Watchmen of Rome

by Watchmen of Rome (retail) (epub)

  Carbo looked around the room. Five people occupied a room about twice as wide as a man is tall at its longest dimension. He knew it was common for the living space of an entire extended family to be a similar size. Fortunately, with Rome’s benign climate, a Roman could spend most of his life outdoors, retreating home only for sleep. Still, he wondered about the occupants of the rooms upstairs. Their rent was due today, and he recalled Marsia telling him about one perennially late payer. He resolved to accompany her when she went to collect the rent that morning.

  Marsia rose now, folding back her blanket and standing, naked. Carbo had a moment to admire her figure, full breasts, broad shoulders and toned muscles developed in a barbarian lifestyle in the forests of Germany and maintained in good condition by physical labour ever since. She shrugged her plain dress over her head, then noticed Carbo looking at her and held his gaze. She smiled at him and bade him a good morning. For a moment, Carbo felt embarrassed to have been caught looking. Then he remembered their respective positions.

  ‘Good morning, Marsia. Get Philon up, then go and find me something to eat.’

  Marsia dipped her head briefly, then gave Philon a kick, who woke with a yelp.

  ‘Up, lazy head,’ she said sharply. ‘I’m not doing your work for you.’

  Philon rose, grumbling and cursing. Soon, though, the slaves were downstairs, starting their chores and getting on with the business of preparing the tavern for the day ahead. Carbo waited until they were alone, then looked at Rufa.

  ‘How did you sleep?’ he asked.

  She smiled a little sadly.

  ‘I would believe that I hadn’t slept at all, if it wasn’t for the bad dreams I can recall.’

  Carbo couldn’t think of anything to say for a moment. Fabilla woke and stretched.

  ‘Where are we, Mummy?’ she asked.

  ‘Staying in my friend Carbo’s tavern. You remember we came here last night?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ She smiled brightly. ‘When are we going home?’

  Rufa looked across at Carbo, who avoided her gaze. Her face fell momentarily, then hardened.

  ‘We aren’t going back to that home, Fabilla. I will find us a new home.’

  ‘So we will have a new mistress?’

  ‘I… don’t know.’

  ‘Did the mistress sell us?’

  ‘No, Fabilla, she didn’t.’

  Fabilla’s eyes grew wide. ‘Did we… did we run away, Mummy?’

  Rufa looked helplessly to Carbo, her mouth open, fear and misery clear on her face. Carbo intervened.

  ‘Fabilla, why don’t you go downstairs and ask Marsia for some breakfast. I think there are some dates somewhere. Then maybe you could ask if she needs any help. You look like a very helpful young lady. Would you like to help Marsia?’

  ‘Yes, Master, I would.’

  Carbo smiled. ‘I’m not your master, Fabilla. You may call me Carbo.’

  ‘Thank you. Carbo.’ Fabilla smiled impishly, then flitted off in search of Marsia.

  There was a moment’s silence, then Carbo and Rufa tried to speak at the same time. They laughed, and Carbo indicated for Rufa to continue. She spoke in a careful, measured tone.

  ‘You have been most kind in putting us up last night. We will be gone this morning. Thank you for your help.’

  Carbo looked at her steadily. ‘Where would you go?’

  ‘We would leave Rome. Find work in a tavern in a provincial town.’

  ‘Somewhere they don’t ask questions? Where they aren’t suspicious of a young mother and her daughter turning up with no family, no man to look after them? Somewhere where the urban cohorts and the vigiles and the fugitivarii won’t find you? Assuming you make it there, a young woman and a young girl, travelling through bandit-ridden country alone.’

  Rufa’s gaze was defiant, but she said nothing. Carbo shook his head.

  ‘I told you last night that you could stay. That I would help you.’

  ‘But your vow. I mean… It was so long ago. I came to you because I had nowhere else. But I was just a child when you last saw me. I have been thinking about this all night. Why would you help me now, after all this time? What do you owe my father any more?’

