Her eyes shimmered but she couldn’t find any words. She stared at it in amazement as we exited the emporion.
I was about to ask her what she would name it when I saw several men shouting from a platform just before the road to Athens proper. The crowd was packed in before it and watched a slave master display a woman for sale by spreading her lips to reveal the condition of her teeth.
“Fifty!” one watcher shouted.
“One hundred and fifty,” said another.
The man pulled down her tunic and cupped her breast. “Plump, supple, and still time to grow.”
Kirrha looked down as a winning bid was announced and the girl was delivered to her new owner. Several young men were pulled from cages and pushed onto the stage.
I still doubted the veracity of Kirrha’s claim, but I couldn’t help but wonder if any of the men and women being sold were Roman. Regardless, this was likely the very place Apollonius and his niece were bartered off and separated years before.
“Let’s leave this place. Now,” I said.
“I agree,” Apollonius said.
We led Kirrha away, going nowhere in particular.
“So this is your home?” I asked to which she nodded. “Would you like to show us where you lived?”
She seemed to consider it; then her eyes lit up. “Maybe Mother, Father, and Dolios survived and made it back too!” she shouted.
No longer clinging to my hand, she ran through the crowds as quickly as her tiny legs could carry her. We exited the denser part of the city and into the slums closer to the water. I could tell she knew the way well.
Soon I was greeted by the foul smell of death. I covered my nose with my sleeve, and found Apollonius was doing the same.
Kirrha ran ahead, her arms pumping in step with her feet. “It’s right over here!” she hollered back and waved us on.
The smell seemed to be emanating from the mounds of dead insects and shellfish. Her family must have been dyers then, using these tiny murex to collect the purple dye for which aristocrats paid fortunes. And it must have taken a lot of the little buggers too, if one could judge by the size of the mounds.
She ran directly to a brick shack covered in chipping blue and white plaster. It had a shingled roof, well worn from age and exposure to the sea salt. Kirrha went to enter rather than knock. It was locked. “Perhaps they are afraid the bad men will return. They’ll be so pleased to see me,” she said as we joined her by the door. She knocked several times, and as we continued to wait, my heart began to sink. Kirrha would experience their deaths all over again if they weren’t here.
“By the Furies, what is it?” a man called from the side of the house. He seemed to be irritated at the disturbance, and nothing in his demeanor changed when he saw Kirrha’s face. She stepped back.
I sensed something. I approached the man. “Is this your home?”
“Yes, and who asks?” he said, struggling to shift his excessive weight.
I examined him and deliberated about how to respond. He was an older man, and I couldn’t sense any violence in his eyes. He’d been scraping the skin from a hide stretched across a tanner’s rack, and beside him several other pelts were soaking in a basin filled with water and urine. He was a tanner, not a slaver. But I still decided to proceed with caution. “I had business with the owner of this home.”
His brows furrowed and he nodded. “And when did this ‘business’ originate? I just bought this home on auction not a fortnight ago.”
“Some time before that I believe,” I said, hanging my head.
He frowned and dabbed at his forehead with a rag.
“I’m sorry, Roman. But they’re gone.”
I turned to find Kirrha sobbing into Apollonius’ tunic as he rubbed her back. “Do you recall what happened to them?”
“It’s my understanding they were enslaved. Sold off and had their property taken. I hate to profit off of someone’s misery, you see, but the deal was too good to pass up, and I needed a place to tan outside the city limits… because of the smell.”
“Do you know anything about them?”
He noticed Kirrha weeping behind me and watched curiously. “How did you know them again? The owners of the home.”
“As I’ve said, we had business to conduct. What do you know of them?” I stepped into his line of sight.
He seemed to debate how to respond and inhaled deeply. “Good folks, from all who knew them. A bit haughty by nature perhaps, for cloth dyers at least. He was head of the dyers’ guild actually, if my memory hasn’t abandoned me.”
“And they were Roman citizens?”
“I’ve never met a Greek named Gaius Scribonius, so I’d say so. Why? You know him from across the sea?”
I exhaled as my mind raced from the implications. “Yes, something like that.” I began to turn away but stopped. “So… I want to make sure I’m perfectly clear… these were Roman citizens who were enslaved?”
At length he nodded. “I would assume so. Why? What has this to do with me?”
“Roman citizens cannot be enslaved. It’s against the law.”
“Is it?” He seemed surprised. “Lots of men around here are breaking the law then.” He shifted his considerable weight uncomfortably, wondering if he had said too much. “If you’ll excuse me. I should resume my work.”
I accepted his hand half-heartedly before returning to Apollonius and Kirrha. I knelt and inched closer to conceal her from prying eyes.
“What are we to do? Presumably some of these locals know her. Perhaps they would take her in?” Apollonius asked in Latin. “This is her home…” He supported her weight and continued to sooth her by stroking her hair.
“That’s the problem. If…” I didn’t want her to overhear anything she might understand. Apollonius pulled her closer and placed his hand over her ears. I whispered, “If the wrong individuals find out she’s survived, she could be in danger. I don’t know how any of this is possible, but we must find out. In the meantime, we cannot put her at risk.”
