Free The Legatus Mystery by Rosemary Rowe

work. But not Meritus. Of course, there’s no reason why he should have told us, but it is almost as if he relishes secrecy.’ Trinunculus looked at me a moment, as if considering, and then added in an undertone, ‘It’s like the story of his life – he never gives a full account of that.’
    We were under Minerva’s disapproving stare again, but this blatant piece of temple gossip stopped me in my tracks. I braved the goddess’s anger long enough to say, ‘But surely . . .? I heard he was slave-manager of an estate?’
    ‘Oh, certainly he was,’ Trinunculus replied. ‘He has his
pilleus
– the freeman’s cap – and his certificate to prove it. But how did he become the manager? He is no ordinary slave. He can do more than read and write his name – he knows the orators: and it is rumoured that he can ride a horse, play an instrument, even quote the Greek philosophers. How did he learn to do all that? It’s clear he wasn’t born on that estate. So was he born a slave at all? That’s what I want to know.’
    I looked at him. ‘I was captured into slavery myself,’ I said, with some feeling. ‘I can understand why any man would avoid talking about it – or about the life he had to leave behind. Or he may have been the pet slave of some wealthy man. He is good-looking enough, and some of them are taught all sorts of things to be companions to their masters. If you had risen to wealth and dignity wouldn’t
you
avoid talking about your humble beginnings? And what other explanations are there? That he sold himself into slavery to clear a debt? Or was sentenced to it, to atone for a crime? Neither seems likely, for a man who made his master’s fortune, and rose so high in his esteem.’
    I had not meant to speak so sharply. Even to me it sounded like a rebuke. ‘What made you question it?’ I asked more gently.
    The young priest looked abashed. ‘It is only that he has such skills. And once when we were talking, he mentioned Aquae Sulis. Not casually, but as if he knew the town. Then when Scribonius pressed him, he tried to change the subject – said that he had been there with his master once.’ He glanced at me. ‘And most of all, I’ve noticed when he dons his robes he does not seem to have a brand. Or ever to have had one, if you see what I mean.’
    I did see. I have unhappy memories, not only of the branding on my back, but of the painful surgery when it was removed. There is a deep scar on my shoulder to this day. All the same, I shook my head.
    ‘Not every master brands his slaves, Trinunculus. And as for Aquae Sulis, his story may be true. After all, as manager he was engaged in trade. He must have travelled to many towns.’
    ‘You may be quite right, citizen. And as I say, it is not in Meritus’s nature to confide. Not like Hirsus, for example, who will talk about his wretched childhood to anyone who will listen. Now, he
was
a pet slave, though never to a man. He was given to his owner’s grandmother – her lucky talisman, she said. She was a superstitious woman – always consulting oracles – and mean as a tax-collector, by all accounts. But she promised him his freedom when she died, and a handsome pension with it. Hirsus had hopes of settling down – there was an attractive slave he knew, apparently, whom he hoped to buy and free and set up a household with.’
    ‘But his mistress broke her promise?’
    Trinunculus laughed. ‘Not at all. Her will set him free, with a substantial sum. But he had to wait a long time to collect it. The old woman lived to an astounding age – outlived all her sons and daughters – she must have been quite eighty-five when she died. Yet she would never part with Hirsus while she lived. And then, of course, it was too late. The slave he had fallen in love with had been sold on, and at forty-five Hirsus was getting to be an old man himself.’
    ‘He must have inherited a goodly sum and used it well, to have been made sevir here.’
    ‘His