The Vestal Vanishes Read online

  ‘You genuinely do not mean to come?’ He sounded quite amazed. He motioned towards Junio, who had been listening to all this. ‘Would your son not welcome a visit to the games?’

  I laughed. ‘We have already done our duty to the Emperor by coming to Glevum for the temple rite. That is no small thing. Remember that my roundhouse is several miles from town, and my son’s is next to it. We have already walked a long way to get here, and – since there is no chance of a carrying-litter on a day like this, far less a hiring-carriage – we’ll be walking back again. And we’ll have to go the long way, by the military road: we can hardly scrabble down muddy country lanes in these expensive clothes.’ It was an exaggeration – I had done such things before – but there was some truth in what I said. A toga is an awkward thing to hurry in, even on the most well-laid of roads, and very expensive to have cleaned, besides. I saw the fellow wavering and I urged again. ‘If we stop to see the games we’ll be lucky to get home before it’s dark – and it isn’t safe to walk the forest paths at night. So if you want to see the gladiator, I suggest you hurry on.’

  ‘Well, if you say so, citizen.’ And he scurried off.

  I turned to Junio, smiling. ‘I thought he’d never go.’

  Junio watched him out of sight, then turned to walk across with me towards the fountain where we had left our slaves to wait. ‘You realize he was hoping to go into the games with you? He thinks your influence with Marcus might have won us better seats.’

  The idea made me laugh. ‘Then he doesn’t know my patron! Marcus is in his most public role today, the senior man in half Britannia. He’s very conscious of his dignity. If he deigned to notice me at all on such a day, it would only be because he wanted some service out of me.’

  Junio made a semi-sympathetic face. ‘And you really do not wish to see the games yourself, father?’

  ‘If I want to see butchery I’ll frequent the marketplace,’ I joked, then saw the look of disappointment on his face. It was obvious that my son would have liked to go to see the birthday games – of course these things were still a novel treat for him – and for a moment I felt a twinge of guilt. I touched him on the arm.

  ‘The next time there are public games in Glevum, I will take you there,’ I promised. ‘You won’t have long to wait. Some aging wealthy citizen is almost sure to die, leaving money in his will for a gladiatorial show in memory of himself, and even failing that there’ll be elections very soon.’

  He brightened. ‘I suppose so. There are always contests then.’

  ‘Usually sponsored by the candidates,’ I said, and added teasingly, ‘specially to impress young citizens like you.’

  ‘You mean that it’s an attempt to sway the vote?’

  ‘Well, not entirely. Most citizens would claim it isn’t just a bribe. It’s a demonstration that the candidate concerned has a lot of money which he’s prepared to spend for the benefit of the populace.’

  ‘But you do not sound as if you very much approve.’

  ‘I’d prefer to see the money spent on public works like drains,’ I said. ‘But I don’t suppose that’s very glamorous.’ I grinned at him. ‘It would disappoint you of an entertainment, too, since I’ve said that I would take you. And I’ll keep my word.’

  ‘Although you don’t much care for gladiatorial games?’

  ‘In the ordinary way, I quite enjoy the spectacle. I always like watching a retinarius – they show such skill with just a trident and a net – sometimes against a swordsman with full armour and a shield. But not on an occasion like today, when half the combatants are likely to be killed. Still, enough of that. For now let’s find the servants and get home to our wives. I want to take my toga and these new sandals off – the soles are killing me.’

  It took us a few moments to locate the slaves, in fact, though usually they were not hard to pick out in a crowd: two little red-haired lads – who had been trained in Marcus’s household but who had passed to me as a reward for various ‘services’ that I had done for him. I spotted them at last, with their backs towards me, at the rear of a throng of other household slaves, who – along with assorted beggars and poor freemen from the town – were huddled in the entrance to a nearby lane, craning to watch something in the alleyway. The boys were standing on tiptoe to see between the crowd and they did not notice the two of us as we approached.

  I gestured Junio to silence, then – as he held back – I went up behind the nearer slave and said loudly in his ear, ‘Minimus! What is the meaning of all this? Didn’t I tell you to wait beside the fountain over there?’

