A Prisoner of Privilege Read online

  My patron had just addressed me, several times, as ‘councillor’. Something which he had not done since I was first elected to the post – though I was there at his insistence, and as his nominee. So why would he suddenly have started doing that? To remind me, perhaps, that he’d backed me for a post for which – strictly – I did not qualify?

  It was my turn to worry, now. True I was freeborn and was now a citizen, but otherwise I hardly met requirements. I was a Celt, a tradesman, and I had been a slave – any of which might normally exclude me from office. But when Marcus’s previous nominee fell dead, barely a moon after election to the post, my patron had waved these details aside, arguing that I’d been of ‘noble birth’, since I had been a chieftain’s son, that the town required my talents, and that if Caligula could make his horse a senator, then he could make me a simple councillor!

  He had personally provided the necessary ‘deposit’ into the town funds, and even made certain that I met the property requirements, by ‘gifting me’ a town apartment which he’d recently acquired, complete with basic furniture and staff (though on condition that the flat went back to him, as soon as I no longer ‘needed it’).

  I wanted the place as little as I wanted to be duumvir at all, but property of a certain size in town was a prerequisite and my patron made it clear that he would take offence if I refused. In the end I could resist no more and, with his backing, of course, I was duly elected by the populace – with a huge majority, though I had no promise of public works or games to offer them.

  Was that why Marcus felt that the visit of a spy might be of consequence to me? It was more than probable. There were rumours that Septimius Severus, appalled at the laxity of Commodus’s regime, was taking stern steps to see that Roman laws were properly enforced, especially in the field of local government. In which case, I thought glumly, it was the worse for me. Impersonation of a curial officer was a serious offence, punishable by exile at best – and if it were proved that I was not entitled to the post, that might be the charge. And it would implicate my patron too.

  Yet it was not possible simply to resign! Without a pressing reason (such as death, the jesters said) leaving before one’s term was up not only incurred a heavy penalty, but invited an investigation of one’s suitability. So perhaps my patron wanted to suggest that I should consider leaving Glevum for a time, at any rate while the visitor was here.

  ‘Councillor Libertus!’ I recognized the voice. Josephus Loftus! I had lingered here too long. He and his companions had just come in again, preparatory to moving to the hot room nearby, but he’d clearly seen me in the plunge pool and come waddling across to speak to me. (He was clumsy in the fabric slippers one can hire to keep one’s feet from burning in the hotter rooms.) ‘Citizen, I thought I saw you earlier.’ His voice was slurred and unusually loud – he’d obviously drunk even more good Rhenish with his lunch than I’d supposed. ‘I’d be glad of your opinion … business matter … if you have a moment afterwards …?’

  I shook my head. I always avoided Josephus as much as possible – though he was honest, as money changers go, and commerce obviously brought us into contact now and then. But conversation with him was at best a time-consuming affair, and today he was tipsy as well as garrulous. ‘Another time perhaps. I am attending on my patron, as no doubt you saw, and he’ll be awaiting me.’ I gave him a brief, blue-lipped smile, and plunged back into the pool. By the time I came up spluttering, the man had gone.

  A tap upon my shoulder. The massage-slave was handing me another drying cloth, so I permitted him to help me out and rub me dry, then (since my own budget did not run to costly perfumed oils) I hastened off into the robing room – anxious lest my patron had already left. I glanced round the room, where there were several servants sitting, bored and patient, on the benches and the floor, guarding their masters’ goods. (Some such arrangement is advisable, otherwise one is likely to emerge to find that one’s clothes have disappeared or – if one is luckier – merely taken in exchange for garments of lesser quality.) But there was no sign of my patron, or his massage-slave.

  ‘Master!’ My own attendant, Minimus, had leapt up from the stone bench opposite. ‘Your patron has dressed and is awaiting you. I am to tell you that he’s in the colonnade and is ordering some refreshments for you there.’ He hurried over and began to help me dress, bringing the dry tunic that I’d left there in his care. As he leaned close to help me into it, he murmured in my ear, ‘I expect he wants to talk to you about this visitor. You know he suspects the man is coming here to spy?’

