A Roman Ransom Page 17

  The doctor’s, next words, however, wiped amusement from my face. ‘And now we learn that Numidius is ill. Libertus has just been suffering from a fever too. I wonder if that is significant?’

  Marcus turned to me and his tone was urgent and intense. ‘Libertus. Tell me the truth. Have you ever had dealings of any kind either with Numidius or with his son?’

  That was difficult. Naturally, like any tradesman in the town, I had dealt with the coin inspector once or twice. ‘Only with the coin inspector, Excellence,’ I said apologetically. ‘And only in the normal course of business.’

  Philades had sensed my hesitation and he pounced on me at once. ‘You see, Excellence? He knew the family. He can’t deny the fact, Indeed, his wife has gone to visit them this very day, and his slave-girl was arrested at the house. The same slave-girl that I saw standing at the roundhouse gate talking to the wet nurse, who then disappeared. It is time to stop pretending. I formally accuse this man of criminal complicity in the abduction of your wife. Let’s hear what he’s got to say to that!’

  Chapter Seventeen

  For a moment I had nothing to say at all. I was incapable of speech. I could not have been more shocked and terrified if the painted birds and cherubs on the frieze round the wall had suddenly detached themselves and flown across the room.

  For this was very serious indeed. A formal accusation of that type, made before a person in authority and in the presence of the man accused, is legally all that is required for an arrest – though Marcus, as a senior magistrate, had discretion to decide whether a prosecution should proceed. I remember thinking that this ordered atrium, with its fine mosaics and gilded sacred niche, was a strange place to find oneself effectively on trial.

  Marcus, too, was staring in astonishment. He had been nibbling at a date but now he sat transfixed, as if the words had turned him into stone with his hand halfway to his mouth. There was a pause before he put the remnant down, drew himself magisterially erect and said, in his coldest, most unbending tone, ‘I regret, Libertus, that you have chosen not to mention Myrna’s visit until now. Cilla, is it true?’

  Even the burly guard could see that the tone of questioning had abruptly changed. He stepped forward, seized Cilla by the hair and hauled her roughly to her feet. ‘Answer His Excellence,’ he snarled, thrusting her forward as he spoke.

  Cilla’s head was forced backwards by his grasp but through gritted teeth she stammered out, ‘I don’t know anything about a nurse. Ow, let me go!’

  The soldier did not relax his grip.

  Philades said coldly, ‘Don’t tell us lies, girl. Nothing you can say will protect your master now. I saw you with the woman only yesterday, when I came with the litter to escort Libertus here. I saw you talking to her at the gate.’

  Cilla said, ‘That woman? I remember her – ow! – at least I could do, if I had a chance to think, instead of having my hair pulled out by this man.’ She was forced to speak to the ceiling, as she could not look at us.

  My patron nodded at the soldier, and he let her go – though not without a spiteful parting yank.

  ‘So now you do admit it?’ Marcus barked.

  Cilla’s eyes had filled with tears of pain. ‘I didn’t know she was the wet nurse here. She didn’t say she worked for you. She certainly wasn’t here when I was – Julia had another woman then. Excellence, I swear, I didn’t know. I thought she’d come about a pavement. She wanted the mosaic-maker, she said.’

  ‘So you admit that she had business with your master?’ That was Philades.

  Cilla nodded. ‘She asked to see him, as they always do. It has happened several times since he’s been ill. So I said what I always say: “It’s quite impossible. He’s been very ill. He’s resting at the moment and can’t be disturbed.” I asked if it was a commission, and she said it was – “And a very urgent one as well, and nobody but Libertus Flavius will do. He’ll want to see me when he knows what it’s about.” Well, I’ve heard that before, as well. I was quite stern with her. “If it’s about a pavement, it will have to wait. You can come back in a day or two,” I said. I didn’t want to put her off too much. My master was getting a little better, after all, and I thought he might want the commission, later on – obviously he hasn’t earned since he’s been ill.’

  Marcus had been listening to this narrative with care. ‘So you told her to come back later on? And what did Myrna say to that?’

