A Coin for the Ferryman

Chapter Twenty-seven

‘Here you are, citizen. This where you want to be?’ The innkeeper had slowed up a short way from the gates. ‘There is the lad I am looking for.’

He waved towards a tattered figure waiting on the roadside with a handcart piled high. I recognised the urchin that I’d noticed earlier. ‘It’s the boy who collects the manure and ordure from the streets!’

‘Not very pleasant cargo, I agree, but I have to make a living, citizen. Now that we don’t keep many horses any more — on account of those dancing girls filling all the space — I have to come for extra now and then to fertilise the field, or I couldn’t grow the turnips to keep the inn supplied.’ He had reined his bony animal to a stop, and was already preparing to jump down from the cart.

I followed, more discreetly. It is difficult to dismount with dignity when carrying a burning torch, but I did my best. I was likely to be under scrutiny, I told myself, as I looked round for the promised carriage and the councillor.

There was no sign of either. The night traffic had disappeared into the town by now, and the crowds long since dispersed. The area outside the gates was shadowy and dark, almost deserted except for the two carts and the figures who were shovelling the stinking load between the two. Almost deserted — there was someone in the gloom, cloaked and hooded and skulking near the arch. There were unlikely to be brigands this close to the guard, but I felt an uncomfortable stirring of alarm.

I had held up my torch to get a better look — I was grateful for its light, though it was burning down — when there was a noise behind me and a hand fell on my arm.

‘Citizen Libertus?’ I whirled round at once. The fat guard was grinning at my discomfiture. ‘I have to ask you to accompany me again — the commander is waiting to have another word with you.’

He had done it on purpose, I was sure of that. And he had succeeded. I was trembling. So much so that I couldn’t find the voice to form a word, and I followed him in silence through the gate to the guardhouse, leaving the innkeeper and the dung-boy staring after me.

It was the same man that I had seen before and he’d been courteous then, but he seemed a good deal mellower in his manner now. Perhaps it was the effect of watered army wine, or the cheerful brazier that now burned beside his desk, but he was almost fulsome as he greeted me — and from the warmth with which he invited me to sit, I might have been my patron His Excellence himself.

‘My dear citizen, it’s most unfortunate!’ Despite the smile, the words were not encouraging. ‘The guard has told you what the problem is?’

I managed to murmur that I’d heard nothing yet.

The officer looked uneasy, but he forced another smile. ‘A clear misunderstanding. I must apologise.’

So whatever the trouble, it was their mistake, not mine! That was a relief. ‘In that case. .’ I tried to sound as gracious as I could. ‘Perhaps we could discuss this at another time. I am expected at my patron’s and I’m already late. I believe a senior councillor is waiting for me.’

The garrison commander ran a hand across his brow. ‘That is just the problem, citizen. The message wasn’t passed on. It was not until your pageboy came and asked if you were here, and whether I had found a councillor to take you home again, that I realised the mistake. Not the boy we spoke to earlier — the other little chap.’

Niveus! I might have guessed. I gave an inward groan. ‘He did not deliver Marcus’s note to you, requesting transport for my journey home?’

‘Well, he brought it — but together with another note, you see, and a direction which asked me to forward the accompanying correspondence, under seal, to the home of the commander of the British fleet, by the first available imperial courier. It was very urgent, the covering letter said — and since it was under your patron’s private seal, naturally I complied at once. I saw that the other message — the one that you tell me was about your transport home — was addressed to “The Commanding Officer”, but I did not realise it meant me. I thought it related to the naval man, of course, so naturally I forwarded that to Londinium as well.’

I was holding my head between both hands by now. I raised it long enough to say despondently, ‘And Niveus didn’t tell you? The little page, that is?’

The officer was looking quite embarrassed now. ‘He did say there were instructions, but he seemed hesitant. I told him everything was written down, and I knew what to do. And both the letters were so magnificently sealed — it did not occur to me to question it. And he did not insist.’

‘He wouldn’t!’ I was thoroughly dejected by this time. I would be extremely late, and Marcus would take it as the gravest disrespect, not just to him but to his dead father too. Why had I not delivered those messages here myself? I had noticed the extensive nature of the seals — but I hadn’t guessed at the misleading instructions Lucius had sent.

‘Just a minute!’ I was sitting upright now. ‘Where did you say you were told to forward them?’

He was looking startled. ‘To the home of the commander of the British fleet. I told you that just now. I think I even mentioned it when you were here before.’

I stared at him. ‘You did. Of course you did. But I didn’t realise the implication then. Lucius claimed that he was sending a message of condolence to his aunt in Rome — not writing to his relations in Londinium! Yet you tell me that his letter was addressed to the commander of the fleet.’

‘Perhaps he was hoping that they would forward it? Obviously he was very anxious that it should arrive as fast as possible.’

I shook my head. ‘Then why did he not write the letter earlier? A messenger came from Rome today with news of his uncle’s death — it would have been simplicity itself to send a note back with him. But Lucius didn’t do it — so why was it suddenly so important later on that he had to borrow Marcus’s seal — and even arrange to use the military mail? What had happened to make him feel so differently?’

‘Too overcome with grief, perhaps, at first?’ the officer suggested sympathetically. ‘It was a member of his family, after all.’

I thought of Lucius as I’d found him at the sacrifice. He had been startled, certainly, when I’d walked in on him. So startled that he’d broken that jug of sacrificial wine. But overcome with grief? ‘I don’t think so.’

He misinterpreted. ‘Your patron’s father, is that not correct? And this Lucius is closely related to the wife? His Excellence explained it to me earlier. He was with me here when that messenger arrived. I saw him break the seals and open all three notes.’

