer courtyard. Young men stopped their ballplay to watch us pass, and a party of gamblers, whom I had seen earlier under the colonnades, hid away their dice at our approach and became suddenly fascinated by the wares of a passing food-vendor. Gaming is still officially prohibited in public places and Marcus’s impressive toga was having its usual effect.
We passed through the entrance lobby and out into the street, and at once we were enveloped by the commerce of the town.
‘Live eels, citizens? Fresh caught in the Sabrina this morning. .’
‘Household images, best household images. .’
‘This way to the lupinarium, gentlemen. Nice girls — all with specialities. . all clean. A special price for you. .’
Marcus brushed them all aside, and stepping over the piles of leather belts, turnips, tombstones and ivory brooches set out for sale at the pavement edge, he made his way to the corner of the little street. There his servant was already summoning some carrying chairs, and I soon found myself lurching along beside my patron in a litter. The litter-carriers were skilled and practised, evading the crowds and taking us along at a near-run — so quickly that Marcus’s slave was panting after us, and we were likely to arrive at the temple long before our messenger.
We turned the corner and into the forum. There were traders here too, of course, as well as the civic offices and council buildings — but mostly the central area was alive, as it always was, with dignified citizens in togas, and self-important weights and measures officers weighing both goods and money on official scales. We came to a stop outside the Capitoline shrine. It is a huge temple complex glittering with wealth, as befits the central shrine of Jupiter in a city originally built as a retirement settlement for veterans: the army has always held Jupiter in especial reverence.
The temple and its attendant shrines stand in a large courtyard area at one corner of the forum. We got down, leaving the slave to pay the carriers, and as we made our way towards it I felt a little shiver down my spine.
No doubt it is designed to that effect. The entire complex is enclosed by walls, with a great colonnaded entranceway reached by two shallow steps from the street and protected from the idle public gaze by a verandaed ambulatory on either side. Once through the massive gate — and only then — one can see the central temple. It is a lofty building, made more impressive still by being set towards the back of the courtyard on a podium, up an imposing flight of marble steps, its entrance screened by a further arrangement of towering columns. The mixture of soaring architecture and shadowed secretness is intended to impress the superstitious.
I have to say that it impresses me.
To the right-hand side of this edifice, towards the rear, there is an unpretentious building housing stores and slaves where the priests themselves retire to robe and rest. Priests do not sleep at the temple on the whole: most of them have other occupations, too, and keep up houses elsewhere in the town. The store block seems especially insignificant, however, since to the left, set back with mock-discretion in a grove, is the second temple. The temple of the emperors, where our business lay: much smaller than the Capitoline shrine, but no less elaborate — even from where I stood the columns were aglint with gold.