Apollonius nodded and slowly pulled her away from him. She rubbed at her swollen eyes with the back of her hand, lips quivering. “Kirrha, would you like to come with Quintus and me for a while? Or do you want to stay here with someone you know?”
She clutched the new doll to her chest and considered it for a moment before pointing at us.
“It’s settled then. We’ll go together,” I said.
At least until we found out who was responsible for this. And when I did find out—I vowed to Orcus—they would all die.
Scroll VII
We made it to the Piraean gate just in time for formation. The twins and Lucius came running behind us, Aulus weighed down by several trinkets.
“Aulus,” I asked, “what in Jupiter’s name is all that?”
He sat down a leather satchel and raised a red-figure vase and a blue cloak hemmed in gold fabric. “Items I might need on campaign.” He shrugged.
I laughed. “And what use have you with an ornamental vase?”
“You know … put grain in it or oil … or something.”
“It’s the wine, Quintus,” Lucius said. “Fool wanted to buy everything he could find.”
The smile faded from my face as I spotted the glistening silver cuirass of a commander in the distance. He was seated in a backless chair in front of the formation, waiting for stragglers to show up. The Legate Paullus stood at his flank, but Didius appeared so cavalier I knew the news of his son’s death hadn’t reached him yet.
“Excuse me for a moment, comrades,” I said. My legs felt like they were weighted down with bags of sand as they bore me to the commander. Could a man deliver worse news than the death of a child? I imagined someone telling me something happened to Gavius. I would call the man a liar and a deceiver, and I’d threaten him with violence. Who could blame a father for such a reaction?
As usual, he was working diligently on a stack of scrolls.
“It’s nothing but paperwork, Sertorius. Don�
�t let anyone tell you different,” he said without looking up. “Every little boy wants to be Consul. You’d only have to explain the reality of it all to scare him into something more practical.”
“Sir.” I snapped to attention and saluted.
“How was your journey? It took you longer than expected,” he said.
“We were caught in some storms, Proconsul.”
He chuckled and finally looked up at me. “Storms, and yet it appears we’ve survived after all. Your priests were incorrect.”
The irony—once he found out—would be palpable.
“Where are the rest of the men?” he said. “I’ll have them scourged if they got drunk, my son included.”
“Sir,” I said, stalling for time.
He set down his scrolls and stood. “Where are the rest of the men, legate?”
“We experienced casualties on the journey.”
His jaw flexed and he inhaled, preparing himself for what he was about to hear.
“And where is my son? Where is Publius?”
“We should talk privately, Proconsul.” I hung my head.
“I’m a Roman, legate. Just spit it out.”
“He was lost at sea, sir.”
He crept back and collapsed into his chair. Slumped over. I saw his knuckles whiten as he squeezed the armrests of the chair. He straightened then and met my gaze. If there were tears in his eyes, I could not see them. “How many did we lose in total?”
“A few dozen. No more.”
He smiled ruefully. “How ironic it is the commander’s son would be amongst the very few losses.”
“I thought the same thing. I spoke with the captain and it appears nothing could have been done. He braved the deck to support the tearing sails, and a wave sent him over the edge.” I rubbed my neck, “I’m sorry, sir.”
He cleared his throat, still wringing the armrest so tight it was moments away from splintering. But when he spoke, his voice was calm. “A good death in any case. All a father could ask for.” He blinked rapidly and cleared his throat again. Then he released his grip and leaned forward, glaring into my eye. “I asked you to look after him.”
“I… t-here was nothing I could—”
“I jest,” he said, but the flash of rage was genuine. “My wife is too old to bear me another child. I’ll have to find another.” He turned to his slave. “Prepare a letter to my brother. He’ll need to find a suitable bride.”
“Yes, dominus,” the slave said.
Didius turned back to me. “Leave me with my thoughts for a moment.”
“Certainly, sir.” I saluted and about-faced.
“No, wait. No. I’ve already put out orders. Legate Paullus can put them out to the men. You come with me,” he said, standing.
“Where are we going, sir?”
“To speak with the incumbent governor. The men have arrived so it’s time for him to leave. And perhaps he can point to the five thousand men we need to kill.” He smiled and looked up at the azure sky. “It’s funny isn’t it? Agamemnon and Priam? I guess we know which I am now. Come then.”
He set off into Athens, and I followed.
“Come, come! Join me. Will you take some wine?” the incumbent governor shouted as we entered the megaron. Typically a banquet hall, Governor Atius had clearly turned this into his living space for the duration of his term.
He was seated at a long table overflowing with Greek delicacies but other diners were absent.
“Thank you for your offer. I’ll not, though,” Didius said.
Despite the governor’s clutter, the megaron was stunning. Garland clang from marble columns of ruby red and coral. Beneath Atius’ table and couches were checkered white and black tile, polished to reflect the torchlight. The walls contained a stunning depiction of Hades stealing Persephone, her mother weeping on the other side.
“Join me at the table at least, won’t you?” he said.
Didius considered it but eventually sat across from the governor, and I did as well.
He appraised us as he gnawed on a cut of dark meat. His hair was fading but rust colored, as were the wisps of facial hair on his neck. Excess flesh bulged over the edges of his breastplate. If it was the one he’d worn since taking command of Greece, he’d certainly expanded in that time.
