Murder in the Forum Page 2

  The magistrates hovered behind him, not daring to interrupt. Glevum is an important city, a republic in its own right within the Empire, and these men were its most eminent citizens. Yet they were cowed. From their wringing hands and apologetic smiles, I gathered that they felt as uneasy about this sudden visitor as I did.

  I looked at the carriage-driver. He was handsome in a glowering sort of way, in a shorter-than-regulation leather skirt, revealing long tanned legs and muscles as hard and gleaming as his shirt-amour. He was bare-headed, without wreath or helmet, his dark hair flowing, like a barbarian’s, his cloak fastened dramatically across his breast with an expensive pin. Not much like an average military carriage-driver, in fact, although from the way Felix was looking at him – like a wolf regarding a particularly succulent peacock in a pen – I guessed that the young man had been specially chosen, and singled out for additional duties.

  I was wondering whether I dared now slip unobtrusively away when Felix suddenly looked towards me, raised a peremptory hand and summoned me to him.

  ‘You! Whatever-your-name-is! Come here.’

  ‘My name is Libertus, Excellence,’ I burbled, hurrying towards him as fast as I could, bobbing all the way. This was not a moment, I felt, to stress that I was a citizen by giving my three full Latin names. I need not have concerned myself. Felix was not listening.

  ‘You know where Marcus is?’

  I nodded. In bed with his wealthy widowed lady, if he was lucky. I did not suggest this to Felix, however. ‘He had pressing business in Corinium,’ I offered humbly. That was true, after a fashion. I did not say what he was pressing.

  Felix gave me his Jupiter stare again. ‘That amuses you?’

  If I had been guilty of the faintest amusement it vanished instantly. ‘No, Excellence.’

  ‘Very well. Then you will fetch him to me.’ He must have seen my appalled look – Corinium was miles away.

  I said hastily, ‘It will take some time, Excellence. It is a day’s walk.’ And another back, I thought bitterly. Even supposing that I could impress on Marcus the urgency of my errand, and persuade him to come at once.

  Felix looked at me with contempt. ‘You will return with him tonight. Zetso shall take you in my carriage, as soon as I have settled in this house they promise me. It is doubtless a provincial hovel, though it belongs to one of the decurions, apparently.’

  So the civic magistrates had been sufficiently awed to offer him one of their own town houses, instead of putting him in an official inn or finding him rented accommodation. It didn’t altogether surprise me, although I felt a certain pity for the unfortunate owner. He would be turned out of his house (though that was probably a blessing, with Felix in residence) with no thanks, forced to beg a room from friends or relatives, and almost certainly grumbled at for it afterwards. I couldn’t imagine a Glevum residence, however well appointed, being good enough for Felix – at least in his own estimation. There are moments when I am glad that I have only a workshop by the river with a tumbledown attic over it. At least I am not expected to vacate it for passing dignitaries from Rome.

  One of the magistrates intervened nervously, almost tripping over his toga-ends in his desire to please. ‘If your most exalted Excellence will condescend . . .’ He stepped forward and murmured something to Felix, who permitted himself a kind of smile.

  ‘Better still,’ the Roman said, addressing himself to me, ‘they are proposing a civic banquet for me this evening. Marcus may attend me there. You may tell him so.’

  ‘Yes, Excellence.’ I tried to disguise my dismay, imagining Marcus’s fury at such an invitation, which he could hardly refuse. That alone would have made me reluctant to go – not to mention the fact that I had a mosaic business to run, and customers of my own to see to.

  I didn’t mention it. Had I been remotely tempted to do so, the sight of that battered corpse on the cobbles would have taught me discretion.

  Felix followed my glance. ‘Yes,’ he said. He turned to his driver. ‘Zetso, once you have installed me in my house you had better take that’ – he gestured towards the body – ‘outside the walls and dispose of it. Stake it out somewhere, as the barbarians do – his master can find the body and bury it if he has a mind to. Always supposing that the crows have not found it first.’

