Enemies of the Empire (31 page)

‘He’s a sort of relative,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to use the place myself, but he has children and is glad of it. I charge him very little rent, and in return he looks after me – speaks up for me in court, gets rid of undesirable customers, and all that sort of thing.’

‘And does he visit Nyros, who’s your landlord, too? Is that what he was doing on the forest road?’

She stiffened. ‘I don’t know what you mean. I can’t help who my relations are. Optimus, why are you letting him talk to me like this? You know what my brother’s like. I can’t ask him questions about where he goes and why. I suppose he goes there to deliver meat.’

So the butcher was her brother! I had rattled her this time. She clearly hadn’t meant to tell us that. I could see that Optimus was about to intervene, and I quickly slipped another question in. ‘Does he deliver information, too, perhaps? About the fact that Gaius Plautus is with Nyros now, for instance? I’m sure the rebels in the forest would be glad to know.’

She had turned deathly pale. ‘Optimus! Protect me! I don’t know what he means. What is he alleging that I’ve done?’

He had half risen to his feet in his concern for her. ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of. This is not to do with you. It’s about some man from Glevum who has disappeared. They were looking through the tax records in case they found his name, and they discovered that Nyros owned your property, that’s all.’ He glared at me. ‘Though I don’t know exactly what he hopes to gain by this. Are all these questions really necessary? I’m sure Lyra has told us everything she knows.’

It was the other way round, I thought. He had told her everything he knew. And now she would be truly on her guard. I was proving nothing and if I was not careful Marcus would decide to call a halt. It was time to try my other strategy.

‘You’re right,’ I said, more gently. ‘The lady is distressed. She has had a shock this evening. Junio, fetch a stool for her and let her have a little of that wine.’

Her head went up suspiciously. ‘Wine? What wine?’

‘A little of the wine you had before,’ I said. ‘You were feeling quite ill until you had a sip, and though you were a little faint at first, you were entirely recovered shortly afterwards. Luckily, when you dropped the cup, it lodged against the wall so not all of it was spilt. Do have a little more.’

Junio had seen what I was up to, and he brought the cup and offered it to Lyra with a smile.

‘I don’t require any wine,’ she said. She was breathing heavily and refused to take the goblet from his hand.

‘Do have some, Lyra,’ the optio urged. ‘It will do you good. It is the very wine you particularly like. I sent it for the citizen myself.’

She looked desperately from me to him. ‘This is some kind of trap.’

‘Trap?’ I repeated. ‘How can it be a trap? Unless you know something about the wine that we do not. Soldier,’ I added, to the larger guard, who was still standing to attention by the door. ‘Assist the lady to refresh herself.’

The optio was standing up by now, and would have moved to interrupt, but Marcus put out a restraining hand. ‘I am interested in this,’ he said. ‘I wonder why she’s so reluctant to comply?’ He nodded to the soldier. ‘Do as the citizen suggests.’

The soldier took the wine from Junio. He seized Lyra, imprisoning her arms, and forced the cup against her lips. She twisted violently and turned her head away. The man did not release his grip, but turned towards me enquiringly.

‘Very well,’ I said to her. ‘We’ll have some answers now. If I am not satisfied with what you say, I’ll give the word, and you can drink the poison that you meant for me.’

The optio sat down heavily. ‘Poison?’ he repeated stupidly. ‘What is this? Lyra? What does it mean?’

‘It means that she has played you for a fool,’ I said. ‘She flatters you with blandishments and all the time she is betraying your secrets to the rebel groups marauding in the woods. She gets the information to the butcher – who she admits now is her brother, not some distant relative – and he passes the messages to them when he goes out with his cart. And disposes of grisly evidence, I suspect – you told me yourself how easy it would be and how a butcher’s clothes are always splashed with blood. And did you not say to me that attacks on goods and soldiers had increased again recently, as if the rebels were in touch with your every move?’

The optio had turned the colour of bad milk. ‘It isn’t true. Lyra, tell me that it isn’t true.’

