The Ides of June Read online

  She gave me a look that told me she was not convinced. ‘Don’t get yourself arrested. If anyone sees you carrying that blade in town, there would be Dis to pay. You won’t even have the automatic protection of a toga! Are you sure you shouldn’t wear it after all?’

  She had a point of course – the garment marks a Roman citizen and usually offers some protection from arbitrary arrest – but I shook my head. ‘It is not a suitable garment in which to ride a mule for miles in difficult terrain. Besides, if I did encounter any savage beasts a toga would be nothing but an encumbrance.’ I sounded pompous, even to myself, and Gwellia frowned at me.

  ‘That’s nonsense and you know it. There’s something else afoot. I don’t like this at all. Surely your patron could wait an hour or two and let you deliver his famous note tomorrow, when the shops are open and you’re in town anyway?’ She saw me shake my head and said impatiently, ‘And I wish at least you’d tell me why you feel you need a knife! You’ve never worried about meeting bears before – has there been someone savaged recently?’

  I decided I could tell her a little of the truth – though not about the threat to Marcus, and possibly myself. ‘The fact is, wife, the times are dangerous. Marcus says the garrison is planning to move on – in support of our provincial governor, who does not accept the reign of Didius and wants to claim the purple for himself.’

  Gwellia looked appalled. ‘But surely that is treason? The Emperor will send his troops from Rome and decimate the ranks.’

  ‘Only if they lose!’ I tried to turn the matter to a jest. ‘Marcus seems to think the present situation cannot last in any case.’ I confided what my patron had told me about the chaotic situation in the capital and the two pretenders set to march on Rome.

  ‘That sounds like civil war! Thank all the gods that we live far away!’

  I nodded. ‘Though even in Britannia we may not escape. Marcus had a message from the garrison commander today, saying that he intends to march his legion to Londinium at once. They won’t set off this afternoon, because it is the Ides, but it could be as soon as tomorrow possibly: so if this reply is going to reach him there’s no time to lose. Though you’re not to mention this to anybody else.’

  ‘I see.’ She glanced towards the knife which I had thrust into my belt. ‘And that? You’re not going to join the fighting personally, I suppose?’

  I shook my head. ‘But once the army’s gone – and it seems they’ll only leave a small detachment here, at most – who knows what one might encounter on the roads? Marcus thinks it’s an invitation to criminals and thieves.’

  Gwellia sighed. ‘He may be right. Then you must take a slave with you – I know you did not plan to, but husband, I insist. I only wish that Minimus was here, he’s bigger and would be a better guard, but I sent him to the spring for water and Kurso, the kitchen slave, has gone out with the goats – so it will have to be young Tenuis, I suppose. Better a small slave than nobody at all.’

  I made a face at her. I wasn’t keen to take the boy this time – he hated being on the mule and was afraid of crowds. ‘He’s far too young and little to be of any help. He isn’t strong enough to stop a chicken in its tracks! What use would he be, if anything occurred?’

  ‘He’s quick and nimble.’ Gwellia could look and sound determined when she tried. ‘He could run for help – and two people are always safer on the paths than one.’

  That was so exactly what I had thought myself, on the way back from the villa, that I could not help but smile.

  She seized on that at once and said triumphantly, ‘So that’s decided. Just as well I’ve put sufficient oatcakes in for two!’ She thrust the bag at me. ‘And I wish you’d take your toga – though I don’t suppose you will. Otherwise they might not let you inside the garrison.’

  I shook my head. ‘If Marcus is correct about the legion moving on, nobody’s going to let me see the commandant in person, anyway. All I need to do is hand in the writing-block and wait for a reply. But I will take Tenuis, if you insist – though I’m sure there is no need.’

  ‘I wish I could believe you, since you insist on carrying that knife. Don’t shake your head like that. I know you far too well. I’m sure there’s something else you’re not telling me.’ She turned away, avoiding my embrace and led the way to the enclosure gate, where Tenuis was already waiting with the mule. The boy stepped forward to hand the reins to me, but Gwellia shook her head. ‘You’re going with your master, Tenuis. I’ll tend our guests myself.’