  ‘Myrna, is that her name? She wasn’t pleased. In fact, she went quite pale and jumpy suddenly – I thought her master must be very cruel, and that she was expecting to be whipped when she got home for failing to deliver the message properly. I felt quite sorry for her. So I said, “You can leave the details with me. I’ll see he gets the message when he’s better.” But that wasn’t good enough. “I have to speak to him myself,” she said, as sharp as she could be. “I’ll come back a bit later on this afternoon, if there is a chance he’ll be awake. I tell you, you’ll regret it if you don’t let me see him soon.”’ Cilla had never been trained in rhetoric but she had a natural sense of theatre: she told this story as if talking to a child, altering her tone for every speaker and acting out each part.

  Marcus acknowledged the performance with a nod. ‘And?’

  ‘Well, I was a bit annoyed, to tell the truth. Talking to me in that sort of voice, when all I wanted was to help her out. So I went all official. “I’m afraid it won’t do you any good at all,” I said. “He’s going to the villa of his patron later on today.” And just to make sure she got the point, I added. “That’s His Excellence Marcus Aurelius Septimus. You can see the litter now, just coming down the lane.” Well, I could see from her face she was impressed, and she starting backing away from me at once. That’ll teach her to have a bit more respect, I thought, and so it did. Next thing I knew she’d scuttled off without a word.’

  Philades was visibly impatient. He gave a derisive snort. ‘Excellence, how long are you going to listen to these lies? It’s quite clear that Myrna went to the pavement-maker’s house. Even this slave admits the fact. And an hour afterwards, at most, your son mysteriously reappears. Myrna has always seemed suspicious to me. She was the one servant who was anywhere near Julia the day she disappeared – and she was conveniently in the kitchens at the time. Then, when you send for her again, she can’t be found. Do you really believe this is coincidence?’

  ‘But I’ve never spoken to the wet nurse,’ I protested. ‘You heard what Cilla said. She didn’t get a chance to speak to me, even if she did come to the house.’

  ‘All the more suspicious,’ the doctor said, in a most unpleasant tone. ‘Clearly some arrangement was already made. Excellence, you heard the maidservant. It’s clear the roundhouse was the centre of all this. There have been several people calling there, she says, on the pretence of wanting pavements made. Do you believe that they’d come all that way, when there are other pavement-makers in the town?’

  ‘My master is renowned for miles around,’ Cilla said stoutly. It was meant in my defence but it earned her another vicious shove.

  ‘Silence!’ Marcus snapped the word. He turned towards me and his eyes were cold. He had slipped on the role of impartial magistrate as certainly as if he were in the courts. ‘Libertus, it pains me to have to say so, but this does look bad for you. The doctor’s right. Myrna calls at your house, and shortly afterwards my son appears again – with you. Then your slave and your wife are found at Lallius’s house, and Lallius is clearly implicated in the kidnapping.’

  ‘But, Excellence . . .’ I had half started from my stool, but a gesture from Marcus sent me to my knees, another petitioner alongside Cilla on the floor. ‘I swear that I know nothing of any of this.’

  ‘He’s lying, Excellence,’ Philades said, and his lips twisted into that strange smile again. ‘I should warn him that I have other evidence against him, which emerged while you were out. More than enough to have this accusation brought to court.’

  ‘Evidence?’ My patron and I exclai
med in chorus.

  The medicus gave another of his smiles. ‘Excellence, it is more than evidence – it is outright proof. As soon as this girl was brought here by the guard I remembered where I’d seen her earlier. I asked the officer commanding to send two of his mounted escorts back at once to search the mosaic-maker’s house again.’ He glanced at me. ‘And to do it properly this time.’

  Marcus looked annoyed at this – it was not the doctor’s place to organise the guard – and I was about to make a feeble protest too, but the medicus held up his hand. ‘Excellence, I presumed on your authority a little, and I apologise. But hear me out. I know that you were there in person a little while ago, but I knew that you would not go inside the house yourself, and if there was anything to find the pavement-maker would obviously not produce it. And I think you will agree that I was justified. He has been a party to everything – as, Excellence, I hope to prove to you. If I may have a servant . . .?’

