The Broken Lance

by Jess Steven Hughes

  In her grief, Eleyne didn’t seem to notice the giant of a man guarding her as they walked by. Garbed in the drab coarse, white tunic of a slave, his locks of curly, black hair swirled into a neat knot above his forehead. A daub of red, which I later learned represented a soldier’s caste in India, stood above the bridge of a nose framed by a long face.

  Left alone, Crispus and I searched the murder scene. I went to the window and examined the area. Framed by wooden shutters that opened outward, its plastered ledge was wide enough for a good handgrip. I gazed into the darkened street hearing, then seeing the shadowy outlines of freight wagons rumbling by.

  I turned to Crispus and motioned him to join me.

  He peered out the window, and then at me.

  “Earlier you asked me why the wagons were rolling at this hour,” I said.

  Crispus raised an eyebrow. “I did.”

  “About a hundred years ago, Julius Caesar enacted a law prohibiting wagons on Rome’s streets during daytime.”

  “Why?”

  “The streets were too crowded, which not only slowed the wagons, but also resulted in many accidents, killing many people.”

  “I get it,” Crispus said, “the wagons run at night because there ain’t as much traffic. And even though there’s more crime, the teamsters are a rough bunch—they don’t take shit from anybody. Hell, they’d run ’em over with their rigs.”

  I pursed my mouth. “But sometimes an ambitious thug can take advantage of the moving wagons.”

  “Like how?” Crispus shook his head.

  “Knowing that so many wagons pass by Sabinus’s home, it was just a matter for the assassin to jump aboard one. Because it’s dark and the cart wheels make so much noise, the driver probably didn’t know he had an unwanted passenger.”

  “Which means,” Crispus said, picking up the thread of my conclusion, “he made his jump, grabbed the window sill, and hauled himself up onto the ledge.”

  “And then he entered through the window, dropped down onto the floor, and murdered Karmune,” I finished.

  “Still, his timing had to be near perfect,” Crispus said. He glanced to the window again. “The window ain’t that wide.”

  “I have an idea this isn’t the first time for our assassin,” I said. “He’s probably had plenty of practice.”

  Crispus’s mouth tightened. “Aye, he’s had the same by escaping and jumping onto another passing wagon.”

  “That’s how I see it.”

  I noticed that Crispus seemed to stare long and hard at my face. “All right,” I finally said, to satisfy my curiosity, “why are you looking at me like that? Do I have the pox?”

  “See for yourself, old friend.” Crispus stepped back a few paces, picked up the polished silver-plated mirror from the floor, came forward, and held it up before me. I stared into my reflection and upon the dried-blood scar Karmune had traced. A jagged crust of blood smeared from the center forehead, across my right eye and snaking across the cheek, hooked sharply into my mouth. A scar memory burned forever in my mind, one I would see again.

  Chapter 26

  After Karmune’s murder, a deep gloom prevailed in the Sabinus mansion. No one had an appetite for dinner, and after eating, the household retired for the evening. Despite the presence of Eleyne’s new bodyguard, Crispus and I took turns keeping watch outside her room the rest of the night. Sabinus sent for a detachment of the Watch to patrol the perimeter around his home and six surrounding blocks.

  Rome’s summer heat dictated Karmune’s body be laid to rest as quickly as possible. Before dawn, Eleyne’s companion was quietly buried in the cemetery for foreigners, along the tomb-clustered Appian Way.

  Crispus and I and a small entourage of slaves and client freedmen accompanied Sabinus to the Palatine for an audience with the emperor. Word had reached the palace before our arrival about the rescue of the Jewish woman and the murder of Karmune. A group of officials and noblemen attempted to ask Sabinus about the details, but he waved them away, promising a briefing later.

  Sabinus met with Claudius privately and gave a full account of the murder. He told me later if Eleyne had not been an imperial hostage, and the assassin’s intended victim, the emperor would have ignored the matter. “Murders in Rome are like flies in a stable,” Sabinus said. “No one pays attention to either, and that’s what bothers me.”

