Frontinus chuckled and sat down opposite Titus. “Your father would be proud of you and he would be proud of you even without an education.”
“So you don’t believe that I can do it,” the seriousness in Titus’ voice caught Frontinus off guard and he waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. “Forget what I said,” he muttered knowing there was no point in arguing with Titus, “a tired old man’s words.”
Titus grunted and looked down at the scroll on the table. “If I have time I shall deliver the letter to this Numerius’ house tomorrow.” Titus looked up at Frontinus, “If for any reason I cannot do it, will you bring the letter to the man’s house?”
Frontinus nodded. “I will,” he said.
Titus placed his hand on the fat blacksmith’s arm. “I will better myself and my family,” he said and there was no mistaking the determination in his voice, “and when I do, I shall not forget old friends and favours.”
Frontinus opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by a sudden loud banging on the door outside.
“Open up in there,” a voice cried.
Titus drew his sword but Frontinus raised a cautionary hand. The fat man suddenly looked nervous. No one in their right mind walked the streets of the Subura at night. At night the Subura was owned by the thieves and muggers who lurked in doorways and alleys and who would kill for the price of a cup of wine. Only those with nothing to fear went out at night.
“Whose there?” Frontinus growled knowing the answer already.
“Who the fuck do you think it is?” came the reply.
The blacksmith gestured urgently for Titus to sheath his sword. Then he unbolted the door and stepped back. The street outside was pitch black and for a moment Titus could see nothing. Then a man, completely bald, stepped into the room, followed by two enormous thugs who had to duck through the doorway. The bald man looked around 40 although he was actually only 30, with green tattoos up both arms and a hard drinking, tough looking face from which two crazy bulging eyes took in everything in the room. A menacing atmosphere seemed to follow the man into the workshop.
“What can I do for you Milo?” Frontinus said.
Milo did not answer as he looked around the workshop. Then his large fish eyes caught sight of Titus.
“Well…well,” Milo muttered in surprise, “what have we here. Titus the Samnite has dared to show his face again. Still playing at being a soldier? I heard that Hannibal gave your lot a kick up the arse.”
“I thought Hannibal was your enemy too?” Titus retorted.
Milo chuckled and slowly shook his head, “Doesn’t concern me soldier boy. Rome will be the same with or without Hannibal. Some men no doubt will lose everything if he comes here but it’s not going to affect me. The rich and powerful will always need a man like me to keep order in places where they don’t dare to go themselves.”
Milo took a step towards Titus, examining him from top to bottom as if he was a new species of animal. Then with a speed that caught everyone by surprise he slapped him hard in the face. Titus winced and rocked backwards on his feet but he had the good sense not to react. To strike back would be to invite death. He’d lived in the Subura long enough to know the law of its streets. Milo was that law, he was the judge, jury and executioner and in the Subura life was cheaper than fresh meat. From the corner of his eye Titus caught Frontinus shake his head in warning. Mastering his shock, Titus did the only thing he could do; he turned his eyes sullenly back to the man who had hit him.
“That’s for showing me disrespect,” Milo grinned. Then he slapped Titus again with the back of his hand, “And that’s for leaving the neighbourhood without my permission.”
“He was drafted, what could he do?” Frontinus protested.
“Silence old man!” Milo shouted without taking his eyes of Titus. Titus felt his lip beginning to swell up and a trickle of blood on his chin.
“Yes, just like your father,” Milo grinned again, “He too was a proud independent man, but at least he had some sense about him. You would do well to remember that.” He poked Titus playfully in his stomach. “Whilst you were away playing at being a hero I looked after your mum and sis. Did you a favour, did you know that? Life is hard here in the Subura; I look after my own, your father understood that boy. Now you can thank me.”
The thugs behind him laughed as if on cue.
“Thank you Milo for looking after my family,” Titus muttered blushing at the humiliation.
Milo grinned and looked around at his men. “See, everyone loves me.” His words were followed by more sycophantic laughter. “Especially that sister of yours,” Milo turned to look at Titus again, “She’s got a fine pair of tits on her these days. Tell her that I will call on her soon.”
Titus made no reply as the thugs laughed again.
“As for you, Frontinus,” Milo said suddenly changing the subject and turning to the blacksmith, “What the fuck do you think I am here for?”
Frontinus nodded and shuffled over to a strong box which he unlocked using a key that hung around his neck. From it he took a bag of coins and placed it on the work bench. “This month’s dues,” he muttered.
“Very good,” Milo said gesturing for one of the thugs to retrieve the money. There was a broad smile on his face. “You can now rest assured that your business will flourish and prosper under my protection. The college of poets is grateful for your contribution.”
Milo winked at Titus and was turning to leave when something caught his eye. It was the leather despatch case that hung around Titus’ neck. Milo frowned and pointed at the case.
“What is that?” he demanded.
Titus shook his head and made no reply. Angrily Milo stepped across the room and yanked the case from Titus’ neck. The leather strap broke as he did so and a single tightly rolled scroll tumbled onto the table.