‘All three notes?’ I echoed.

‘There was the one from Rome, and one from Londinium as well — with an enclosure from His Excellence’s page, I believe, Pulchrus is he called? — confirming the arrangements for the journey. It was given to the messenger to bring at the same time, since he was riding down. So that makes three. That adopted son of yours was here as well when the messenger arrived — I should have thought he would have told you that the notes had come.’

He had — of course he had. He’d told me in detail what the letters from Londinium had said. Yet. . surely? I shook my head. Something disquieting had occurred to me. If Marcus had unsealed the letters — and two people now had told me that he had — how did Lucius know what they said? It was possible the messenger had simply told him verbally — but Niveus had said he saw Lucius cut a seal. So was there yet another note from Londinium, to Lucius himself? A note which he had afterwards destroyed? It would not be difficult to get rid of it — there were braziers enough. Indeed — I started up at this — I had actually seen him with a fire!

I was a fool, I told myself. A blind and ageing fool! I did not see what was in front of me. A jug of sacrificial wine, indeed! Where had he got that from? I had heard him tell Colaphus not to bring the wine jug that was in his sleeping room. That was the one that Marcus had supplied. So where had this second one come from, and what had it contained, that Lucius had been intending to pour on to the flames?

And then another terrible idea occurred to me. I suddenly realised what was different ‘later on’ when Lucius wrote that letter. Aulus had been found. And Aulus had somehow taken poison, hadn’t he? Though Lucius had tried to put us off the scent by pretending that a viper might have stung him in the woods. Vipers! It was only the glimmering of a theory, but if I was even partly right there was no time to lose. I got sharply to my feet.

‘Citizen?’ I realised the officer was looking mystified.

‘That messenger you sent. The one who took the letters to the fleet commander’s house? Would it be possible to catch up with him?’

The officer looked startled. ‘It would be difficult. He is a courier for the imperial mail. He will stop only to change horses at the military inns and perhaps to have a meal and rest at one or two of them. Of course he was not instructed to make the highest speed — the official mail that he was carrying was generally routine, no special orders or other matters of high priority. I suppose it might be feasible to overtake him on the road, if it was a matter of imperial concern. We could set up a pursuit using fresh riders at each stop. But that would be exceptional, requiring official sanction and huge expense, and even if we did catch up with him, it is a capital offence to interrupt the mail.’

‘Even if one is the sender of the document?’

He looked perplexed. ‘In that case, I suppose. .’

‘Both of those letters you sent were under Marcus’s seal — one was to you, asking you to arrange transport for me later on, the other, as he thought, from Lucius to Rome. But they’re on their way to the commander of the fleet. Marcus did not intend that either of them should be sent to that address. But that is what you authorised, if I understand aright. I do not imagine that His Excellence will be very pleased.’

It shook him. ‘I suppose there is a rider I could send tonight. And I could give him a warrant for the top priority. But what about the cost? And if someone denounced me to the Emperor?’

I heard myself saying, ‘I will answer for the cost. On behalf of His Excellence, my patron, that is.’ I sought for a tactful way of putting it. ‘This affects his family — and is of great concern.’

The commander seemed to hesitate, and then he said, ‘I see. I know you enjoy his greatest confidence. Well, on your assurance I will send a messenger to intercept those notes. But, understand this, citizen, this is on your head and I will not take responsibility for opening the mail. I will have it returned to His Excellence — that is all that I can do. And Jove protect you if you’re misleading me.’

‘My patron’s letter was addressed to you, in fact,’ I said, as much to reassure myself as anything. ‘He cannot object if you send off after it.’

He acknowledged this with the faintest raising of his brows. ‘He will not be happy that I did not do as he asked.’

‘He was asking you to arrange a lift for me — in military transport, if it came to it. If you care to do that now, you could send word to him and ensure that he agrees that you should recall those messages.’

‘So I’ll delay the messenger until I hear from him?’

I shook my head. ‘There is no time to lose. The courier must be sent as soon as possible if we are to intercept the letters on the road. You’ll have to take my word for it, and if I am wrong, you will have me in your transport, won’t you, and can lock me in the cells?’

He looked at me, and nodded. ‘Very well. I’ll do as you suggest. But rather than send word to Marcus, I will come with you myself. It’s most irregular, but so is all of it.’ He went to the doorway. ‘Guard!’

The fat guard came puffing up the stairs.

‘Have my gig made ready, and find a courier. The best man available and the fastest steed. And a warrant paper, and some sealing wax. I will write instructions. In the meantime, take this citizen downstairs. He will want to see his page.’

‘At once, sir!’ With obvious distaste, he led me to the guardroom, where he motioned to a bench. ‘Sit there, citizen!’

And there I sat for what seemed like half an hour, with soldiers passing by and peering in at me, until the fat guard bustled in again with Niveus in his wake. A chastened Niveus, cold and shivering, despite the cloak and hood that covered him, which Minimus had been wearing a little while before. When he saw me his blue eyes opened wide.

‘Citizen! Master! There you are at last. I have been waiting at the arch for you, as you commanded me. Minimus gave up and rode ahead. He said you told him to.’ His small face brightened into a hopeful grin. ‘I managed to arrange the funeral with the guild. They are coming tomorrow to anoint the corpse, and get it ready for the pyre. They’ll provide the mourners and musicians too, and a priest of Diana to perform the rites.’

I thought about the poor creature we’d cremated earlier that day — already it seemed like several lives ago — and of poor Morella in the paupers’ pit. Aulus would have a better funeral than that.

I sighed. I couldn’t help it.

Niveus looked anxiously at me. ‘Did I do well?’ he said.