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Authors: Rosemary Rowe
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the gate, watching the road through an aperture in the wall and looking even less prepossessing than yesterday. He was the right build for a country gatekeeper, I thought, tall, strong and swarthy, with lank hair to his tunic-collar, muscles like a gladiator and a stout club at his belt. A man to deter unwanted visitors, beggars, pedlars and wolves. He certainly deterred me. I eyed the club nervously.
‘Libertus!’ He crossed the room in three strides. ‘So you got my message. Come in, come in.’ He seized my arm, with an air of uncomfortably confident chumminess.
I winced. The man had the strength of a bear. Yet, yesterday, when we had interviewed him, he had seemed edgy and nervous. I was on my guard. Nervous bears are dangerous.
I gave him an encouraging smile. He released me, dropping his voice and bending his head to mine as if we were in a conspiracy. ‘Have you heard from Marcus?’ He smelt of onions and sour wine.
‘Not yet.’ I almost found myself whispering back. It must be always like that for spies, fearing the very walls are listening. I went to the window – away from the onions – and pretended to look out of it. I said, in a normal voice, ‘We shall see him tomorrow at the funeral. He will come at least to hear the oration read.’
Aulus made a knowing face. ‘Thank Bacchus for that. I have things to tell him. At least we won’t have to trudge halfway to Glevum to see him, though naturally the pyre is in the furthest field. No doubt Andretha will have four of us slaves carrying the litter all the way – and in the darkness too. Why do funerals always take place at night?’
I shrugged sympathetically. I would have to follow the procession myself, and that was an unpleasant prospect in the cold and dark, even without the weight of Crassus on my shoulders. ‘There will be torches,’ I said.
Aulus scowled. It was not an encouraging sight. I attempted a joke. ‘I wish the torches would shed light on my enquiries.’ I was uncomfortably aware of his physical presence, large and loutish. He looked big enough to carry a funeral litter singlehanded.
He didn’t smile.
‘But,’ I prompted, appealing to his professional pride, ‘you have something to tell me, too.’
That was better. He breathed conspirational onions at me again. ‘I should have told you before, my friend. You and Marcus. But I feared trouble. It concerns someone in the villa. Someone who did not stay at the procession the whole time with the others. I wanted to speak to him before I told you, but . . .’ He shrugged and did not finish the sentence.
‘But he would not pay?’ I suggested. I tried to sound world-weary and matter-of-fact, as though taking bribes was all in a day’s work to me, too. It was a risk, but even if he took it ill Aulus could not well attack me in broad daylight when I was under Marcus’ protection. At least, so I told my pounding heart. Besides, I must not let him frighten me. Bullies are often cowards.
Aulus looked at his sandals and toyed with his cudgel.
I made a mental note to tell Marcus that if he wanted to choose a spy, he would be better served by one who did not fidget so openly when asked an awkward question. His uneasiness, though, gave me a little more confidence.
‘So,’ I hazarded, ‘Paulus left?’
‘Paulus?’ He sounded genuinely surprised. ‘Not that I know. He is a cowardly youth. I should have thought he was too frightened to have risked the lash again by leaving without permission. He is often beaten, as it is.’ He gave me a knowing leer. ‘They say he has joined the Druids, to seek revenge.’
Paulus was right, I thought. It had not taken long for that rumour to reach me. ‘So I have heard,’ I said dismissively. ‘I should have thought the Druids would frighten him more than Crassus does.’
He scowled, annoyed at having his gossip forestalled. He was probably hoping to be paid for that snippet of news. He rallied, though, enough to ask, ‘Why do you
‘Libertus!’ He crossed the room in three strides. ‘So you got my message. Come in, come in.’ He seized my arm, with an air of uncomfortably confident chumminess.
I winced. The man had the strength of a bear. Yet, yesterday, when we had interviewed him, he had seemed edgy and nervous. I was on my guard. Nervous bears are dangerous.
I gave him an encouraging smile. He released me, dropping his voice and bending his head to mine as if we were in a conspiracy. ‘Have you heard from Marcus?’ He smelt of onions and sour wine.
‘Not yet.’ I almost found myself whispering back. It must be always like that for spies, fearing the very walls are listening. I went to the window – away from the onions – and pretended to look out of it. I said, in a normal voice, ‘We shall see him tomorrow at the funeral. He will come at least to hear the oration read.’
Aulus made a knowing face. ‘Thank Bacchus for that. I have things to tell him. At least we won’t have to trudge halfway to Glevum to see him, though naturally the pyre is in the furthest field. No doubt Andretha will have four of us slaves carrying the litter all the way – and in the darkness too. Why do funerals always take place at night?’
I shrugged sympathetically. I would have to follow the procession myself, and that was an unpleasant prospect in the cold and dark, even without the weight of Crassus on my shoulders. ‘There will be torches,’ I said.
Aulus scowled. It was not an encouraging sight. I attempted a joke. ‘I wish the torches would shed light on my enquiries.’ I was uncomfortably aware of his physical presence, large and loutish. He looked big enough to carry a funeral litter singlehanded.
He didn’t smile.
‘But,’ I prompted, appealing to his professional pride, ‘you have something to tell me, too.’
That was better. He breathed conspirational onions at me again. ‘I should have told you before, my friend. You and Marcus. But I feared trouble. It concerns someone in the villa. Someone who did not stay at the procession the whole time with the others. I wanted to speak to him before I told you, but . . .’ He shrugged and did not finish the sentence.
‘But he would not pay?’ I suggested. I tried to sound world-weary and matter-of-fact, as though taking bribes was all in a day’s work to me, too. It was a risk, but even if he took it ill Aulus could not well attack me in broad daylight when I was under Marcus’ protection. At least, so I told my pounding heart. Besides, I must not let him frighten me. Bullies are often cowards.
Aulus looked at his sandals and toyed with his cudgel.
I made a mental note to tell Marcus that if he wanted to choose a spy, he would be better served by one who did not fidget so openly when asked an awkward question. His uneasiness, though, gave me a little more confidence.
‘So,’ I hazarded, ‘Paulus left?’
‘Paulus?’ He sounded genuinely surprised. ‘Not that I know. He is a cowardly youth. I should have thought he was too frightened to have risked the lash again by leaving without permission. He is often beaten, as it is.’ He gave me a knowing leer. ‘They say he has joined the Druids, to seek revenge.’
Paulus was right, I thought. It had not taken long for that rumour to reach me. ‘So I have heard,’ I said dismissively. ‘I should have thought the Druids would frighten him more than Crassus does.’
He scowled, annoyed at having his gossip forestalled. He was probably hoping to be paid for that snippet of news. He rallied, though, enough to ask, ‘Why do you
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