  While Crispus and I waited outside with Sabinus’s people in the Court of Tiberius, the elder Gallus lingered nearby with his contingent of clients. As soon as Sabinus had entered the Imperial apartments, Gallus sent a messenger commanding my presence.

  “You wanted to see me, Lord Gallus?” I inquired after crossing the vast marble floor. He wore a scarlet mantle about his narrow shoulders. Scattered along the polished floor sat smoky, charcoal braziers on bronze tripods, futilely attempting to heat the gaping court.

  Gallus motioned toward a large, empty space at the far end of the chamber beneath a huge statue of Apollo. “Come with me. We shall speak in private.”

  Like Sabinus, Gallus dressed in the whitest of togas, with a broad, purple stripe down the center denoting his Senatorial rank. Elaborately decorated red shoes, embossed with an ivory letter “C” on the outside of the ankle, symbol of prior magisterial service, clothed his feet.

  “I’m pleased to hear the emperor’s precious hostage survived,” he said, as we stood in the sun god’s shadow. “Senator Sabinus has been saved from an embarrassing situation.”

  “Yes, sir, but I suspect that isn’t the reason for this meeting.”

  Gallus raised his eyebrows and creased his blotched forehead. “Impertinent, aren’t you? I heard you weren’t one for small talk.”

  The old senator looked about and waved away one of his approaching freedmen.

  “I underestimated your worth, Centurion,” he said. “You are a man to be reckoned with. Now I understand why Senator Sabinus chose you as retainer. You didn’t hesitate to rescue the Jewish woman or the barbarian.”

  I bristled at his snide reference to Eleyne and Pricilla, because they were not Roman. “I did my duty, the proper thing to do.”

  “Of course, I have great use for someone with your bravery and talents.”

  For a moment, his bloodshot eyes studied me as he would a horse or a slave. “I am very influential,” Gallus said, “and it is within my power to have you transferred to my staff, should you decide serving as a retainer to Flavius Sabinus doesn’t suit you. After all . . . ,” he smiled wryly, “living in Rome can be dangerous to one’s health, and I’m not referring to our summers and swamp fevers. An allegiance to me can be beneficial.”

  “Why are you offering me a position?” I asked and eyed the area for eavesdroppers. No one. “You and my father were enemies.”

  “Your father is dead.” He spread his hands wide. “Why should I hold you, his son, in disfavor? My grievance was with him. That’s why I can help you, young Marcellus.”

  “In what manner?” I had an idea of what he was leading to.

  “Unfortunately, your father was never admitted to the Equestrians, a fate you needn’t suffer. I am very close to the emperor. It is within my power to have you admitted to the order of knighthood. Provided . . . ,” he paused as if for emphasis, “you are willing to become a member of my staff, and follow orders like the good soldier you are.”

  “I’m not easily bought.” Heat rushed through my body to my face.

  He raised his hand to his sagging chest. “Come now, I don’t soil my hands with such petty tactics. Think about my proposition today and give me your answer tomorrow.”

  I realized he had the means to carry out such a promise. This man had been my father’s adversary, and my mother would sooner see me dead then serve my father’s most hated enemy. “You can have it now. My loyalty is to Lord Sabinus.”

  He tweaked his nose. “Loyalty is a noble attribute, if not misplaced. To the emperor, definitely, otherwise it can be a terminal disease. For your sake, I pray your combat skills
won’t be needed to defend your loyalty. As for knighthood—forget it—you had your chance.”

  The elder Gallus took a step, then halted. “By the way, if anyone inquires about our conversation, say I asked about my son. Tell them anything different, and I shall deny it. The word of a senator carries far more weight than a centurion’s.” He stomped away, the sounds of his sandals echoing throughout the cavernous room.

  “What did he want?” Crispus asked, when I rejoined him.

  I explained Gallus’s offer.

  “Is he mad?”

  “No, he’s a man who possesses great power and isn’t afraid to use it,” I said.

  “He flaunts his authority like he’s above the law.”

  “So far, he is.”

  *

  Returning from the audience, Sabinus dismissed his retinue except for Crispus and myself. I informed him of the conversation with Gallus. We strolled toward the palace exit, our boots clattering on the polished marble floor. I walked by Sabinus’s left, Crispus to his right.

