A Whispering of Spies

PROLOGUE

The man sat at the table on the bench and carefully spread out one last sheet of bark-paper. He glanced around once more to check that he was quite alone, but of course he had already made quite sure of that: the servants had long ago been sent off for the night. ‘Business matters to attend to,’ he had said. ‘Accounts to settle.’ In a fashion it was true.

He moved the oil-lamp closer so that he could see, and stirred the mixture of lamp-black, vinegar and gum arabic which he had ready, waiting in the bowl. He fingered the handsome seal-ring beside him on the desk, but there would be no seal or sealing-wax on this — that would not be appropriate for what he had in mind. He smiled; not a pleasant smile. He dipped his iron-nibbed pen into the ink and began to write:

To Voluus, the ex-lictor of the Governor of the Gallic provinces. I hear you have been looking for properties to buy in preparation for a move from Gaul. So, you hope to settle in Glevum after all? I guessed that you would come here in the end. Did you think you would escape? Fool! I warned you once, my friend, that I do not forget. Set one foot in Glevum after this and I promise you that neither you, nor your treasure nor your family will be safe. You may not see me, but I know where you are — just as surely as you know who I am. He paused, and after a moment added with a scrawl, Your secret enemy.

He read it through again. Satisfied, he blew on it and scattered dust to dry the ink, then rolled it carefully into a tiny scroll, addressed it ‘to Voluus’, and tied it with a cord. Now, how should he proceed? One could not use one’s own slaves for a task like this. Tomorrow he would find an urchin on the street and have the note delivered to the mansio — Glevum’s official inn where Voluus had been staying for a day or two. Better still, have it pushed in through a window-space, so that the messenger could not be caught and questioned afterwards.

Of course, when the errand-boy came back to claim his fee, it would be wise to silence him, in any case. Nothing spectacular. A broken neck, perhaps. One more unclaimed body on the road — no one would even notice. Not this time, at least.

He was still smiling as he took his outer garment off, snuffed out the oil-lamp and — dressed only in his undertunic — lay down on the bed. A moment later he had fallen into dreamless sleep.