  ‘But . . .’ I began.

  ‘Silence, pavement-maker!’ my patron barked at me. My heart sank to my sandal-soles. He would never normally address me in that way.

  He clapped his hands together, and at once Minimus and Maximus appeared – so quickly that I was left in little doubt that there’d been listeners in the court with their ears pressed eagerly against the door. News would be round the villa in a trice. My patron took their alacrity for granted, as he always did. He gestured for the medicus to instruct them what to do.

  ‘Fetch the bag that was brought back from the roundhouse earlier.’

  ‘Bag, Excellence?’ I echoed stupidly. I might have tried to rise, but a push from the burly guard reminded me that this was not a good idea. ‘I noticed that a bag was missing from the house, but I supposed that Gwellia had taken it.’

  ‘A clever answer, citizen, as I might have expected from your lips. But this is no bag of yours,’ the doctor said, his pinched face sharp and shrewd.

  I was surprised by the wave of helpless fury which washed over me. All this, I was convinced, was his doing in some way. He had set out to undermine my patron’s trust in me and he seemed to be succeeding. I wondered what the famous ‘proof’ would be.

  We had not long to wait. The two boys were back in what seemed no time at all. With them was a lanky soldier, in burnished uniform. He carried his helmet underneath one arm, and in the other hand he was holding an enormous leather bag, straight before him at arm’s length, as though it were some sort of ceremonial.

  He marched up to Marcus and drew smartly to a halt. ‘In the name of his most imperial divinity, the emperor . . .’ – and so on through Commodus’s growing list of names and honorifics (he was even calling himself ‘Hercules’ these days), finishing breathlessly, ‘Cavalryman Rectus, reporting as requested. Excellence!’ He held the bag out for inspection. It was a fine drawstring one, of a quality and size that isn’t often seen. Not by me, certainly.

  Marcus looked levelly at me. ‘Well?’

  I shook my head. ‘Excellence. I swear by all the gods. I have never seen that bag before. It’s . . .’ And then, of course. I realised what it was. I felt myself go pale. ‘Is that the bag you put the ransom in?’

  ‘He’s feigning. Excellence. He knows quite well it is.’ The doctor had half risen to his feet, and turned triumphantly to Marcus. ‘Wait until you see what was found inside. With your permission, Excellence, that is?’

  Marcus nodded. The soldier placed his trophy on the ground and took two smart steps backwards. Everybody watched.

  Philades took the bag and slowly opened it, and – in the manner of a market conjurer – drew out a small embroided garment. There was a gasp. An infant’s long-sleeved tunic. And then a little woollen cap with ties under the chin. I watched with horror as the doctor added to the pile, finishing with a pair of tiny leather shoes and a hooded cape with gold embroidery – the very miniature of Marcus’s own. There was a hush until, after what seemed an eternity, Philades spoke again. ‘These would belong to Marcellinus, I presume?’

  My patron had turned as white as newly fulled cloth, though two angry spots were burning in his cheeks.

  ‘Does this not convince you that this man was part of it?’ Philades said.

  ‘Do not believe him,’ I begged.

  Marcus looked at me. It was clear that he really thought he’d been betrayed. ‘I should have listened to him earlier. He warned me that you were in the plot and that a fever could derange the mind. It distresses me to find he was right, though I was loth to think so. I can scarcely believe it even now, but I cannot ignore the evidence of my own two eyes. Yet I cannot comprehend how you could plan all this when you were almost ready for the ferryman to take you across the Styx.’ He turned to the soldier ‘Where did you find the bag?’

  Two steps forward and a swift salute. ‘Sir! Stuffed into the woven fence that encircles the roundhouse. Just beside the gate and only half concealed. I dismounted and collected it while my companion went inside and searched the rest of the enclosure and the huts. There appeared to be nothing else to find, though he was very thorough, I believe. Sir!’