  A darkness passed over Carbo’s face, and momentarily Rufa drew back in fear. Carbo stood, naked apart from a plain loincloth tied at one side. He stepped forward and took her hand. Then, looking into her eyes, he cupped his genitals in one hand in the traditional manner of someone making an oath, and said, ‘I swear to you, Rufa, by the ashes of my ancestors, by Jupiter and by Mars, that I will do my utmost to protect you and your daughter. May the gods take my balls if I lie.’

  Rufa gripped his hand tightly, tears of gratitude in her eyes, and they were silent for a moment. Then she put her arms around him and started to sob heavily, suddenly unable to control herself after the anxiety and terror she had been experiencing from the moment she found out that Fabilla was in danger. Carbo held her to him, surprised to find he was enjoying the sensation of her warm body, still in the grubby dress in which she had fled her home, pressed against his bare chest. His fingers stroked her back and hair gently as she cried.

  Eventually, the sobbing slowed and stopped. He tilted her chin up to look at him and found her face a mess of tears and snot. He looked around him and found a rag on the floor, which he offered to her. She looked at it suspiciously for a moment, with good reason, he reflected – he had no idea whether the rag was a duster, a dishcloth, or one of the rags that Marsia had to clean and bleach after tying them between her legs once a month. Nevertheless, she wiped her face and blew her nose on it before passing it back to Carbo. He held it up between finger and thumb, looking at it in distaste, before hurling it over his shoulder. Rufa burst out laughing in a release of tension. Carbo laughed too, and held her hand.

  ‘I will keep you both safe,’ he reiterated. ‘I just have to work out how. I am new in Rome, I don’t have allies or patrons or family or friends. Well…’ he paused thoughtfully. ‘Maybe there is someone.’

  Rufa cocked her head on one side, curiously.

  * * *

  Carbo strode east down the Clivus Suburanus. The late morning weather was pleasant, the sky cloudless. Carbo’s height and bulk allowed him to part the crowds more successfully than most, but progress was still slow without some burly slaves to clear the way. Once, he tripped over a dead body, a middle-aged man clothed only in a tatty loincloth. The late summer heat had speeded the initial process of decomposition, and though it might not have lain there for very long, Carbo felt no real sympathy for the deceased. Death on the streets was common enough for the homeless, and besides, he had seen enough death in the legions to numb him to most sights. However, he was annoyed that no one had cleaned the corpse away yet. In the legions, such sloppiness would have been harshly punished.

  He squeezed through the crush at the Esquiline gate of the Servian walls and found his way to the second station of the cohortes vigilum. There was a tired-looking watchman on guard outside the door, lounging against the wall.

  ‘I want to see your commander, Soldier,’ said Carbo.

  Carbo’s commanding tone and military bearing had an immediate effect on the watchman, causing him to stand upright and attempt a sloppy salute.

  ‘Sir, I don’t think…’

  ‘Now, Soldier.’

  The watchman went into the station, and shortly afterwards a short but muscular man with a furious expression on his face emerged.

  ‘What in the name of all the gods do you want?’

  ‘I’m here to see Vespillo.’

  ‘Vespillo isn’t here, I’m in charge right now. Say your piece or get lost.’

  Carbo surveyed the man calmly. ‘What’s your name?’

  The deputy drew himself up to his full, short height and puffed out his chest. ‘I am Sextus Horatius Taura, second in command of the second Esquiline Fire Station. For the last time, who are you and what do you want?’

  ‘I’m Gaius Valerius Carbo.’<
br />
  Taura’s eyes narrowed. ‘Ah. You. Vespillo did mention you.’

  ‘In glowing terms, I hope?’

  Taura frowned. ‘You’re going to bring trouble. On yourself. On the people round you. And on the vigiles.’

  ‘It’s not my intention. I’ve had twenty-five years of trouble. I just want a quiet life now.’

  ‘Well, you aren’t going about it in a very sensible way.’ Taura sighed. ‘Why do you need to see Vespillo anyway?’

  ‘I… need some advice.’

  ‘Go to an astrologer then, or a philosopher.’

  ‘I don’t want my fortune read, or to be sold platitudes about life. I need something more practical.’

  ‘And it can’t wait?’

  ‘No.’

