As he thought of the vigiles, he realized that one of the group of three men gaming at a table had been with Vespillo the previous night, and he saluted him and took over a free glass of wine. The man thanked him and introduced his friends as fellow watchmen, so Carbo fetched them all drinks as well. He wondered briefly how badly a free drinks for vigiles policy would affect his profits, but business had seemed good so far, and he was sure the policy would be worth it. He pulled up a stool and joined them at the game.
* * *
A glimpse of the first star shining in a dark blue sky showed Rufa that dusk was falling. Her day had been spent performing her usual tasks – cleaning, cooking, a little sewing – while her stomach churned with anxiety. She didn’t want to let Fabilla out of her sight, but Fabilla had her own chores to do, and besides, she didn’t want to do anything to arouse suspicions by deviating from her normal routines. So she had stitched and scrubbed and stirred, keeping her face blank, obeying commands and joining conversations as if today was simply another day in servitude.
Rufa went back to her bedroom and found Fabilla waiting for her. Her daughter had been inconsolable last night when Rufa had told her that she thought Arethusa was lost. As she had held her daughter, she went over and over in her mind what she had heard. There was no room for misinterpretation. They had chosen her daughter for a sacrifice in some strange ritual. Rufa trembled in terror at the thought, but gradually a mad plan began to appear in her mind. It was only half-formed, and it was ridiculously risky, but what else could she do? She would give her life for her daughter, do anything to keep her safe.
So now, with night coming, and her duties for the day completed as the mistress was not entertaining today, she picked up the purse that held the few small coins she had managed to save, took Fabilla’s hand and opened the door of the bedroom.
‘Where are you off to?’ asked Natta, from the bed where she was cuddling her children.
‘Errand for the mistress,’ said Rufa, and walked out to forestall further questioning. She led Fabilla briskly to the atrium and the little girl skipped to keep up.
‘Mummy, where are we going? Isn’t it bedtime?’
‘Hush, daughter. I need you now to be very grown-up. We are going outside for a little walk and I need you to be extremely quiet. Demosthenes will ask where we are going. I will answer, and you must say nothing. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Mummy, but why? Are we having an adventure? Will the mistress be cross with us?’
‘You just need to trust me, daughter. You do trust me, don’t you?’
‘Yes, Mummy,’ said Fabilla.
They reached the atrium, the entrance hall where visitors were received, decorated with bright frescoes and marble and bronze statues. Demosthenes stood by the entrance with arms folded. As he saw Rufa and Fabilla approaching, he stepped in front of the door and looked at them silently.
‘Demosthenes,’ said Rufa. ‘We need to go out.’
He regarded them steadily.
‘It’s late,’ he said.
‘Yes, I know,’ sighed Rufa. ‘The cook is running low on garum, and he needs it for the meal he is preparing for the mistress tonight.’
‘Market will be closed,’ said Demosthenes.
‘I know, I know, it’s all very inconvenient. Fortunately, cook knows the name of a man whose shop is open late. It is a bit of a walk, so I might be gone a while, but cook says he makes the best mackerel garum, and nothing else will do.’
‘Why the girl?’
‘She had a nightmare when she was alone last night, so I wanted her to come with me. Besides, it will be good for her to see some of the city.’
‘Should check with Shafat.’
‘Oh Demosthenes, don’t be such a stickler. Shafat said it was fine.’
Demosthenes looked doubtful. Panic starting to rise within Rufa, she stepped forward and pressed her body up against the large doorkeeper. One hand moved to his groin, and she felt him stiffen a little under her touch. She whispered into his ear.
‘Demosthenes, I must hurry to carry out Shafat’s commands. So if you let me go right now, I will show my appreciation for you when I come back.’ She gave his manhood a little squeeze and was rewarded with a slight twitch from under his tunic. He grinned, then stepped aside. Rufa gave him a bright smile, and stepped outside with Fabilla in tow.