‘You can prove nothing,’ she said defiantly. I signalled to the guard. He forced the cup towards her face again. ‘All right!’ she cried suddenly. ‘It’s true! What difference does it make? You’ll kill me anyway.’ She looked at the optio and sneered. ‘What makes you suppose I’d care anything for you? Your vanity, perhaps! Pompous little self-important idiot. Well, I tricked you, and I’m glad I did. I hope they send you to the Wall and keep you there for life – or better still, condemn you to the mines. With any luck they will, when they find out what you’ve done. All those details about troops and funds, and what a trial it was to deal with messengers.’ She was mocking now. ‘“Poor dear Optimus,” I’d murmur – and I’d stroke your hair, and off you’d go again. Well, you can spend what time remains to you reflecting on the damage you have done, and how many men and horses you’ve betrayed to us.’

The optio was hardly listening any more. His mouth was working, but no sound was coming out, and he was staring fixedly at her in disbelief.

She twisted her head savagely to look at me. ‘Well, it’s over now. This is your doing, pavement-maker. They warned me you were trouble – that’s why you had to die. I thought I’d managed it, but you refused the wine. It would have done the trick – even a mouthful is enough to kill, and that would have stopped your meddling once and for all. And as for you,’ she turned on Marcus now, ‘you are the worst of all. A proper Roman, purple stripes and all.’ She spat deliberately at him. ‘Pig! I wish I’d let them kill you yesterday at the farm.’

Marcus had turned pale with rage, and his voice was dangerously controlled. ‘Be very careful what you say. I could have you tortured for a week, after what you’ve admitted here tonight, till you were begging them to let you die.’

She looked at him, exultant. ‘I know you could. But you won’t get the chance. And don’t think you’ll round up my family, either, when I’m gone. My brother’s boys are watching at the gate. They always do. They know I’m here for questioning. They’re all prepared. When I don’t get home again tonight, they’ll know that something dreadful’s happened here and disappear into the forest and the caves. The lot of them. There are still scores of us, you know. And we have hideaways that no one’s found – not since the legions occupied the place. But I’ve said too much. You’ll get no more from me. I’m a daughter of Caractacus – I’m not afraid to die. I only wish that I could take you with me as I go.’ She seized the goblet in her own two hands and drained it at a gulp.

Nothing happened. It wasn’t likely to, since there was nothing in the goblet except wine – though no one knew that except Junio and me. There was a dreadful stillness in the room. Lyra waited, wild-eyed and tense, for the poison to stream into her veins. And still nothing happened.

It must be difficult to find that your heroic gesture of self-sacrifice has failed. Lyra thought so, certainly. She paled and shook, and for a moment I thought she would collapse. For the first time since she had come into the room, she looked wholly at a loss.

At last she raised her eyes to look at me and they were full of hatred and contempt. ‘You tricked me,’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘But it won’t do you any good. My nephews will already be raising the alarm. They’ll all be gone before you get to them. And whatever happens, you can’t force information out of me. I can’t tell you anything. I don’t know where the hide-outs are myself.’

‘You’ve already told me something,’ I said evenly. ‘Your actions show you tried to kill me. Why?’

‘Surely that must be obvious! Because you knew what she was up to!’ Marcus was surprised.

‘But I didn’t know it when she came here, and she came prepared. There is only one reason for it that I can understand – because I saw her following Gaius Plautus in the street. See – she tries to hide it, but she looks uncomfortable at the very mention of his name. I knew who he was and I’m sure that is the key. And if she wants to silence me, then the chances are that he is still alive, and it is not too late for us to rescue him.’

I was proud of my deduction, and I looked at her, waiting for her reaction to my words.

It came. Defiant words. ‘I told you, citizen, I don’t know anyone called Gaius Plautus. The only Gaius Plautus I ever met was an auxiliary bowman from Jerusalem who used to visit the wolf-house years ago – and he was killed in border skirmishes.’

And then, at last, I saw. Saw with such clarity that I leaned forward on the desk and buried my face in both my hands. I think I may possibly have moaned.

‘What is it, Libertus?’ Marcus was all concern.

I raised my head and looked at him. ‘Excellence, I am an idiot,’ I said. ‘I had the answer to this puzzle long ago.’

He was still looking startled.

‘Patron,’ I said. ‘You know me very well. Better than almost anyone, in fact, apart from Gwellia and Junio. Agreed?’ He nodded. ‘In that case, remind me, what’s my name?’

He goggled at me in disbelief. ‘Longinus Flavius Libertus, I believe.’

‘Exactly so. And is that the name my mother gave to me?’

He frowned. ‘Well, I don’t imagine so. But it’s become your name. Even your wife and servants call you that.’