  Taura considered for a while. Then he came to a decision. ‘Vespillo seemed impressed with you. You don’t do anything for me. Nonetheless. Vespillo will be pretty angry to be woken, but I’m thinking that’s your problem.’ Taura told him where Vespillo lived, an insula two streets away. Carbo thanked him and offered him a small coin. Taura looked at it with contempt, shook his head and walked back inside the station.

  * * *

  A tall, dark-skinned slave answered the door of the ground-floor apartment to Carbo’s loud knock.

  ‘Fetch your master, Vespillo,’ said Carbo.

  ‘He is sleeping. He is not to be disturbed. Come back at sundown.’

  The slave started to close the door, but Carbo pushed it back open forcefully.

  ‘Wake him,’ said Carbo firmly. ‘If he says he doesn’t want to see me, I will leave.’

  The slave stared into Carbo’s piercing eyes and decided to do as he was told. Carbo waited at the door. A few minutes later, Vespillo appeared, eyes a little red, sleep in the corners, hair dishevelled, a tunic hastily and untidily thrown on.

  ‘By Mars’ hairy arse, what is so important that you disturb my sleep?’

  ‘I need your help.’

  Vespillo sighed. ‘More trouble with the local gangs? Maybe you need to buy some burly bodyguards.’

  ‘No, not that.’

  ‘What then?’

  Carbo hesitated. ‘Is there somewhere we can talk in private?’

  Vespillo looked backwards into the house. Carbo looked over his shoulder. The bright daylight outside meant that he could see little of the inside of Vespillo’s apartment, but he got an impression of a well cared for home.

  ‘Come with me,’ said Vespillo, and closed the door behind him. He led Carbo to a small, cheap restaurant on a street corner. They took a couple of chairs at a table on the street, and asked the serving slave for some bread and garum, and some watered wine. Carbo paid for them both and waited until it had arrived.

  ‘Out with it then,’ said Vespillo. ‘What is so damned important?’

  Now that the moment was upon him, Carbo paused. He felt his heartbeat accelerate. What was he doing? This man was a commander of the vigiles, one of his jobs was to catch escaped slaves. But who else could he turn to?

  ‘I have a problem. Could you give me some advice? About a hypothetical matter?’

  ‘A hypothetical matter? I’m not much good with them. I deal with what’s in front of me. Fires. Cut-throats. Fugitives.’

  ‘Please indulge me,’ said Carbo.

  Vespillo nodded. ‘Very well. Go on.’

  Carbo thought for a moment about how to broach the subject. He looked at Vespillo’s grey-bearded face, the visage forged in battle.

  ‘In the legions, your comrades are like your family.’

  Vespillo inclined his head in agreement – Carbo was stating a fact, not asking a question.

  ‘You eat with them, sleep with them, fight with them, and some of them die by your side. Someone who has not been in the legions cannot possibly understand the bonds that form between you. So you look out for each other. And each other’s families.’

  Again Vespillo nodded, his steady gaze not wavering.

  ‘Those bonds, those obligations, extend beyond our time in the legions. Even beyond death. Don’t you agree?’

  ‘Of course.’ Vespillo showed no sign of impatience yet.

  ‘Do you take an oath to the gods seriously?’

  ‘I do not give my word lightly, whether I swear by the gods or my honour.’

  ‘Then how greatly would you feel obliged to the daughter of a comrade from the legions, a man who died in a battle that you survived, to whom you had sworn an oath to protect her?’

  ‘That seems to me like a very serious obligation.’

  ‘And what if that girl, that you had sworn to your dead brother-in-arms to protect, sworn before the gods, was now a slave?’

  ‘Ah.’ Vespillo looked away for a moment. He took a sip of his drink. Carbo looked around. No one seemed to be listening to their conversation. A scruffy dog cocked its leg against a fruit seller’s stand and had a mouldy apple thrown at it by the yelling stallholder. From a nearby second-floor window a woman harangued a man, presumably her husband, who was on the street outside. He seemed to be asking to be let in, and she was screaming he should run to his whore. Vespillo put his drink down.