The population of the darkening streets was changing from the day shift to the night shift. Shoppers, artisans, workers and those of no particular occupation gave way to groups of drinkers, partygoers, thieves and cutpurses. For a moment she was paralysed. If she walked away from the house now, she was an escaped slave, with all the consequences that entailed. If she stayed, she was going to lose her daughter in unimaginable circumstances. She gripped Fabilla’s hand tight, and marched off in what she hoped was the right direction.
The journey took her over an hour, with various dead ends and wrong turnings. The area looked very different at night, with the usual landmarks hard to make out. Once she summoned up the courage to ask directions from a kindly-looking couple, and fortunately they were helpful and not too inquisitive. Another time, she pulled back into the shadows when a detachment of vigiles ran past, carrying their buckets and pumps. A glow from a building in a neighbouring street and the smell of smoke suggested they had urgent business, but Rufa knew that one of their jobs was to catch escaped slaves, and she didn’t want to chance a meeting.
Eventually she came to the street she was looking for, and then the tavern with the sign of the cockerel on the wall. She paused now, fear overtaking her again. Her legs felt weak. Judging by the light from oil lamps leaking out from the crack beneath the door, and the sounds of singing and laughter from within, the tavern was still open. She considered waiting till it was quieter, but that meant her staying out on the streets for longer, which was risky. She still hesitated. What if this was the wrong tavern? Maybe the wrong Carbo? Or maybe the right Carbo, but a Carbo who didn’t remember her, or whose love and loyalty had eroded over the years.
She pulled her tunic up to hide her face as best she could, eased the door open and was assaulted by the noise, the heat of packed bodies, the smell of spicy food and sweet wine. She dragged a fascinated Fabilla through the tavern, ignoring the curious eyes on her, and made her way to the bar. Behind it was a tall, dark-haired, thick-set woman.
‘What can I get you?’ asked the barmaid, her accent reminding Rufa of the locals she grew up around.
‘I’m here to see Carbo,’ said Rufa in a small voice.
‘Say that again,’ said the barmaid. ‘It’s noisy tonight.’
‘I’m here to see Carbo,’ she said, louder this time.
The barmaid looked at her suspiciously. ‘And who should I say is asking for him?’
‘A very old friend,’ said Rufa. The barmaid nodded, and gestured to another slave. ‘Go and get the master, Philon. Tell him there is a girl here for him who says she is an old friend.’
Philon stomped off, reluctant as ever to be ordered around. Marsia regarded Rufa steadily, and Rufa kept her eyes cast downwards. Fabilla on the other hand looked all around her, returning unblinking the gazes of the surprised customers. Shortly, a door behind the bar opened, and a tall, muscular man with black hair stepped out. Rufa raised her head and looked him straight in the eye. A moment passed, and she watched the man struggle to place the familiar face.
‘Gaius Valerius Carbo. It’s Rufa.’
His face showed open shock.
‘Rufa? Is it really you?’ He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her.
Rufa put her head on his shoulder. ‘I need your help.’
Before he could speak, Rufa pressed a finger to his lips. ‘Can we go somewhere to talk in private?’
Carbo nodded. ‘Stay here and look after the customers,’ he said to Marsia and ushered Rufa and Fabilla out of the back door. He looked back, and Marsia held his eye for a moment, a questioning look on her face, before he shrugged, turned round a
nd followed Rufa and Fabilla through into the kitchen.
Chapter V
Carbo ushered Fabilla to a chair, and passed her some nuts to eat. Rufa bent down to her.
‘Fabilla, I need you to be very good. You must sit still while I talk to this man. He is going to help us.’
‘Who is he, Mummy? And why do we need help?’
‘He is a very old friend. And you do not need to worry.’
She stood and moved to Carbo, who took her hand and smiled at her.
‘It’s wonderful to see you, Rufa, after all these years. She is your daughter?’
Rufa nodded.
‘Of course,’ said Carbo. ‘Who could mistake the hair? You know, you weren’t many years older than her when I last saw you. So you are married now? Some honest Roman tradesman?’
‘No,’ she said, her voice a whisper. ‘I’m a slave.’