“Well, well, what have we here,” Milo said picking up the letter with sudden interest. “What’s this then Titus, state secrets? You can’t even read.”
Titus felt his legs start to tremble but he said nothing. Milo frowned as he read the name on the letter. “I know that man,” he hissed suddenly, “he’s an arse,” what business are you conducting with him?” There was a sudden viciousness in Milo’s voice.
“It’s none of your business, give it back,” Titus growled suddenly finding his voice. He lunged for the letter but Milo was quicker and closed his fist around it.
“I will ask you one more time, after that the pain will begin,” he hissed.
“Titus is going to be educated,” Frontinus suddenly interrupted.
“Now give it back to him Milo, this doesn’t involve you.”
Milo opened his mouth in surprise, looked from Frontinus to Titus and then closed his mouth without saying anything.
“Educated,” he blurted at last, “and how did you manage that?”
“He saved a Patrician’s life at Cannae,” Frontinus said stepping in between Milo and Titus and folding his arms across his chest.
Milo grunted in surprise and for a moment his eyes seemed to roll about in their sockets. Then he shook his head, turned towards the furnace and threw the letter into the fire.
“No, there will be no education for you Titus,” he said, “It’s time you understood who you are and where you belong. Your place is with me and the people of the Subura.”
Titus emitted a strangled cry as he stared at the letter burning away in the fire. He tried to move towards Milo but Frontinus blocked his path, holding him in a bear hug. Then as Milo and his thugs exited the room laughing, tears began to roll down his cheeks.
***
Titus lay on his mattress unable to sleep. It had taken Frontinus a long time to calm him down but now he was calm. Milo and his gang of armed slaves had governed the Subura for as long as he could remember. They were part of everyday life. They kept order in the streets and alleys through a mixture of intimidation, free hand outs, employment and powerful connections to the Senate. The college of poets was
supposed to be exactly that but all knew it had been set up as a legal cover for Milo’s activities. Everyone knew that Milo was not a man to be crossed. Those that did simply disappeared. If someone had vanished, no one would ever ask questions. Milo knew everything that went on in the neighbourhood. His informants were everywhere. He took what he wanted, tolerated no rivals and lived beyond any law.
Titus’ father had warned him long ago about Milo. Do not join him son, whatever he tries to offer you. Milo will lead you into ruin, it’s his way. The greater your ruin, the greater is his hold over you. So Titus had learned to avoid trouble, to take the occasional threats, bribes and humiliations in his stride and so to ensure that his family survived, for that was all that really mattered. But now, with the burning of his letter of introduction and the possibility of getting a replacement slim or non existent, something had changed. Milo was looking to recruit him and make him into another of his thugs. That would be his future if he joined Milo and Titus knew that he could not go on refusing the man without incurring consequences. Sure he himself could hide in the army but what of his mother and sister? They would be left to Milo’s mercy. He’d thought of trying to leave but where would they go? They had no money and no connections and Italy was being convulsed by war. Education was his way out of the slums. That was his best chance and Milo knew it too. Titus closed his eyes. He had to hold onto that dream and find a way.
Chapter Fifteen – Plotting Murder
Demetrius was a short shifty looking character with a long grey beard.
“Who are you?” he said as Adonibaal stood on the doorstep to his house.
Adonibaal stared at the small Macedonian.
“Philip would like to know if you received the statue of Gasoteris.”
For a moment Demetrius looked perplexed. Then a little colour shot into his cheeks and he glanced around to see if there was anyone within earshot.
“It arrived on the summer equinox,” he replied, “Would you like to see it?”
Their eyes locked and the bond of trust was sealed.
“I would,” Adonibaal replied stepping into the house.”
Demetrius closed the door behind him and locked it. Then he leaned against the wood and studied his guest.
“Gisgo has sent you?” he whispered.
Adonibaal nodded. The house was a simple building, a workman’s dwelling. They stood in the front room which was filled with hundreds of stone and bronze statues of all shapes and sizes. A doorway at the back led to another room in which he could hear a woman singing quietly to herself. The smell of fish soup was overpowering. The residence had none of the grandeur of the rich houses that Adonibaal remembered from his youth.
“Your trade is in statues?” Adonibaal asked.
“As you can see,” Demetrius spread his arms out wide.
“What about the woman?”
“She is my wife, you can trust her,” the Macedonian said hastily. He poured the contents of a jug into two cups. As he did so Adonibaal noticed that the man’s hand trembled with the effort.
“Thank the gods that you have come,” he muttered. “What’s your name? No don’t tell me your name, I don’t want to know.”
He handed one of the cups to Adonibaal and tried to smile.
“It’s about time that they sent a replacement,” Demetrius said. “I have been here for two years. The Romans have eyes in the back of their heads. Do you know what that does to a man’s nerves? I can’t wait to return to Pella. I have served my king well. Yes I have,” he muttered to himself.
Adonibaal placed his bowl of soup back on the table without touching it.
“I am not your replacement,” he said.
The Macedonian stopped eating and stared at him. Then he sighed deeply and lowered his eyes.
