Rosemary Rowe - The Ghosts of Glevum

Gwellia was looking from me to Junio and back again. ‘Husband, you have only just come in. You are cold and wet and tired, and your toga’s torn. I don’t know who this slave is, or what he wants — coming here in the middle of the night — but surely you can at least command him to attend you here!’

I went to her, put my hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. ‘Gwellia, my dear, there’s been a dreadful episode. Trouble at the villa — Junio will explain. I must go and talk to Golbo. He may have seen something significant. Give me a brand.’

Kurso picked up a piece of pitch-tipped wood and dipped it in the fire obediently.

‘Did Golbo say why he wanted me?’ I asked, as I took the smoking torch. But Kurso had exhausted his conversational capacities and he simply shook his head.

I gave up and went out into the night and into the smelly darkness of the hut. At first I could see nothing but the cauldron of dye, still sitting on its stones over the embers of the fire. Then as my torch burned brighter and my eyes grew more accustomed to the gloom I made out the dim shape of Gwellia’s loom-beam hanging by the wall — the weight-stones almost reaching to the floor — and there beside it the huddled figure of the slave.

It was Golbo, a cold and frightened Golbo, almost too terrified to speak. He had asked to see me, but as I approached he backed away, keeping the fire between himself and me. I stopped.

‘Golbo — I believe that is your name — my house slave informed me that you wanted me. I cannot chase you round this hut all night. If you have something to tell me, do it now.’

‘Citizen Libertus?’ His voice was no more than a strangled squeak. ‘You are a friend of my master’s, I believe?’

‘Marcus Aurelius Septimus is my patron, certainly.’ I said it softly, but I chose my words with care. A pavement-maker — even if he is a citizen — should not presume to claim friendship with a man of rank. ‘I have been of service to him sometimes in the past.’

Golbo nodded. ‘I have heard him speak of you. That is why I came to you tonight. I–I did not know where else to go, after what had happened in the colonnade.’

A tide of relief flowed over me. Perhaps this affair would be easy to resolve. Golbo quite clearly knew too much, and that’s why he had fled. Whoever murdered an important man like Praxus would not think twice about silencing a slave. But if I could get Golbo to tell me what he knew, I could hide him overnight and go to a magistrate tomorrow to explain the truth. Marcus would be instantly released, and Golbo would be safe.

I was smiling as I said, ‘And what did happen in the colonnade? Somebody sent you for water, was that it? That is what your mistress said to me. She thought it was your master, but perhaps it was not him? Was it someone else perhaps, someone who murdered Praxus while you were away? Who was it, Golbo? I know you are afraid — your testimony could convict the man — but you can confide in me.’

Golbo stared unhappily at the floor and said nothing.

‘By telling me you will protect yourself,’ I said. ‘Once your testimony is known to the magistrates, there would be no point in killing you — that would only make the murderer’s guilt more evident. You would have another witness, too — in me — so nobody could claim you were coerced into making false accusations. And you need not fear revenge. Once Marcus is released he will make sure of that. So speak up, boy. Who sent you to the spring?’

Golbo looked at me in misery. ‘That’s just the trouble, citizen. My owner sent me to the spring himself.’

I stared. ‘Marcus?’

‘Well, not in person, naturally — he was at the banquet with his guests. But he sent the message all the same. It was quite precise. I was to go at once and fill the pail, because the banquet was drawing to a close, and guests might wish to use the vomitorium before the litters took them jogging home. It’s not an unusual request. He does the same thing each time there’s a feast — except that tonight it was a little earlier, and he was displeased with me, it seems. I don’t know why. I tried to keep the room as clean as it usually is.’

‘But you didn’t question the order when it came?’

Golbo looked more wretched than before. ‘In any case I wouldn’t question it. And the message was brought by one of Marcus’s own slaves.’

‘One of his own slaves? You are quite sure of that?’ My mind was racing now. Of course, there is always the possibility of treachery, but in general the loyalty of Marcus’s household is beyond doubt, and his servants would defend him to the death. We had seen that demonstrated that very night.

He nodded. ‘I am quite sure of that. There were slaves in the villa who had come in from my master’s town apartment in Glevum especially to help to cook and serve the feast — I might have been mistaken about them. But this wasn’t one of them. This was a villa slave, called Umbris. I know the man. I was there when Marcus first acquired him — a present from a wealthy visitor.’

I nodded, though it was not a name I knew. Marcus has a multitude of slaves but I would have remembered that one, I was sure. Obviously one of Marcus’s little jokes. The name derives from shadow, and is not a lucky one — except for a household slave perhaps, where silence and unobtrusiveness are desirable. Marcus had a sense of humour sometimes, when it came to naming slaves.

‘So Umbris was. .’ I was going to say ‘a bribe’, but altered it, ‘. . a gift?’

Golbo nodded. ‘One among many, citizen. Many of us were.’

Of course, that was likely to be true. A man in Marcus’s position scarcely needed to go out and purchase slaves from the shifty dealers in the town. The villa was no doubt full of similar ‘donations’, living and inert. There were always people trying to climb up the social scale who were only too eager to offer His Excellence anything he sought — in hopes of some little favour in return. I returned to a more profitable line of questioning.

‘What kind of man is he?’

‘My master thinks very well of him. He works hard and drives others hard: I cannot tell you more about his character than that.’ Golbo gave a rueful laugh. ‘Citizen, he is a senior slave. He works the dining room and I’m a bucket-boy — he’s never deigned to address a word to me, except to give me orders, like tonight. But I could point him out to you. He’s. .’

‘Husband!’ Gwellia’s voice from behind me cut across his words. ‘I beg you, leave this till the morning now. You are soaked through to the skin. You must remember you’re no longer young.’ I turned. She was standing in the doorway of the hut. ‘You’ll be no help to your patron if you’re ill in bed.’

I nodded. It was true that I was chilled and shivering. ‘Very well, Gwellia, my dear. No doubt you’re right. But what about the boy?’ My plans of sheltering him overnight and producing him triumphantly in the courts were all in ruins now. This testimony would seal Marcus’s fate.

‘He’ll have to find somewhere else to go.’

‘My dear wife. .’ I protested. It was not like Gwellia to be hard-hearted in this way.

She softened a little, as I knew she would. ‘Or he can stay here by the fire if you insist. But not inside the house. He is a runaway, Libertus, and I refuse to have him under my roof.’ She saw my look and added urgently, ‘Husband, it is you I’m thinking of. Junio has been telling me what happened at the villa earlier — and I’m concerned. It seems to me that, with your patron in the cells, the guards would be only too happy to press charges against you. If they find you harbouring a runaway, they will have all the evidence they need — and what will happen to this household then?’