‘A slave?’ he gasped. ‘What happened, Rufa?’
Rufa shook her head, words not coming easily.
‘Well, who is your master?’
‘I don’t have a master, I have a mistress. But I… I…’ She bit back a sob. ‘I ran away from her.’
Carbo took a step back. ‘You did what? When? Can you go back before you are discovered?’
‘No, Carbo, I can’t, I can’t.’
‘An escaped slave, Rufa. Are you mad? You know what they can do to you?’
Tears started to roll down her face.
‘Carbo, she means to kill my daughter.’
Carbo stared, one shock after another making him dizzy. He looked over at Fabilla, who seemed torn between eating the nuts and using them to make pretty patterns.
‘Why? It doesn’t make sense.’
Rufa looked pitiful, her face painted with misery, her tears washing paler lines through the dirt on her cheeks. She too looked over at her daughter, the sight of the child concentrating hard on her play only seeming to increase her anguish. The kitchen was a small room, cramped by a couple of stools, the pots and amphorae and a glowing cooking fire. Carbo could tell that Rufa was reluctant to speak in front of Fabilla. He poked his head through into the bar and summoned Marsia.
Marsia came into the kitchen, not speaking, but her curious gaze was flicking between Carbo, Rufa and Fabilla.
‘Marsia, please care for this child for me. Philon can look after the bar. I need to speak to her mother alone.’
Marsia looked at Fabilla anxiously. ‘Master, I don’t know how to care for a child.’
Carbo frowned. ‘Just make sure she has some food and water, don’t let her run off or set herself on fire, and if she needs a shit or a piss, make sure she does it out of the window.’
‘Yes, Master.’
Carbo took Rufa’s arm and led her upstairs to the small living room. He ushered her to a couch and perched himself on a stool opposite her. She sat with head bowed, saying nothing.
‘You do know what they do to escaped slaves, don’t you?’ he said again. She didn’t reply.
‘If you are lucky, they will brand your forehead with the word “Fugitive”, whip you, and place an iron collar around your neck with instructions to return you to your mistress. If you are unlucky, they might break your bones, or hang you up by your wrists with weights tied to your feet, or send you to the salt mines, or crucify you…’
‘Stop, please, stop,’ sobbed Rufa. ‘I know all this, I know. But my daughter, I can’t let them hurt my Fabilla.’
‘But why would they want to?’
She shook her head. ‘You will think the gods have taken my senses.’
Carbo passed her a cup of water and waited for her to sip. ‘Try me,’ he said.
With an effort, Rufa got her sobs under control.
‘Fabilla and I were bought by our mistress, Elissa, about six months ago. Our last master was moving to the country and didn’t want to take all his slaves with him. We were taken to the slave market, the one behind the Temple of Castor in the Roman Forum. Have you ever been to a slave auction, Carbo?’
Carbo nodded his head. ‘I’ve been in the legions for twenty-five years, Rufa. I’ve seen a lot of the world.’
‘The slave dealers made us bathe, put us in clean clothes, put make-up on to hide blemishes and pockmarks on our skin, and then we were placed on a platform. We had signs hung around our necks saying we were house slaves, and mother and daughter, and that we were hard workers and healthy. The buyers walked around us, poked us, and stripped us naked to examine us. One man who had already bought three young girls wanted to buy Fabilla and not me. I was so scared he was going to take her away from me, and I didn’t know what he might have planned for her. But the auctioneer thought he could get more money for us as a pair, and he turned him down. Then Elissa, my mistress, came along. She spoke to us softly, offered a good price, and took us home.
‘We have worked hard for her. Fabilla does her chores and never causes any trouble. I do everything asked of me. We are rarely punished. Elissa seemed a kindly mistress, and we were as happy and well looked after as slaves can be. Some things seemed strange. Elissa had many visitors, but they didn’t seem to be friends. She never talked to the slaves about it, but from the things we overheard and saw, she seems to be some sort of priestess.
‘Then, last night, she had dinner with two men and a woman. After, I was in the peristylium, and they started talking.’
