The Ghosts of Glevum Page 10

  ‘Worth more as a ransom,’ said the man with half a hand. ‘If the authorities are really after him, the chances are they’ll pay.’

  There was a murmur of assent, but the woman snapped, ‘That’s all very well, but which of you is going to hand him in? You, Cornovacus?’ She turned to the two men in the shadows as she spoke. ‘The town guard has been seeking you for years. Or perhaps you’d like to do it, Lercius, and hope your master has forgotten that you ran away?’

  The man with half a hand seemed unconvinced. ‘There’s some of us could do it. One or two amongst us are freemen born, and not all of us are thieves. Seems a pity to turn down a handsome sum.’

  ‘Mightn’t be a handsome sum,’ the woman said. ‘We’ve only got this blighter’s word for it. More likely Grossus was right at the start, and he’s a spy – down here working for the market police.’

  The man in the shadows grunted. ‘She’s right. If we hand him in, Dis knows what the consequence might be. What if this idiot really has a patron, as he claims, and someone starts taking an interest later on? Do we want them asking questions about who it was who sold him to the guard? Besides, the wretched fellow’s seen us now. Do the simple thing. Rob him, stick him in the river, and have done with it – that’s what I say.’

  I had attempted to interrupt several times, but a warning prod from Sosso’s dagger somewhere in the region of my entrails had so far prevented me. However, matters were desperate now. I croaked out, ‘What I said is true. I’m a pavement-maker from the town. My patron is Marcus Septimus . . .’ I stopped, as Sosso prodded me again.

  nonetheless, to my amazement, my words had some effect. The one-legged man looked up from the fire, then swung himself over, leaning on a crutch. He stared at me a moment, silently. ‘I think I’ve seen this fellow in the forum once or twice,’ he said at last. ‘And Marcus what’s-his-name was arrested yesterday. That much is certain. So it’s possible the rest of it is true. What do you think, Sosso? Have you ever seen this man before? You must have done, if he is who he says.’

  Sosso frowned. He lowered his makeshift blade an inch and pushed his filthy face up as close as possible to mine. He peered up at me as if he was learning to decipher writing, and I was a difficult inscription that he was struggling to read.

  ‘Think so.’ It was less an observation than a grunt. Then he shrugged and raised his knife again. ‘Don’t know. Might be wrong. Probably. Usually am.’

  I wished devoutly that I had managed to make myself more memorable. If I’d only tossed either of these men a larger coin the last time we met, they might have recognised me now and that could have been enough to save my life.

  ‘Well.’ Now it was the ragged crone who spoke, through toothless gums. ‘It’s no good asking me. I can’t see well enough to tell – but if that Marcus Whatsit is the same one I’ve heard about, it seems to me that we have problems here. Isn’t that Marcus a friend of the governor’s? And an important magistrate as well? That must make him the richest man for miles.’

  ‘Meaning that our friend here might be valuable?’ The wraith smiled, and his bony hand tightened disagreeably on my arm.

  The crone gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Meaning that he might be trouble, fool. If we dispose of him, there will be questions asked.’

  There was a general rustle around the fire at this. Everyone seemed to have a point of view.

  ‘Well, we can’t just let him go – not when he can identify us all . . .’

  ‘Better to hand him over to the authorities. There might be a reward . . .’

  ‘For a freed-man when his patron is in jail? Not much, I shouldn’t think. At least, not to the likes of us. Besides, it’s always safer to keep away from guards . . .’

  ‘But supposing his patron is released? There’d be worse trouble then. That Marcus person is a magistrate. We’d all end up before the courts – and probably before the beasts as well.’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ the pock-marked girl said. ‘I’ve heard about this, now I come to think of it. One of the soldiers told me earlier, when I had some business near the garrison.’ She did not mention what her ‘business’ was. She really didn’t need to. All eyes were turned to her, and she stepped closer to the fire – clearly enjoying a little attention for a change – before she went on. ‘They’ve got the most senior magistrate for miles locked up, because he killed some really important military man. Didn’t want to do what the Emperor had said and share the local power with him, they say.’

  Sosso’s knife did not move an inch, but his indrawn breath sounded like a hiss. ‘Great Jove! You’re sure?’