  Tenuis glanced nervously at me. Both of us would rather that he’d stayed at home, but I nodded glumly. ‘You will come with me.’ And since he was a slave there could be no argument.

  Gwellia said gruffly, ‘Just get home safely, that is all I ask.’ She turned away and went back to the house, not even pausing to wave us on our way.

  Perhaps Marcus was right, I thought gloomily as I climbed onto Arlina’s back and settled an unwilling Tenuis up in front of me. Ordinary ordered life was breaking down. Here was I – a generally peaceable and law-abiding man – riding to Glevum on an ill-omened day, clutching a slave who didn’t want to come, refusing to confide in my beloved wife, and defying the authorities by carrying a blade. No wonder Gwellia was affronted and upset.

  I resolved that when I got back home I’d tell her everything – supposing that I did get back unharmed! Gwellia was resourceful and intelligent. She might have some suggestions as to how I could best smuggle that young family away – though I could imagine what she would say about that assignment when she knew!

  But it was too late for regrets. I turned my attention to urging on the mule.

  FOUR

  It was an awkward journey, with Tenuis sitting with his eyes tight shut but babbling like a brook to quell his nervousness. He was mercifully oblivious of my own anxiety and how my heart quickened every time we passed another traveller on the road – even an aged woman gathering honey fungus from the trees and a goatherd ushering home his charges were enough to make me jump. But that was nothing to the nervous care with which I gazed around when the track was sinisterly empty.

  Because now I was sure that someone was trailing us. Several times there were suspicious rustlings close by and once, in the steepest, darkest portion of the track, I saw a flash of blue among the trees which could not possibly have been an animal – but by the time I’d turned my head to look again there was no sign of anything.

  I could not bear the tension any more. I glanced around. There were no other travellers about, so – quite deliberately – I braved the law. I dropped the rein, took out the knife and, reaching overhead, ostentatiously cut myself a switch, making quite sure my vicious blade was visible to anyone who might be watching us.

  Tenuis had his eyes shut, so he didn’t see, but I’m sure I was observed because there was a sudden crackle in amongst the trees and then a total hush. I loitered for a moment – still brandishing the knife – then rode deliberately slowly down the path. But the rustling had abruptly ceased and there was no further evidence of movement in the woods. It seemed our unseen escort had been scared away.

  I hoped so, anyway. Sending up a silent prayer to all the ancient gods, I put the knife away and urged Arlina on, using the fresh switch to persuade her to a faster pace.

  Of course, because my nerves were stretched to breaking point, the forest seemed suddenly full of people dressed in blue. First we passed a fowler in a woad-dyed cloak squatting by the path, emptying his traps of birds; then a barefoot goose-boy came shepherding his flock, wearing a torn blue tunic far too large for him; then someone’s fleet-footed private messenger went loping past, though none of them gave us even a passing glance. But each occasion made the tension worse. It was almost an anticlimax – though an immense relief – when we reached the junction with the major road without further incident.

  The military road that leads up to the South Gate of the town is much frequented by traffic of all kinds, so I felt much safer after we left the forest track. Not that
there were many travellers today. Few people came to town on officially inauspicious days like this, but there was still a pedestrian or two – a woman with a bundle of kindling on her back, and a man with a handcart full of watercress – and their presence made me feel a good deal more secure.

  Besides, as we approached the gateway to the town, I saw that there was still a soldier on duty at the arch, though I’d wondered if there would be, with the legion on the move. But there he was, a burly dark-skinned fellow with a spear – an auxiliary, judging by his uniform and helmet – with an expression of disdainful boredom on his face. When we arrived he scarcely glanced at us, just nodded us straight through – though he stopped and questioned the farmer with the watercress.

  Tenuis, however, held back nervously. ‘What about Arlina?’ He nodded at the mule.

  ‘You can bring her with you – animals are permitted in the town – it’s only horse-drawn vehicles that can’t come in by day.’ By law the military has precedence on all roads everywhere – other travellers must step aside to let them pass – and in legionary towns, like Glevum, carts and wagons aren’t allowed inside the walls till after dusk, when they are less likely to obstruct the movement of soldiers and supplies.

