‘Then wouldn’t it be wiser to insist?’ I said, defying convention by proffering advice. ‘Rumour seems to spread faster than messengers can ride. And the tales will just get more exaggerated all the time.’
He did not turn around. ‘And no doubt Didius will claim it’s my fault, if they do. I shouldn’t have delayed when the first courier arrived. But I think that I can prove it was the magistrates who didn’t want the announcement to be made at once. There’s a long will to be read out in the forum, today.’
I could not see the relevance of this, but I nodded anyway. ‘I believe I saw the mourners gathering,’ I said, remembering the dark-clothed citizens and their slaves who’d crowded me off the pavements while I was coming here. ‘Oh,’ I added, remembering suddenly, ‘that will be Gaius Publius, I suppose.’
Gaius had been a councillor himself but when he died last moon he left a fortune and not much family, and there were conflicting rumours over his estate. It was said that many wealthy men had been promised a bequest in return for favours previously received, while other gossips said he’d left his money to the town for public works in the hope of having his name inscribed on some of them. Still others said he’d spread these differing stories purposely to ensure a good attendance at his funeral and at the reading of his testament.
The commander nodded. ‘Gaius Publius — exactly, citizen. And some of the richest men in Glevum will be there. The curia felt it would be better to let that group disperse before the dreadful information is released — out of respect for the dead man, if nothing else. They didn’t want to interrupt the reading of a will with something that was likely to create a riot. I did not press the point. I dare not offend the curia over this. I shall have sufficient charges at my door.’
Of course! Several councillors would have an interest in that will themselves, I thought — and not only in relation to the public purse. They would not want the legacy delayed or set aside, as it might be if the augurers declared the reading was ill-starred because it was interrupted by the dreadful news from Rome. I was about to say so to the commandant when we were interrupted by a tapping at the door.
The commander turned abruptly and went over to the desk. He picked up the letter which he’d said might be of use, and put it inside his breast-plate, out of sight. Only then did he reply, as he had done before, ‘Identify yourself.’
A muffled voice responded. ‘Auxiliary Lucus Villosus returning with a message, sir.’
‘Enter, Villosus!’ And the soldier sidled in.
‘In the name of …’ he began, and trailed off hopelessly. I understood now why the formal exchanges had been missing, earlier.
‘The Emperor Didius Julianus — till you hear otherwise,’ the commander said, so coolly it was difficult to recall how unwelcome that official formula must be.
‘In the name of His Imperial Excellence, the Emperor Didius Julianus,’ the soldier repeated in an obedient tone, ‘I am sent to tell you that there is another messenger — this time from the Governor’s palace in Londinium.’
The commander raised an eyebrow at me, saying ‘I told you so’ as plainly as if he’d said the words. What he did say was rather a surprise. ‘Show him to my usual office. I will see him there. And find the duty octio while you are gone. Get him to send a couple of his men to tidy up in here. I have finished with the records.’
Villosus looked ready to salute and hurry off, but the commander checked him. ‘And when you’ve done that, report to the guardroom and accompany this citizen to the docks. I’ve already posted a soldier down there — just in case of rumours coming in by boat. Tell him to make an announcement that no ships must sail today. All captains are to report to the forum before dusk and await a proclamation from the curia.’
‘You’ll send a written message, sir? Otherwise they might not credit what I say.’
The commander shook his head. ‘There is no time for that. I’ll send a tubicen along with you to blow a trumpet blast — that will give you all the status that you need. The signal will make the sailors and the dockers gather round, so the soldier can tell them what they are to do. He’s not to say what’s happened, even if he knows — just that something of international importance has occurred.’ He gave me a curt nod. ‘It’s not much, citizen — but it’s the best that I can do.’
The soldier looked startled. ‘The guard will want a watchword, sir, to take commands from me. I wasn’t on duty when it was announced — I have been on infirmary fatigues.’
‘The watchword for the day is “let us be soldiers”.’ The commander raised a sardonic brow at me. ‘Ironically it is the one that our late Emperor preferred.’ He turned back to Villosus. ‘“Let us be soldiers”,’ he repeated, pensively. ‘Remember those words, soldier, whatever happens to the Empire from now on.’ He turned to me. ‘I shall be sending a courier to Londinium later on, and he’ll be changing horses at Corinium. I’ll get that message to the lady Julia, for you. So now, with your permission, citizen, I’ll ask you to retire to the usual waiting room. Your escort will be with you as soon as possible.’
And I was ushered out of the principia, accompanied to the guardroom block again and left on that all-too-familiar bench to wait.
FIFTEEN
My presence in the guardroom caused little interest today, though usually there was at least one octio to stare. Now all eyes were on the flamboyant messenger from the provincial governor in Londinium, who was already waiting on the bench when I arrived. Even when he had been shown up the steep stone staircase at the back, which led up to the commander’s offices, none of the junior officers gathered in the room so much as glanced at me. Instead, with one accord they stopped their calculations and their scribblings and seemed to be trying to will themselves to hear the interview — although, of course, that was impossible.
Nobody spoke, but there was an air of suppressed tension in the silence which ensued and I knew that every soldier there was wondering about what was happening upstairs and whether the messenger was bringing a request for military support for the provincial governor against the upstart emperor in Rome, thus forcing decisions about their loyalties.
If so, there could be battles here in Britannia soon.
However, I did not have very long to worry about this. After a few moments Villosus hurried back, now swathed in a handsome military cloak. He was accompanied by a sulky-looking youth in uniform, carrying a tuba — the long straight trumpet which the Roman army uses for signalling.
‘Citizen, if you would accompany us now?’ The auxiliary sketched a bow and opened the door for me to pass. His earlier diffidence had wholly disappeared. His voice was suddenly stentorian and he held his chin unnaturally high — almost pink with self-importance at having been selected for the current escort task. He swaggered proudly beside me to the gate, while the trumpeter trailed morosely after us. ‘Let us pass, please, sentry,’ Villosus almost barked, then seemed to notice that the man on duty was a full centurion, and therefore greatly his superior, of course. ‘We have an urgent mission to perform, special orders from the commandant himself,’ he added, in a more conciliatory tone.
Cerberus looked dispassionately at him, and then at the unwilling tubicen and finally at me. ‘Ah, you, citizen!’ he said, in a tone which made it clear whom he held responsible for this breach of discipline. ‘I should have guessed as much!’ He turned to Villosus. ‘Watchword?’ he demanded.
Villosus gave it — smugly — and the sentry moved aside, though I heard him muttering underneath his breath. ‘A tradesman, an auxiliary and a horn player — who else would be entrusted with an “important mission” by the commandant? The Empire has gone crazy!’ But he let us past.