The Ghosts of Glevum

XX

We trooped in silence down the little path back towards the lane. I had a hundred questions, but I was wheeling the lopsided cart and that took all of my concentration until we reached the wider track, and it was not a great deal easier even then. I am accustomed to handcarts — I have one of my own — but this one had a damaged wheel and the resultant lurch made manoeuvring it a misery. The stinking contents shifted at every bump and fissure in the road, and threatened to fall off and shower me. I marvelled how the one-handed miller had managed it. The smell was perfectly atrocious, too.

Nor did my companions offer any help. The old woman had remained behind, still collecting up the strewn possessions from the hut, and Parva had forged ahead of us somewhere. As soon as we reached the public road the other men withdrew into the trees, leaving me to wheel the thing alone.

I turned towards them to protest but they were gone. I was horrified. Suppose I was walking into a trap? Sosso had not fully explained his plan to me, or told me what I was supposed to do. It would have been very easy for Cornovacus to have called into the garrison and offered to betray me for a price. I did not like this feeling of being in other people’s hands — especially a band of vagabonds and thieves.

I gave the handcart a bad-tempered push, with the result that it lurched into a deepish rut and stopped with a jerk that almost lost the load.

I thought unkind thoughts about the Fates and stooped to extricate the wheel from the hole. When I looked up there was a soldier on the road in front of me, stationed so that he would block my path. The Fates, I thought, had evidently heard. For a moment I contemplated abandoning the cart and bolting for the trees myself, but I had just sufficient self-restraint to see the idiocy of that.

If Sosso’s plan was going to work at all, I could expect to meet a soldier at some stage. This encounter was the test of it. I was supposed to be delivering fertiliser to the villa from the town, and this was an appropriate route for doing it — not the main military road where a poor man would be obliged to take to the verges on the way, but this steep and bumpy lane where at least I could occupy the track until it joined up with the wide and gravelled road which led to the main entrance of the villa. Of course I could hardly turn up there like a visitor, but beside the front gate was another track that led round to the farm and to the inner gateway at the back. If the perimeter of the villa was patrolled, I would have to get used to passing the guards.

I ruffled my thinning hair as far as possible across my face, hunched my shoulders and lurched off towards the soldier down the lane.

It was the same man that we’d seen earlier, but this time there was no sign of an alarm. He didn’t even draw his sword. He simply nodded at me as I approached, and asked me brusquely what my business was.

‘Fertiliser from the streets,’ I said, lifting up a corner of the cloth so that he could see, and also obtain the full benefit of the smell. ‘They take it at the villa, to put round the plants.’

I had taken pains to disguise my voice as much as possible, and my heart was thudding so loudly that I thought he had to hear, but he didn’t give me a second glance. ‘Well go on then, get on with it.’ He averted his head fastidiously. ‘What a stench! Worse than a gladiator’s armpit! Get it out of here!’ And he actually stood back to let me pass.

My route took me past my roundhouse gate, but there were soldiers on the lane and in my present role I dared not stop to look. However, it seemed to be as Molendinarius had said. Only a pile of charred remains showed where the sleeping house had been, but the dye-house and the rest of the enclosure seemed more or less intact. That was all I could determine before I was challenged by another guard. My throat went dry and my heart thumped painfully but, again, once I showed him the nature of my load he lost interest in me and waved me through.

I was stopped once more before I reached the track to the farm, and had to pass a sentry at the outer gate. Every time the outcome was the same. I was beginning to feel a bit more confident.

Things were not so simple when I reached the inner gate. In place of Marcus’s usual gatekeeper, who was elderly and always half asleep, there were two armed soldiers posted in the gatehouse there, and they were very much awake. From the way the younger one swaggered out and blocked my way, I was convinced that my whole lurching ordeal had been in vain.

‘Well?’ His tone was bullying. ‘What do you want? You can’t come in here.’

