Rosemary Rowe: A Pattern of Blood

‘I know,’ I said. ‘I happened to see some of it myself.’ Marcus looked about to expostulate, so I added quickly, ‘It was just as well the friend was there. He is a doctor, I believe? Without his care the man might have died of his wounds. He seemed to be carrying an army medical pack.’

Marcus nodded. ‘He always does, apparently. He is a retired army surgeon. Quintus is recovering well, though he can remember little of the attack. But the surgeon — Sollers, his name is — seems to think that their real aim was not robbery. Their first action was to attack Quintus, he says. It wasn’t until Sollers shouted that the thief cut the purse free, and ran. He has warned Quintus to be on his guard.’

I nodded. ‘I was impressed with him. He deserves his name, obviously.’ ‘Sollers’ is a cognomen meaning ‘clever’ or ‘capable’. A man doesn’t earn a name like that for nothing. ‘What has this to do with Pertinax? You think this was somehow political? Or aimed at Quintus personally?’ It was possible. There were, after all, other rich men among the racegoers, but only Quintus had been attacked. Perhaps it had been pre-arranged. I was liking this less and less. ‘Did Quintus Ulpius have particular enemies?’ I suggested hopefully. ‘Some individual that he punished or did not recommend for preferment?’

That would not have surprised me either. Decurions, especially in wealthy cities like Corinium, are not the most popular of citizens. True, they are voted into office, but since decurions are responsible for allocating contracts for public works and also for collecting taxes, they are often viewed with jaundiced eyes, especially by those who did not secure the contracts or who had to pay the tax. And, of course, by those who have not managed to become decurions.

‘Well,’ Marcus said, ‘there is some problem over his wife. She was a wealthy woman, apparently, and she left her former husband to marry Quintus. You know what these heiresses are like.’

I did indeed. A woman who leaves her husband, or is divorced from a free marriage, is entitled to take her dowry with her. The Empire is full of attractive vaduae who ally themselves to one influential man after another. ‘Then that is the likely explanation,’ I said. ‘This Quintus would not be the first victim of marital revenge.’

Marcus drained his winecup before he spoke. ‘Perhaps,’ he said, ‘but I fear the worst. Quintus is a known supporter of the governor’s. He has supported him openly in the forum, and sent him personal gifts. He has also entertained me royally.’

Of course! It had not occurred to me to wonder how Marcus came to number a Corinium decurion among his acquaintance. No doubt he had been in receipt of some ‘personal gifts’ himself.

‘His friendship with the governor was well known?’

‘He has many clientes on that account,’ Marcus said.

I nodded. Every powerful man has his band of followers who visit him daily to pay court and bring gifts, hoping for patronage, or letters of recommendation to the mighty.

‘Two days ago, for the first time since the attack, he was well enough to entertain them. But after the visitors had left, something was found in the colonnade. A wax writing tablet. And on it was scratched in crude letters “Remember Pertinax”. Quintus thought it was a threat — related to the attack on the governor. He sent me a message yesterday, sealed and delivered by special courier. He fears another attack. That is where you come in, Libertus.’

I gaped at him. ‘You want me to go to Corinium and prevent it? To find out what happened?’ If this was a political intrigue at the highest level, I thought, I might as well stab myself in the back with my dagger now, and save someone else the trouble. I began to burble. ‘But Excellence, I’ve already been there trying to trace Gwellia. I was at the scene. I shall attract suspicion if I wander about asking questions. I shall be arrested, or people will take me for a government spy.’ Which, of course, is exactly what I would be. It was not a comfortable thought.

Marcus was not to be swayed. This was dangerous for him too, both politically and personally. He smiled. ‘Oh, I don’t want you to ask questions. At least, not openly. Quintus is undertaking some extensions to the public baths. I want you to design a pavement for him. It will give you a reason to be there, and you can keep your ears and eyes open.’

This was not a request, of course, although it was couched as one. It was a command, and a command from Marcus had all the force of a governor’s edict. If he asked you to go, you went — if you knew what was good for you. Whatever the dangers might be.

He smiled. ‘The pavement should be a valuable commission, and I knew you would welcome the chance to continue your search for. . Gwellia, is it?’ Marcus himself had left a woman in Rome, but he surrounded himself with pretty women, and always regarded my loyalty to my former wife as an amusing aberration.

I made one last effort. ‘I have customers. .’ I said feebly.

‘Refer them to me. And don’t worry about the travel. I shall take you to Corinium myself. Quintus will arrange accommodation.’ He clapped his hands. ‘Now, enough of business: the slaves shall bring us some water for our hands, we’ll send for our napkins and spoons and go in to dine. I presume you have your own knife with you?’

I nodded, but my heart was not in it.

It was a pity, really. Marcus had arranged a simple but robust menu of my favourite Roman foods. Sea bream with lovage, then baked veal with leeks and aniseed, all rounded off with almond cakes with honey and pepper. Even the dreaded pickled fish sauce was served separately as a dip, in deference to my taste. I appreciated the gesture but somehow, with this visit to Corinium hanging over me, I had lost my appetite.

‘Well, at least I get a chance to go back to Corinium,’ I said, when, much later — after musicians and a comic recitation at which I remembered to laugh heartily — we bounced wearily home again. I smiled at Junio ruefully.

He grinned back, understanding perfectly. ‘So now we know what Marcus wanted.’

We went to Corinium the next day. Marcus had requisitioned a closed imperial carriage with a following cart for luggage and two mounted cavalrymen as escort, so the journey took only a few hours. One glimpse of the official insignia and the two outriders, and all other users of the military highway made way for us, as if by magic. It could hardly have been more different from my last visit to the town. This time, by comparison, the journey was luxury — not just for my ageing bones, but even for Junio, lurching along behind in the luggage cart with the other possessions. It was barely noon before the earth ramparts and wooden stockades of the town came into view, with their imposing newly built stone gatehouses and the slate roof of the basilica glittering beyond.

No surly questions at swordpoint on our arrival, either. The guards at the gate straightened smartly at our approach, lifting their arms in salute, and we whisked under the portico and into the town without so much as a challenge.

Corinium is a fine place by daylight. A man can buy anything here if he has the money for it: the little booths around the market place display oil, wine, leather, bone, glass, pottery, perfumes, herbs and statues from all over the Empire, while the many macella of the market house itself teem with the sounds and smells of livestock and the raucous calls of butchers, offering fresh-killed meat of every variety. The laws about wheeled transport were openly flouted, and as we swept down the road towards the forum we sent a dozen handcarts scurrying from our path, loaded with everything from turnips and roasted birds to firewood and fleeces. I wondered how many of these traders would exchange their freedom of movement for the dreadful hubbub and congestion of Glevum at night, despite the automatic Roman citizenship a colonia confers on those who live within its walls.