  I frowned at him, surprised. ‘That is supposed to be a secret,’ I hissed, speaking in an undertone myself and hoping that I sounded sufficiently severe. Marcus would be furious to learn that servants knew – though he’d clearly not been careful to ensure that they did not. ‘Where did you hear of this? Gossiping with that massage-slave, I suppose.’ (Minimus had been a slave of Marcus’s before he came to me so he still knew many of my patron’s staff.) ‘Although I don’t see how. He was with Marcus in the baths, throughout, and would not have had the opportunity for idle talk with you.’

  Minimus grinned. ‘I was speaking to your patron’s other page, the one who was left here to guard the clothes! You will want your toga, too, now, I suppose?’ He took it from the open locker space, where he had folded it away, ready to leave it at the town apartment overnight.

  It was the only thing for which I really used the place, except once or twice to bring my wife to Glevum overnight, to shop the morning stalls and have new sandals made, while I met delegations from the populace, petitioning for market licences or complaining of the drains! But it was convenient to store my toga there. For one thing, each visit was officially an ‘occupation of the property’, so I complied with the legal minimum, and for another a toga is not a thing in which to walk for miles. As a duumvir I needed one, of course, and preferably one that was reasonably clean – not trailed down muddy lanes – to wear at meetings of the curia.

  And I had a second, more elaborate toga, now – which, although the purple stripe around the hem was as narrow as the weaver’s art allowed, had cost a fortune and was difficult to clean. It was, of course, considered a privilege of rank to be allowed to purchase one, though – being a junior magistrate of non-patrician birth – I was not required to wear it very much, merely for special occasions, like processions or appearances in court. A plain one was sufficient for most curial affairs – or for meeting my patron, formally, as now. And even that was wearisome enough!

  ‘I suppose so,’ I said glumly, and held wide my arms, so Minimus could wind the awkward thing round me and secure it with the shoulder-brooch. ‘I hope you weren’t gossiping where you could be overheard?’ I added. ‘I saw Josephus Loftus in the bathhouse, and if his slave was listening and told him what was said, it will be all over Glevum by the time the gates are shut!’

  Minimus gave an unrepentant grin. ‘There is no fear of that – Josephus Loftus did not bring a slave. In fact he offered me a quadrans to guard his clothes as well as yours, but naturally I told him that I could not stay – I’d have to leave when you did. So he gave me just an as and told me to watch his tunic for as long as possible. Though, who would want it, is another thing – a greasy Grecian tunic when there are cloaks and togas here.’ He made the last adjustments to my shoulder-folds. ‘Anyway the page and I were talking quietly – no one could possibly have overheard. And he was only saying that Marcus was worried about the visitor, and seemed to think that you could help. He couldn’t tell me how.’

  So Minimus had asked him! I suppressed a smile. ‘I’ve no idea myself, but do up my sandals for me and I’ll go and talk to him. In the meantime, you can stay and earn your as. On second thoughts, I’ll ask you to run over to my workshop and tell my son Junio where I am. He’s been working there since shortly after dawn, and I was due to meet him and travel home with him. He’ll never guess that I am at the baths again – especially since I left my bathing loincloth with him only yesterday, to let it air beside the embers of the workshop fire.’ (No doubt in Rome these things are easily arranged, but in damp Britannia wet clothes are hard to dry, especially at this season of the year.) ‘Explain what’s happened, say I’ve been delayed and tell him I will meet him at my town apartment when I have found out what my patron wants.’

  ‘And not worry about Josephus’s clothes?’

  ‘We’ll find an urchin to guard his things for him, and you go to the workshop. A better plan all round. Josephus says he wants to talk to me and if he comes out and finds you sitting here, he’ll stay and wait for me – and I shall be already late setting off for home. Don’t look so disappointed, you can keep your as, I’ll give you another to pay the urchin with.’ I took the small brass coin from my purse and put it in his hand. ‘And come back here as fast as possible, I will need you to accompany me today.’

