The Ghosts of Glevum by Rosemary Rowe

can hardly just carry it around.’
    Junio gave me his engaging grin. ‘Of course we can,’ he said. ‘You are not thinking like a slave. Your toga’s wet and muddy and it needs a clean – obviously I’m taking it to the fuller’s shop, if anybody asks.’
    ‘There isn’t one here, surely? Any fuller who used the river water hereabouts would have the clothes come out of his treading vats dirtier than they went in.’
    ‘There’s a fuller’s shop inside the walls, beside the docks – that gives us every reason to be here. We go back up the way we’ve come, slip inside the city walls from there, and try to get back through the southern gate at dusk. But we should move – that fellow with the oil will be back.’
    It was such a simple plan it made me laugh, but all the same I had to shake my head. ‘A good scheme, Junio, but you’ll have to go alone. It doesn’t take two slaves to take the laundry in. Anyway, I am too well known at those gates, in a toga or out of it, and no doubt if there is a warrant out for my arrest the town guards will be looking for me now. They will know that I have come into the town. I’ll have to skirt the walls and go the long way round. Don’t argue, Junio . . .’ (he was showing signs of it) ‘. . . I am your master, after all. Better that one of us is safe, at least. Just keep out of the way of Bullface and his men, and as long as you’re not seen with me you should be all right.’
    I hoped that what I said was true. It should have been. Even if Balbus had given instructions to arrest me on sight, they would not usually extend to my slave as well. Yet there was so much that was inexplicable – someone had allowed me to escape from the garrison unchecked, for instance, when guards were waiting for me at my former home – I could not be sure of anything. But there was no time to think it through just now, and on balance I thought Junio was safe.
    I said, ‘Go now, and tell your mistress what I said. I’ll try to get home as soon as possible.’
    ‘And if the guards arrive at the roundhouse before you do . . .?’
    ‘You’ll just have to leave a signal, if you can. I don’t know what. Leave something at the gate. Something unusual. But go – go now! It may be too late otherwise. Every instant counts.’
    He was reluctant, but he went at last. I watched him set off back the way we’d come, with his burden tucked underneath his arm. He was whistling, the very picture of a carefree slave taking his master’s robe for laundering. I, on the other hand, looked completely out of place.
    For one thing, I thought, I was far too clean. I picked up a handful of mud from beside the rubbish pile and streaked my face and hair with it. It went against every instinct I possessed, but I was in the act of rubbing my backside – and therefore my best tunic – against the grimy wall when the fat bearded ruffian came back.
    He was alone, rather to my surprise, and for a moment we stood eyeing each other up. He seemed as uneasy at this encounter as I was myself, and I saw his huge hands clench into fists. My hand went instinctively towards my belt, but of course I had not brought my knife with me. It is strictly an offence to carry weapons within the city walls, and though a dining knife is usually ignored, I had been visiting the garrison. I had taken no chances with the letter of the law. All I was carrying at my waist, now my purse was gone, was one of those fiddling Roman spoons – a present from Marcus at the banquet yesterday. It did have a spike at one end to open oysters with, but it was a small and decorative thing and precious little use in an emergency. For all practical purposes, I was unarmed.
    Fatbeard took a step towards me. It was not a friendly step.
    I gulped. I tried to remind myself that Junio had often been this way, unharmed. There was just a chance I could talk my way out of this. ‘Is something wrong?’ I said, using my native Celtic tongue. The man was