“So what do you want from me?” the disappointment in the man’s voice was clear, “a hiding place, money?”
Suddenly there was a new hope in the man’s voice.
“How long will it be before Hannibal comes? Is he on his way? Does Gisgo have any messages for me?”
Adonibaal felt a growing sense of disappointment. Demetrius looked worn out. The strain of being a Carthaginian spy in Rome was clearly showing. Damn you Gisgo he thought. Damn you to hell. Gisgo had told him that the man would be able to help him. He’d reassured him that Demetrius was the best of the best, a master spy with a long record of success. The Macedonian had survived longer than any other spy. It was all rubbish. Demetrius had even forgotten to ask him for the final security check. He could not rely on this man. It was only a matter of time before he gave himself away.
“I need some information,” Adonibaal muttered.
“Yes of course,” Demetrius nodded, “whatever you need. The Romans are very active. Just a few weeks ago they crucified twentyfive slaves in the field of Mars. They were accused of plotting against the state. I think they are watching me too.” He glanced nervously at the door. “I must let you know that I am planning to leave soon. When Hannibal comes my work here will be done.”
Demetrius did his best to answer Adonibaal’s questions. When he could think of nothing more to ask Adonibaal rose to his feet. At least the spy had not been a complete waste of time he thought. His answers had given him a good understanding of the mood and disposition of the city, the senate and most crucially the whereabouts of the senate leaders. He glanced casually at the spy trying to see if the man had guessed the purpose of his mission but it was difficult to tell as Demetrius would not look him in the eye.
As he stood up, the Macedonian spy rose with him and stretched out his arm in greeting.
“I wish you luck with whatever you have come to do,” Demetrius smiled, relieved no doubt that the stranger was leaving.
Adonibaal embraced the man and as he did so the thought of killing him crossed his mind. It would make sense. No loose ends, no one who could give him away. For a moment as they embraced he was tempted. With one twist of his hands he could break the man’s neck. It would be over in a second. He held the embrace as he sensed Demetrius trying to break apart. But then he would also have to kill the woman in the back room and the man whom he had asked directions from. Both of them may recognise him. It would all become rather complicated. As he let go, Demetrius stumbled backwards with sudden fear in his eyes.
“If you plan to kill me,” he muttered quietly. “Let the woman live. She is not involved in any of this.”
Adonibaal’s eyes glinted darkly and for a long moment he didn’t move. Then without a word he turned towards the door.
“Wait,” Demetrius said holding up his hand. A bead of sweat ran down his cheek and he eyed Adonibaal nervously. “We are on the same side after all,” he tried to smile, “Please,” he said handing over a sealed scroll, “My report, will you give it to Gisgo?”
Adonibaal took the scroll and slid it into his tunic.
“So Gisgo has plans has he?”
There was a searching inquisitive tone in the spy’s voice that instantly put Adonibaal on guard.
“Hannibal is coming,” he said solemnly, “I have been sent to discover the state of the defences around the city. I am leaving tomorrow.” He paused as his contempt for the Macedonian spy grew. “Gisgo told me that you are to be rewarded.”
And with that he stepped out into the street.
***
It was getting dark as Adonibaal entered the Subura. The shop keepers were closing up their stalls and people were disappearing from the streets. He found an apartment block and rented a room from the janitor. It was on the 4th floor. The janitor, a fat unwashed man with a belly that protruded over his belt stood in the door way as Adonibaal inspected the dwelling.
“You want it?” the man coughed.
The apartment was a single room with a solitary window overlooking an alley. There was a strong smell of old wine, urine and vomit.
“For a week,” Adonibaal said tossing the man a couple of copper coins.
“No whores!” the janitor grumbled, �
��This is a respectable building and you shit in the bucket provided. Milo’s orders!”
When he was alone Adonibaal placed the Scorpion on the floor and crossed to the window. There was not much to see in the alley below. In the apartment across from him a man and a woman were shouting at each other. He judged the distance between their open window and his and grunted with satisfaction. He had an escape route if he needed to get out in a hurry.
That night he didn’t sleep much. The domestic argument across the alley went on and on and in the apartment next door someone had started to play on a flute. He lay on the straw mattress which was the only furniture in the room and stared at the ceiling. In his early years as a fugitive he had often thought about taking revenge on his brother. The thought had kept him warm at night and focussed during the day but as the years had passed it had given way to a growing desire to return to the place and time where his life had broken off. Gisgo had played him well but then Gisgo had a knack for knowing what people wanted. He stared at the cracks in the ceiling. He was happy to be home he thought but his happiness was matched by anger and the memories of dark painful days from the past. He was not going to be pushed out again. He had come home to stay. They would just have to make room for him. He allowed himself a smile. It would be a fine thing to once again be able to stroll down the Sacred Way in the forum and hear people speak your name with respect like they used to do. It would be a fine moment when he took his seat in the Senate like his father had done before him. But these things would only happen if he managed to kill Fabius. Once the old Senate leader was dead and Hannibal ruled in Rome, Adonibaal would be free from the intolerable life he had been forced to live.
The Shield of Rome Page 13