  I blanched. Leaving the body unburied! It was an appalling idea, even to a Celt. The Romans are usually far more superstitious in such matters, and will not even permit the burial of the decently dead within the walls of a city for fear that their spirits may return to haunt them. Felix, it seemed, feared nobody – not even the dead.

  My revulsion seemed to please him, and for the first time he nodded almost affably. ‘It will be a warning. Perennis Felix is not to be trifled with.’ He smiled at the driver, a cold, unpleasant smile. ‘Nor his servants either.’

  The driver’s swarthy, handsome face was a mask of carefully controlled passivity, but in spite of himself he flushed slightly, and I saw him flinch. So there was an additional reason, perhaps, for the calculated cruelty of that execution? One smile too many at the handsome Zetso, one glance too many in return? It seemed only too likely. How else would this ugly Roman keep his sexual favourite faithful?

  If Zetso was to drive me to Corinium, alone, I would have to be very careful indeed.

  Felix was helped back into his carriage. ‘You know the way to this house?’ he said to Zetso.

  The man nodded.

  ‘Then, drive on!’

  Zetso raised his whip and the horse lurched into life, dragging the carriage smartly towards the narrow entrance to the forum, scattering the startled crowd and sending them stumbling in all directions. Dogs barked, pigs squealed, a woman dropped her turnips as she fled. A basket of live eels was overturned on the flagstones, and the fish fell wriggling under the wheels, the body of the dead envoy dragging grotesquely among them.

  ‘Outside the East Gate, then, before the hour,’ Zetso called to me, over his shoulder, and then they were gone, leaving market people and magistrates staring after them.

  I had no water-clock or sundial, and no way of estimating time, so I could only shrug helplessly as I picked my way among the scattered turnips. I would simply have to get to the East Gate as promptly as I could.

  Chapter Two

  I calculated that I had time to return to my workshop first. Zetso still had that corpse to dispose of, and that would take him more than a few moments. A staked, unburied body would have to be carried a long way outside the gates. And first he had to take his master to his newly annexed abode.

  All the same I did not wish to keep Felix’s driver waiting.

  So I hurried. Back though the town and out of the gates to where a makeshift suburb of humble shops and dwellings huddled together outside the walls, on the marshy land beside the river. No fine paved roads and handsome buildings here – only running gutters, crowded streets and the hammering, shouting, smoke and stench that always accompanies manual industry. I turned into a particularly noisome little alley, stepped over a pile of stone and marble chippings into a ramshackle front shop, poked my head around the frowsty curtain that separated customers from the kitchen-workshop behind and called, ‘Anyone there?’

  A curly-headed lad of fourteen or so, wearing a leather apron and a cheeky grin, rose to his feet from where he had been cutting tiles on the floor, screened from my sight behind the table. ‘Master? You are back early.’

  This was Junio, my servant and assistant, and as my eyes became accustomed to the light I could see what he had been working on, a series of tiny red tiles for one of the new ‘pattern pieces’ we were making for prospective customers. It was good work, and I was about to say so – I have been teaching him my skills against the day when he gains his freedom. In the meantime I am glad of his assistance. I may be fit and youthful for my age, but I am an old man of almost fifty.

  Before I could speak, however, Junio forestalled me. ‘What is it, master? You look as if you have encountered a ghost.�
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  I thought about that battered, broken form in the forum and shuddered. ‘The next best thing,’ I said, and sinking down on my stool I told him all about it.

  Junio fetched me a goblet of mead and heard me out in silence. When I had finished he shook his head. ‘This Felix sounds a real brute. And casually summoning Marcus to him, like a slave. Your patron will not care for that.’

  ‘He will care even less for my interrupting his love-life,’ I said irritably. ‘So if you have quite finished stating the obvious, perhaps you could find me my best cloak and a twist of bread and cheese for the journey, before Felix comes looking for me. I have no wish to travel in the same fashion as Marcus’s poor herald.’ That was an attempt at levity. Of course, I am a citizen and unlikely to be subject to quite such summary execution.