“This is a good province, Didius. I tell you. No damned plebs barking at you, no senate meetings, nor long-winded speeches from magistrates who enjoy hearing their own words. Ha! I’m not sure how I’ll readjust to Rome!” He took a gulp of wine.
“I’m certain you’ll manage, Atius,” Didius said. He was a proper and fastidious man, even at the worst of times, and had difficulty concealing his disgust.
“Oh, you’re right. I’ll tell you how too. An enormous Domus on a hill outside the public eye. I can afford it now after all.”
Didius exhaled. “You’ve found your time here lucrative then?”
“Gaia’s womb, yes! It’s been a wonderful year. The Greeks are submissive as a temple whore. Hard to imagine them standing up to the Persians or conquering Troy. They’ll give you no trouble. Collect your taxes and consider your stay a long holiday.” He burped into his hand and excused himself. Several Greek slaves came to refill his cup and collect empty plates and errant scraps of food.
“And this is where you’ve stayed? In this great hall?” Didius asked.
He nodded. “And you can too. Let the men sleep in camps outside the city walls. We didn’t strive for position to continue roughing it in the elements, nay?”
Didius, clearly irritated, finally poured himself a cup of wine.
“The men won’t be staying in camp. We’ll be quartering with the locals,” he said, eyes locked on Atius, inviting him to a challenge.
“Queer idea, if you ask me.”
“I didn’t ask you, actually. The Greeks housing the men will also be responsible for providing a single meal each day. That alone makes it worthwhile.”
“Not sure they’ll be pleased,” Atius said, puffing out his cheeks.
“You said they were submissive. They’ll get used to it. Besides, it will save hundreds of thousands of denarii over the course of my campaign.”
Atius’ eyebrow raised at the word ‘campaign’, but then he burst into laughter. “More money for you, aye? Wish I’d thought of it!” He rocked himself to his feet and gestured for us to follow him to the couches. He plopped down and reclined, but Didius remained on his feet so I did as well.
“We shall not stay much longer. We only wanted to ask a few questions about the province,” Didius said, crossing his arms.
“Such as?”
“Anything you’d like to share would be useful. What do we need to know, and who?”
“There’s only one thing you need to know about governing Greece: talk to Timoxenos.” He cupped his hands behind his head.
“Care to elaborate?” Didius said.
“You’ll understand when you meet him. Do whatever he asks and your term in Greece will be smooth as a eunuch’s legs.” He smirked.
“Very well. If there is nothing else you wish to share then—”
“Do you,” I stepped forward, “know anything about Roman citizens being enslaved here in Greece?”
Atius sprang up and fidgeted, the smile finally gone from his face.
“Hush, legate. Can’t you see your betters are discussing?” He looked to Didius for support.
My commander looked at me with a mixture of confusion and irritation, but I leaned closer and whispered, “I’ll explain more later, but this might be our best lead to finding an enemy for your triumph, Proconsul.”
“Go on, Atius,” he said.
The governor stood and waddled toward us, no sign of joviality or humor in his eyes. “Neither I nor any of my men have anything to do with it. Or know anything about it.” He turned and scowled at me, “And it would be wise if you inquired no further about it.”
Scroll VIII
After being dismissed by Didius, I received the n
ame and location of the family I’d be quartering with. Apollonius, Kirrha, and I made our way to the ceramics district, beneath the temple of their patron god, Hephaestus. Didius himself was going to be staying in the large home of the state priest near the acropolis and I’m sure the other officers were staying in grander homes as well, but I wanted to bear the same conditions as my men, even if those conditions were much more lax than anything we’d experienced at war. This was something I learned from Marius.
We hadn’t even made it to the agora before a cool rain poured down in sheets of gray, the skies darkening above us. Puddles formed almost immediately and a slush of mud covered the stone. The homes here were shabby but constructed well, built to withstand rainstorms like this but perhaps not much else.
“Can you be certain which one it is?” Apollonius said, holding his cloak above his head and blinking water droplets from his lashes.
“The quaestor said there’s a shop on the lower level, facing south. Is that south?” I said. We looked up and found it difficult to locate the sun behind angry clouds.
“That’s south,” Kirrha corrected me, “back toward home.”
A wooden door opened behind us and a short burly man peered out, a hand shielding his face from the rain. “You the Roman legate?”
“Yes, Legate Quintus Sertorius,” I said, praying this was the man I was looking for.
“Come in then, you’re soaked through.” He waved us in.
We hurried to oblige but stopped to unstrap our sandals before entering. I’m sure they were prepared for typical Roman arrogance from their guests, but I was determined to prove this was still their home and I would respect it as such.
“My name is Niarchos. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He bowed. I shook his hand and found them rough and callused, a thin veneer of clay permanently glued to them. He belonged to a certain class of hard-working craftsmen my father admired, and perhaps would have chosen for me if given the choice.
“This is Apollonius,” I said, “my friend and aide.”
Whom Gods Destroy: A Novel of Ancient Rome (The Sertorius Scrolls Book 4) Page 6