The Ghosts of Glevum by Rosemary Rowe Page B

to me. She thought it was your master, but perhaps it was not him? Was it someone else perhaps, someone who murdered Praxus while you were away? Who was it, Golbo? I know you are afraid – your testimony could convict the man – but you can confide in me.’
    Golbo stared unhappily at the floor and said nothing.
    ‘By telling me you will protect yourself,’ I said. ‘Once your testimony is known to the magistrates, there would be no point in killing you – that would only make the murderer’s guilt more evident. You would have another witness, too – in me – so nobody could claim you were coerced into making false accusations. And you need not fear revenge. Once Marcus is released he will make sure of that. So speak up, boy. Who sent you to the spring?’
    Golbo looked at me in misery. ‘That’s just the trouble, citizen. My owner sent me to the spring himself.’
    I stared. ‘Marcus?’
    ‘Well, not in person, naturally – he was at the banquet with his guests. But he sent the message all the same. It was quite precise. I was to go at once and fill the pail, because the banquet was drawing to a close, and guests might wish to use the vomitorium before the litters took them jogging home. It’s not an unusual request. He does the same thing each time there’s a feast – except that tonight it was a little earlier, and he was displeased with me, it seems. I don’t know why. I tried to keep the room as clean as it usually is.’
    ‘But you didn’t question the order when it came?’
    Golbo looked more wretched than before. ‘In any case I wouldn’t question it. And the message was brought by one of Marcus’s own slaves.’
    ‘One of his own slaves? You are quite sure of that?’ My mind was racing now. Of course, there is always the possibility of treachery, but in general the loyalty of Marcus’s household is beyond doubt, and his servants would defend him to the death. We had seen that demonstrated that very night.
    He nodded. ‘I am quite sure of that. There
were
slaves in the villa who had come in from my master’s town apartment in Glevum especially to help to cook and serve the feast – I might have been mistaken about them. But this wasn’t one of them. This was a villa slave, called Umbris. I know the man. I was there when Marcus first acquired him – a present from a wealthy visitor.’
    I nodded, though it was not a name I knew. Marcus has a multitude of slaves but I would have remembered that one, I was sure. Obviously one of Marcus’s little jokes. The name derives from shadow, and is not a lucky one – except for a household slave perhaps, where silence and unobtrusiveness are desirable. Marcus had a sense of humour sometimes, when it came to naming slaves.
    ‘So Umbris was . . .’ I was going to say ‘a bribe’, but altered it, ‘. . . a gift?’
    Golbo nodded. ‘One among many, citizen. Many of us were.’
    Of course, that was likely to be true. A man in Marcus’s position scarcely needed to go out and purchase slaves from the shifty dealers in the town. The villa was no doubt full of similar ‘donations’, living and inert. There were always people trying to climb up the social scale who were only too eager to offer His Excellence anything he sought – in hopes of some little favour in return. I returned to a more profitable line of questioning.
    ‘What kind of man is he?’
    ‘My master thinks very well of him. He works hard and drives others hard: I cannot tell you more about his character than that.’ Golbo gave a rueful laugh. ‘Citizen, he is a senior slave. He works the dining room and I’m a bucket-boy – he’s never deigned to address a word to me, except to give me orders, like tonight. But I could point him out to you. He’s . . .’
    ‘Husband!’ Gwellia’s voice from behind me cut across his words. ‘I beg you, leave this till the morning now. You are soaked through to the skin. You must remember you’re no longer young.’ I turned. She was