The Ghosts of Glevum (12 page)

It seemed to me that I was there for hours, shifting my weight from haunch to painful haunch, listening for the tiny plash of that persistent drip, and watching the tiny strip of grey light above the door fade into darkness as the night closed in.

The first hint that I was about to be released was a faint illumination in the sky, following by a scuffling at the door and the smell of burning tallow in the air. Someone with a smoky torch was obviously moving back the stone.

I braced myself against the inner wall, ready for Fatbeard and his makeshift club, but when – with a final grunt and heave – the rock was moved away and the door tumbled sideways on its hinges once again, there was no sign of his massive frame. Nor of Bullface and his men, which was my second thought. Indeed, for an instant I thought that nobody was there.

Then from somewhere behind the pile of stones someone raised the torch, if it deserved that name: it was obviously a simple branch of wood dipped into tallow fat and set alight. It was a poor enough thing, but the flame seemed so bright as it approached after the darkness of the hut that at first I stood blinking in the light, unable to make sense of what I saw. I focused my eyes a little lower down, and saw two forms outlined against the misty dark.

Nightmare figures. Small, distorted and grotesque, like something conjured from a drunken dream.

The one who held the light, I now saw, was thin – the arm which held the torch aloft seemed to be thinner than the torch itself, and the face was no more than a wild-eyed skull under a mane of straggling white hair. Yet the bony hand which suddenly shot out and pulled me from the hut moved with the strength and speed of youth. He did not speak. There was something dreadful in this sinewed ghost.

He was no giant, but the second figure – though adult – was smaller still: barely more than half my height. I recognised the man. It was a club-footed beggar, known as Sosso, who sometimes haunted the tombs outside the gates. A successful beggar, too, largely because he terrified the passers-by. Apart from that misshapen foot, he had a twisted frame, and moved lopsided, like an animal. Though so extremely short he had shoulders like an ox, but no discernible forehead or neck, all of which gave him a general air of ugly malevolence. He was known to lurch up to lone people at the tombs, holding out his hand with threatening grunts. People with business in the area even equipped themselves with amulets sometimes to keep his dwarfish, loping form at bay.

I’d thrown him a brass coin myself once or twice – less out of pity for his undoubted plight than from a selfish instinct for self-preservation. He had shrewd and calculating eyes, and always looked like the sort of beggar who might remember one, and creep up one dark night to take revenge.

Now it looked as if that night had come.

Sosso was wielding a sort of knife, a piece of broken blade lashed to a stick and painstakingly polished and sharpened to a point. In his hands it seemed a more unpleasant weapon than any expensive dagger could have been.

‘Come!’ he grunted. Sosso, as I was to learn, could speak but he was not a man of many words.

I shuffled forward painfully. My fall, combined with that long chilly wait, had stiffened all my joints. ‘Come where?’ I said.

‘You’ll see soon enough,’ the skinny one replied. His voice was unexpectedly low-pitched and resonant, as if an oracle had spoken in a cave. He looked as if a breeze would blow him down but the vice-like grip on my arm had dreadful strength. The wraith had sinews like a vine. That, with his ghastly appearance, made him sinister.

‘But . . .’ I began, and was rewarded by the point of Sosso’s blade against my ribs. ‘Walk!’ Sosso told me, and I silently obeyed.

The path, which had been difficult by day, was doubly treacherous in the dark. Apart from the threat of unseen obstacles, the night was close to freezing, and the mud sucked at my feet with ghastly tentacles of cold.

Our destination was not far away, I found.

First there was the acrid smell of smoke, then a reddish glow appeared through the gloom, and we found ourselves back at the rubbish pile which I had pulled over at Fatbeard’s feet earlier that day. It had been assembled once again and, by some means, set alight and coaxed into a sullen fire. It now smoked and spat and sizzled intermittently but still gave off a faint reluctant heat.

Around it, crouched and huddled in the smoke, was the most wretched collection of humanity that I had ever seen. A haggard mother with a scabrous infant; a wretched, limping, pock-marked girl, perhaps fifteen years of age, from whom all bloom of youth had fled; a crone; a one-legged man; a man with half a hand; and another whom again I recognised. His whole face and body was a scar where – as I knew from his begging in the streets – he’d fallen in a boiling vat before his master turned him on the street. And behind all these, lurking in the shadows even here, a thin, sharp-faced man with tattered clothes and a youth with glittering and disturbing eyes.