  ‘A legionary, current or former, owes a loyalty to the Emperor and to his laws,’ said the vigiles commander. ‘I suppose I would feel I had let the girl down, that she had been enslaved. But once it is a done deed, there is really nothing to be done. Maybe I would visit her, make sure her master or mistress was treating her well. Beyond that, though…’ Vespillo shrugged.

  ‘What if you found she wasn’t being treated well?’

  ‘I would speak to her owner. If it was within my power I would persuade or threaten them to be a kind master or mistress.’

  ‘And if it wasn’t in your power?’

  Vespillo hesitated. ‘I… don’t know.’

  ‘Now, what if that slave, who you hadn’t seen since she was a little girl, turned up in your house, a runaway, claiming her mistress was threatening her life and the life of her daughter. Where then stands your loyalty to the Emperor, and your loyalty and oath to your comrade?’

  Vespillo’s mouth dropped, his eyes widening. ‘This has gone way beyond the hypothetical, Carbo, hasn’t it?’

  Carbo said nothing.

  ‘Why have you come to me? Knowing what I do?’

  ‘Because you were in the legions. I know you understand. Also, I think you are an honourable man. And… I have no one else. I’ve left the army, I’ve arrived back in Rome after twenty-five years, knowing not a soul. I have no friends, no family, no patron.’

  ‘Let me get this straight, Carbo. You are asking for me to help you in giving shelter to a runaway slave? The commander of the local vigiles, one of whose jobs it is to apprehend fugitive slaves? Are you mad?’

  Carbo’s face hardened. He pushed his hair back and stood. ‘I am sorry to have wasted your time. I hope you will honour the confidential way in which I approached you. I will look to my own resources. I suppose it is something I will need to get used to now.’

  ‘Sit down, you idiot,’ said Vespillo.

  Carbo hesitated, then sat down again. Vespillo looked at him and considered. This man was making waves in the already stormy seas of Suburan life. The obvious thing to do was cut him adrift. Surely he would be dead within days without the help of the vigiles. But Vespillo wasn’t so sure. Carbo obviously had internal resources, no weakling could rise from the ranks to be pilus prior of a cohort. And he had demonstrated guts and fighting ability already. If Vespillo didn’t help him, would he have an angry, uncontrolled, dangerous man in his district to deal with? Besides, Carbo could prove to be a useful foil against the power of the gangs and brotherhoods like the one run by Cilo and Manius. He thought that he would rather have Carbo inside his tent, pissing out, than the other way round.

  And Vespillo had to concede grudgingly that he liked the man.

  ‘Unfortunately for me, you seem to be a good judge of character. I’m not going to betray your confidence. I’ll help you.’ He dr
ained his cup. ‘Now buy me another drink and tell me everything.’

  Chapter VIII

  When Carbo had finished the story, Vespillo sat in silence for a while, lost in thought. Carbo looked around him. The sun was rising to its zenith and the streets were becoming more crowded. Curses rang out as hurrying citizens and slaves bumped into each other and dropped loads. Donkeys and mules carrying overflowing baskets squashed people against the walls. Hawkers, market sellers, astrologers, philosophers, barbers and prostitutes all shouted advertisements for their services and products. Vespillo looked up at Carbo, who focused his attention back on the vigiles commander.

  ‘I don’t think you should take them out of Rome,’ said Vespillo.

  ‘Why not?’ asked Carbo.

  ‘Several reasons. Taking them out of the gates would expose them to the scrutiny of anyone – official or private citizen – who was looking out for them. Then you have to consider where you would take them, and how you would make sure they were cared for and protected. Mostly, though, any place you take them to will be smaller than Rome, and strangers coming into a new place always rouse suspicion. People ask questions. There is no other city in the world as big as Rome. Here, they are just two in a million people. It seems to me that you couldn’t really do better for a hiding place. But maybe you don’t need to hide.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Tell me about your finances.’

  Carbo raised his eyebrows at the personal question, but answered anyway.

  ‘By the standards of the Subura, I am wealthy. I campaigned for twenty-five years, and rose to the rank of pilus prior of the second cohort. You get a fair share of the spoils at that rank. And a share of the scams that go on. You know the drill.’