I went into my fertiliser speech again, but this time it did not have the same effect. He shook his head. ‘No one is to come in or out, by order of the garrison. I have my instructions. Now go away. Go on, beat it, before I take my baton to you.’ His colleague, who had been standing at the doorway of the gatekeeper’s post, took a step towards me as if to prove the point.

‘The other soldiers let me past,’ I protested, but there is no point in arguing with a guard. I began to turn the cart round. That was far more difficult than simply pushing it.

They watched me struggling.

‘Oh, come on!’ Parva unexpectedly appeared from the little room, a sort of stone hut set into the wall. ‘Make up your mind, you two. Who’s interested in this stupid beggar and his cart of muck? You heard what he said. Let him in and let’s get on with it. A quadrans each — I haven’t got all day.’

The younger soldier still looked hesitant, but the other winked at him. ‘She’s right. Vital supplies, that is. You know our orders. We aren’t to interfere with vital farm supplies and profitable trade. You know what the authorities are like. When this estate is taken into Imperial hands, they want it as lucrative as possible.’ He jerked a thumb at me. ‘Go on then. In there beside the inner wall. You dump it there, and mind you keep in sight, where we can keep an eye on you. No funny business either or I’ll have both your ears.’

I straightened the cart before he changed his mind, and suddenly there I was inside the gates. It was so familiar — the piles of heaped wood for the furnaces, the beds of winter greens, the fruit trees neatly planted up against the wall — that it was hard to believe how much my life had changed. There was even a land slave sweeping up the leaves. It all looked strikingly peaceful and affluent after the wretched hovels where I’d spent the last two days.

However, there was no time to stand and stare about. The younger soldier was still scowling after me. His companion had already disappeared. Having no shovel or real idea of what was appropriate, I lifted the cloth and began to scrabble the muck on to the floor with my hands. The soldier grunted something which I could not hear, but he seemed satisfied, and after a moment he too turned in the direction of Parva and her raddled charms.

The land slave was less amenable. He put down his brush of bundled twigs and hurried across to me, his face a picture of incredulity.

‘What are you doing, you old fool? You can’t offload that here. Get out before I call my mistress. She will have you whipped.’ His voice was so loud that I feared the guard had heard, but there was no sound from the gatehouse. Presumably they were otherwise engaged.

‘Hush,’ I murmured as soon as he was near enough to hear. I realised that I knew him slightly, had even spoken to him once or twice, but there was not a flicker of recognition on his face. ‘Your mistress is expecting me, I think.’ I certainly hoped that this was true. I guessed that when Lercius had gone across the wall, this was the message he had been told to give — though nobody had said as much to me. ‘Tell her the ordure she required has come.’ I dropped my voice. ‘Tell her a pavement-maker has delivered it. Quickly, before those guards come back. Now, if you wish to save your master’s life.’

He gave me a startled little nod, and darted through the door which led in the direction of the house. I went on shovelling with my hands, taking as long as I dared. It would take him some time to cross the inner garden and the court and find his mistress in the further wing. But I dared not stop altogether. The older of the guards had wandered back by now, adjusting his tunic, and was standing by the gate again, watching me in a desultory way.

I had almost finished pulling off the load when the land slave reappeared, followed by Julia herself, with Cilla at her side. She was as beautiful as ever, though she did look drawn, and the strain of the last few days was evident. Even the soldier at the gate was looking at her appreciatively.

‘Lady!’ I murmured deprecatingly. It suddenly occurred to me how odd this must look, the mistress of the house appearing in honour of an itinerant beggar with a load of rotting rubbish from the streets.

Julia ignored me and walked on to the gate. The soldier straightened up perceptibly, and held himself peculiarly upright, as if he was sucking his stomach in and trying to force his chest-armour out. Julia had that effect on many men. She had chosen a sombre dark grey stola this afternoon, in deference to her husband’s plight, and had covered her hair and shoulders in a dun-coloured mantle too. It was almost funeral attire, and it made her look more than usually fragile and pale.