  Tenuis nodded nervously and did as he was told, but he was clearly anxious, so when we’d reached the corner by the military inn, just a yard or two within the walls, I left him there to hold the animal while I hurried the short distance further to the fort.

  I bustled to the gate in the enclosing walls, preparing a little speech of introduction to the guard. I meant what I had said to Gwellia, earlier. Without a toga, at a time like this, I hardly expected to be ushered in to see the commandant, though with Marcus’s distinctive seal on the writing-block I did anticipate that I’d be shown inside to wait for a reply, like any patrician’s messenger. But today was different. I was not permitted even to produce the words that I’d rehearsed.

  ‘Greetings to his Worthiness the Commandant. I am—’ But the sentry cut me off.

  ‘You have a message? I will deal with that!’ He seized the writing-block from me, looked at it wordlessly and disappeared within, leaving me standing like an idiot outside. (I didn’t dare to glance at Tenuis – the same thing had happened to me once before and he’d been there to see it that time, too!)

  I waited. And waited. The man did not return. It was most unusual! I’d never known a sentry leave his post before – even for a moment – and now there was a lot of shouting coming from within.

  I peered around the gate. Not much of the enclosure could be seen from here but it was clear why the sentry had thought it safe to leave his post. There were soldiers everywhere. The legion really was preparing to depart. Military ox-carts were lined up on the central road that ran through the fortress, and even from my limited vantage point, I could see that groups of soldiers were busy loading them – Ides of June or not! They’d formed a human chain with crates and packages, under the eye of an officious optio who was obviously responsible for all the bellowing.

  ‘Now that’s enough on there! You two, fetch a rope and get that load secured, and look quick about it, you lazy sons of dogs!’ He was barking at a pair of burly young recruits. ‘The rest of you can go and move your kit outside, and get your sleeping room swept out! You won’t have time tomorrow if we’re leaving at first light. And see you do it properly, like that unit over there.’

  I followed his pointing finger and saw another group of men outside the barrack block, bringing out the personal equipment – mattocks, shovels, blankets, cooking pans – that soldiers always carry when they are moving camp, and placing it on the ground nearby in tidy piles. Another orderly was bellowing at them.

  I was leaning forward to get a better view, when a hand on my shoulder made me literally jump. I froze, not daring to turn round. The hand – on the periphery of my sight – was covered with a plethora of rings, and the arm emerged from a drape of toga with an impressive purple stripe. A curial magistrate, by the look of it. Varius, perhaps? I still wondered if he might have been the writer of that note.

  The very thought had turned me into stone, but as my brain began to work again I realized – with relief – that these fingers were too plump and the hairs upon them far too dark and thick for Varius. He was tall and blond and lean, conspicuously handsome and aware of it – so he always had his barber-slave shave all his body-hair, as he liked to demonstrate in ball games at the public baths. But if it wasn’t Varius, whoever could it be? Was this a magisterial arrest? Had someone reported that illegal weapon at my belt?

  My mind was still racing when a voice spoke in my ear. ‘Citizen Libertus!’ The hand propelled me round to face the speaker and I gulped.

  ‘Councillor!’ I muttered, certain now that different trouble lay in store.

  I was looking into the plump, pink face of Porteus Tertius, a patrician member of the town curia with whom I’d had dealings several times. He had sometimes dined with Marcus and I’d seen him there, but he was not a man I cared for. Quite apart from his unattractive appearance (he was pompous and portly, with acne on his face) he had conspired to have me arrested, once. That had been on a wholly baseless charge, but if he knew about that knife he would have proper grounds this time.

  He had no cause to love me, either, I was aware of that. Not long ago, he had lost much of his fortune on a commercial deal – tricked into it by a fellow councillor. I did no more than find the culprit out, but Porteus was inclined to blame me for the whole event – and the consequent loss of a dowry for his ugly daughter too.

  ‘Councillor!’ I said again, ready to burble some excuse.

