Rosemary Rowe - A Coin for the Ferryman

‘Here you are, citizen. This where you want to be?’ The innkeeper had slowed up a short way from the gates. ‘There is the lad I am looking for.’

He waved towards a tattered figure waiting on the roadside with a handcart piled high. I recognised the urchin that I’d noticed earlier. ‘It’s the boy who collects the manure and ordure from the streets!’

‘Not very pleasant cargo, I agree, but I have to make a living, citizen. Now that we don’t keep many horses any more — on account of those dancing girls filling all the space — I have to come for extra now and then to fertilise the field, or I couldn’t grow the turnips to keep the inn supplied.’ He had reined his bony animal to a stop, and was already preparing to jump down from the cart.

I followed, more discreetly. It is difficult to dismount with dignity when carrying a burning torch, but I did my best. I was likely to be under scrutiny, I told myself, as I looked round for the promised carriage and the councillor.

There was no sign of either. The night traffic had disappeared into the town by now, and the crowds long since dispersed. The area outside the gates was shadowy and dark, almost deserted except for the two carts and the figures who were shovelling the stinking load between the two. Almost deserted — there was someone in the gloom, cloaked and hooded and skulking near the arch. There were unlikely to be brigands this close to the guard, but I felt an uncomfortable stirring of alarm.

I had held up my torch to get a better look — I was grateful for its light, though it was burning down — when there was a noise behind me and a hand fell on my arm.

‘Citizen Libertus?’ I whirled round at once. The fat guard was grinning at my discomfiture. ‘I have to ask you to accompany me again — the commander is waiting to have another word with you.’

He had done it on purpose, I was sure of that. And he had succeeded. I was trembling. So much so that I couldn’t find the voice to form a word, and I followed him in silence through the gate to the guardhouse, leaving the innkeeper and the dung-boy staring after me.

It was the same man that I had seen before and he’d been courteous then, but he seemed a good deal mellower in his manner now. Perhaps it was the effect of watered army wine, or the cheerful brazier that now burned beside his desk, but he was almost fulsome as he greeted me — and from the warmth with which he invited me to sit, I might have been my patron His Excellence himself.

‘My dear citizen, it’s most unfortunate!’ Despite the smile, the words were not encouraging. ‘The guard has told you what the problem is?’

I managed to murmur that I’d heard nothing yet.

The officer looked uneasy, but he forced another smile. ‘A clear misunderstanding. I must apologise.’

So whatever the trouble, it was their mistake, not mine! That was a relief. ‘In that case. .’ I tried to sound as gracious as I could. ‘Perhaps we could discuss this at another time. I am expected at my patron’s and I’m already late. I believe a senior councillor is waiting for me.’

The garrison commander ran a hand across his brow. ‘That is just the problem, citizen. The message wasn’t passed on. It was not until your pageboy came and asked if you were here, and whether I had found a councillor to take you home again, that I realised the mistake. Not the boy we spoke to earlier — the other little chap.’

Niveus! I might have guessed. I gave an inward groan. ‘He did not deliver Marcus’s note to you, requesting transport for my journey home?’

‘Well, he brought it — but together with another note, you see, and a direction which asked me to forward the accompanying correspondence, under seal, to the home of the commander of the British fleet, by the first available imperial courier. It was very urgent, the covering letter said — and since it was under your patron’s private seal, naturally I complied at once. I saw that the other message — the one that you tell me was about your transport home — was addressed to “The Commanding Officer”, but I did not realise it meant me. I thought it related to the naval man, of course, so naturally I forwarded that to Londinium as well.’

I was holding my head between both hands by now. I raised it long enough to say despondently, ‘And Niveus didn’t tell you? The little page, that is?’

The officer was looking quite embarrassed now. ‘He did say there were instructions, but he seemed hesitant. I told him everything was written down, and I knew what to do. And both the letters were so magnificently sealed — it did not occur to me to question it. And he did not insist.’

‘He wouldn’t!’ I was thoroughly dejected by this time. I would be extremely late, and Marcus would take it as the gravest disrespect, not just to him but to his dead father too. Why had I not delivered those messages here myself? I had noticed the extensive nature of the seals — but I hadn’t guessed at the misleading instructions Lucius had sent.

‘Just a minute!’ I was sitting upright now. ‘Where did you say you were told to forward them?’

He was looking startled. ‘To the home of the commander of the British fleet. I told you that just now. I think I even mentioned it when you were here before.’

I stared at him. ‘You did. Of course you did. But I didn’t realise the implication then. Lucius claimed that he was sending a message of condolence to his aunt in Rome — not writing to his relations in Londinium! Yet you tell me that his letter was addressed to the commander of the fleet.’

‘Perhaps he was hoping that they would forward it? Obviously he was very anxious that it should arrive as fast as possible.’

I shook my head. ‘Then why did he not write the letter earlier? A messenger came from Rome today with news of his uncle’s death — it would have been simplicity itself to send a note back with him. But Lucius didn’t do it — so why was it suddenly so important later on that he had to borrow Marcus’s seal — and even arrange to use the military mail? What had happened to make him feel so differently?’

‘Too overcome with grief, perhaps, at first?’ the officer suggested sympathetically. ‘It was a member of his family, after all.’

I thought of Lucius as I’d found him at the sacrifice. He had been startled, certainly, when I’d walked in on him. So startled that he’d broken that jug of sacrificial wine. But overcome with grief? ‘I don’t think so.’

He misinterpreted. ‘Your patron’s father, is that not correct? And this Lucius is closely related to the wife? His Excellence explained it to me earlier. He was with me here when that messenger arrived. I saw him break the seals and open all three notes.’

‘All three notes?’ I echoed.

‘There was the one from Rome, and one from Londinium as well — with an enclosure from His Excellence’s page, I believe, Pulchrus is he called? — confirming the arrangements for the journey. It was given to the messenger to bring at the same time, since he was riding down. So that makes three. That adopted son of yours was here as well when the messenger arrived — I should have thought he would have told you that the notes had come.’

He had — of course he had. He’d told me in detail what the letters from Londinium had said. Yet. . surely? I shook my head. Something disquieting had occurred to me. If Marcus had unsealed the letters — and two people now had told me that he had — how did Lucius know what they said? It was possible the messenger had simply told him verbally — but Niveus had said he saw Lucius cut a seal. So was there yet another note from Londinium, to Lucius himself? A note which he had afterwards destroyed? It would not be difficult to get rid of it — there were braziers enough. Indeed — I started up at this — I had actually seen him with a fire!