Murder in the Forum

Chapter Twelve

I returned to the entrance corridor, expecting to find Junio, but there was no sign of him.

The doorkeeper came out of his alcove, with its spy-hole looking out into the street, and scowled at me sourly. ‘If you are looking for that skinny young slave of yours, he’s gone. Sent out by Marcus Aurelius Septimus with a message to his wife.’

I cursed inwardly. Marcus had slaves of his own, and there were servants of Gaius, too, whom he might have sent on trivial errands. I had only the one slave, and my patron chose to send him — simply because he had been the message-bearer, no doubt. That was my fault; I should not have let Junio carry the news of Julia’s arrival himself.

‘Well,’ the doorkeeper demanded. ‘Are you going out or not? I’m opening and closing this door like a bridegroom’s toga as it is.’

‘I think,’ I said slowly, ‘that there is little else I can do here, for the moment.’

His hand went to the heavy lock.

‘Unless there is anything you can tell me? About the disappearance of Zetso and the Celt last night?’

He sighed. ‘I have told your patron all this. And my master, too. Felix’s driver went rushing in and out several times, on missions for his master. The last time he didn’t come back.’

‘Several times?’ I queried. ‘How often was that. Twice? Three times?’

The doorkeeper glared at me as though he were a trident-holder in the arena, and I was the netman sent to trap him. ‘Great Jupiter, citizen, I can’t tell you exactly. I was letting people in and out of this door all night. How can I be expected to remember the movements of a single slave? About the Celtic gentleman, though, I am quite certain. He and his party came in through that door, like everyone else, but he didn’t go out of it again. I would have remembered him.’

‘His party?’ I had not considered that. Of course, Egobarbus — or whoever he was — since he was a wealthy man, would presumably have arrived with slaves, ‘like everyone else’ as the doorman said. ‘He had servants with him?’

‘Oh yes. Two — or was it three — big strapping fellows in tunics. Three, I am almost sure.’

This was interesting news. One man may disappear. A group of three of four men is more difficult to hide. ‘The servants must have left again, too?’

His scowl deepened. ‘Do you think I am Janus, citizen, to remember the comings and goings of every slave? I don’t know.’

I reached into the money-pouch at my belt, took out a coin and began fingering it ostentatiously. It is amazing how the prospect of an as or two can sometimes improve the memory.

He did his best. ‘They probably went out afterwards, when there was a general rush for litters. I rather think they did.’ He eyed the coin hopefully, but I made no move. ‘I am almost sure.’

This was no use. The man would swear to anything for a reward. I tossed him the coin. ‘If you think of anything, tell Marcus,’ I said. ‘I am going out now, but I will return.’

The man opened the door and I went out into the street.

The air was cool and fresh after the heavy smoke of the funeral herbs and candles, but the crowd awaiting their turn at the lying-in-state had increased. Several of the magistrates, I noted, had left their slaves to do their waiting for them and gone away to do other things, but my former customer was still there. I avoided his reproachful gaze and sidled away down a side street.

I had thought, vaguely, of presenting myself at Marcus’s apartment, but I thought better of it. My patron would expect me to have made some progress before I reported to him again. Then I remembered what Junio had told me and, avoiding the unwanted attentions of the fortune-tellers, money-lenders and beggars who always lurk in the less frequented streets, I made my way across the town to the North Gate.

Somebody there had obviously remembered Egobarbus’s arrival, since Junio had heard about it.

I looked around for a suitable informant. There was no shortage of candidates. Tinkers, hawkers and doubtful medicine peddlers spread their wares at the foot of every pillar, and the usual grimy scoundrel with his pretended viper was performing his tricks to the astonishment of the innocent.

However, compared to my servant, I was at a disadvantage. Everyone expects a slave to indulge in gossip — who has come to the town, and who has left — since his livelihood may well depend upon tips and disbursements given in exchange for information. For a citizen — even an elderly citizen in a scruffy toga — to begin asking questions about a visitor is to invite immediate interest. Already the guards at the gate were looking at me suspiciously.

Outside the gates, in the straggle of buildings close to the walls, there was a thermopolium, a hot-food stall, selling hot drinks and questionable stew. I went through the archway and made my way towards that. These places are always hives of rumour. At the price of a bowl of greasy soup — in which goat’s hooves and something else’s eyeballs appeared to be important ingredients — I might find the information I was looking for.

‘Ooh, yes,’ the girl behind the counter said, pocketing the proffered coin with a grimy hand, ‘I see everything from here, citizen.’ She tossed her head, so that her long unwashed braids of hair swung treacherously close to the serving ladle, and favoured me with what she probably imagined was an inviting smile. It would have been more alluring, had she possessed a few more teeth.

‘You saw the red-haired Celt arrive here yesterday?’ I prompted.

‘Fellow with red hair and long whiskers? Of course I did. You could hardly miss him. There was such a fuss about the carriage. It almost came to blows. The driver said he hadn’t been paid, although he had been promised I don’t know how much to drive halfway from Letocetum, collect them from an inn and bring them here.’

‘Letocetum?’ I was surprised. I had never been to Letocetum, but I had heard of it. An important staging post for the imperial army, a day’s ride north-west on the road to Eboracum. Interesting, I thought. Eboracum was the town which Felix had been visiting on business.

‘That’s where the driver came from. I heard him tell them so, when they were arguing about the price.’ She twined her greasy hair with a greasier hand.

‘Them?’ I said, seizing on a word. ‘How many of them were there?’

The girl smiled again, showing her blackened gums. Unmarriageable, I guessed, and eking out a meagre living providing hot food for unsuspecting travellers and probably other services for any soldiers who had gambled too much of their pay and were no longer very particular.