  It was ridiculous – the apartment is not a hundred paces from the baths, but as a decurian it was not ‘appropriate’ for me to walk even that short distance without a slave attending me. Normally this did not concern me in the least, but there had already been veiled comments by other councillors – especially one of the younger aediles – and if this visitor was looking out for things to criticize I did not want to give him the opportunity. Even the threat of spies begins to alter how one acts.

  Minimus, however, set off on his errand with a grin and I went glumly off to find my patron, who would no doubt not be in the best of moods himself. He does not care to wait.

  I found him occupying one of the stone benches in the covered colonnade. He was sitting, idly watching a young athlete practising with weights, with his slaves behind him and a table of light refreshments spread in front. I made to kneel, as usual – but he gestured me to sit.
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  ‘So, Councillor Libertus,’ he began, breaking off a piece of bread and dipping it in cheese-curds as he spoke.

  There it was again, that uncomfortable allusion to my rank. ‘Excellence?’ I murmured, taking my place beside him on the bench – though ensuring that my head was lower than his own. ‘You wished to talk to me? About this visitor?’ I glanced towards the slaves. ‘A private matter?’

  Marcus caught my glance. ‘Slaves, go and order us some watered wine. Tell them that I’ll pay them afterwards. You need not hurry back.’ Then, as the slave-boys moved obediently away, he added with a smile, ‘I hope that allays your anxieties, my friend?’

  I did not say that it did nothing of the kind, or that his page had already been gossiping with mine. It would earn him a flogging, and it was hardly the lad’s fault if his master had been indiscreet. Instead I murmured, ‘You suggested, Excellence, that I could be of help?’

  ‘Ah, indeed!’ He shifted on the seat. ‘The problem is, as I said earlier, I’m quite sure that he’s a spy. Of course he has written to the curia not to me, so this visit could be seen as a matter for the town. Yet, as a relative, I shall obviously be expected to arrange for his accommodation while he’s here, and provide appropriate entertainment, banquets and the like. I might have asked the garrison to entertain him at the military inn – the best room and food and all that sort of thing – but he is a kinsman, and it might cause offence to send him there. Anyway the new incumbent sends word that the rooms are often occupied. I’m not sure I believe him. But I do not wish to have Laurentius in the house.’

  I was astonished. ‘You dislike him as much as that, Excellence?’ Marcus, to my certain knowledge, had across the years entertained many people (including relatives and legates) that he did not like – and entertained them very handsomely – yet I’d never heard him express a sentiment like that.

  ‘It’s not entirely a question of dislike,’ my patron said. ‘Though, true, he’s a fellow for whom I don’t much care.’ He beckoned me closer. ‘The problem is, I may have spoken carelessly. I entertained the former camp commander several times last moon … and we may have touched on what would happen if Severus should fall … or fail to defeat Pescennius, perhaps …’

  ‘And you fear that Laurentius may get to hear of this?’ I said, with some relief. Perhaps after all I would not be required to leave the town. ‘Excellence, I am sure that – when your safety is at stake – your staff can be relied on to be utterly discreet.’

  Marcus looked at me as though I’d gone insane. ‘Naturally, Libertus, I would expect no less. But my young son Marcellinus is of an age to talk, and he has no concept of being circumspect. And I may have had him in to banquets once or twice – as a kind of entertainment when the wine was being served – although his mother does not much approve. She even warned me that it might be dangerous – but Marcellinus loves it, and he can be very droll. I’ve had him in my town apartment, recently, as well.’

  So Marcus had been showing off his son, in adult company – no doubt encouraging the child to ‘play the man’, by strutting with his little sword and tasting watered wine – and imitating what was said in front of him. It was so like Marcus that it made me smile. I thought I had merely done so inwardly, but my patron said, ‘I see you understand me.’

  And suddenly I did. I let out a sigh of pure relief. Marcus wanted me to give him back the flat – it would be officially a loan, of course – but it was unthinkable for him to ask for it outright. No well bred Roman would ever sue to have a gift returned – it was worse than bad-mannered, it was almost certain to incur bad luck. The trouble was, of course, I could not offer it – at least not instantly – for fear of implying that he had requested it.

