Rosemary Rowe - The Ghosts of Glevum

My business lay with the garrison, so I hurried to the nearest man on guard. ‘I wish to speak to your commander, urgently.’ I outlined who I was and what I wanted there.

He looked me up and down, and for a moment I thought I would be turned away, but ultimately my toga won respect. ‘I’ll see what I can do for you, citizen, but I’m afraid your slave may have to wait outside.’

‘I could go to the workshop, master, and await you there,’ Junio said.

‘A good suggestion,’ I agreed, and Junio trotted off.

It seemed a long time before anybody came, but finally an escort was found for me, and I was shown to the commander’s house. There I was ushered into his private waiting room, which, as in all such military establishments, was handsomely proportioned but uncomfortable and chill. After another lengthy wait — I suppose that is what waiting rooms are for — I was attended by a military secretary with a nervous tic. I explained my errand once again.

‘I have come to ask permission for an audience with my patron, His Excellence Marcus Aurelius Septimus, whom your commander is holding under guard. There will be no objection to that, I am sure. Even prisoners in the common jail are sometimes permitted visitors, and Marcus is a personal friend of his.’

‘Wait here, citizen. I’ll see what I can do,’ the fellow said, and disappeared again.

This time the wait was so extremely long that I was beginning to become concerned. I remembered that Balbus had wanted my arrest, and for a moment I feared that I had walked into a trap. I was seriously contemplating walking out and attempting to make a run for it when the fellow with the nervous tic came back.

‘Your pardon, citizen, your request has been denied. Commander Protheus has instructed me to tell you that your patron Marcus is detained in comfort in the house, and that the commander will see that he is well treated. However, there is a question of a plot against the state, and in those circumstances a prisoner is not permitted visitors.’

‘A plot against the state?’ I forgot myself sufficiently to stand up and raise my voice. ‘But. .’

‘Those are the standing orders of the Emperor,’ the secretary said, taking a step backwards as though I’d threatened him. ‘It’s not my decision, citizen. Guard,’ he called to a soldier beside the outer door, ‘kindly escort the citizen outside.’

‘But. .’ I protested, in genuine dismay. ‘There must be some mistake. My patron is a very powerful man, of noble birth. He is related to the Emperor. .’ That last point was not, in fact, entirely proved. There are hundreds of Aurelians in the Empire, and not all of them are of Imperial blood. But rumour had always said that Marcus was, and, since he had never denied it, it seemed worth mentioning. As a lever, I had never known it fail.

It failed now.

‘You heard him, citizen.’ The guard from outside had come in by this time, and to my alarm had drawn his sword. ‘Out. Now. With me. And no argument, or you’ll find you’re locked up in here yourself. Then you can talk to your precious patron all you like.’

‘I’m sorry, citizen,’ the secretary bleated. His cheek was twitching really badly now.

‘Now, are you going to move?’ the soldier said. ‘Or am I going to have to make you move? And don’t think for a moment that I won’t. You haven’t got a fancy patron to protect you now.’

It was then that I realised just what deep trouble we were in. Marcus’s name, which up to now had always opened every official door and afforded me protection in all kinds of ways, had lost its power overnight. Even his friend the commander was refusing help, though he was obviously attempting to look after Marcus as best he dared.

I was marched at sword-point out into the street.

Not only marched at sword-point but thrust into the road with such a heavy hand against my back that I almost stumbled to the ground. If I was not so obviously a citizen, I believe I would have had a kick to help me on my way. Even a passing turnip-seller stopped to stare.

I recovered myself, straightened my toga, and walked off into the drizzle with as much dignity as I could muster, trying to decide what to do. I had been so sure of meeting Marcus, and discussing things with him, that I really had no other plan. I am accustomed to working on his authority, but from here on I was clearly on my own.

As if to illustrate my gloomy thoughts the drizzling rain turned suddenly to a determined shower. There was a little temple to the local river god nearby: not a large place, but it had a portico, and I hurried — together with the turnip-seller and a half a dozen other passers-by — under the shelter of its columns. I huddled up against a plinth and tried to think.

There was one obvious strategy to try, except that I sadly lacked the wherewithal. The purse that I carried at my belt, although containing all the money I possessed, was woefully light. My few miserable silver coins might have been enough to purchase information from a tavern-keeper, or buy a few extra moments with Marcus from a willing guard (which was why I had taken the precaution of bringing them) but I would need a good deal more than that for any serious attempt at bribery. Official doors were closed behind me now, and it would take a very wealthy man to prise them open even a crack.

But I had to do something for my patron if I could. The charge of murdering Praxus had been bad enough, but this new twist was more serious again. Suspected of a plot against the state! I could not, for the moment, see how Praxus’s death could be conceived of in this way, but I am not an expert in the law. Perhaps because his new appointment was an Imperial one, or simply because he was commander of the local force? Balbus would presumably know: not only was he schooled in civil law, but he must be familiar with military law as well — after all he had a brother who was a senior officer in Gaul and a candidate for senatorial rank in Rome. So there must be some legal foundation for the charge, or Balbus would never have permitted it. The cost of failure was too terrible — Marcus was an influential man.

If the case held, on the other hand, there were great rewards. A plot against the state was effectively three crimes at once, and any informant bringing a successful case was entitled to a share of the guilty party’s estate. I could see why Balbus would resort to it — or Mellitus, or anybody else.

As well as straightforward treachery, there was maiestas — offence against the Emperor’s majesty — one of the most effective tools for bringing any senior figure down. Also, since Commodus had officially declared himself a god, there was sacrilege as well. Any one of those crimes might carry the penalty of death, even for a man of high birth like my patron — or at the very least exile to a waterless island, which often came to the same thing. And our beloved Emperor was not noted for his clemency, especially towards those whom he suspected of plots against himself.

And it was all my fault. Why, oh why, had I opened my big mouth? If it had not been for my ‘perceptive observations’ the death of Praxus would surely have passed as an unhappy accident. Unfortunate for Marcus, as the host — acutely politically embarrassing — but nothing like as dangerous as what had happened now. And for the life of me I could not see how anyone but Marcus had had an opportunity to kill Praxus at the feast.

I was so wrapped in my own thoughts that I paid scant attention to the cloaked figure on the pavement opposite, not even when he stepped down from the kerb and headed towards our little group huddling underneath the portico. There was really no room for anybody else but still he came, picking his way fastidiously across the paving of the road, where the rain was already splashing up around his hems, and elbowed his way into what little space there was. There was a general murmuring but that was a military cloak and no one was disposed to make a fuss. I too kept my head down and shuffled up a bit, and it was not until he dropped his hood that I looked up in earnest and his eyes met mine.