Rufa related the events of the night before. Carbo listened in silence, eyebrows raising at the description of the sacrifice of Arethusa, the little doll. She described her flight with Fabilla, her arrival at the tavern, and then her voice trailed off.
‘How did you know where to find me? How did you even know I was in Rome?’
‘The slaves were talking about this veteran called Carbo who had taken over a tavern in the Subura and had faced down thugs who tried to muscle in on his business. It sounded like a Carbo I knew.’
Carbo smiled, despite the tension in his guts.
‘I remembered your promise to my father,’ continued Rufa. ‘That if he was not around, you would always look after me.’
‘You were a child then, and free.’
‘You didn’t say there were conditions on your promise.’
Carbo shook his head. ‘If I helped you, I would be guilty of theft. Harbouring a fugitive slave is considered stealing.’
Rufa said nothing.
‘I would be punished.’
Rufa remained silent. Carbo sighed. His gaze shifted to the wall, as he recalled the occasion he had made his vow.
‘Your father must have had some sort of premonition. There had certainly been a poor augury, and your father always put a lot of store in what the priests had to say. Do you remember the day we marched out?’
Rufa nodded. ‘Eighteen years ago, when I was eight years old. Like it was yesterday. My father, the first spear, and his three most senior centurions. My mother had died so long ago, I barely remembered her, but you were all like family to me. You all looked so handsome, your shields so shiny, helmets polished. I was so proud of him, of you all.’
‘He gathered us round you, the three of us and him. He made all three of us promise on our ancestors’ shades that we would care for you if anything happened to him. What else could we do? We loved that man, and we loved you like a daughter. We made our vow, and marched off into the forest. I was the only one that came back.’
For a moment, Carbo’s eyes narrowed as images of battle, bloodshed and horror filled his mind. Rufa touched his knee, bringing him back to the present.
‘You are right, Rufa. I made my vow. Time does not change that. You can stay here for tonight. The vigiles and the fugitivarii will be looking out for you. I will think about what we can do next. Maybe we could get you out of Rome, then sell you to a good master.’
Rufa bit her lip at that, but inclined her head and said, ‘Thank you, Carbo.’
Carbo put his head on one side. ‘So what happened? When I finally got back to camp, they said you had returned to Rome, that
relatives had adopted you.’
Rufa nodded. ‘My uncle, my father’s brother, sent word from Rome, as soon as they heard of the disaster, of my father’s death. They had children of their own, but my uncle felt it was the honourable thing to do. He treated me well enough, but my aunt hated me. Maybe she saw me as a threat to her own children, two daughters. They were younger than me, and with me being legally adopted, and no male heir, I stood to inherit the most, even if it would just go to my husband on my marriage.
‘My aunt tried to turn my uncle against me. She made up offences she pretended I had committed, spread gossip about me, put wicked words in my mouth. He was a weak man, prone to drinking and gambling, but he did his best to resist and stand up for me. My new sisters hated me, but I learnt to look after myself and I never made trouble.
‘Then, one day, my uncle came home completely drunk. That in itself wasn’t unusual, but this time he was shouting and breaking things, and then had a huge row with my aunt. I hid myself away for the rest of the day. That night my aunt came to me in my bedroom. She told me, in a very matter of fact way, that my uncle had lost an enormous amount of money in a dice game, more than he could afford. They were in danger of losing the house, so to pay the debt I was to be sold into slavery.’
Carbo said nothing, but his face betrayed his anger. He knew at an abstract level that it was a common enough situation, a child sold into slavery to pay a debt. The alternative was the debtor himself being sold into slavery in many cases, and the loss of a child was thought to be the lesser evil, especially if there were other children already in the family. Usually the mothers protested, but the head of the family, the paterfamilias, had absolute right of life and death over every member of the household. So the adopted child in the family was the logical choice to be the one sold to pay the debts. But this was little Rufa, the only child of his mentor, Fabius, the girl he had sworn to protect. He had thought his oath discharged when she had returned to Rome into the care of a family who, while by no means rich, had enough income to support her.
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