‘Precisely. It became my name when I became a citizen of Rome. I adopted it, to mark my change of role. Just as Gaius Plautus of Jerusalem did – though, being an auxiliary, he could not be a proper citizen till he retired. And Gaius of Glevum did the same, of course. People all over the Empire do. It is different for you and Junio. You got your Roman names when you were born.’

Marcus was looking at me with interest. ‘So?’

‘You remember when we were looking in the tax-rolls for Gaius Plautus and I pointed out that his family might not be Flaminians themselves?’ I shook my head. ‘Of course they’re not. Plautus is a Roman citizen, but he was Silurian by birth. He isn’t hiding from the rebels, he is one of them. He’s been doing the same thing that Lyra did, but in a different way. He mixed with all the most important men, and knew of all the most important deals. If anything of value came to Glevum, he would know of it – and see that his kinsmen knew as well so they knew when to plan their raids. He bought his way to Roman status and he did it on purpose to work against the Empire from within. Even the name – it wouldn’t surprise me if he chose it as a kind of joke because he killed the auxiliary from Jerusalem himself. The soldier used the wolf-house, so doubtless Lyra betrayed him as well.’

It was fortunate that Lyra was heavily restrained, otherwise she would have flown at me. ‘You can’t prove anything!’ She almost spat the words.

Marcus ignored her. ‘So where is Plautus now?’

‘Exactly where I thought he was, at Nyros’s farmstead.’

‘But I thought Nyros sympathised with Rome.’

‘So did I. It was Lyra who showed me I was wrong. She called herself a daughter of Caractacus – and you know the story there. The Romans were so impressed with his dignity and bearing in defeat that they didn’t kill him after all – they simply stripped him of everything he had. Exactly the story Nyros told us of his ancestor.’

Marcus was struggling to come to terms with this. ‘Plautus boasted of the wealthy uncle who’d adopted him, and given him a proper start in life. It was Nyros? When he came here, he was coming home?’

‘It looks that way. Nyros told us himself that his nephew was at home. The famous Thullero – the man we never saw. Nyros is impressive. He’s a clever man. He even staged that imitation raid, to help persuade us of his innocence and give Thullero the opportunity to hide. It meant we didn’t see the horses either – which was clever too, since he’d almost certainly stolen them from the Iscan cavalry. Regulus, for instance, would have known them instantly.’

‘So when Regulus saw Plautus with the pigs . . .?’

‘He was on his own domain. Plautus was the “young master” that Subulcus talked about. Admittedly, Plautus is hardly in the flush of youth, but he is Nyros’s heir, of course, and young by comparison with him. He must have gone from Venta in a cart – it’s the only way he could have got there in the time – and arrived to find the raid on Regulus’s force was taking place. It was obviously planned that they should all be killed and one of the rebels sent here in their stead, wearing the dead messenger’s livery, and with the sealed letter telling us the mounted escort was on its way. You can imagine who the escort would have been, if they had captured all those uniforms.’

I looked at Lyra but she wouldn’t look at me. Marcus said, ‘Of course! But Regulus and his comrades were too good for them. They lost their horses but they won the fight, and forced the rebels off.’

‘Worse than that, they started following the tracks which might have led them directly to the farm. Plautus – or Thullero as we should call him now – met up with his comrades and devised a plan. He got the man dressed as a messenger to get rid of Subulcus. That was a necessary start, because poor Subulcus was too stupidly honest to do anything but tell the truth and give the game away.’

‘But wasn’t that a risk?’ the optio said. ‘If it was someone from the tribe? Subulcus might have recognised him.’

I shook my head. ‘The pigman is a simple soul. They knew he wouldn’t question a Roman uniform. The helmet and cheek-pieces would largely hide the face and no doubt the man on horseback changed his voice, as well. And of course, it worked. Once Subulcus was safely gone, the others planned to drive the pigs into the woods to interrupt the hoof-tracks, and Plautus – who wasn’t wearing plaid like the other tribes-people – would waylay the Romans if he could, claiming that he’d been the victim of a raid. Unfortunately the swineherd came back again too soon, to see the men on horses driving his pigs into the wood and riding off with one – the story that he told us later on. Plautus, the “young master” had to send him off again, so that he could be there himself to deal with the tracking party. If he’d been hiding in the butcher’s cart – as I suspect – he would smell like a pigman anyway. No wonder they offered him my tunic! Of course he didn’t want it, so he passed it on to Subulcus when he returned.’