The Chariots of Calyx

Chapter Thirteen

‘Well then,’ the optio said briskly. ‘What is your next step, citizen? Do you wish us to accompany you to the inn where the Blue team is staying?’

I thought about that for a moment. ‘We might send a messenger,’ I said at last. ‘Just to be quite certain that Fortunatus really did go back to Londinium.’

The optio nodded. He muttered an order and one of the escorting soldiers set off at a lumbering run, his armour creaking and clanking as he went. ‘You suspect that he did not return to the city after all?’

‘On the contrary, I am almost certain that he did exactly that. If he did, then I should go back there myself at once. In the light of everything I’ve learned, I am particularly anxious to talk to him as soon as possible. I presume the governor’s gig is still at my disposal?’

‘It is standing by in the stables, waiting for you,’ the optio said. ‘The horses and the driver will have been fed and rested by this time. But are you sure there is nothing further that I can show you here?’

There was something rather plaintive in his tone, and it occurred to me that the officer was mildly disappointed. He had been looking forward to a day at the racing as my escort, and no doubt when he returned to normal duty in the barracks the duties awaiting him would be much less agreeable.

I hardened my heart. ‘I would love to see more of the city, but like you I have official business to perform. Perhaps we could return to the garrison, and wait for the return of our messenger? I will have a better idea of what I want to do when I find out for sure where Fortunatus is.’

‘As you wish, citizen!’ He seemed to take my words as a rebuke, and we made our way back, along the route by which we had come, at a brisk pace and without a word exchanged. No wonder the stares of the passers-by were more goggle-eyed than ever.

At the gate the optio gave the password of the day — ‘Mighty Saturn, chosen of the planets’ — and we were admitted, to make our way back across the little gravelled parade ground, where a group of men were now training noisily with swords and spears against wooden stakes hammered into the earth, under the shouts and curses of their officers.

Through the inner gate we went and into the headquarters building, where the optio went off to announce our presence and I was shown to a bench in an ante-room to wait.

The commander was unfortunately occupied, I was informed, but his resources were at my disposal. The optio delivered this message breathlessly and then retired, while my remaining escort took up a post outside the door — through whether this was to guard me against the army, or vice versa, it was hard to determine.

‘So the garrison is at my disposal, eh?’ I grumbled to Junio. ‘I suppose the commander is obliged to say that, since Pertinax is commander-in-chief of all the British legions, but from where I’m sitting I can’t see much sign of it.’ I craned my neck to look through the open door of the ante-room to the main street of the fort, and the lines of identical barrack-rooms opposite. ‘The legion is far too busy with its own business.’

‘At least it gives us something to look at while we are waiting, master,’ Junio said.

He was right. There was constant activity: working parties with waggons bringing in supplies, messengers coming and going with sealed orders, even fatigue detachments marching to the latrines with buckets and brooms. The entertainment of watching them palled quite quickly as the morning wore on, however. I sat on my bench and kicked my heels, while Junio hovered helpfully beside me.

We waited. After what seemed at least a decade, a silent soldier brought us more hard biscuits and watered wine and disappeared again without a word.

‘How do legionaries manage to live on these things?’ I said.

‘Lots of them prefer wheatcakes,’ Junio said. ‘They think that meat is decadent and makes a fellow soft.’

I was about to make some scornful comment when the optio appeared again. He was looking important and at his heels came our so-called ‘messenger’, red-faced and panting as if he had run all the way from the town.

I waved aside the usual civilities, and once he had recovered his breath the man delivered his message in that singularly toneless voice that nuncios use when reporting to a senior officer. ‘I beg to report, citizen, that the rumours all appear to be true. Fortunatus was observed to leave for Londinium just before noon on the Nones.’

‘The very first morning of the games!’ I exclaimed. That was exactly what I had wanted to know. If he left Verulamium before midday, then Fortunatus could indeed have been in Londinium on the evening of the murder, despite what Fulvia had told us to the contrary.

The soldier, who had been staring straight ahead, dutifully waited until I had finished my interruption and then resumed his sing-song narrative. ‘He was carried back to the team inn about the third hour. It was a fine day and this same time is estimated by three other witnesses.’

I nodded. The time, of course, could only be approximate. The army has calibrated candles to ensure that guard watches are changed at regular intervals, but most mere civilians can only estimate things by the sun. ‘About mid-morning, then. Go on.’

‘He was visited by the medicus soon after — there are two more people ready to swear to that — and permission was granted for him to return to Londinium. That was arranged at once. I interviewed the slave who hired the carriage.’

He paused, and I asked — as I was clearly expected to do — ‘What did he say?’

The soldier cleared his throat and quoted the slave in a curious high-pitched voice, as if to underline that this was not part of his own recital. ‘ “Fortunatus said he would be more comfortable in his own quarters and the team surgeon agreed. Of course the charioteer is a wealthy man and he hired his own carriage.” Those were his words, citizen. The carriage left the town before midday — the slave says so and the guard on duty agrees. That is all I could discover, citizen.’ He touched his helmet in salute and brought his heels together so sharply that his plate mail rattled.

That was not quite as I had heard the story earlier. ‘Fortunatus himself suggested the return to Londinium?’

‘So I understand, citizen.’

That was interesting, too. I said, ‘And the team coach let him go? It seems to me that if he was well enough to travel, let alone to make his own arrangements, his manager would have thought him well enough to race.’

I was half talking to myself, but the soldier obviously felt that having delivered his information he had done all that could be required of him. Still standing stiffly to attention, he rapped out, ‘That is all I know, citizen.’

It was the optio who said, ‘Fortunatus is said to have been blinded by the blow to his head, citizen. He could hardly race in that condition and in that case the team would have no further interest in him. I should think that Calyx was glad to see him go, and have one less billet to pay for.’