I remembered what Fatbeard had said earlier: ‘If you want a fire, you pay for it, like anybody else,’ and wondered what the pathetic ‘owners’ of this fire could possibly possess that might be considered payment for the privilege. Perhaps they simply stole, or, in the women’s case, frequented the darker passages behind the docks and sold the only commodity they had. If so, I thought suddenly, I began to understand. In circumstances like theirs ‘possession’ of a fire might mean the difference between life and death.

I saw for the first time what it was to be really poor. The misty damp seeped through my tunic-cloth, and I was shivering. Lack of food gnawed at my entrails, but compared to these people I was like a king. I have known what it is to be a slave, to sleep in draughty sheds with not enough to eat, and to possess nothing of my own, but – even when I was legally a mere thing myself – I had never faced this kind of cold and want. Even in the very worst of times, it is in a master’s interests to see that his possessions have sufficient warmth and food to keep them strong enough to work. I had never been as these people were, without the prospect of a meal or even a proper shelter for the night.

Not until now, that is.

It was one thing, however, for me to feel some sympathy for them: there was clearly little sympathy for me. Sosso prodded me forward with his blade, while his companion kept a firm hold on my arm, but as I made my way towards the blaze I was aware of mutterings and discontent as I was forced to come between people and the fire.

The wraith aimed a kick at the ragged woman with the child. ‘Stop that grumbling, or this’ll be the last time you get food and fire from us. This is the runaway man we were told of. Grossus said that we’re to take look at him, and decide what’s to be done. Now, mind your feet and let us get him to the fire, where we can see him better in the light.’

The woman cursed, but she moved her feet a bit – poor bleeding bundles wrapped in bits of sack – and we stepped over them into the dim glow given out by the fire. My skinny captor raised his tallow torch again, and held it so that they could see my face.

‘Well’ – clearly he had appointed himself spokesman for the group – ‘you’ve heard what Grossus said. Found him lurking in a toga, spying on our pile – then picked him up a moment later, running from the guard. He claims to be a tradesman whose patron is in jail. What do we think about it, Grossus wants to know.’

There was some whispering at this, as some of them raised apathetic heads to look. The woman who’d been forced to move her feet gathered her ragged cloak around her child and spat. ‘Why don’t we just knock him on the head, and throw his body in the river? That tunic would fit any one of us, and there’s good leather in those shoes and belt. They would fetch something in the market place.’

‘Worth more as a ransom,’ said the man with half a hand. ‘If the authorities are really after him, the chances are they’ll pay.’

There was a murmur of assent, but the woman snapped, ‘That’s all very well, but which of you is going to hand him in? You, Cornovacus?’ She turned to the two men in the shadows as she spoke. ‘The town guard has been seeking you for years. Or perhaps you’d like to do it, Lercius, and hope your master has forgotten that you ran away?’

The man with half a hand seemed unconvinced. ‘There’s some of us could do it. One or two amongst us are freemen born, and not all of us are thieves. Seems a pity to turn down a handsome sum.’

‘Mightn’t be a handsome sum,’ the woman said. ‘We’ve only got this blighter’s word for it. More likely Grossus was right at the start, and he’s a spy – down here working for the market police.’

The man in the shadows grunted. ‘She’s right. If we hand him in, Dis knows what the consequence might be. What if this idiot really has a patron, as he claims, and someone starts taking an interest later on? Do we want them asking questions about who it was who sold him to the guard? Besides, the wretched fellow’s seen us now. Do the simple thing. Rob him, stick him in the river, and have done with it – that’s what I say.’

I had attempted to interrupt several times, but a warning prod from Sosso’s dagger somewhere in the region of my entrails had so far prevented me. However, matters were desperate now. I croaked out, ‘What I said is true. I’m a pavement-maker from the town. My patron is Marcus Septimus . . .’ I stopped, as Sosso prodded me again.

nonetheless, to my amazement, my words had some effect. The one-legged man looked up from the fire, then swung himself over, leaning on a crutch. He stared at me a moment, silently. ‘I think I’ve seen this fellow in the forum once or twice,’ he said at last. ‘And Marcus what’s-his-name was arrested yesterday. That much is certain. So it’s possible the rest of it is true. What do you think, Sosso? Have you ever seen this man before? You must have done, if he is who he says.’