  Minimus, who was – despite his name – the taller of the boys, (they had been purchased a matching pair, but he had grown the most) spun around at once and a look of startled horror crossed his face. ‘Master! You didn’t go to watch the games?’ He nudged his companion, and I heard him whispering, ‘Maximus! The master’s here. And the young master too. Look what you have done! You were supposed to be on watch and warn me when they came.’

  The smaller slave whirled instantly round, scarlet with embarrassment and shame. ‘I am very sorry, master—’ he began.

  I cut him off with a gesture. ‘I expect obedience, not apologies!’ I said, with an attempt to be severe. My wife is always telling me I am too lax with them, and this would be a flogging matter in many households. But I could not altogether blame them for their escapade. On feast-days such as this the town is always thronging with alluring sights, quite apart from the official marches and parades: exotic street performers, jugglers and acrobats, and enticing stalls selling honey-cakes and oatcakes and small crispy rinds of pig. It was all a lot more interesting than standing at a fountain watching water flow, and after all the boys had scarcely moved a dozen yards. I said more gently, ‘What is so exciting that it makes you leave your post?’

  It was Maximus who answered, his eyes alight with glee. ‘Master, you should see it for yourself. There’s a magician here – straight from the African provinces, he says – sitting on a mat and doing such things as you would not believe. He makes things disappear. He took a coin in his hand, and blew on it, and then it wasn’t there. And that’s not all – a moment later he produced it from a woman’s ear.’

  The crowd had parted slightly (probably in deference to our togas) and I could see the magic-man: a turbaned dark-haired fellow, in a coloured robe, now doing something impossible with a coloured cup and balls. I turned back to the slaves. ‘So that’s what happened, is it? He turned his charms on you and made you disappear, as well? So you vanished from where I left you and turned up somewhere else?’

  If I meant to be ironic it was lost on Maximus. ‘A thousand pardons, master,’ he said earnestly. ‘Please do not be angry. It was all my fault. I saw him when he first appeared, before the crowd arrived. He had a magic cage. One minute there was a pigeon in it, but then he covered it – just a piece of cloth, I saw both sides of it – and when he moved the cover there was nothing there. It was astonishing. I persuaded Minimus to come and watch. If anyone is to be whipped, it is my fault, not his.’

  He was so contrite that I took pity on him. ‘Well, I suppose no harm was done, and I have found you now. It is the birthday of the Emperor, and for his sake I’ll overlook your lapse. Just make sure your mistress doesn’t hear of it. And Maximus, when we get outside of town, I’ll take my toga off and you can carry it the whole way home as punishment.’

  The two boys exchanged glances of undisguised relief but no more was said and I urged our little party away from the magician (who by now was apparently drawing a string of coloured ribbons from his mouth) and through the crowds of bystanders and stalls towards the southern gates, in the direction where our family’s two roundhouses lay.

  It was hard to walk against the general direction of the jostling tide – visitors were still crowding into town to see the shows – but we struggled to the gatehouse and were preparing to walk through, under the eye of the surly soldier on the gate, when a commanding voice rang out behind us.
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  ‘That citizen! The one with the balding head and greying beard. The one with the two red-headed slaves. Stop him for me.’

  I felt my heart sink swiftly to my sandal-soles. What had I done now? Had someone heard me whispering to my trader friend, something unflattering about the Emperor? Was I about to be blamed for the failure of the sacrifice? I tried to remember exactly what it was I said. One thing I was fairly certain of: no good was likely to come of it!

  The guard on duty had already drawn his sword and stepped towards me. ‘You heard, citizen. Stay right where you are. There’s someone here who wants to talk to you.’

  ‘Keep him there!’ the voice rang out again. ‘Don’t let him get away.’

  Everyone fell back, as always happens when someone is arrested in the street, as if to distance themselves from trouble as much as possible. I motioned to Junio and the slaves to keep walking on – no point in getting them involved as well – and turned to see who my accuser was. I expected to see the bald man who had shushed me at the sacrifice, but the person who was jostling his way towards me through the crowd was someone I had never seen before.