  ‘So you’ll want a town apartment, suitable for a man of substance?’ I said, frowning as though this were a problem which required much thought. ‘I have not heard of any which might be to let. I’ll be sure to keep a listening ear alert and let you know at once if I learn of anything. Or …’ I allowed my face to brighten, as if inspiration had just occurred to me. ‘Your visitor could have the use of my apartment, while he’s here.’

  ‘Councillor, you are too generous!’

  I knew by my patron’s smile that I had guessed aright, but I hurried to qualify the offer, before I found that the visitor was here at my expense. ‘Though it might not be entirely suitable. It is sparsely furnished – just sufficient for my needs – and I have merely the two slaves to keep it warm and clean. I fear my purse won’t stretch to any more. And I don’t run a kitchen worth the name. But if you’d care to arrange some extra staff for him, it might be possible …?’

  ‘Never fear, Libertus, I will see to everything. Since he is a relative, I could do no less. And I’ll organize a public banquet for him too – the guild of vintners have a hall that we could use, they are happy to lend it for civic feasts if they provide the wine. Your generosity will solve this splendidly. But you’re taking no refreshment – please, do help yourself.’ He gestured to the tray of salted snacks. (No pies or sausages, I was glad to see – in my current state of nerves I could not have eaten them.)

  I took a pinch of salted lupin seeds, while he dipped his bread in oil and burbled on, making more plans for how Laurentius could be entertained – ‘perhaps even a visit to the chariot race?’ – and after a little while his two slaves reappeared. Obedient to their orders they did not approach, but loitered at a little distance from the bench – one with a small jug of watered wine and the other with a pair of goblets in his hand. Marcus looked up and gestured them to come.

  ‘Let us drink, then, to the gods and to a problem solved,’ he said, and that is what we did. I was still smiling when I went back to the locker room, where Minimus was waiting with my cloak.

  He fixed it round my shoulders and nodded to a ragged urchin sitting near the door. ‘I hardly needed to have spent your as so soon,’ he said. ‘Josephus hasn’t come back for his garments yet!’

  ‘Talking the ears off his companions in the plunge pool, I expect,’ I said, unkindly. ‘But whatever he wanted with me I’m sure that it can wait. And I need not have worried about my patron’s visitor. He is going to use my town apartment, that is all. Let’s go there now and meet with Junio.’ I led the way outside. ‘I wish all problems were as simply solved.’

  I could not guess how wrong I’d prove to be.

  THREE

  The next day was officially nefas – ill-omened – on the calendar, and therefore all courts and theatres, and many businesses, were shut. So I did not go to Glevum but stayed at home to make some overdue repairs to the stockade around our roundhouse. This was to propitiate my dear wife, Gwellia, who had been asking me to attend to it for half a moon (a high wind before the Kalends had blown down an outer section nearest to the lane), and who – to my surprise – was not happy that I’d offered our town apartment to the visitor.

  ‘Typical of your patron,’ she grumbled, lifting the morning oatcakes from where they had been baking in the embers overnight, and passing one to me. ‘Gives it to you one moment, to suit his purposes – and wants it back, when that is convenient to him!’ She handed me the water jug so I could pour a drink. ‘And don’t keep saying that he didn’t ask for it – we both know that’s, effectively, exactly what he did. And if we can see that, no doubt the gods can too! I’m surprised he isn’t worried about bringing down a curse.’

  ‘But we hardly used the place, in any case,’ I said, pacifically, biting into my fragrant breakfast as I spoke. ‘And as official hosts of this Laurentius we will certainly be asked to one of these banquets that you’ve been wanting to attend!’

  She was not mollified. ‘Banquets? And what, exactly, do you imagine I should wear? You’ve got your councillor’s toga with a fancy purple stripe but, as your wife, I can hardly attend a formal civic feast dressed in homespun Celtic plaid! I was going to buy a proper Roman stola and tunica – or at least some fine-weave fabric so I could make my own – but thanks to your patron that won’t now be possible, I suppose. I can’t even get into the market easily, from here!’