He stared at me. ‘I’d forgotten about him. But …?’
‘He was among the bodies all the time — though I didn’t realise it,’ I said. ‘Funnily enough, it was the wise woman who gave me the idea. “It is whatever you expect to see” — that was the talisman.’
‘I didn’t see either gatekeeper.’ Minimus had been listening to all this with interest.
Junio exchanged a glance with me. ‘That’s because we didn’t let you look,’ he said, and then to me, ‘the front gatekeeper was hanging in his cell. Why was he killed by such a different method, do you think?’
‘I have a theory about that,’ I said. ‘But there are other things I need to check on first. And fairly urgently — supposing that it’s not too late by now. Would you be willing to take Arlina home, and tell your mother about Maximus for me? I would be happy leaving that with you and I’ll try to be home myself as soon as possible, though if it gets too dark, I’ll have to stay in Glevum.’
Junio pressed my arm. ‘Of course I will — if you’re sure there’s nothing else that I can do in town.’
‘Did you manage to get round to the gates and ask if they’d seen Cacus and his master leaving?’ I enquired.
He shook his head. ‘I didn’t need to ask. I saw him for myself when I was on my way to ask them at the Isca gate. It was difficult to hurry — everyone was pushing to the forum by that time — so I tried to take the shortcut by the docks. And there was Cacus, with his back to me, going into that taverna — you know the one I mean? One of the girls who works there sidled up to me, wanting to know if I was thirsty — though that wasn’t what she meant. I said I wouldn’t enter the premises tonight for all the world, because I’d just seen a giant walking in and she laughed and said, “His master’s in there, too,” so I gave her a quadrans and came to tell you. So there’s your answer, Father. Commemoratus hasn’t gone to Isca after all.’
‘The docks, you say? So they intend to leave by water after all — in that empty little boat, no doubt. The captain said he’d lost a fare that he expected yesterday. I’m sure that was Commemoratus and his party only — because I happened to pass him on the road and thereby forced him to produce his alibi — they didn’t leave as quickly as they’d intended to. Did Cacus see you?’
Junio shook his head. ‘I don’t think so, Father — and certainly Commemoratus can’t have done.’
Alfredus Allius touched my tunic sleeve. ‘Who’s this Commemoratus, citizen? I’ve not heard of him. And what is this about? Is this connected with those murders we’ve been hearing of? If something’s happening at the docks, perhaps I ought to know.’
‘But surely you know Commemoratus, councillor?’ Junio was surprised. ‘He was at your warehouse just this afternoon, arranging to buy wine from you, I understand. Or perhaps you didn’t meet him — Vesperion spoke to him.’ He looked at the steward, who was standing at a respectful distance by the arch, still helping Minimus to hold the mule. ‘Or so my father says.’
Vesperion saw that he was needed and shuffled up to us.
‘I hear we had an enquiry for wine this afternoon,’ his master said, severely. ‘You didn’t mention it.’
The steward looked contrite. ‘I didn’t want to bother you with time-wasters, master, when you were so concerned about this citizen’s dead slave,’ he said. ‘But it’s true there was a visitor — though nothing came of it. Wealthy fellow with a fancy cloak. I thought we’d get a handsome contract out of him, but he wasn’t really interested in buying wine at all. He was very rude, saying one minute that he wouldn’t do business with an underling, and then complaining when I wasn’t at his beck and call. Then his servant came to get him and he went away without a word except to say he didn’t like our wine, though we’d given him some of the best Rhenish we had in. I don’t imagine he will call again — though I suppose he may come back and talk to you.’
‘Then that must be the man you’re looking for,’ Alfredus said to me. ‘And he’s called Commemoratus, did you say? Funny sort of cognomen — I wonder where he’s from.’
Vesperion frowned. ‘That’s not the name he gave me!’ he exclaimed. ‘I can’t recall exactly. I didn’t really bother in the end, when he obviously wasn’t a proper customer, but I’m sure it wasn’t that. It’s some name I think I’ve vaguely heard before … Honorius Flavius … something?’
‘Egidius?’ I prompted.
The steward stared at me — and so did Junio. Then Vesperion spoke. ‘Of course it was,’ he murmured, sheepishly. ‘Same name as the villa that Scipio man has bought — perhaps this chap’s distantly related to the family. I should have noticed that. He rattled off his full three names, of course, and a couple of nicknames for good measure, too — though Commemoratus wasn’t one of them. Perhaps that’s why I didn’t make the connection at the time. I’m sorry, master, if I should have taken better note.’
Alfredus was fingering his amulets again, but it was Junio who spoke. ‘Commemoratus is Egidius?’ he said. ‘That isn’t possible. The man’s in lifetime exile, forbidden fire and water anywhere within the Roman Empire and liable to death if he is found within its bounds. He would not dare to come here and announce himself by name.’
‘Unless he has a pardon, as I believe he has. In fact I heard his servant saying so. He produced that scroll that I was talking of, and said “your pardon, master”. I thought it was an apology for interrupting us, but I now believe he meant exactly what he said. That was the pardon, under Imperial seal. The commandant told me that Pertinax had issued lots of them, even some that were not really justified.’
Junio was still looking unconvinced. ‘But why would Egidius tell you he was called something else? If he’d been pardoned, surely, he has nothing more to fear?’
‘He wanted to avoid me knowing who he was — though he’d already told Vesperion by that time, it seems. In fact, I think he came on purpose to identify himself. He wanted a witness who could prove that he was there. And then I came and spoiled all his plans. I noticed when I asked him for his name, he sent the steward out before he answered me. He gave me the nickname he’d adopted for himself: “the remembered one”. It was a message to Marcus, which he knew I would pass on. In fact, he made a specific point of asking me to do so.’
Junio shook his head despairingly. ‘But why? Even if everything you say is true, there can’t be a connection with the murders and the theft. You said yourself that he had alibis. Egidius was not in Glevum till sunset yesterday. He had no opportunity to arrange the carts and guards, and didn’t have the knowledge to make that inventory — and there are lots of witnesses to every part of that. And he was in the warehouse at the docks with you when Maximus was killed. He can’t have been responsible for any of the crimes.’
‘I know,’ I assented. ‘It’s clever, isn’t it? The ultimate vengeance on a magistrate. The man who hated Marcus for what he’d done to him — the ruin of his family and the loss of all he had, and years of miserable exile on an island in the sea — has witnesses to prove that he was somewhere else throughout. As of course, he genuinely was.’
‘So it was not Egidius who did it?’
‘Not that Egidius,’ I said. ‘He was an obvious suspect — that’s why he took such pains to make sure that his alibis were unshakeable. It was the other Egidius, of course. The younger brother that Marcus was employing as a scribe.’
‘But we saw the body of the scribe …’ Junio began, then tailed off in dismay. ‘You mean it wasn’t him at all?’
‘He changed clothes with the dead back-gatekeeper, and I think he simply got into his brother’s travelling coach and was driving off when I encountered them — leaving a headless body which seemed to be the scribe. It was clever, No one would look for the amanuensis after that, and once in town, he put a toga on. A simple but effective method of disguise, especially with lots of strangers in Glevum for the will.’