  Meaning he had ransacked everything. I could not restrain myself any longer. Even before the soldier had moved back to stand beside the burly guard. I was already crying out. ‘I swear that it was not there when we were, Excellence!’ By now I was pleading for my life. ‘Ask Junio . . .’ I saw my patron’s look of scorn. ‘Ask Pulcrus – he was there! Ask your carriage driver. Patron, you were there yourself! If it was as badly hidden as this man suggests, someone would have seen it, wouldn’t they?’ I could see that my patron was considering my words, and a sudden inspiration struck me. ‘Ask Malodius – he was holding the horses the whole time we were in the house – and he was standing right beside the gate.’

  Marcus’s expression did not change a whit. ‘You two pageboys, fetch Malodius. Soldier, you may dismiss. Report to your commander.’ All three obeyed at once.

  There followed a long and anxious wait – hushed, except that my heart was thumping so I was sure that everyone could hear. I wanted to plead that the medicus had very likely contrived to have the bag and its contents found, but I knew that counter-accusations would do no good. The soldier had obviously found the bag exactly where he claimed. But who had put it there? I could see no way that Philades could have managed it himself. He could not have left the villa without someone seeing him, and doubtless there would be a dozen witnesses to swear that he had been here all day. I was still wrestling with this problem when Philades broke the silence, still arguing his case.

  ‘Forgive me, Excellence, but even if Malodius did not see the bag, it doesn’t prove Libertus innocent. It may be that he hid it in the fencing as he left. Ask yourself why he was so keen to call in at the roundhouse at all? Because he knew the bag was there, perhaps?’

  ‘My wife was missing!’ I protested.

  Philades sneered. ‘How convenient! And now the money’s missing too. Excellence, consider. We only have this Cilla’s word for it that there was no one in that house last night: someone picked up the ransom, after all. And we did find the bag, with your son’s clothes inside.’

  My patron turned to me. ‘Libertus, I want to believe you had no part in this. But I fear that it is difficult to do. First my son is mysteriously returned to you, and not to me; then your wife and maidservant are seen to call at Lallius’s house – indeed they scheme to do so and elude the guards; next I learn that Myrna has visited your house, although you swear you never saw her in your life – and now I’m faced with this! The medicus is right. I am forced to draw conclusions, am I not? These facts would be sufficient in a court of law to have you exiled to a barren island for life – if not to something a great deal nastier . . . Ah – slaves, there you are.’

  This time it was Maximus who began. ‘I regret to inform you, Excellence . . .’

  ‘But Malodius is nowhere to be found . . .’

  ‘They say he’s gone out in the cart . . .’

  ‘To take some
land slaves out . . .’

  ‘On your own instructions, Excellence,’ the older page finished with a gulp, as if apologetic for having failed in his task. And then he added, in a solo rush, ‘But he’s put the body of the wet nurse where you told him to. It is dressed and ready for the pyre.’

  ‘Never mind Malodius and what he saw or didn’t see,’ the doctor snapped. ‘The point is that the bag was there. It is clear that . . .’ He stopped and his face took on a sudden puzzled frown. ‘Did you say the body of the wet nurse?’

  The two redheads stepped forward. ‘They’ve got her washed . . .’

  ‘And wrapped up in a sheet . . .’

  ‘With a few herbs from the kitchen and a candle at her head. . .’

  ‘She’s lying on a piece of board, all ready for the cart.’

  ‘The female house slaves saw to it. They say that Malodius called them in and told them those were your orders, Excellence.’ Minimus might have said more but his other half prodded him sharply in the back and he stepped meekly into his place again, beside the gilded pillar on the wall.

  Marcus nodded vaguely. Obviously he had more important matters on his mind. ‘I had forgotten that I’d ordered the cart out again. Why, what is the problem, Philades?’

  The doctor was looking shaken. ‘You asked me to have a look at Myrna, not half an hour ago.’

  ‘Of course. It is clear the girl’s been stabbed, but I would be interested in your opinion, all the same. She has been tortured, by the look of it. I would like you to examine her and give me your views.’

  ‘But . . .?’ Philades was staring at me in that way he had. ‘How long has she been dead?’

  ‘You are better qualified than I am to determine that,’ Marcus said brusquely. ‘Not longer than a day, apparently, since you saw her alive yesterday at Libertus’s gate.’