  It was a young man, handsome, well-built and imperious, but not a citizen. In fact, his conspicuous red tunic with gold bands around the hem marked him as the private page of some hugely wealthy man – though if he wore a slave disc round his neck (‘I am so-and-so, the property of x. If you find me straying, have me whipped and send me back’) it was covered by the fur-edged cape. I had seen a similar livery before – my patron sometimes dressed his messengers this way – but I knew most members of my patron’s staff by sight. Besides Marcus’s taste in pages was more for pretty boys, not threatening and athletic fellows such as this.

  He had reached my side by now, and looked me slowly up and down. ‘Are you the citizen Libertus? Pavement-maker or something of the kind?’

  For a moment I could not answer him, my heart was hammering so hard against my chest. Who was this person? Not one of Publius’s men – his escort was arrayed in emerald green. An Imperial spy perhaps? One of the dreaded speculatores – the mounted secret agents used by the Emperor to deal with his suspected enemies? We’d seen such men before, even in this corner of the Empire. My blood ran icy at the thought. Was I about to be marched off to some secluded place and found tomorrow with a dagger in my ribs?

  His cool dark eyes swept over me again. ‘You look like the man that was described to me. Ancient toga and dishevelled hair – and you had the two red-headed servants, too. Is your name Libertus?’

  I thought for a moment of making an appeal to the guard. I was a Roman citizen, after all, and the law should protect me from random harassment at the hands of servants, however grand they were. But I could see it was no use. The elaborate uniform had already done its work. The soldier levelled his sword-blade at my ribs and said in a none-too-friendly tone of voice, ‘Answer the question, citizen.’

  I managed to stammer that it was indeed my name. ‘I am Libertus, one of the clientes of His Excellence, Marcus Septimus,’ I went on, in the vain hope that the mention of my patron’s name would deter this stranger from whatever unpleasant plans he had in store. ‘I’m sure he’ll vouch for me.’

  I had unnerved the sentry, he dropped his blade at once, but the young man merely looked at me in some surprise. ‘Well, I should think he would. It is on his account that I am seeking you.’

  I boggled. ‘You come from my patron, do I understand?’

  He nodded. ‘Indeed. His Excellence was looking for you at the games. He sent his other attendants out to search for you – there and at the entrance of the temple in the forum too – but you could not be found. In the end he sent me rushing over here, hoping I could catch you before you left the town. I am simply grateful that I was not too late – I was only given to His Excellence today, a gift from my previous owner, Publius, and I would not have wanted to fail in my first task.’

  ‘And that was?’

  ‘To find you and bring you back to him. Your patron requires you to attend on him at once. He’s waiting at the games.’

  THREE

  I was escorted swiftly through the town – remarkable how the crowds stood back to let us through once they caught sight of my attendant’s dress. My escort said nothing until we reached the entrance of the amphitheatre where the games were being held – they had already started, by the sound of it.

  However, Marcus was not waiting for me inside in the official stand, as I had half-expected, but in a covered litter outside the entrance-way. It had been set down on the wide convenient stone block, where litter-bearers sometimes assisted their plumper fares to mount, though there were no bearers visible today. My patron was sitting in the carrying-chair with the drapes pulled back, and as soon as he saw us approach he motioned me to come.

  ‘Libertus, old friend, there you are at last. We’ve been looking everywhere.’ He extended a ringed hand for me to kiss. ‘Where did you find him, Fiscus?’

  ‘At the southern gate on his way home, as you suggested, Excellence.’ The man replied, making an obeisance.

  ‘Were you really not proposing to attend the games?’ My patron frowned at me. I was on my knees before him by this time of course, and I was about to answer but he waved my words aside. ‘But never mind all that. Come into the litter. I have something to discuss – something of great importance to the colonia. Fiscus, help him in and then you can keep watch. Move back a pace or two and keep the crowds away. I don’t want this conversation overheard.’