‘I am sending a messenger to Corinium again,’ she said, in a voice that was deliberately loud enough for me to hear. ‘Please see that he is permitted to leave without delay. I intend to remove there, as you know, if things do not go well at my husband’s trial, and obviously there is a great deal to be done if the house is to be prepared for me.’

The soldier shrugged, but his manner was respectful as he said, ‘Lady, that’s impossible. We’ve already been too lenient as it is, letting that messenger through yesterday.’

‘I had your centurion’s permission for that,’ she replied, with dignity. ‘Both to let him in and send him out again.’

‘I know that, lady, but of course when that was first agreed the villa was only under guard. We hadn’t had instructions then to seal it off. But now that your husband — begging your pardon, madam citizen — has been discovered in a plot, naturally the house is under scrutiny and private messengers are not allowed.’

‘Not even if I send it through the guard? If I could get a message to the commander of the garrison, surely he could see that it reached Corinium? There are always messengers riding to and fro — and he could ensure that there was nothing treasonable in what I wrote. When my messenger came back from Corinium he brought me word that I have a visitor — a lady and her slaves — and naturally I am concerned that she is properly received. Of course there are servants at the house, but it is hardly civilised to leave her there alone.’

So Gwellia and Junio were safe. It was clever of Julia, I thought, to find a way of making sure that I discovered that, without addressing a single word to me. It was a huge relief to know. Indeed, I was so busy thinking about that, I stopped unloading the muck.

The soldier spoke again. ‘Orders are orders, lady. It’s not in my hands — or even in our centurion’s any more. We’re only doing what we’re told.’ He gave her what was obviously his official smile. ‘Once the trial is over, you’ll be free to go. I’m sure your visitors will understand. Your usual hospitality is legendary. Look at that banquet you gave the other night.’

Julia gave a ladylike but contemptuous snort. ‘At which one of my two house-guests died — in the presence of the high priest of Jupiter as well — and the other was forced to leave the house and seek accommodation in an inn, because the household was put under guard?’

So Mellitus had been forced to put up at an inn? He would not have appreciated that. I chuckled inwardly. I had forgotten that he was a house-guest at the villa that night — and naturally he couldn’t decently remain alone with Julia and an infant child, once Marcus had been taken into custody. Still, it was interesting news. Perhaps Sosso and his men could find out which inn it was and see if anything was to be learned from there, although by this time the procurator would certainly have left. He would either have gone back to his home town or, more likely, have become the house-guest of some other councillor in Glevum. There must still be administrative matters to resolve. After all, that was what he’d come to the colonia for.

Something else had become clear to me as well. This total ban on communication with the villa was recently imposed. I had half deduced that for myself, from the freedom which Cilla had earlier enjoyed and the fact that Julia had been permitted to receive that letter from Marcus. Indeed, even after the new charges were first laid — Marcus had mentioned them in his note — it seemed she had still been permitted to send messengers to the Corinium house and receive replies. Something since then had clearly changed. It could only be the production of clear evidence — either a statement extorted from one of the tortured household slaves confirming that Marcus had mentioned Romnus’s name, or the production of the famous document. Or, more likely, both.

There was no time to think about that now. Julia was still talking to the guard, and it was evident that she intended me to hear.

‘I have done my best to co-operate with you,’ she said, ‘letting you search my husband’s study, and take that document and things away. Surely you can co-operate with me, in such a simple matter as a messenger? An important man like you?’

I couldn’t see her face, but I knew that she had lowered her head and would be looking at him from under downcast lids. No wonder the commanding officer had listened to her pleas and reduced the guard in her wing of the house. It would not surprise me to learn that he now made a point of patrolling that area himself. Julia had no power at all in law, now that her husband-guardian was in jail — she would have been helpless to prevent the search and seizure of Marcus’s things — but she knew how to wield the other powers she had.

The guard looked self-important, and I thought for a moment that he might weaken and agree, but the younger soldier sauntered out of the gatekeeper’s room just then, and — thus observed — the senior took a different line.

