Junio made a semi-sympathetic face. ‘And you really do not wish to see the games yourself, father?’
‘If I want to see butchery I’ll frequent the marketplace,’ I joked, then saw the look of disappointment on his face. It was obvious that my son would have liked to go to see the birthday games — of course these things were still a novel treat for him — and for a moment I felt a twinge of guilt. I touched him on the arm.
‘The next time there are public games in Glevum, I will take you there,’ I promised. ‘You won’t have long to wait. Some aging wealthy citizen is almost sure to die, leaving money in his will for a gladiatorial show in memory of himself, and even failing that there’ll be elections very soon.’
He brightened. ‘I suppose so. There are always contests then.’
‘Usually sponsored by the candidates,’ I said, and added teasingly, ‘specially to impress young citizens like you.’
‘You mean that it’s an attempt to sway the vote?’
‘Well, not entirely. Most citizens would claim it isn’t just a bribe. It’s a demonstration that the candidate concerned has a lot of money which he’s prepared to spend for the benefit of the populace.’
‘But you do not sound as if you very much approve.’
‘I’d prefer to see the money spent on public works like drains,’ I said. ‘But I don’t suppose that’s very glamorous.’ I grinned at him. ‘It would disappoint you of an entertainment, too, since I’ve said that I would take you. And I’ll keep my word.’
‘Although you don’t much care for gladiatorial games?’
‘In the ordinary way, I quite enjoy the spectacle. I always like watching a retinarius — they show such skill with just a trident and a net — sometimes against a swordsman with full armour and a shield. But not on an occasion like today, when half the combatants are likely to be killed. Still, enough of that. For now let’s find the servants and get home to our wives. I want to take my toga and these new sandals off — the soles are killing me.’
It took us a few moments to locate the slaves, in fact, though usually they were not hard to pick out in a crowd: two little red-haired lads — who had been trained in Marcus’s household but who had passed to me as a reward for various ‘services’ that I had done for him. I spotted them at last, with their backs towards me, at the rear of a throng of other household slaves, who — along with assorted beggars and poor freemen from the town — were huddled in the entrance to a nearby lane, craning to watch something in the alleyway. The boys were standing on tiptoe to see between the crowd and they did not notice the two of us as we approached.
I gestured Junio to silence, then — as he held back — I went up behind the nearer slave and said loudly in his ear, ‘Minimus! What is the meaning of all this? Didn’t I tell you to wait beside the fountain over there?’
Minimus, who was — despite his name — the taller of the boys, (they had been purchased a matching pair, but he had grown the most) spun around at once and a look of startled horror crossed his face. ‘Master! You didn’t go to watch the games?’ He nudged his companion, and I heard him whispering, ‘Maximus! The master’s here. And the young master too. Look what you have done! You were supposed to be on watch and warn me when they came.’
The smaller slave whirled instantly round, scarlet with embarrassment and shame. ‘I am very sorry, master-’ he began.
I cut him off with a gesture. ‘I expect obedience, not apologies!’ I said, with an attempt to be severe. My wife is always telling me I am too lax with them, and this would be a flogging matter in many households. But I could not altogether blame them for their escapade. On feast-days such as this the town is always thronging with alluring sights, quite apart from the official marches and parades: exotic street performers, jugglers and acrobats, and enticing stalls selling honey-cakes and oatcakes and small crispy rinds of pig. It was all a lot more interesting than standing at a fountain watching water flow, and after all the boys had scarcely moved a dozen yards. I said more gently, ‘What is so exciting that it makes you leave your post?’
It was Maximus who answered, his eyes alight with glee. ‘Master, you should see it for yourself. There’s a magician here — straight from the African provinces, he says — sitting on a mat and doing such things as you would not believe. He makes things disappear. He took a coin in his hand, and blew on it, and then it wasn’t there. And that’s not all — a moment later he produced it from a woman’s ear.’
The crowd had parted slightly (probably in deference to our togas) and I could see the magic-man: a turbaned dark-haired fellow, in a coloured robe, now doing something impossible with a coloured cup and balls. I turned back to the slaves. ‘So that’s what happened, is it? He turned his charms on you and made you disappear, as well? So you vanished from where I left you and turned up somewhere else?’
If I meant to be ironic it was lost on Maximus. ‘A thousand pardons, master,’ he said earnestly. ‘Please do not be angry. It was all my fault. I saw him when he first appeared, before the crowd arrived. He had a magic cage. One minute there was a pigeon in it, but then he covered it — just a piece of cloth, I saw both sides of it — and when he moved the cover there was nothing there. It was astonishing. I persuaded Minimus to come and watch. If anyone is to be whipped, it is my fault, not his.’
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