I said nothing.

The optio paused, and then said in a different tone, ‘Although, of course, they say he will recover — and in that case you’d expect Calyx to keep him here, wouldn’t you, if there was any sign of improvement? If only so that the team doctors could keep an eye on him and make sure that he could get back in a chariot again as soon as possible. Great Jupiter, Greatest and Best. I do believe you are right, citizen! It is odd, when you stop to consider it. What do you suppose the motive is?’

I shook my head. ‘I don’t know. Fortunatus may have had his own reasons for wanting to return to the city at that time, and perhaps he bribed Calyx to let him do it without disappointing the racegoers.’ It was logically possible. Fortunatus could have bribed Calyx to look the other way, staged an accident and so contrived to return to Londinium in time to strangle Monnius. Even if his return was noted, those feigned head injuries would be an alibi. It was difficult and dangerous, but possible — and if anyone had cool nerve, Fortunatus did.

Perhaps it was not even as dangerous as all that — if I had not arrived asking questions, no one would have thought about it twice. I wondered how big a bribe would be needed to corrupt Calyx. Though I must not jump to conclusions, of course: there might be some other explanation altogether.

I did not explain any of this to the optio. I said, ‘I wish I knew how seriously Fortunatus really hurt his head, and how and why that shipwreck happened when it did.’

‘Permission to speak, citizen?’ the soldier put in.

‘Go on,’ I said. ‘Have you thought of something else?’

The soldier continued to gaze at the painted plaster above my head, but he had lost his official monotone as he said, ‘Forgive me, citizen, it may not be important. I thought nothing of it at the time. But the slave who hired the carriage did tell me that Fortunatus was very suspicious of the inn servants. Insisted on keeping his purse in his own hand and counting out his money to pay the driver. The boy was thinking only that the man mistrusted him, and I suppose one might count out money from the shape of the coins, but. .’ He tailed off.

I grinned. ‘You mean, it rather sounds as if Fortunatus could see, at that stage? Well done, soldier. I suppose the inn-slave didn’t let slip anything else?’

He glanced at me in an embarrassed fashion. ‘He did say that when the slaves came in to take Fortunatus to the carriage, the charioteer seemed so impatient that he got up from his couch and lay down on the shutter himself. Then a moment later he was back to moaning and holding his head as if he couldn’t do a thing unaided. Of course, I have no other witnesses to this. I promised the boy I wouldn’t mention it — he seemed to think that it might earn him a flogging — but in the circumstances. .’ He seemed to recall himself, and with a muttered ‘Citizen!’ he stood to attention again and resumed his contemplation of the wall.

The optio puffed up like a fighting cock and seemed about to speak to him severely, but I cut in quickly, ‘You have done well, soldier, and I promise you that no action will be taken against the slave in question. You have my word as representative of the governor.’

The optio turned as red as a Druid’s apron, but he could hardly gainsay that authority. ‘Very well. Dismissed. Back to your detachment,’ he barked, and the soldier, with a muttered, ‘Thank you, citizen,’ prepared to obey.

He laid one hand upon his sword hilt and raised the other to heaven. ‘I will do all that may be ordered, and am ready to obey every command. May Jove and all the gods bless our Lord the Emperor, the Divine and Immortal Commodus Britannicus Caesar,’ he intoned, then swivelled smartly on his heel and marched away.

The optio turned to me. ‘So, citizen, you wish to return to Londinium? Your gig is ready and waiting — the garrison commander has given the order. He wishes me to ask if you are sure that there is no further assistance he can give.’

‘There is,’ I said. ‘I would be very grateful if he could arrange for someone to keep an eye on Calyx while he is in the town. Whatever Fortunatus is up to, I suspect that the Blues manager is in it too, and that there is money in it for him. Quite large amounts of money, since he takes the loss of the prize purse so calmly.’

‘I see.’ A gleam appeared in the optio’s eye. ‘Certainly, citizen. I’m sure that something could be arranged, although it may mean sparing someone from the garrison to return to the races for the rest of the day. Myself, perhaps, since I know what he looks like, and I was detailed to accompany you there in any case.’

‘I think that would be most appropriate,’ I said. I had rather guessed that he would volunteer himself, if it was a question of attending the races again. But I did want him to remember what he was there for. ‘It is important to send someone in authority — someone who will not become so interested in the racing that he forgets to keep track of Calyx — and of those two men whom we saw with him, too, if possible.’

The optio understood my meaning. He coughed and then said, ‘Of course, citizen.’

‘In that case,’ I said, ‘I will leave it in your hands. What hour is it? A little past midday?’

He looked uncomfortable, and I realised for the first time that perhaps he had left me waiting a little longer than necessary. ‘A little after that, citizen. I heard the apparitor sound the trumpet at the courthouse as I was coming through the town.’

I nodded. We had not heard it at the garrison, but the noonday trumpet was not meant for us, it was meant for those summoned before the day’s courts at the town curia — they were obliged to be present before noon, and if they missed the noon fanfare they were officially too late. Of course, on an overcast day like this one, it was not easy to judge the exact moment when the sun was at its highest, but that trumpet marks the legal end of morning, and that was good enough for me.

‘Then I leave here later than Fortunatus,’ I said. ‘Let’s see if it is possible to arrive back in the capital before the city gates are closed. If I can do it, he certainly could have done.’

The optio nodded. ‘You wish to try that, citizen? I will explain it to the gig-driver. He is awaiting you now. If you and your attendant would like to follow me. .’

He must have explained to good effect because we fairly flew along the road, changed horses at the mansio and still reached Londinium comfortably before nightfall. Comfortably in the metaphorical sense. I have never been more pleased to see a warm bath-house and a massage in my life. I was blue in unexpected places — and for days afterwards Junio walked with care, like a newcomer to the cavalry.