Rosemary Rowe - The Chariots of Calyx

The boy glanced nervously towards Calyx and his companions, but they were still conferring earnestly, their backs now turned to us. ‘Not at all, citizen. That is the strange thing. He had been in the very best of spirits. And afterwards, when he was brought back to the inn on a shutter, the team coach cursed and ranted, but he did not seem really upset, if you know what I mean. I know what he is like when he is genuinely angry.’

‘I imagine you do.’ I looked at him suspiciously. ‘And you are in danger of enraging him now, if he sees us together. Why are you telling me all this?’

The boy shrugged his bruised shoulders. ‘You saved me from a flogging, citizen. Besides, I heard what you were saying just now, about how you would give a great deal for information. Fortunatus promised me a sestertius if I looked after his horse after the event, only of course, as it was. .’

I could take a hint. I did not have a great deal to give but I gestured to Junio, and he produced the extra denarius which we had won on the horses. The boy was delighted with it. His eyes opened as wide as oyster shells, and he took it reverently and slipped it into his tunic folds at once. Then with a murmur of gratitude he disappeared about his business. Not a moment too soon. The four-in-hands were assembling again, and already Calyx had left his companions and was glaring around the courtyard, thundering, ‘We are ready for the arena. Where is that wretched bucket-boy!’

We left him to it, and went back through the gates. We only just had time to get off the course and out of the stadium before the trumpets blew again, and the professional drivers came cantering in. As we walked away from the enclosure we could hear the cheering that told us the next race had begun.

‘Well then,’ the optio said briskly. ‘What is your next step, citizen? Do you wish us to accompany you to the inn where the Blue team is staying?’

I thought about that for a moment. ‘We might send a messenger,’ I said at last. ‘Just to be quite certain that Fortunatus really did go back to Londinium.’

The optio nodded. He muttered an order and one of the escorting soldiers set off at a lumbering run, his armour creaking and clanking as he went. ‘You suspect that he did not return to the city after all?’

‘On the contrary, I am almost certain that he did exactly that. If he did, then I should go back there myself at once. In the light of everything I’ve learned, I am particularly anxious to talk to him as soon as possible. I presume the governor’s gig is still at my disposal?’

‘It is standing by in the stables, waiting for you,’ the optio said. ‘The horses and the driver will have been fed and rested by this time. But are you sure there is nothing further that I can show you here?’

There was something rather plaintive in his tone, and it occurred to me that the officer was mildly disappointed. He had been looking forward to a day at the racing as my escort, and no doubt when he returned to normal duty in the barracks the duties awaiting him would be much less agreeable.

I hardened my heart. ‘I would love to see more of the city, but like you I have official business to perform. Perhaps we could return to the garrison, and wait for the return of our messenger? I will have a better idea of what I want to do when I find out for sure where Fortunatus is.’

‘As you wish, citizen!’ He seemed to take my words as a rebuke, and we made our way back, along the route by which we had come, at a brisk pace and without a word exchanged. No wonder the stares of the passers-by were more goggle-eyed than ever.

At the gate the optio gave the password of the day — ‘Mighty Saturn, chosen of the planets’ — and we were admitted, to make our way back across the little gravelled parade ground, where a group of men were now training noisily with swords and spears against wooden stakes hammered into the earth, under the shouts and curses of their officers.

Through the inner gate we went and into the headquarters building, where the optio went off to announce our presence and I was shown to a bench in an ante-room to wait.

The commander was unfortunately occupied, I was informed, but his resources were at my disposal. The optio delivered this message breathlessly and then retired, while my remaining escort took up a post outside the door — through whether this was to guard me against the army, or vice versa, it was hard to determine.

‘So the garrison is at my disposal, eh?’ I grumbled to Junio. ‘I suppose the commander is obliged to say that, since Pertinax is commander-in-chief of all the British legions, but from where I’m sitting I can’t see much sign of it.’ I craned my neck to look through the open door of the ante-room to the main street of the fort, and the lines of identical barrack-rooms opposite. ‘The legion is far too busy with its own business.’

‘At least it gives us something to look at while we are waiting, master,’ Junio said.

He was right. There was constant activity: working parties with waggons bringing in supplies, messengers coming and going with sealed orders, even fatigue detachments marching to the latrines with buckets and brooms. The entertainment of watching them palled quite quickly as the morning wore on, however. I sat on my bench and kicked my heels, while Junio hovered helpfully beside me.

We waited. After what seemed at least a decade, a silent soldier brought us more hard biscuits and watered wine and disappeared again without a word.

‘How do legionaries manage to live on these things?’ I said.

‘Lots of them prefer wheatcakes,’ Junio said. ‘They think that meat is decadent and makes a fellow soft.’

I was about to make some scornful comment when the optio appeared again. He was looking important and at his heels came our so-called ‘messenger’, red-faced and panting as if he had run all the way from the town.

I waved aside the usual civilities, and once he had recovered his breath the man delivered his message in that singularly toneless voice that nuncios use when reporting to a senior officer. ‘I beg to report, citizen, that the rumours all appear to be true. Fortunatus was observed to leave for Londinium just before noon on the Nones .’

‘The very first morning of the games!’ I exclaimed. That was exactly what I had wanted to know. If he left Verulamium before midday, then Fortunatus could indeed have been in Londinium on the evening of the murder, despite what Fulvia had told us to the contrary.

The soldier, who had been staring straight ahead, dutifully waited until I had finished my interruption and then resumed his sing-song narrative. ‘He was carried back to the team inn about the third hour. It was a fine day and this same time is estimated by three other witnesses.’

I nodded. The time, of course, could only be approximate. The army has calibrated candles to ensure that guard watches are changed at regular intervals, but most mere civilians can only estimate things by the sun. ‘About mid-morning, then. Go on.’

‘He was visited by the medicus soon after — there are two more people ready to swear to that — and permission was granted for him to return to Londinium. That was arranged at once. I interviewed the slave who hired the carriage.’

He paused, and I asked — as I was clearly expected to do — ‘What did he say?’

The soldier cleared his throat and quoted the slave in a curious high-pitched voice, as if to underline that this was not part of his own recital. ‘ “Fortunatus said he would be more comfortable in his own quarters and the team surgeon agreed. Of course the charioteer is a wealthy man and he hired his own carriage.” Those were his words, citizen. The carriage left the town before midday — the slave says so and the guard on duty agrees. That is all I could discover, citizen.’ He touched his helmet in salute and brought his heels together so sharply that his plate mail rattled.