  She shrugged. ‘That’s what I heard, though one of my soldier friends – a prison guard – said there was more to it than that. The military fellow was a brute, in any case, he said – had his eye on everybody’s wife and a whole history of rivals who just disappeared or turned up lying somewhere in a ditch. Kept a formidable bodyguard, it seems. It could be that this Marcus simply got in first. But they can’t persuade him to confess to any crime, and his servants won’t say anything at all, though the interrogators have had them half the day.’

  It was my turn to draw in my breath, this time in sympathy. I wondered which of the servants had ‘confessed’ to Praxus’s advance to Julia.

  The girl was continuing her tale. ‘But anyway the law’s the law, and you know what the judges always say. Cui bono? Who benefits? If you look at it like that, this Marcus is obviously as guilty as can be. Besides, it all happened at his house and no one else had the opportunity.’

  Sosso was shaking his head. ‘Political? Don’t like it.’

  The wraith nodded agreement. ‘Never want to get mixed up in politics. We’ll all of us end up in jail, or worse. And this patron obviously has friends in high places. Suppose he does get out – where does that leave us then?’

  ‘What do you think, Sosso?’ somebody enquired. ‘Do we hand him in? Or throw him in the river here and now? Probably safer to get rid of him.’

  They were discussing my murder animatedly, as if I wasn’t there. I opened my mouth to defend myself, but Sosso was looking at me thoughtfully, his blade still fixed at my stomach. I closed my mouth again.

  ‘It’s Grossus’s fault,’ the older woman said. ‘He got us into this. Where is he anyway? When he came down with a brand to light the fire, he promised some of his mistress’s soup tonight. Get down there, Parva. Stop your gossiping and see what’s happening.’ She gave the girl a shove, so that she moved away reluctantly and drifted off into the mist.

  The others took no notice, and she went on grumbling. ‘Trust Grossus to leave us with this mess. If he wanted the man robbed and killed, he should have done it himself while he had the chance.’

  ‘We ought to do it, and do it now, and weight the body down. That way the authorities need never know. We’d take his belt and shoes, of course. One of us could sell them in another town,’ Cornovacus put in.

  The wild-eyed youth they had called Lercius came towards me. He had a piece of jagged timber in his hand. He raised it like a club, then jabbed it like a spear, and then tapped it lovingly against his palm. He smiled. ‘Can’t I just . . .’

  That made up my mind. Sosso or no Sosso, I was going to speak. ‘Listen!’ I said loudly.

  Lercius reacted instantly. The jagged wood jerked upwards at my vital parts. If Sosso’s hand had not closed over his it might have been the end. Another inch and he would have disembowelled me.

  ‘What was that for?’ Lercius said, nursing his hand: Sosso was obviously very strong. ‘He’s not worth anything.’

  I said bitterly, ‘You’re right, of course. With my patron locked away in jail, my life is of little value to anyone but me. It must be tempting to get rid of me. But there’s another way. Help me, and my patron will be grateful when he’s freed – which he will be, when I can reach the proper authorities. You heard what he said: I’m sure he can prove his innocence.’ (I had my doubts about this, inwardly, but I wasn’t going to voice them now.)
‘You get me out of here, and I’ll ensure that you get a good reward without any interference from the guards. And the same thing goes for . . .’ I was going to say ‘Fatbeard’ but corrected just in time, ‘the big fellow with the beard,’ I finished.

  If Grossus Fatbeard held these people in his power, as I deduced he did – extorting a proportion of what little they obtained in return for fire and a smattering of food – it was important that my promise covered him. It was a gamble, of course, and I had not the slightest notion of how the promise was going to be fulfilled, but it was enough to make them think.

  There was a startled hush, and then the woman said, ‘Well, you heard what Parva said. If he’s sure that they’ll release him in the end . . . it might be safest in the long run, I suppose . . .’

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ Cornovacus said. ‘This son of a dog is lying.’

  ‘I still think I should . . .’ Lercius brandished his pointed stick again. ‘I’ll get the truth from him.’

