It was darker there, as I’d expected, and I stood back hard against the wall, hoping to be lost among the shadows. A moment afterwards, the boy appeared and, with an air of innocence, stood at the corner and glanced down the lane. I hoped that he would venture after me, but he did not — simply stood at the entrance peering down into the dark, evidently bemused at losing sight of me — so, after waiting for what seemed an age, I stepped forward briskly, seized his arm and dragged him into the alley after me.
‘Now,’ I said, shaking him none too gently. ‘What’s all this about? Why are you following me?’
He began to protest that he was doing nothing of the kind, but that was so evidently absurd that the words died on his lips and he lapsed into silence once again.
‘Well?’ I prompted, with another shake.
He shook his head. ‘You can’t frighten me. I won’t tell you anything. Even if you torture me it won’t do any good.’ He raised his head and added with a certain pride, ‘I took an oath.’
The answer was so absurdly innocent that I almost smiled. I have seen the Roman torturers and the torments they inflict, and I knew what their instruments could do to tender flesh. It was obvious the boy had no idea. I wondered how long he would endure before he broke down in abject tears and told everything he knew, begging for the agony to cease.
I asked, ‘How old are you?’
It was clearly not the question he had been expecting, and he blurted, ‘Eight summers,’ in a startled voice, before he thought better of it and added, ‘Though that won’t help you. I haven’t given anything away.’
I had the measure of my captive now. The boy was terrified, though trying to be brave, and it was easy to startle information out of him. I was eager to exploit this fact as much as possible. ‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ I said. ‘I know who you and your brother are working for. I saw him in the alleyway today, before your friend Lyra delayed me in my tracks. I know she sent that child to fetch you from the shop.’
The boy had gone so rigid in my grasp that I knew I was right, even before he muttered, in a strangled voice, ‘Who told you that? It wasn’t me.’
‘I know a great deal more than you suppose,’ I said. ‘You are Rufinus, aren’t you?’ I picked the name at random, but not without some thought. It means ‘red-headed one’ and is a common appellation amongst the Silures. Since this lad and his brother both had auburn curls, ‘Rufinus’ seemed a fairly likely guess.
I was lucky ‘Well, you’re wrong,’ the lad said hotly. ‘Rufinus is my brother. I’m Paulinus.’
I nodded judiciousy. ‘Then it seems that I was slightly misinformed. I wonder what other errors have been made? You are the sons of the man who owns that fresh-meat and offal stall I saw you coming from. .’ I paused expectantly.
‘I’m not saying anything,’ Paulinus said, thereby confirming what I’d merely guessed.
‘And you and Lyra share the same concerns,’ I went on. The boy said nothing, so I tried again. ‘I think you work for Plautus’ — no reaction there — ‘or at any rate run messages for him.’
‘Plautus?’ There it was again, that note of genuine bewilderment with which Lyra had repeated the name. ‘I’ve never heard of any Plautus. Who is he?’
He was so clearly puzzled that I paused to think, and in doing so must have somehow dropped my guard, and momentarily loosened my grip upon his arm. I was still considering what tactic to use next when Paulinus twisted round, tore himself free and made a dash for it. By the time I had recovered enough to lumber to the corner after him, he had nipped past the thermopolium and was halfway down the street where deepening shadows swallowed him at once
A moment later the only trace of him was the sound of running sandals on the paving stones, ringing like mocking laughter in the dark.
Chapter Four
‘Well, stranger, are you planning to buy some soup, or not?’ The owner of the thermopolium, a bearded giant of a man with shoulders like a bull and an expression of no great intelligence or pleasure on his face, had shambled from the shadows of the stall and was standing in front of me, his heavy ladle in his hand.
Nothing had been further from my mind, but one glance at this hairy colossus was enough to convince me of where wisdom lay, and I reached into my tunic for my purse. ‘A small helping, please.’ And then, since he was watching, I was obliged to force it down — a greasy broth of cabbage leaves and what looked like bits of goat: eyeballs, hoof-parts, ears and other things I didn’t even try to recognise.
Still, it was warm, and after money had changed hands the monster with the ladle seemed more amicably inclined, though he still wore an expression of distrust. ‘You a stranger in this part of town?’ he said, scooping a floating piece of turnip-end from the cooking-vat and adding it tenderly to my plate as though he were offering me a special treat. ‘We don’t get many visitors down here. Not unless they are looking for something particular.’
It was a question really, and something about his manner suggested that it would be imprudent not to offer a reply. For a moment I almost contemplated telling him the truth, that I was following a man I thought was dead, and how Paulinus had been tracking me, but — looking at those brawny shoulders and distrustful eyes — I was suddenly aware of how unlikely that would sound. I searched my mind for some more plausible account.
I found it. ‘I was given an address. The street of the oil-lamp sellers.’ I paused. He was still looking suspiciously at me and I took the final plunge. ‘A woman named Lyra keeps a house there, I believe.’
The mistrustful manner vanished, and a leering smile spread across his face. ‘Ah!’ he said. ‘Is that it! I wondered what you looked so furtive about. Well, don’t worry, friend. You’re in Venta now. No one will think the less of you for having human urges — quite the contrary. At least the men won’t.’ He glanced behind him, and then moved closer before adding confidentially, ‘Have you got a wife?’
I nodded. I was about to say ‘In Glevum’, but before the words were out, he was already rushing on.
‘I thought as much. My wife is just the same! Picked up with this peculiar new cult — you know, the one whose god was crucified, if you ever heard anything so ridiculous — and now she seems to think my simplest pleasures are wicked and depraved. She prays all over me if I have too much to drink, let alone visit Lyra and her girls.’ He poured out two battered beakers of cheap over-watered wine from an amphora leaning on the wall, and pushed one in my direction. ‘She won’t even make sacrifices to the Emperor on public holidays. She’ll get herself in trouble over it one day — and me too, I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve had to forbid her to go to meetings and lock her up indoors.’ He downed his drink in one gigantic gulp. ‘Women! Who needs them, eh? Except in the way you’re looking for, of course.’ He gave me a nudge which almost spilt my drink.
I wouldn’t have minded: it was horrible — rough and sharp, despite the fact that it was two-thirds water. Even as it was he reached across and wanted to fill up my cup again. I shook my head.
‘It’s getting late,’ I said. ‘I must go, or I’ll find the doors are closed.’
He laughed. ‘I don’t know where you come from, my friend, but round here the brothel doors are never closed. Always some young lady willing to oblige. Here, I tell you. .’
I shook my head. I hadn’t meant the brothel doors, of course. I was thinking of the mansio, suddenly, and an unpleasant notion had occurred to me. Once the town gates are closed, the door of the military staging post is barred and a guard is posted outside on the street, so although nocturnal stragglers can gain admission afterwards, it does involve a challenge by the person at the gate, and — dressed as I was — there would be a lot of explaining to be done. My friend the optio would be off duty by this time, and I was not anxious for my exploits to reach Marcus’s ears next day. And almost certainly, I was already late.