Rosemary Rowe - The Chariots of Calyx

I made a deprecating noise. ‘On the contrary, madam citizen. They are more likely to suppose that Monnius’ killer has been caught. You might think so yourself. One of the prisoners is your charioteer.’

Her indignation vanished like a sneak thief at a fair. ‘So you have taken my opinion seriously at last? I see. In that case have them brought in here by all means. I will stay and listen, citizen. I shall be very interested to hear what Fortunatus has to say for himself.’

I nodded to the page, who hurried off, and Annia glared at me. ‘I know you think I am an old fool of a woman, citizen, and you are still not convinced that Fortunatus was behind the murder of my son. But I am sure of it. If he did not do it himself, he contrived to have it done. And the poisoning of the old nurse too, perhaps, though I fail to see how that advantaged him. I would put nothing past him. I told you, I do not trust his face.’

That face, when it arrived a few moments later in the company of the rest of Fortunatus and two hefty guards, was rather as I’d imagined it: young, bronzed, and broodingly attractive, with that expression of petulant vanity that young men sometimes develop when they know that they are irresistible to women. I waited for the other prisoner to appear, wondering if it would be Fulvia after all, but there was no sign of anyone else, and I turned my attention to the charioteer again.

He was a handsome figure. His body was surprisingly slim, but the muscles on the chest and shoulders rippled under the blue tunic he wore, and the legs and arms were strong and taut as whipcord. His dark hair was short and curled, and he wore a cloak of fine cream-coloured wool, clasped at the shoulder by a heavy pin, with a gold medallion hanging round his neck. He looked exactly what he was: fit, wealthy, successful, self-confident and not a little put out to find himself a prisoner, with his hands bound in front of him and a dagger at his back.

He was glowering at Annia Augusta, and if a man ever looked capable of murder, I had to admit that it was the young charioteer at that moment. ‘This is your doing, madam citizen!’ he hissed.

‘On the contrary,’ I told him, from the comfort of my stool. ‘You were brought here on my orders.’

He gazed at me, taking me in for the first time. In the borrowed palace tunic and with parts of my body bandaged as if in the last stages of some terrible disease, I suppose I hardly looked a figure of authority.

‘You?’ He could scarcely conceal his contempt.

‘Allow me to introduce myself. Longinius Flavius Libertus, Roman citizen, at your service — or rather at the service of the governor. This is not my own tunic, as you might deduce — my toga required some attention after an unexpected meeting I had with a certain Glaucus, in a cellar. Your cellar, I believe. I think this Glaucus is a friend of yours?’

The face of the charioteer had turned first white, then red, and now was fast becoming the chalky colour of his cloak. He said nothing.

‘His Excellence the Governor will be interested to hear your answers,’ I said. ‘No doubt he will be prepared to use persuasion, if necessary.’

Fortunatus glanced at Annia, who was smiling with grim satisfaction. ‘Of course I know Glaucus,’ he muttered reluctantly. ‘He is provisions officer for the Blues. As to the cellar, I have no idea. The house is in the process of repair — they are putting in some drains. I have recently bought it but I do not live in it.’

‘So I understand,’ I said. ‘You have been staying at an inn, I think? I am so glad to find you so fully recovered from that dreadful accident at Verulamium.’

He almost stepped backwards in dismay, but the dagger at his kidneys stopped him short. He shrugged helplessly.

‘It must have been a tricky thing to stage,’ I said conversationally. ‘Very dangerous for you. I do hope Glaucus paid you well for it. Or did he just permit you to bet against yourself? I presume the syndicate had money on the Reds?’

Fortunatus could have raced for the Reds himself, without a uniform, at that moment. He muttered, ‘I’m a team driver. I just do as I am told.’

‘And what they told you,’ I said, ‘was to lose that race, and make yourself scarce for the rest of the programme in Verulamium, while they spread rumours about how badly you were hurt. Then, when it comes to Camulodunum, you will appear and win the race — with Glaucus having doped the rival horse, just to make certain of your victory.’

He stared sullenly at the floor. One of the soldiers cuffed him on the ear. ‘Well? Answer the citizen. Or would you prefer us to take you to the prison and have their interrogator talk to you?’

Fortunatus looked at me sourly. ‘There is no need to call the torturers,’ he said. ‘You seem to know all about it already. Though I don’t know why you have arrested me . It was hardly my doing.’

The soldier cuffed him again, harder this time. ‘Don’t speak to the citizen like that.’

The charioteer’s voice became a whine. ‘But it is true. I drive to a contract — all right, I’ve bought my freedom now, but I’m still not much better than a slave. If Calyx and Glaucus command me to take a fall, I take it. What else can I do? I don’t enjoy it; it makes me look a fool in front of all my fans.’

‘But they persuaded you to do it all the same, because they paid you well?’

‘Perhaps they do pay me well, but I don’t earn as much as they do, by a long way.’ He looked at the daggers pointing at his vitals, and seemed to come to a decision. ‘Glaucus not only lays bets himself, he runs a betting booth as well. Illegal, but he has rich backers in the city. High stakes and high returns. The syndicate makes sure that the gamblers win sometimes, of course, but more frequently they lose. That is where the real money comes from. When I fell in Verulamium, for instance, they paid me a bonus equal to the prize, but they themselves made thousands of denarii — both on what they won, and what their clients lost. And I take all the risks. I am tired of it. That is why I bought myself a house — so I can pay off my contract as soon as possible, give up racing and retire.’

‘With your lady-friend?’ I asked.

Annia Augusta stiffened. ‘Indeed! Your lady-friend. Now we are coming to the truth. That was your plan, was it?’ He was pinioned by the soldiers, and she came close up beside him and poked him violently with her forefinger. ‘A monster, that’s what you are. Abusing Monnius’ friendship in that way! You come here, eat his meat, drink his wine, and then seduce his wife. But not even that was good enough for you. You wanted more — a rich widow to help you buy your freedom and retire. I see it now!’ She punctuated each word with a stab of her finger, and each time I saw Fortunatus flinch.

‘I didn’t mean. .’ he began helplessly

‘Didn’t mean?’ she imitated mockingly. ‘Hardly an accident, was it? You crept in here at night, when everyone supposed you were at Verulamium, stabbed my poor Monnius, and even pretended to attack Fulvia so no one would suspect her part in it. Well, this citizen and I were too sharp for you. Why did you kill the old nurse, though? She would have faced the beasts for Fulvia. I do not underst-’ Her voice broke off.

I followed her gaze. The other prisoner had at last arrived. Not Fulvia. Not even Glaucus, or Calyx, as I’d half expected. The newcomer — bound, bleeding, cursing, dragged between six soldiers and still struggling — was an unmistakable giant of a figure, with a shaved forehead and Celtic pigtail. Eppaticus!

He had not come without a struggle. Several of the soldiers, I noticed, were breathing heavily, and one had a reddening bruise over his left eye. The room was full of people now, but they got their captive in somehow and thrust him roughly to the floor.