  ‘Not now, Lercius!’ somebody exclaimed and the crone said, ‘Perhaps we should wait and see what Grossus thinks.’

  I had them wavering at least, but it was Sosso who had the final word. Despite his unpromising appearance and grunting speech, he seemed capable of sharp intelligence and the others obviously deferred to him.

  Now he was furrowing the place where his forehead should have been, and signalling to the rest to hold their tongues. Then, without lowering the knife, he turned to me. ‘How much?’

  I was startled into foolishness. ‘How much for what?’

  ‘Don’t play games with us, pavement-maker, or we’ll change our minds.’ That was Cornovacus, coming suddenly to life and slamming me back against the wall so hard that I stood spluttering for breath. ‘You know exactly what he means. How much to get you safely out of here?’

  XI

  As I struggled to regain my breath I tried to think. I had not expected such sudden capitulation, and the direct challenge caught me unawares. I realised I had no sensible reply to give.

  I was suddenly horribly aware of how feeble my bargaining position was. I had no idea, in fact, what sort of ‘good reward’ Marcus was likely to agree to pay on my account, even supposing he was ever freed – and that looked far from certain, whatever I had said. Or he might be exiled – forbidden ‘fire and water’ within the Empire, as the formula required. In that case his goods would be forfeit to the state. It was even possible that, if he were suddenly released, he would pretend to regard the whole suggestion as a joke: Marcus was notoriously careful with every quadrans and of course I had no undertaking from him that he would pay anything at all.

  It was a worry. No doubt these men would set the figure high, and I had no money of my own. Literally no money, now that Junio had my purse – not even at the roundhouse, if my instructions had been obeyed.

  ‘We’re waiting!’ The wraith, who still had me in his grip, gave me a savage little shake. ‘And no more lies about losing money on the chariots. We’ve asked. We know that you were never there last night!’

  I had forgotten my pathetic little subterfuge, so this disconcerted me; and the suggestion that my story had been checked out like this made me more disturbed than ever. ‘My patron knows how to show his gratitude,’ I burbled, trying to avoid naming an outright sum. ‘I’m sure that, when he’s freed, he will surprise you with his generosity.’

  I knew that it was weak. The man with half a hand obviously thought so too. He shook his head. ‘Not good enough!’ he said. ‘We see money here and now, otherwise I vote we rob and kill him straight away. That way we’re sure of something, anyway. Bury the body in the marsh; they’ll never find it there.’

  There was another murmur of agreement round the fire at this.

  Lercius waved his jagged piece of wood again, his face in the sullen firelight wreathed in smiles. ‘I’ll find out if he has money, if you like. Or if you’re going to push him in the river, let me have him first,’ he pleaded.

  There was something disquietingly infantile in his enthusiasm, and it dawned on me chillingly for the first time that he was not entirely sane. He was like a child who likes tormenting flies. The idea that I might become a human version of the fly was enough to send shudders down my spine. I tried to speak, but no words came out.

  ‘Just a little bit?’ he begged.

  Sosso shook his head at him, but the wraith said warningly to me, ‘He’s right. You pay us something now, or there’s no deal at all.’

  I found my voice, but it was still unsteady as I said, ‘I’ll give you something when I reach the house. But I don’t have my purse . . .’

  At this Sosso gave a nod towards the man with the scars, who got up and shambled to my side. Then, almost before I knew what was afoot, a pair of expert hands were travelling over me, so quick and light that I scarcely felt them move.

  ‘No purse,’ the man reported, and melted back into the dark.

  ‘He’s got that fancy oyster spoon,’ the woman said. ‘That should be worth a sestertius or two. We’ll have that for a start.’

  ‘My spoon?’ I hadn’t thought of that. It was the one object of any value that I had with me, but it had hardly seemed adequate as a bribe. That was no problem. I would have given a thousand oyster spoons to be away from there. ‘Very well,’ I muttered hastily, eyeing Lercius, who was still loitering. ‘The oyster spoon it is.’ I started to unclip it from my belt, but Sosso intervened.

  ‘Belt too!’ he grunted, and there was nothing I could do but take that off as well.

  ‘Now those.’ He pointed to my shoes.

