Ruth Downie - Caveat emptor

“Long night?” said Ruso, fixing the latch behind him so they would not be interrupted.

Albanus struggled to his feet. Instead of the salute he would have once given, the hand was raised to stifle a yawn. Ruso found himself yawning in sympathy. He still felt too shaken by the events at the mansio to want to talk about them. Instead he grabbed a stool and they both slumped back down with their elbows on the desk. Standards had definitely dropped since they had left the army.

Ruso put a finger to his lips and pointed to the window, outside of which Gavo had stationed himself, and quietly explained his suspicions about Rogatus, the stable overseer. Instead of admiration the clerk’s face was one of concern. “Are you all right, sir?”

“No,” admitted Ruso, realizing he would have to explain that too.

When Albanus had finished expressing sympathy and outrage, he reached for the wooden tablet he had been sleeping on. “There is some good news though, sir. I think I’ve found something.” He unfolded the thin wooden leaves for Ruso’s inspection. One ink-stained finger pointed to a set of figures in spidery black writing with illegible scribbles against them.

“More shorthand?”

As Albanus leaned very close to whisper his response, Ruso was aware that it was some time since his clerk had washed. “No, sir, Asper had terrible handwriting at the best of times. That’s his note of taking the money out of the strong room to deliver to the procurator’s office.”

“So he did have it after all?”

Albanus reached for another record on a much longer, narrower sliver of wood. “This is the Council record, where the quaestor signed it out to him.”

Ruso recognized the record Nico had shown him two days ago.

Albanus glanced up at the window, then put both sheets side by side for inspection. “What do you notice, sir?”

Ruso looked from one to the other without enlightenment. “Nothing.”

“Not the writing, sir. The ink.”

“Nothing.”

“It’s the same, sir,” Albanus whispered. “Different batches of ink come out slightly different, depending on the proportions of the soot and the glue, but I’d say they’re the same color.”

Ruso angled them both to catch the light. “You noticed this last night by lamplight?”

“No, sir. Not till the sun came up this morning. It shines directly into Asper’s kitchen.”

“You haven’t been up all night doing this?”

“I thought I ought to work fast, sir. Before the procurator starts to wonder where we are. And to be honest I was a bit worried about that Dias coming back.”

“I think he was busy elsewhere,” said Ruso grimly. He arched his back, stretched his arms to the ceiling, and yawned. “This business will drive us all mad. I hope the women appreciated what you’d done.”

“They tried to feed me a huge breakfast, sir.”

“Yes,” said Ruso, who had barely been able to face his own. “That seems to be the way they show their appreciation around here.” He picked up the records again. He was still not sure what he was supposed to be seeing. He whispered, “So they borrowed each other’s ink?”

Albanus shook his head. “The boy who looks after the stationery in the Council office isn’t allowed to give it to anybody else. Asper would have had to supply his own.” He ran his forefinger down three lines of the Council record. “All these are in the darker color, so it must have been their ink, but it only appears once here in Asper’s.” He pointed to the final entry. “The writing isn’t quite the same as the rest. See the way the line crosses on the ten, sir?”

Ruso could not see it, but he was not going to argue with a man who had been examining these records almost nonstop for the last eighteen hours. “So?”

“So someone working for the Council came in here after Asper was gone and added a note to his records.”

“The lock had been changed when I got here. I queried it and Nico said he’d been in to search for some clue about where Asper had gotten to.”

“I think he already knew, sir,” said Albanus. “I think he wanted to get in here and change the records to cover his own tracks. I think this proves Asper never had the money.”

Unfortunately it did not prove who did. “If the money were still here, could you tell?”

“I don’t know, sir. I know how much I think ought to be there, but it’s all very complicated and the Council clerk isn’t very keen to tell me anything without the quaestor there. I think he thinks I’m trying to catch him out and steal his job.”

Ruso got to his feet. “I doubt the quaestor will be turning up for work. Let’s go and see if I can frighten some sense out of the clerk. Then with luck Gallonius will be here and we can check what’s actually in the strong room.”

Verulamium’s treasure was stored beneath the Great Hall in a dank underground cell that was barely seven feet square and not high enough to stand up in. Ruso caught a glimpse of boxes and bags piled onto rough shelving against the far wall before Albanus’s arrival at the foot of the stone steps blocked much of the light. Then the view faded completely with the shriek of rusty hinges, leaving only the feeble yellow glow of the lamp.

“I didn’t mean shut it completely!” Ruso hissed.

The hinges squealed a new note and the shadowy walls reappeared around him.

“Pass me the candle,” he said, more nervous than he cared to admit. “Then put something in to jam the door open. We don’t want to be locked in here.”

“I can’t see, sir. I’ll put my foot-oh, sorry, sir!” Albanus had just collided with him. “There’s not much room in here, is there?”

Ruso closed one eye while he lit the candle. “At least there’s no chance of Gallonius wanting to come in and see what we’re doing.” He put both lights on the floor out of his line of vision. His sight was beginning to adjust now: He could make out the shelving again. He reached for the smallest of the boxes, a crude effort about six inches square and surprisingly heavy. “Try this,” he said.

Albanus lifted the box from his hand. “It says ‘Orphans,’ ” he announced. “One bag tied shut with the money changer’s seal on the cord, and some loose coins, mostly bronze.” Ruso heard the lid clap back into place and the scrape of the box being slid into position on the floor.

“Was that what you were expecting?”

There was a pause while Albanus retrieved the list that was tucked into his belt. “Orphans. One hundred and twenty-three. That’s probably about right.”

“Is Gallonius still watching?”

The light altered again as Albanus peered around the door. “I can’t see him, sir. I can just about make out one of the guards. But I can’t see much at all from down here.”

“We’ll just have to do this as quickly as we can,” said Ruso, handing him the next box. “It doesn’t matter if he sees us checking the totals: That’s what we’re here for. What’s that one?”

“Wages, sir. Three bags, all sealed, some loose coins… I’m looking for three hundred and… that’s right. This is all very reassuring, sir.”

“Good,” said Ruso, not feeling in the least reassured. He was trapped in a cold dark hole whose door could only be opened from the outside, and he was looking for something to incriminate the commander of the man who was standing at the top of the steps with the key. He put the wages box back at the right-hand end of the shelf and went on to the next one.

As they progressed along the shelf, Ruso tried not think about what he was handling. There was more money in here than he had ever seen in his life. What a man could do with this! He would have power. He would have choices. He would no longer be compelled to go anywhere to earn a living.