‘Lady, I have told you several times. There is nothing that we soldiers can do. If you have a complaint to make, make it to the commander of the garrison.’

‘But how am I to contact him, since I cannot even send a messenger?’ Julia said plaintively.

The soldier clearly could not answer that, since it was impeccably logical, and looked around for someone on whom he could vent his embarrassment and so reassert his authority. He saw me loitering by the cart, and I was the obvious candidate.

He bawled at me. ‘You! Old man! Get a move on there — don’t stand there idling, just because you think that no one’s watching you. I know your type! You’ve got a job to do. Get on with it!’

‘Ah!’ Julia turned to me. ‘Indeed. The fertiliser for my flower beds. I suppose the man needs paying. Cilla, see to it. Four quadrantes, I think that was agreed?’

Cilla came over to me, and ostentatiously dropped four quadrantes in my hand. I stared at her. Surely Julia would give me more than this?

‘Say thank you, citizen, and try to look impressed,’ the slave-girl murmured, moving so that she stood between me and the guard. ‘My mistress has a plan. Beg for some clothes — it seems you need them, too. I wouldn’t have recognised you dressed like that. What happened to your toga?’ She glanced towards the cart.

She was right, of course. I don’t know why I hadn’t realised it before — the turmoil of the last few days seemed to have dulled my mind. But now I saw what Cilla had observed. The big sludge-coloured cloth that had been tucked around the cart had dropped to the ground and opened out. One long edge of it was visible, curved in the distinctive toga-shape. The truth was evident. This now-stinking piece of rag had been my proud mark of Roman status, until Junio had come home and hidden it in the dye.

I kicked the garment over with my foot, so that the shape of it was less conspicuous, and bowed my head obsequiously. ‘Thank you, miss,’ I said aloud, for the benefit of the soldiers, who still had their eyes on us. Behind them I saw Parva slip out of the gatehouse and away. I wheedled my voice into a pleading whine. ‘I think I was promised a few rags, as well? Something to keep out the winter cold?’

‘Ah, that slave’s tunic that got torn and stained with wine last Janus’s Feast! Of course. He’s quite right, Cilla — Marcus promised him. You’ll find it somewhere in the kitchen block, if someone hasn’t torn it up for rags. And there’s a loaf of bread that he can have, as well — left over from the banquet. People went home so suddenly that night, even the pigs can’t keep up with the scraps.’

I was puzzled. This, obviously, was part of Julia’s plan. A three-day-old loaf of bread was scarcely edible and besides — to my knowledge — the diners had all finished long before the unfortunate events that brought the banquet to a sudden close, and dined superbly too. Unless this somehow offered information as to the murderer, I could see no advantage in the gift. However, I clearly could say none of this aloud, so I cried, ‘Jove and all the deities bless you, lady!’ with what I hoped was an appropriately humble show of gratitude.

Julia acknowledged this with the curtest of short nods, as though I were the nobody I seemed. She turned back to the guards. ‘I don’t know what Governor Pertinax would say, if he knew how his personal representative was treated now he’s gone!’ she snapped, and went back through the inner door with Cilla at her side.

Her departure was followed by an awkward hush. The soldier was scowling at me again. There was nothing for it but to put down my coins and unload the last few stinking remnants of my load.

No one had offered me a spade at any point, but now that the cart was empty the kitchen slave came over with the broom and began ostentatiously to sweep around the pile, as if to tidy it as much as possible. I picked up my ex-toga — fwhaw, how it stank! — and wiped my hands on it, then bundled it back on to the cart, artlessly folded with the curved edge innermost. I tied my pitiful payment into the corner of my makeshift garment, as I have seen beggars do.

Cilla came back with an old blue tunic on her arm, and a loaf of bread which was as hard as bricks. She tossed them on the cart without a word and disappeared and I was left to wheel it away: past the gatehouse, down the farm track — unmolested — and out on to the lane.