  The young man was looking quite astonished by all this – the idea that my wealthy patron should address me as ‘old friend’ and invite me to share his litter was clearly quite a shock. It would have been amusing if I had not known that this open friendliness was almost certainly the prelude to some importunate request: Marcus is always gracious when he wants my services – though I would be happier if he paid in cash rather than in compliments. (This is not ingratitude. Working for my patron is apt to take much time and prevent me from pursuing my usual livelihood, but Marcus is famously careful with his wealth and refuses to ‘insult’ me by offering me gold. However, when His Excellence suggests that you might serve him in some way, declining to do so is not conducive to one’s health.)

  Besides, I told myself, there are often other sorts of recompense, though usually ones which do not cost him anything: my two slaves for instance, had come to me this way. So I smiled with an appearance of good grace and climbed into the chair beside him as proposed.

  It was rather cramped in there – most litters are designed to carry one man at a time, and it was hard to squeeze into the space at all, let alone to keep my head below my patron’s all the time, as etiquette required. However I managed to insinuate myself into the gap between his feet by kneeling rather uncomfortably on the floor. Marcus drew the drapes so that we were curtained off from view.

  ‘Libertus, something very unexpected and dreadful has occurred. It almost made Publius decide to stop the games, but that would have been disrespectful to the Emperor, so we have decided that they should go ahead. He has gone in to start them, as though all was well, but you’ll never guess what’s happened.’

  I could not resist it. ‘His bride has disappeared.’

  Marcus looked at me – rather as Maximus had looked at the magician in the street – with admiring disbelief. ‘It seems she has been kidnapped. But how do you know that?’

  ‘I heard it in the forum,’ I answered, truthfully, suggesting by my tone that I was always well-informed.

  He was not impressed by this. Indeed, he began to tap his baton against his leg, which was an indication that he was irritated and dismayed, and his tone was sharp and fretful. ‘I don’t understand how that could come about. I hope the time it took to find you does not mean we are too late. If news of this should get around the town it might call the temple sacrifice into disrepute: that would look like a bad augury and what would the Emperor have to say to that? Yet you claim it’s common gossip?’<
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  I hastened to retract. ‘Well not exactly that. I happened to be talking to a stall-keeper. He had a stall of palm-fronds near the entrance to the temple enclosure, and he chanced to overhear the message brought to Publius.’

  Marcus frowned again. ‘You could identify the man? We’ll have him taken into custody – this information must not be allowed to spread. I had supposed that we were safe. It is not general knowledge among the populace that Publius was even intending to be wed.’

  I blanched, remembering my stupid pride at knowing something other men did not and the blithe way in which I had passed on the news myself. ‘It may be a little late to call the rumour back,’ I said, not mentioning my own part in it of course. ‘If I have heard it, others will have done. If you try to silence gossip, you will make it worse. Better probably to let the matter rest – if they hear no more about it people will simply assume the stories were not true, or else were exaggerated as most rumours are.’

  My words were interrupted by a loud roar from the crowd in the amphitheatre. No doubt some Thracian fighter had put up a good display.

  I saw my patron’s eager glance towards the sound and I ventured a diplomatic effort to excuse myself and go. ‘It was a good move, for instance, to continue with the games,’ I said. ‘But will your absence not be a matter of remark?’

  He fidgeted. ‘Perhaps you’re right. I should go back inside and be conspicuous and we’ll allow this public gossip to die down naturally. But that makes this matter more confidential than before, which will doubtless make your urgent task more difficult.’

  ‘My task, Excellence?’ I felt my throat go dry. I had supposed that I had fulfilled my role by offering advice.

  He smiled impatiently. ‘But naturally, I have promised Publius that you would find the girl. Or woman, I suppose that I should say, since he has chosen to marry someone of advancing years.’

  ‘But Excellence,’ I bleated, ‘how can I do that? I’ve never seen this Vestal – and since she has been in the temple thirty years, I don’t imagine many people could describe her very well. Even her family will have no portrait of her face and even if they did, surely as a Vestal she’ll have travelled in a veil, as any modest Roman matron would have done? Nobody could swear that they had seen her on the way, or pick her out if they saw her in a crowd. I understand that Publius went to look for her himself, but I gather from your words that even he did not succeed and he is a man of wealth and influence. If he can’t find her how on earth can I?’