‘Only the man and his two servants,’ she said. ‘Funny that you should mention that. The carriage-driver kept insisting that he should have been paid for four. He threatened to fetch the aediles, but the Celt gave him a few denarii and he calmed down in the end.’

‘He did?’ I was surprised.

‘Oh yes. The Celt changed his tune very quickly when he was threatened with the law. He couldn’t hand over the money fast enough. And he promised to bring him the rest this evening. Apparently he was owed a lot of money by that Roman notable who died at the feast.’ She grinned gummily and settled her tattered garment across her skinny hips. ‘I don’t suppose either of them will see their money now. A man must live while he can, don’t you think, citizen?’

The conversation was taking an uncomfortable turn. I did not like the way she was nodding towards the squalid curtained recess at the rear of the shop. I abandoned all thoughts of learning any more, and put down my bowl hastily. ‘Thank you,’ I said, ‘that was helpful.’ And I hurried away.

‘But, citizen,’ she called out after me, ‘you have not tasted your soup.’

‘Another time,’ I lied, and hastened back through the gate into the town.

The guard on duty winked wickedly at me. ‘No time for your soup, citizen? I’m surprised at you. Forget how late it was, did you?’

I knew what he was thinking and felt myself flush in embarrassment. The man must think me desperate to resort to such extremes. Nevertheless, it had given me an opportunity. Roman guards are usually grim-faced and silent. This one was grinning widely, and, thinking he had me at a disadvantage, seemed willing to talk.

I glanced over my shoulder. The girl had gone back to her stall and was pouring the remains of the soup back into the cooking pot. I improvised wildly. ‘I came here looking for my slave,’ I said, sending up a mental plea to Junio for forgiveness. ‘But she doesn’t seem to have seen him.’

The guard shrugged. ‘He won’t have come here. She doesn’t deal with slaves — unless they simply want a bowl of soup. Even if they had the money, which they mostly don’t. Too much trouble if they are caught. No, she sticks to soldiers — auxiliaries mostly, they never have any money — and occasionally visitors to the city if they are short of cash and are not too fussy.’

I saw an opening, and took it. ‘Like that red-headed fellow with the whiskers who turned up here yesterday? The one who had an argument with his coachman?’

The soldier grinned. ‘You heard about that? I did not see it myself, I was not on duty at the time, but it was the talk of the barracks. Turned up in a hired coach, apparently, with not enough money to pay the driver, and then claimed he had business with Perennis Felix. We took him in for questioning, and locked him up for an hour, but it seems he was telling the truth. He insisted that we send a message to Felix, and the next thing we heard he was being invited to a civic banquet.’

I found myself grinning. ‘So your commander let him go?’

‘Quicker than Jove can hurl lightning. Did you see that Perennis Felix? And this man was an associate of his. We were expecting at any moment to be punished for our presumption. But who could possibly have supposed that the story was true? The man was half barbarian. He hardly spoke Latin, and could barely use an abacus. I saw him at the barracks when they brought him in. One cannot imagine why a wealthy Roman would have dealings with him.’

‘I understand there is tin and copper involved,’ I said carefully.

The soldier shrugged. ‘That is what he said. Though he refused to answer any of our questions, even when we threatened him. He simply said that Felix would vouch for him. Which in the end he did.’ He grinned. ‘Our chief of guard nearly prostrated himself with apology.’

‘So you would have noticed if the man had passed the gate again?’

‘Noticed? Great Mars! I think our commander would have come down and escorted him through it personally.’ He grinned again. ‘I suppose we should have guessed he was important. A man who can afford to indulge his private vanities like that is clearly a person to be reckoned with.’

‘He certainly looked singular,’ I said. ‘In that plaid and that moustache.’

‘Well, one sees that sort of thing often enough,’ the guard remarked. ‘In Isca, on the border, if not here. A lot of those peculiar Celts still wear their outlandish tribal fashions. No, what attracted my attention was the slaves. Apparently he has always done it. One of our centurions was posted in the south-west and he had heard of it before.’

‘Always done what?’

‘Surrounded himself with red-headed servants.’

The answer startled me. I tried to think back to the household of Egobarbus as I once knew it. There were red-headed servants, certainly, among them — as there always are when a vigorous leader keeps female slaves. But there were others with hair of every hue, and there was certainly no policy of any kind. Although, when I came to think of it, it was exactly the sort of petty tyranny the real Egobarbus would have delighted in.

I came back to the present, to find the guard staring at me. The friendly manner had gone and his voice was crisp as he lowered his spear and pointed it lazily in the direction of my vitals.

‘And you, citizen? What is your interest in this Celt? You are asking a lot of questions. You seem to know what he looked like. And yet you did not know about the servants? How do you explain that?’

It was a moment to exercise what little rank I had. ‘I saw him at the banquet last night,’ I said. ‘I was a guest myself.’ I saw the guard’s jaw drop with incredulity. It would have been comic if it were not so serious. I pressed my advantage. ‘And I have some property which belongs to him. His plaid cloak. He left it behind in a cupboard. And,’ I added quickly as he made a lunge towards me, ‘before you suggest locking me up in my turn, I recommend that you apply to Marcus Aurelius Septimus. He is my patron, and I am acting on his orders.’

The spear-point hesitated for a moment, and then moved aside. ‘Your pardon, citizen,’ the guard said. ‘I did not realise. You do not look like a. . Your toga. .’ He tailed off.

I stepped past the spear into the comparative safety of the city. ‘No,’ I murmured, ‘that is the trouble with the peculiar Celts. Sometimes we wear the most outlandish tribal costumes.’

But, having a lively respect for Roman guards with spears, I didn’t say it loudly enough for anyone to hear.