  I did gulp a bit at this. I was almost freezing as it was. The idea of walking barefoot in cold ooze and mud, with who knew what lurking underneath the mire, sent physical shivers down my spine. Besides, once I had parted with my shoes, I had nothing left to barter with at all. Yet there was not really an alternative.

  I made a last attempt. ‘The spoon and belt now and the shoes when I get clear.’

  ‘You heard. He asked you for the shoes! No arguments.’ The wraith’s iron grip tightened on my arm. ‘You want us to let Lercius loose on you?’

  I squatted on the ground and took off my shoes. It occurred to me that I was now entirely at the mercy of the gang. Why should I expect them to keep their word and help me? I couldn’t run and they had everything I owned, except my tunic and my underpants. It would not surprise me now if they took those as well, and either left me here to freeze or trussed me up and tossed me into the Sabrina then and there. In fact I was half expecting it. I could see that it would give Lercius a thrill to undertake the job on their behalf.

  Sosso had unexpectedly put down his knife and was sitting on the ground beside the fire, pulling off his own ancient, tattered buskins – if that is not too grand a name for them. They were foot-coverings of the crude old-fashioned type that land slaves sometimes wear: mere bags of uncured cowhide, stripped still bloody from the animal, bound around the foot, and worn until it has dried out to a kind of formless boot. Even in the dim light of the fire I could see that Sosso’s were split and full of holes, and had rubbed raw patches on both his feet – the same feet which he was now trying to force into my soft leather shoes.

  They were proper shoes, not sandals – the only ones I had – worn in honour of my visit to the garrison. They had been made specially for me by a shoemaker as part of my payment when I’d designed a pavement for him once, and they were made of soft goatskin, cut to fit my foot. They were designed to lace together like a sandal at the top, admittedly, but on Sosso’s filthy and misshapen feet they looked ridiculous. Both of them were far too small for him, but the one into which he’d pushed his swollen foot scarcely stretched further than the sole, and he struggled to make the laces meet at all. Sosso, though, seemed pleased with the effect, pointing his feet and wiggling his toes like a Lydian dancing girl.

  His delight in such a simple thing was so self-evident that, at any other time, I could have felt a pang of sympathy for him, but th
en I felt only resentment and despair. Acute discomfort, too. I now had no shoes myself and as soon as I stood up freezing slime oozed in between my toes while my soles sank into cold and gritty mud. Walking anywhere like this would be a misery. Though, I told myself, that was probably the very least of my concerns – I would be lucky to walk anywhere again.

  Or see anything either, if Lercius had his way. He had crept forward while Sosso was preoccupied, and taken up my spoon. He was now holding it towards me and making little stabbing motions with the oyster-spike in the direction of my eyes. When he saw me flinch he giggled and gave it an unpleasant little twist. In his hands it was a weapon.

  The wraith, who had been watching Sosso, turned to him. ‘Put that down, Lercius. It is not for you. It’s to trade for food,’ he said firmly, and to my surprise Lercius gave a sulky shrug and did as he was told.

  ‘Speaking of food,’ grumbled the ragged woman, whose child had by now set up a thin, hungry wail, ‘here’s Parva with the soup. And none too soon. Grossus promised it to us hours ago.’ She pointed down the alleyway, where the pock-faced girl was struggling towards us through the gloom, carrying a pail of something in both her hands.

  Soup. At the very thought of it my stomach growled, and when the girl edged towards the fire – no reluctance to make way for her now! – and lifted off the lid, I thought that I should faint from hunger at the smell of it. No matter that it was the worst kind of soup the cheap hot-food shops sell: a thin and greasy brew in which fragments of fur and hoof are often visible and a bit of gristle is a tasty treat. No matter that it was the drainings of the pot. Tonight it might have been ambrosia.

  I wondered how the waiting group would eat, since there were no bowls or spoons in evidence, but the girl unslung a sacking bag which she had been carrying, and opened it to reveal some broken loaves of bread. These she spread out on the upturned bucket-lid, while people clustered round impatiently. The bread was obviously hard and stale, but everyone fell on it at once, seizing a piece and dipping it into the soup, then sucking it voraciously. As if their lives depended on it – as perhaps they did.