Rosemary Rowe: A Whispering of Spies

‘Don’t beat him, Calvinus, he put it safe, I swear. .’ The girl began to beg, half-sheltering the lad behind her as she spoke.

You could almost see temptation cross the steward’s mind. It would be very easy for him to shift the blame and punish the slave-boy for the breakage which he had caused himself. I did not wish to be a party to anything like that.

‘I am your witness to the fact that this was not the slave-boy’s fault,’ I said. ‘It was an accident — occasioned by someone outside on the stairs, running so roughly so that he rocked the floor.’

The two young servants looked at me with gratitude, but Calvinus frowned. ‘Does that give you two freedom to come bursting in when you had orders to remain elsewhere?’

He was still looking dangerous and the boy broke in. ‘Forgive us, Calvinus. .’ he muttered abjectly. ‘Of course we did not mean to interrupt. We heard a crash and we hurried here to see what might have caused it and if it was our fault. We did not realize that you still had a visitor.’

‘A visitor?’ The steward shot a sideways look at me. ‘This man is hardly that. He is simply a pavement-maker who was good enough to call. But our business is concluded and he is about to leave. Brianus, you may show him to the door. Pronta, fetch a broom and tidy up this mess and find another vase to take its place. You will find some in the boxes we unpacked yesterday.’ He turned to me and gave a little bow. ‘Thank you for your visit, townsman. I shall expect to hear — and please thank your patron for me in advance.’

‘This way, sir.’ The slave-boy sidled past me and held the door ajar. And this time there was nothing I could do but leave.

It was raining heavily as I wove my way back down the crowded stairs and hurried back towards my workshop in the swampy northern suburb just outside the walls. But I could not dismiss that meeting with the steward from my mind. The more I thought about it, the more I started wondering if those two younger slaves, Brianus and Pronta, actually knew about the fatal robbery from their master’s cart. As soon as they appeared Calvinus had seemed oddly anxious to get rid of me and he’d scrupulously avoided any mention of the theft while they were in the room.

I shook the water from my eyes. No doubt I was making mysteries where there were none. Wasn’t it only natural that he’d wanted me to leave, given the topic of our conversation a moment earlier? Openly discussing his master’s private life — and with a stranger, too — was not acceptable behaviour for a slave of any kind, especially a senior steward in a trusted role. No doubt he was afraid that I’d say something indiscreet in front of the young slaves. One did not have to wonder how Voluus would react if, by any chance, he came to learn of our exchange.

Would the others have betrayed him to their master, then, if I had given them the opportunity? It was more than possible: Calvinus ran that household on fear, not loyalty. Clearly he was convinced that they were spying all the time: he’d taken good care to move out of their potential earshot while we talked. Well, I thought, he need have no fear of me. The last thing that I wanted was for Voluus to learn that I’d been impertinently asking questions of his senior slave: the lictor was powerful enough to make life difficult, even for a citizen tradesman like myself. As to what he’d do to a member of his staff. .!

No wonder that Calvinus had taken fright and hustled me away. It was simply unfortunate that it had happened when it did — just when he’d seemed about to tell me something more about where Voluus got his wealth! As it was I had very little to report to Marcus on the subject when I saw him later on.

However, there was no help for it and it was too late now. Besides, there was a mosaic waiting to be finished in my shop. Marcus might think that my customers would wait, but I knew otherwise. The present commission was for a wealthy councillor, who would certainly expect his pavement to be laid on time, or I’d find myself subject to a heavy financial penalty. The man was famous for imposing them, if any contract was not scrupulously met. I pulled my hood more firmly round my ears and turned my attention to struggling on against the rain.

It required attention, too, since I had passed the northern gate and was into the sprawling suburb where I plied my trade. The roadways were not paved Roman ones like those within the town: here they were rutted, and treacherous with mud. Even when keeping to the pavements at the side I was forced to pick my way with care. If I slipped and broke a leg I could be there for hours — I was almost the only person on the streets.

Businesses were open — you could smell the tannery and there was cheerful sawing and hammering from the carpenter’s — but there were virtually no pedestrians about. Even the keepers of the little shops, who generally looked out across their open counters to the street, had retreated to the gloomy rooms within and had either half-closed the shutters to keep out the rain, or had moved their goods indoors entirely, so only the hanging signs gave any clue as to what might be on sale. There were, in any case, no customers today. Only a straggling donkey-cart squelched by, with its drenched driver huddled down behind the reins, and a solitary vendor with a tray of sorry pies, sheltered in a doorway against the driving rain.

I would be glad to be inside myself, beside a warming fire — and was cheered to realize that it would not be long: I was almost at my destination now. I could already see the stockpiles of ready-sorted stone glistening wetly just outside my door. I clutched my cloak around my soaking knees and began to hurry the final block or two, just as my son Junio came darting out of doors, holding a leather apron like a hood above his head. He didn’t look in my direction, simply bent down by each heap and hastily collected several colours in a bag. No doubt he needed extra pieces to complete the little pavement that we were working on.

He raised his head and saw me, waved and scuttled back inside. I was about to hasten after him when a soft tug on my clothing made me whirl around. With the insistent patter of the rain and the squelching of my feet, I had not heard anyone approach, but I found a small, drenched, hooded figure standing at my heels.

‘Citizen pavement-maker,’ this apparition said, its voice so tentative that it was almost whispering. When I didn’t answer, it added nervously, ‘You are a citizen, I think? That is what they told me in the m-m-market-place. I would not wish to show you disrespect.’ The speaker pushed the cape back from his face and I recognized the skinny boy from Voluus’s apartment.

‘Brianus?’ I said doubtfully. I hadn’t noticed the stammer earlier.

‘You r-recall my name?’ The thin cheeks flushed with pleasure.

I nodded. ‘But of course. I saw you only half an hour ago.’ I frowned. ‘What brings you over here? Did Calvinus send you?’

He nodded. He was a pathetic little figure — even younger than I’d thought — and his legs beneath the cape were thinner than a stork’s. Hardly more than ten or twelve years old, I guessed. He looked up at me speechlessly, from somewhere in the region of my chest.

Naturally the steward must have sent him, I thought; otherwise the boy would not have dared to leave the house. ‘How did he discover where to look for me?’

The boy looked terrified, but he managed to reply. ‘He told me to ask around in the m-m-market-place and find out where you l-l-lived.’

‘But you managed to hurry fast enough to catch me on the way?’

Another nod. ‘I have a m-m-message for you.’ Rain was streaming down his face unchecked and his fairish hair was plastered to his head.