  Junio shivered. ‘Do not joke about such topics, master.’ But he made particular haste to do my bidding. He scuttled up the stairs to the shabby sleeping-quarters above, calling as he did so, ‘Shall I bring my own cloak also? Surely you want me with you?’

  I did. Very much. Not only because having a slave in attendance would visibly enhance my status and increase my comfort, but also because I have been teaching Junio my other skills as well. He has a sharp mind and has often helped me with his powers of observation and deduction. I would appreciate his company at any time, and never more than now, dealing with Felix Perennis. Whether Marcus agreed to accompany me or not, I was much more likely to come out of this alive if I had an observant witness at my side.

  And it was possible that Marcus would not consent to come – after all, he was an aristocrat in his own right, and rumoured to be related to the Emperor himself. In that case I shuddered to think what my fate might be. All the same, I called back after him, ‘No, I think not.

  ‘There will not be room in the carriage,’ I said, when Junio reappeared. ‘Even if Zetso did condescend to carry slaves, Marcus will have his own attendants with him and they would take precedence over you. I should have to leave you behind.’ Even Junio could not argue with the logic of that, but he looked so crestfallen that I added encouragingly, ‘Besides, someone has to look after the shop.’

  There was a measure of truth in that too, since my workshop is made of wood and situated interestingly between a tannery and a candle-maker’s, but Junio looked unimpressed. After all, he had accompanied me on many such expeditions before. However, he said nothing. He placed bread and cheese in my pouch and helped me into my cloak in silence, and – swiftly damping down the fire and putting up the shutter as if to wordlessly demonstrate how easy it would have been to shut up the premises – he accompanied me out of the house and back through the city to the East Gate.

  Zetso was already there.

  It was a fine arched gateway, with an imposing gatehouse over it, and set at the end of an impressive thoroughfare flanked with fine statues. It was intended to make visitors stop and stare, but nobody was looking at it today. All eyes were on the carriage, the imperial crest emblazoned on the doorway, the splendid golden horses and the even more splendid carriage-driver. Zetso was posing on the step, displaying his bronzed legs to advantage, to the obvious admiration of one of the soldiers manning the gate. I breathed a sigh of relief – my keeping Zetso waiting might otherwise have been dangerous.

  All the same, I got in quickly; under the eyes of the crowd I felt like an actor in a spectacle. I tapped the side of the carriage to show that I was ready, and we were off.

  I thought at first our cracking pace was for the benefit of the watching guard, but even after we had skirted the straggling northern suburbs and joined the main road over the escarpment where the town was far behind us, we still galloped towards Corinium as though our lives depended upon it.

  As perhaps – considering the fate of Marcus’s herald – they actually did.

  I had half hoped to use the journey as a time to collect my thoughts and prepare a conciliatory approach to Marcus, but it was impossible. I needed all my concentration to hold myself on the seat. If Perennis Felix travelled like this, I thought, alternately bumping his head and his nether regions, no wonder he was bull-shouldered and short-tempered. But, although the jolting addled the brains and numbed the hindquarters, it did reduce the journey to little over two hours.

  Even when we reached Corinium there was no time for contemplation. The town guard threw open the gates at the first glimpse of the imperial blazon, and almost before I had time to lean out and shout directions to Zetso, we were bouncing along the crowded streets, scattering ladders, donkeys, handcarts and pedestrians as we went. However, we reached the house without any actual fatalities; the imperial crest worked its immediate magic on the gatekeepers and we drove straight in like the Emperor himself.

  I was familiar with the house from a previous visit on official business with Marcus, but even so I was impressed again. It was a magnificent mansion, with a walled garden and carriage drive, more like a country villa than a town dwelling, and a pair of matched slaves was already hurrying out to meet us. Marcus was a lucky man, I thought. He was already legal guardian to his lovely widow under the terms of her husband’s will, but if he married her he would have the full usufruct of this estate in addition to his already considerable wealth. And here I was about to interrupt his courting. I was not looking forward to it a bit.

