He was so contrite that I took pity on him. ‘Well, I suppose no harm was done, and I have found you now. It is the birthday of the Emperor, and for his sake I’ll overlook your lapse. Just make sure your mistress doesn’t hear of it. And Maximus, when we get outside of town, I’ll take my toga off and you can carry it the whole way home as punishment.’
The two boys exchanged glances of undisguised relief but no more was said and I urged our little party away from the magician (who by now was apparently drawing a string of coloured ribbons from his mouth) and through the crowds of bystanders and stalls towards the southern gates, in the direction where our family’s two roundhouses lay.
It was hard to walk against the general direction of the jostling tide — visitors were still crowding into town to see the shows — but we struggled to the gatehouse and were preparing to walk through, under the eye of the surly soldier on the gate, when a commanding voice rang out behind us.
‘That citizen! The one with the balding head and greying beard. The one with the two red-headed slaves. Stop him for me.’
I felt my heart sink swiftly to my sandal-soles. What had I done now? Had someone heard me whispering to my trader friend, something unflattering about the Emperor? Was I about to be blamed for the failure of the sacrifice? I tried to remember exactly what it was I said. One thing I was fairly certain of: no good was likely to come of it!
The guard on duty had already drawn his sword and stepped towards me. ‘You heard, citizen. Stay right where you are. There’s someone here who wants to talk to you.’
‘Keep him there!’ the voice rang out again. ‘Don’t let him get away.’
Everyone fell back, as always happens when someone is arrested in the street, as if to distance themselves from trouble as much as possible. I motioned to Junio and the slaves to keep walking on — no point in getting them involved as well — and turned to see who my accuser was. I expected to see the bald man who had shushed me at the sacrifice, but the person who was jostling his way towards me through the crowd was someone I had never seen before.
It was a young man, handsome, well-built and imperious, but not a citizen. In fact, his conspicuous red tunic with gold bands around the hem marked him as the private page of some hugely wealthy man — though if he wore a slave disc round his neck (‘I am so-and-so, the property of x. If you find me straying, have me whipped and send me back’) it was covered by the fur-edged cape. I had seen a similar livery before — my patron sometimes dressed his messengers this way — but I knew most members of my patron’s staff by sight. Besides Marcus’s taste in pages was more for pretty boys, not threatening and athletic fellows such as this.
He had reached my side by now, and looked me slowly up and down. ‘Are you the citizen Libertus? Pavement-maker or something of the kind?’
For a moment I could not answer him, my heart was hammering so hard against my chest. Who was this person? Not one of Publius’s men — his escort was arrayed in emerald green. An Imperial spy perhaps? One of the dreaded speculatores — the mounted secret agents used by the Emperor to deal with his suspected enemies? We’d seen such men before, even in this corner of the Empire. My blood ran icy at the thought. Was I about to be marched off to some secluded place and found tomorrow with a dagger in my ribs?
His cool dark eyes swept over me again. ‘You look like the man that was described to me. Ancient toga and dishevelled hair — and you had the two red-headed servants, too. Is your name Libertus?’
I thought for a moment of making an appeal to the guard. I was a Roman citizen, after all, and the law should protect me from random harassment at the hands of servants, however grand they were. But I could see it was no use. The elaborate uniform had already done its work. The soldier levelled his sword-blade at my ribs and said in a none-too-friendly tone of voice, ‘Answer the question, citizen.’
I managed to stammer that it was indeed my name. ‘I am Libertus, one of the clientes of His Excellence, Marcus Septimus,’ I went on, in the vain hope that the mention of my patron’s name would deter this stranger from whatever unpleasant plans he had in store. ‘I’m sure he’ll vouch for me.’
I had unnerved the sentry, he dropped his blade at once, but the young man merely looked at me in some surprise. ‘Well, I should think he would. It is on his account that I am seeking you.’
I boggled. ‘You come from my patron, do I understand?’
He nodded. ‘Indeed. His Excellence was looking for you at the games. He sent his other attendants out to search for you — there and at the entrance of the temple in the forum too — but you could not be found. In the end he sent me rushing over here, hoping I could catch you before you left the town. I am simply grateful that I was not too late — I was only given to His Excellence today, a gift from my previous owner, Publius, and I would not have wanted to fail in my first task.’
‘And that was?’
‘To find you and bring you back to him. Your patron requires you to attend on him at once. He’s waiting at the games.’
THREE
I was escorted swiftly through the town — remarkable how the crowds stood back to let us through once they caught sight of my attendant’s dress. My escort said nothing until we reached the entrance of the amphitheatre where the games were being held — they had already started, by the sound of it.
However, Marcus was not waiting for me inside in the official stand, as I had half-expected, but in a covered litter outside the entrance-way. It had been set down on the wide convenient stone block, where litter-bearers sometimes assisted their plumper fares to mount, though there were no bearers visible today. My patron was sitting in the carrying-chair with the drapes pulled back, and as soon as he saw us approach he motioned me to come.
‘Libertus, old friend, there you are at last. We’ve been looking everywhere.’ He extended a ringed hand for me to kiss. ‘Where did you find him, Fiscus?’
‘At the southern gate on his way home, as you suggested, Excellence.’ The man replied, making an obeisance.
‘Were you really not proposing to attend the games?’ My patron frowned at me. I was on my knees before him by this time of course, and I was about to answer but he waved my words aside. ‘But never mind all that. Come into the litter. I have something to discuss — something of great importance to the colonia. Fiscus, help him in and then you can keep watch. Move back a pace or two and keep the crowds away. I don’t want this conversation overheard.’
The young man was looking quite astonished by all this — the idea that my wealthy patron should address me as ‘old friend’ and invite me to share his litter was clearly quite a shock. It would have been amusing if I had not known that this open friendliness was almost certainly the prelude to some importunate request: Marcus is always gracious when he wants my services — though I would be happier if he paid in cash rather than in compliments. (This is not ingratitude. Working for my patron is apt to take much time and prevent me from pursuing my usual livelihood, but Marcus is famously careful with his wealth and refuses to ‘insult’ me by offering me gold. However, when His Excellence suggests that you might serve him in some way, declining to do so is not conducive to one’s health.)
Besides, I told myself, there are often other sorts of recompense, though usually ones which do not cost him anything: my two slaves for instance, had come to me this way. So I smiled with an appearance of good grace and climbed into the chair beside him as proposed.
It was rather cramped in there — most litters are designed to carry one man at a time, and it was hard to squeeze into the space at all, let alone to keep my head below my patron’s all the time, as etiquette required. However I managed to insinuate myself into the gap between his feet by kneeling rather uncomfortably on the floor. Marcus drew the drapes so that we were curtained off from view.