Vesperion, however, appeared quite satisfied. ‘And I’m sorry I can’t help you more with your enquiry. But those are the only two ships that are in port — as you can see.’ He began to lead the way back to the centre of the room.
‘What about the smaller one?’ I murmured, padding after him. ‘That was empty, by the look of it.’
He laughed his cracked old laugh. ‘You are observant, citizen. I’d forgotten about him. He’s often at the quay. He brings in shellfish from the coast and he waits for a consignment of something to take downstream again. He’s been here two days already, but he’s empty, as you say.’
I frowned. ‘I thought all shipments were contracted in advance.’
He chuckled at my obvious innocence. ‘Oh, he doesn’t deal with exports, citizen. The captain is not a trader of the usual sort, he’s just a river craft, and holds himself for hire, plying between Glevum and the sea. He takes people too. Anywhere on the Sabrina where you want to go — he’s available to take you, if he’s going that way. But he was cursing just this morning that he’d been disappointed of a fare, and now he could not find anyone or anything to take — showed me the hold, so empty there was not a straw in it. I’m afraid what’s missing from your patron is not aboard. I am quite sure of that.’
So was I. Many of the missing items were made of gold or bronze — and with the items of furniture as well — would have filled that little vessel to capacity. ‘Well, thank you for your help, Vesperion,’ I said, reaching into my draw-purse to find a quadrans as a tip for him. ‘At least I can ignore the possibility that what I’m looking for has left town on a ship. So I’ll start to look elsewhere.’ We had reached the central passageway by now, and I held out my hand to him. ‘And now I’ll-’
I was about to say I’d leave him to his customer, but we were interrupted by a strident shout. ‘There you are, steward. What are you thinking of? Are you deliberately intent on compelling me to wait? And don’t say you didn’t know that I was here. I sent your slave to find you quite a time ago and instructed him to tell me when he’d passed the message on. I shall tell your owner when I meet him and see that you are flogged!’
We had turned as one man in the direction of the voice. The speaker was standing in the doorway of the office space. This was obviously the visitor the slave had spoken of.
The warehouse was in shadow at the inner end, but even in this light it was clear that Vesperion had been wrong. This was indeed the wealthy citizen that I’d seen earlier. Though he was in the shadow by the door I recognised the gold and silver decor-ation on his cloak, which was glittering in the light of the flickering torches overhead. He’d obviously got tired of being made to wait and had come out to investigate the reasons for the delay. Perhaps he had heard our voices as we approached, I thought — mentally thanking Jove that we had gone elsewhere to talk.
I looked at the man more closely. He was large and stout and paunchy, and clearly of patrician birth — the width of the purple toga-stripe indicated that, and would have made him conspicuous enough even without his embroidered finery. He was angry too. As he stepped further forward into the full glow of the torch, it was clear that he was dangerously annoyed. His mouth was set in an irritable line and the dark eyes were furious and glittering.
I caught my breath. I recognised that slack and florid face. I had seen it wear exactly that expression once before — when its owner had nearly run me down in his carriage yesterday.
SEVENTEEN
Vesperion, with a look of horror on his face, was already shuffling forward as quickly as he could, murmuring deprecatingly, ‘Citizen Patrician, I do apologise. Please come through into the locus tabularum again.’
He led the way into the little office room where all the records and accounts were kept. It was gloomy and airless and devoid of ornament, and I could understand why the visitor had not cared for waiting there. However, there was a handsome ebony stool beside the writing table — evidently provided for the patrician citizen — and Vesperion produced a plain three-legged one for me.
‘Please, citizen, be seated.’
I was ready to comply but the visitor pointedly declined to sit, which naturally meant that I could not — it would have been improper for my head to have been higher than his own. The steward (who, as a servant, did not count, of course) began fussing about with a bunch of tapers from a hook on the wall, as though more illumination might somehow dispel the tenseness of the atmosphere.
‘I heard there was a caller awaiting me, patrician,’ he said, lighting one of the candles from the oil lamp on the desk and positioning it in a holder for maximum effect, ‘but since you’d said you hoped to speak to the proprietor direct — of course, I did not guess that it was you.’
‘So you preferred to deal with this other customer?’ Fancy-Cloak looked derisively at me — clearly he hadn’t recognised me from the day before. ‘You thought, perhaps, that he had precedence?’
‘He has had dealings with the establishment before.’ Vesperion’s old voice was cracking with anxiety.
It was clearly intended as an explanation and defence, but Fancy-Cloak chose to see it as a piece of impudence. ‘Then I shall tell your owner of your priorities.’ He was still staring loftily at me, as one might look at a tray of damaged goods. ‘Who is this … person … anyway? Apart from claiming to be a citizen, of sorts.’
The arrogance and rudeness stung me into speech. ‘I am Longinus Flavius Libertus,’ I said, using my full titles for the second time today. ‘And we have met before. I believe you know my patron, Marcus Septimus — I think I saw you outside his villa yesterday. I was on a mule and you almost knocked me down.’
I had hardly expected an apology, but his response was start-ling. The haughty gaze completely disappeared, to be replaced by a look of bad-tempered bafflement. ‘Mighty Jupiter! The man who impeded my carriage — that was you!’
‘You did not recognise me in a toga, Citizen Patrician?’ I enquired smoothly, moving forward into the candlelight. ‘It was me, indeed, but fortunately no actual damage was sustained. I’m sorry that you felt I was impeding you. I was merely attempting to tell you that my patron wasn’t home, though I imagine you had probably discovered that by then. I take it you received no answer at the gate?’
‘None at all!’ There was a pause while he glanced at me sharply, his small eyes glittering and his thin lips pursed tight. Then, ‘Perhaps — as his client — you can offer an explanation for that breach of common courtesy?’
I looked thoughtfully at him, wondering anew if his presence in the lane last night had been merely a coincidence. Was it possible that he was responsible for what had happened at the villa after all? He looked the sort of man who might slaughter slaves without a second thought, if that sort of thing had still been legal nowadays. What he didn’t look like was a man who needed gold or the sort who’d stoop to stealing if he did. He was more likely to bully some hapless inferior into offering a ‘gift’. Nor, surely, would anyone have coolly challenged me to explain the lack of a gatekeeper if he’d just hanged the man in his own cubicle. It was just possible that it was a bluff, but if so, it was a convincing one.
And he was genuinely waiting for my response, it seemed. I was not about to tell him what had happened at the house. No one else should know that until Marcus did. So I simply muttered, ‘I can’t explain it, citizen.’ I was aware that I sounded like a fool.
My meekness seemed to dissipate his disapproval, though, and a moment later he was offering a half-apology by lowering himself onto the stool and saying with a grimace that might have been a smile, ‘Well, perhaps it is no matter. Probably the gatekeeper was using the latrine, but I own that I was angry — I’d been travelling all day, and visiting the villa was a detour as it was. But I had some business with Marcus Septimus.’ He looked at me bleakly. ‘News I think he would have been surprised to hear — as surprised as the Provincial Governor in Londinium was — or the senior Decurion at Corinium, yesterday, when I lunched with him.’