Sosso frowned. He lowered his makeshift blade an inch and pushed his filthy face up as close as possible to mine. He peered up at me as if he was learning to decipher writing, and I was a difficult inscription that he was struggling to read.

‘Think so.’ It was less an observation than a grunt. Then he shrugged and raised his knife again. ‘Don’t know. Might be wrong. Probably. Usually am.’

I wished devoutly that I had managed to make myself more memorable. If I’d only tossed either of these men a larger coin the last time we met, they might have recognised me now and that could have been enough to save my life.

‘Well.’ Now it was the ragged crone who spoke, through toothless gums. ‘It’s no good asking me. I can’t see well enough to tell – but if that Marcus Whatsit is the same one I’ve heard about, it seems to me that we have problems here. Isn’t that Marcus a friend of the governor’s? And an important magistrate as well? That must make him the richest man for miles.’

‘Meaning that our friend here might be valuable?’ The wraith smiled, and his bony hand tightened disagreeably on my arm.

The crone gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Meaning that he might be trouble, fool. If we dispose of him, there will be questions asked.’

There was a general rustle around the fire at this. Everyone seemed to have a point of view.

‘Well, we can’t just let him go – not when he can identify us all . . .’

‘Better to hand him over to the authorities. There might be a reward . . .’

‘For a freed-man when his patron is in jail? Not much, I shouldn’t think. At least, not to the likes of us. Besides, it’s always safer to keep away from guards . . .’

‘But supposing his patron is released? There’d be worse trouble then. That Marcus person is a magistrate. We’d all end up before the courts – and probably before the beasts as well.’

‘Wait a minute,’ the pock-marked girl said. ‘I’ve heard about this, now I come to think of it. One of the soldiers told me earlier, when I had some business near the garrison.’ She did not mention what her ‘business’ was. She really didn’t need to. All eyes were turned to her, and she stepped closer to the fire – clearly enjoying a little attention for a change – before she went on. ‘They’ve got the most senior magistrate for miles locked up, because he killed some really important military man. Didn’t want to do what the Emperor had said and share the local power with him, they say.’

Sosso’s knife did not move an inch, but his indrawn breath sounded like a hiss. ‘Great Jove! You’re sure?’

She shrugged. ‘That’s what I heard, though one of my soldier friends – a prison guard – said there was more to it than that. The military fellow was a brute, in any case, he said – had his eye on everybody’s wife and a whole history of rivals who just disappeared or turned up lying somewhere in a ditch. Kept a formidable bodyguard, it seems. It could be that this Marcus simply got in first. But they can’t persuade him to confess to any crime, and his servants won’t say anything at all, though the interrogators have had them half the day.’

It was my turn to draw in my breath, this time in sympathy. I wondered which of the servants had ‘confessed’ to Praxus’s advance to Julia.

The girl was continuing her tale. ‘But anyway the law’s the law, and you know what the judges always say.
Cui bono?
Who benefits? If you look at it like that, this Marcus is obviously as guilty as can be. Besides, it all happened at his house and no one else had the opportunity.’

Sosso was shaking his head. ‘Political? Don’t like it.’

The wraith nodded agreement. ‘Never want to get mixed up in politics. We’ll all of us end up in jail, or worse. And this patron obviously has friends in high places. Suppose he does get out – where does that leave us then?’

‘What do you think, Sosso?’ somebody enquired. ‘Do we hand him in? Or throw him in the river here and now? Probably safer to get rid of him.’

They were discussing my murder animatedly, as if I wasn’t there. I opened my mouth to defend myself, but Sosso was looking at me thoughtfully, his blade still fixed at my stomach. I closed my mouth again.

‘It’s Grossus’s fault,’ the older woman said. ‘He got us into this. Where is he anyway? When he came down with a brand to light the fire, he promised some of his mistress’s soup tonight. Get down there, Parva. Stop your gossiping and see what’s happening.’ She gave the girl a shove, so that she moved away reluctantly and drifted off into the mist.