  “Still, Marcellus, no doubt he would have persuaded the emperor,” Sabinus said. “I know what that would mean for your family. I can offer you nothing.”

  “I have your friendship,” I said, turning toward him, “and my family honor, and I’ll achieve knighthood on my own worth. I can’t believe how blatant he was.”

  “He isn’t afraid to openly make offers,” Sabinus said. “Old Gallus is a man who is used to getting what he wants, but clever enough to prevent any illegal activity being traced to him.” He waved to a senator passing in the opposite direction.

  “What about planting spies among the household slaves, sir?” Crispus asked.

  “He screens his slaves too closely, Sergeant,” Sabinus replied. “If they ask too many questions they are flogged and sold, if not executed.”

  We left the palace and proceeded to the office of Decrius Calpurnianus, the Watch prefect on the Latanian Way near the Ratumenian Gate. Headquartered in the huge colonnaded barracks of the First Cohort, outside the Servian Wall, I had learned the prefect commanded a seven-thousand-man security force used to combat crime and fight fires. Besides the First Cohort, the Watch consisted of six other cohorts, each containing one thousand men, scattered in six other billets, among the city’s fourteen regions. Because part of their equipment consisted of folded, pitch-lined, rope buckets for carrying water, the Vigiles were nicknamed Bucketmen.

  “The City Guards and Watch were established by Caesar Augustus about forty years ago,” Sabinus explained as we jostled our way through the crowded streets.

  As we pushed through the ragged ranks of a half-dozen smelly beggars, I shouted to Sabinus to be heard above the noise of the mob, “Wouldn’t it be better to amalgamate their troops into one cohesive unit instead of operating two separate organizations? Common sense dictates it’d be more efficient in dealing with Rome’s crime and terrible fires.”

  “I agree,” Sabinus barked in reply. “Unfortunately, the prefects of both offices have jealously guarded their positions through the years. The city prefect is appointed from members of the Senate, whereas, the Watch prefect comes from the Equestrian Order. As you can appreciate, they vehemently oppose any change that would threaten their domains.”

  “Is there any chance of changing the situation, sir?” Crispus asked in a raised voice, attempting to be heard.

  “That would require a massive organizational change, Sergeant.” Sabinus explained the men of the Watch were recruited from ex-slaves, and promised Roman citizenship after six years of service. Whereas, troops from the City Guard are Roman citizens transferred from the army as steppingstones to the Praetorian Guard.

  “After last night’s tragedy,” he continued, “it’s imperative we make inquiries about Gallus and his criminal connections. That’s why I’m meeting with Prefect Decrius Calpurnianus.”

  *

  “I’m sorry you didn’t receive your appointment, Senator Sabinus,” Decrius Calpurnianus said. Crispus and I stood to one side, slightly to the rear, as the pasty-faced Watch prefect spoke to Sabinus. Calpurnianus slouched behind an expensive citrus wood desk in a spacious office. His pale complexion was a stark contrast to his layered, curling, black hair. “We would have worked well together in policing Rome.”

  “Indeed, and we still can,” Sabinus said.

  I looked out of the corner of my eye toward Crispus. Did he have the same doubts that I had? He kept a sober face.

  Calpurnianus snapped his shoulders back and sat up straight in his chair. He wiped the perspiration running down the side of his face with a white, linen cloth. It was midmorning, but already, another humid day smothered the city. I sweltered beneath my tunic and segmented armor. I wore a light, woolen scarf around my neck to protect it from chafing from the hot metal.

  “Since Gallus’s man, Secundus, has been chosen,” the Watch prefect continued, “it’ll be well-nigh impossible.”

  “It’s true your Bucketmen will have more work on their hands,” Sabinus said, “but we can work out an arrangement.”

  “What sort of plan are you implying?” The prefect’s watery, brown eyes surveyed Crispus and me in turn.

  “I see you’ve brought your retainers—direct from the army, aren’t they?” Calpurnianus questioned, finally acknowledging our presence.

  Sabinus introduced us and explained our backgrounds. “They fought with my brother’s legion in Britannia. As you can see by his decorations, Centurion Reburrus won the Corona Civica.”