  Other slaves came out to tend the horses and Zetso was led away, muttering, to the servants’ quarters to be fed and watered in his turn. I was led ceremoniously into the atrium, where dates and watered wine awaited me. I cared for neither, but I took a little for form’s sake – anything was welcome after that jolting in the carriage – stated my business and settled down to wait.

  I did not wait long. After a very few minutes, in which I prepared and rejected a dozen little speeches, Marcus himself strode into the room. He was angry, tapping his baton against his leg in a way which would usually have had me cringing. He had evidently been disturbed at an unwelcome moment; his short fairish curls were tousled, his face was flushed and his fine purple-edged toga showed every sign of having been donned in a hurry – even the gold brooch at his shoulder was fastened askew.

  But although he was scowling ferociously, by comparison to Perennis Felix he looked positively benevolent. My mind cleared, and I simply knelt before him, making a humble obeisance. ‘Most revered Excellence, accept my abjectest apologies for this unwarranted intrusion on your esteemed presence.’ Marcus, unlike Felix, was susceptible to flattery.

  The scowl thawed a little.

  I added for good measure, ‘A thousand pardons to your lady, too, for this unwarrantable interruption.’ With Marcus in this mood, I was careful to avoid naming her, for fear of sounding familiar. The widow was called Julia, in fact, but that was such a common name in the Empire – after the famous Emperor – that Marcus always referred to her as ‘Delicta’, or ‘beloved’, to distinguish her from the dozen other Julias that he knew. I hardly felt that I could do the same.

  My circumspection seemed to have some effect. Marcus extended a ringed hand. ‘Well?’ He was still sounding stern. ‘There had better be a good explanation.’ He did not invite me to stand.

  ‘I hope that you will think so, Excellence. Tigidius Perennis Felix is in Glevum, and has sent me in his carriage to fetch you. I am to tell you that there is a banquet for him this evening and he hopes – requests – that you will attend.’

  I was expecting an outburst, but there was none. Indeed, there was such a protracted silence that after a while I raised my forehead from the level of his ankle-straps and glanced up at my patron. He was staring into space with a strange expression on his face, as if in the grip of some unaccustomed emotion. I knew what it was, however. I have experienced panic often enough to recognise it when I see it.

  ‘Master?’ I ventured.

  Marcus seemed to come to himself, and he gestured to me impatiently. ‘Oh, do get up, Libertus. I can’t think properly with you grovelling about down there.’ As I obeyed, gratefully
(tiled floors are hard on ageing knees), he added, ‘Immortal Jupiter! Felix Perennis. In Glevum! You know who he is, I suppose?’

  ‘A relative of the former Prefect of Rome?’ I was proud of my earlier deductions. ‘And presumably, since he survived the executions, a particular favourite of the Emperor’s.’

  ‘Enjoys the imperial favour, certainly. A matter of money, I imagine. I doubt if even Commodus really likes the man.’

  ‘You know this Felix, Excellence?’ I am inclined to forget that Marcus spent most of his life in the Imperial City.

  ‘It would be difficult to avoid knowing him. He had a finger in every profitable pie in Rome – forests, vineyards, olive groves, shipping, sheep. No doubt, when his cousin fell, Felix could offer a sufficient sum to persuade Commodus of his own innocence.’

  ‘A loan?’

  Marcus laughed. ‘A bribe. It will be called something else, of course, as these things always are. A donation to some public works, perhaps, but of course Felix won’t expect to have it accounted for. Besides, he has always provided the Emperor with other valuable services as well – women, horses, wine. He also keeps a substantial private guard of the toughest swordsmen that money can buy, and was known to be savagely jealous of his kinsman the Prefect. Altogether, it was obviously enough to save his life.’

  ‘So now he is enjoying his turn at influence? Travelling the Empire as an imperial envoy?’

  Marcus sighed. ‘If only that was all.’