  He cut me off. ‘Pavement-maker!’ To my amazement he seemed quite affable. ‘What brings you to the fort?’

  ‘My patron’s business, worthy councillor,’ I fawned, not quite certain that I dared believe my luck. However, Porteus was famous for enjoying flattery and I knew how to grovel. It seemed worth a try.

  It appeared to be effective. He blinked his pink-rimmed eyes at me and gave me a thin smile. ‘Ah, your patron, naturally! I had heard that he was back. And how is His Excellence? I’m sure he’s sorely grieved that Pertinax is dead.’

  I remembered what had been said about the new Emperor’s decrees. Was Porteus looking for a careless word from me? I tried to find a neutral form of words. ‘The whole Empire was shocked to hear about his fate.’

  Porteus moved a little closer, giving off faint wafts of musk and spikenard. ‘But it must affect your patron in particular,’ he murmured in my ear. ‘He would certainly have risen to eminence at the imperial court if the Emperor had lived.’ He waited for a moment, and when I did not reply, he added, ‘I was sorry to hear that was not to be the case.’

  I shot him a doubtful look, but he almost seemed sincere. Perhaps he really was. If Marcus had moved to Rome as adviser to his former friend, as he’d intended to, Glevum would have needed a senior magistrate – and Porteus had no doubt hoped to be a candidate for that. So he might well regret that Marcus had returned. He’d made several attempts to rise to eminence before. Not content with being a mere town councillor, he had also spent a fortune a year or two ago attempting to gain the nomination as Imperial Priest, though without success. The more recent losses – the ones he blamed me for – had therefore been a double blow to him, and the experience had left him an embittered man.

  Now, however, he seemed determined to be agreeable. He gave me the smile again. ‘And now the garrison is leaving. That will be a loss for Marcus, too. He was very friendly with the commandant, I think?’

  Was this a veiled threat about what the curia would do without the legions here? Or the simple gloating that it appeared to be? I produced a civil smile. ‘Indeed. He has sent me specially with a message of farewell.’

  A strange look crossed Porteus’s acned face. ‘Merely a message of farewell! I see. I wondered if he …?’ He trailed off suddenly, his plump cheeks turning pink. ‘It wasn’t that he …?’ He moved a little closer,
overwhelming me with scent. He was renowned for it; I remembered a rumour that he rubbed his slaves with perfumed oils, to mask the smells of animals and sweat and urine-pots that might reach his town apartment from the marketplace. The effect was overpowering and I flinched away, but he grasped me firmly by the sleeve. He glanced around as if the soldiers in the fort might hear. ‘It wasn’t by any chance because he had received a threat?’ This time the whisper was hardly audible. ‘I saw you send a writing-tablet in.’

  ‘A threat?’ I glanced at him, sharply. ‘What gave you that idea?’ And then, seeing that Porteus’s cheeks were turning pinker still, I realized what should have been obvious at once. Of course, he had been coming to the garrison himself. With a message for the commandant, perhaps? There was a leather container dangling at his waist, just big enough to take a writing-block. I took a gamble. ‘You got a letter, too?’

  He nodded sheepishly, and slipped his hand into the bag and brought out what it contained. The item was indeed a writing-block, so strikingly similar to the one I’d brought myself that – almost without thinking – I seized it from his hand. The rudeness was compounded when it fell open at my touch.

  ‘You have been warned,’ was all the writing said. I recognized the script.

  ‘This is a second message!’ I exclaimed. I looked at Porteus.

  Taking it from him, without permission, had been inexcusable, but far from chiding me he almost seemed relieved. ‘So Marcus did receive one?’ He glanced towards the fort. ‘And he’s applied to the garrison for aid? I was wondering about doing that myself. But I’m not sure they’re likely to be of any help. They circulated a message only yesterday, to all the members of the curia, saying that the army is about to leave the town. So even if they did consent to send a guard, which I doubt they would – a man is expected to provide his own protection, in a general way – they could not keep it up for very long.’

  ‘So whoever wrote the letters only has to wait?’ I was looking at him keenly, noticing the way the acne scars showed white against the pinkness of his piglike face.