  “Impressive,” Calpurnianus said and pursed his lips together.

  “I will develop my own sources of information about Rome’s underworld, which I’m willing to share with you,” Sabinus said.

  “That’s commendable, Senator Sabinus, but what’s your price?” Calpurnianus asked. “As honorable as you are, I’ve never known you to give away anything without a stipulation.”

  “My price is your employment of Centurion Reburrus and Sergeant Crispus on any raids initiated from information we gather,” Sabinus said. “They’re combat veterans.”

  “I have my own sources and men,” Calpurnianus answered in a surly voice. He picked up the wax tablet laying on his desk and briefly turned it toward Sabinus before setting it down. “I know that your first goal is to find the assassin of that hostage’s servant.”

  Sabinus frowned, and then nodded. “True, but combined together, we may root out those involved and, in the process, much of the city’s worst elements.” He gestured to the Watch prefect. “You have no love for Gallus, and with Secundus in his money pouch, things will get worse.”

  After sparring a little longer, Sabinus and Calpurnianus came to a conditional agreement. “Give my plan three months,” Sabinus said. “If it’s successful, we’ll continue working together. If it isn’t, we go our separate ways.”

  “Agreed,” the Watch prefect said.

  Calpurnianus picked up a reed pen and dipped it into the lampblack ink of the silver-inlaid bronze inkwell. He signed one of the dozen parchment scrolls on his desk and held it up to me. “As a legionary centurion, your authority supersedes the centurions of the Watch. Therefore, consider yourself a liaison between the army, through Senator Sabinus, and the Vigiles. You’ll have full authority to command a century of eighty watchmen.”

  Crispus and I looked at one another. I saw a problem. “There is bound to be resentment, sir, especially, since we’re foreigners.”

  “You’re soldiers of the army, they’re ex-slaves, and have no choice. The tribunes, who are Roman Citizens, may have objections, but I’ll see they keep their opinions to themselves.”

  *

  During the next ten days, Crispus and I explored the city. Wandering along dirty, narrow streets and alleys, strewn with garbage and offal, past graffiti-tagged walls, we talked to shopkeepers, visited the majestic public baths, and the smaller private ones, and attended the public games. Our uniforms became a detriment in seeking information, making us objects of suspicion and fear, if n
ot downright hostility. Our questions met with feigned ignorance and lies.

  When asked, one shopkeeper, a Greek fuller, denied knowing the direction of Mercury Street, although we were on Mercury Street, and his business appeared to have been situated there for years. Five large, urine-stained earthen pots lined the trash-littered sidewalk in front of the shop. The passersby greeted the fuller, pulled up their tunics, and noisily urinated into the jars. The fuller thanked them, snapped his fingers, and two slaves came and removed the smelly receptacles inside.

  Urine was used in stiffening clothing being laundered, before washing in fuller’s earth to remove grease. The big jars lined every street.

  “After all,” the Greek explained, “I provide a free service from which I, too, benefit. The smelly public latrines charge half a copper for their use. I charge nothing and keep the street free of waste.”

  Crispus and I decided gathering evidence dressed as civilians might achieve better results. I suggested the idea to Sabinus, and he readily agreed. Thereafter, we roamed the streets dressed as workers, clothed in rough, red-wool, one-sleeved worker tunics, with a leather pouch wrapped about the waist. Concealed beneath the sleeve of the loose-fitting garments, we still carried army short swords. Although the weapons chafed our sides in the hot, muggy weather, both of us felt safer pushing our way through the crowded city lanes and slums.

  *

  Autumn came early to Rome, and by the end of September, the days had turned chilly. An annoying drizzle fell over the city nearly every morning, its dampness causing the scar on my left cheek to itch.

  Another bleak morning dawned as I waited for Sabinus to appear before his clients at the vestibule and distribute his daily gifts and favors. Most of the hangers-on were his ex-slaves. Ancient custom demanded he cater to this dismal lot of humanity, who could not fend for themselves now they were freed. A few other parasites lurked nearby, hoping for a free handout in return for performing an unwanted service.