‘We returned to the fighting lower down, and your father performed the same feat. Three more times he gathered men about him and stormed the defences. Each time those of us that survived came away more bloodied, more exhausted. Every one of us had blood flowing from multiple wounds, and our strength was nearly gone. You can’t imagine how it feels to charge into battle, knowing your life depended on how you fought, yet barely being able to lift your sword.’
Carbo’s gaze was fixed in the middle distance now, the long-ago scenes so fresh in his mind it was as if they were playing out in front of him.
‘Still the slaughter around us continued. Your father rallied us once more and we charged up the hill. We were too slow this time. Three quarters of us were dead before we reached the top and we were badly outnumbered by the defenders. We fought in desperation, and the numbers shifted in our favour.
‘Then your father’s gladius became wedged in a German warrior. As he tried to pull it from the dying man, another German came at him from behind and thrust his sword through your father’s back and out the other side.’
Rufa’s hand tightened on his and Carbo looked into her eyes, anguish etched on his face.
‘I killed the man with a single thrust under his armpit, Rufa. I avenged him.’
‘Thank you for that, Carbo,’ she said, eyes moist.
He sighed. ‘Suddenly there was a lull in the fighting as our men finished off the remaining Germans in the small area around us. I held your father as he died, looking into his eyes as the light went out.’
‘Did he say anything?’ she asked in a small voice.
Carbo shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. I would love to tell you that he spoke of heroism and friendship, or that his last words were of you. But death in battle seldom allows that. He moved his lips, and blood came out, and he died.’
A choking sob escaped from Rufa and she looked at him, vision blurred by the tears.
‘I’m sorry, Carbo. I shouldn’t have put you through this. It was selfish.’
‘No,’ said Carbo. ‘It feels somehow… right. Especially to be telling you, of all people.’
‘Do you want to stop now?’
‘No. I feel like if I don’t finish the story now, I never will.’
Rufa squeezed his hand tight. ‘Only if you are sure, then.’
Carbo took a breath to steady himself, then continued.
‘The cavalry left us then. To this day, I don’t know if they abandoned us like cowards, or retreated on the orders of Varus. Watching them go made us feel even more hopeless. The driving rain had soaked through the leather of our shields, making them a huge burden to lift. The violent wind stopped our javelins and our archers’ arrows from finding any targets. The Germans, though, with their light armour, could attack and withdraw at will. On top of this, the German tribes who had been scared to challenge Rome now saw we were vulnerable and threw their lot in with Arminius. Fresh, unbloodied Germans joined the fight against legionaries that could barely lift their sword and shield. We were finished.’
Carbo sighed, his slumped shoulders reflecting the sting of defeat, the shame and the terror he had felt, all those years ago.
‘We all knew stories of how the Germans treated their prisoners. I had hoped they were exaggerated. It seemed unreal to be discussing with my comrades whether we should take our own lives, or surrender to who knew what fate. Varus ran himself through with a sword. I think now he did the right thing. Ceionius, the surviving camp commander, decided to surrender. There was no escape, we were surrounded and trapped. I was scared and I wanted to live. I surrendered with Ceionius.’
Carbo bowed his head. Rufa put a hand to his cheek and he looked up, his face pale and drawn.
‘Varus’ body had been partially burned and buried by his officers, but the Germans dug it up and mutilated it. I watched his head being carried off as a trophy. The three eagles were taken. One of the standard-bearers threw himself into the marsh with the eagle concealed in his belt, but the Germans found it all the same.
‘Then the priestesses arrived, and the horror really started.’ Carbo looked at Rufa. ‘I’m not sure it benefits you to hear this.’
Rufa returned his gaze steadily. ‘If you were strong enough to experience it and survive, then I am strong enough to at least hear it.’
Carbo took a deep breath to steady himself. ‘The priestesses were robed in white. We were chained and pushed to our knees before them. They ordered their men to start building altars. I saw a legionary have his tongue cut out and his lips sewed together, while an onlooking German said in Latin, “Now, snake, you can’t hiss.” I watched as men had their eyes put out, then their heads chopped off and nailed to trees. I saw officers burned alive on the altars. The smell, the screams…’
Carbo swallowed.
‘One officer brought his chains down on the top of his head so hard that he dashed his own brains out, rather than suffer the same fate. I envied him his bravery. We were imprisoned in long ditches. No one had the strength or morale to flee anyway. We just submitted meekly as they performed their atrocities. Some of my friends were taken to forked pillories. Their heads were put in the forks and they were left to dangle, slowly strangling.
‘I was taken by a priestess, a young woman. I remember looking into her face. It was pale, beautiful, hooded in white, and totally pitiless. She commanded me to be stripped naked and pushed on my knees before her. She took out a curved knife. She cupped my manhood in her hands. She massaged a little. I don’t know if she expected me to harden. I think it just shrunk.’
Carbo let out a little laugh, but it sounded hollow, even to himself. He could feel the old panic trying to rise, but the reassuring presence of Rufa helped him to suppress it.
‘She slid the knife over my chest, cutting into the muscle. I don’t even remember if I cried out. I just wanted to die before the suffering became unbearable. Then she put the knife to my genitals. She started to press. I started to beg.
‘An older priestess came up and told her to stop. I could see a silent battle of wills take place between them. Then the younger one dropped her knife and walked away. The older priestess said something in German to my captors and they bowed to her. She looked at me and said in Latin, “You are to be sold to the Sarmathians. They won’t want a eunuch.” They took me back to the pit.
‘They didn’t keep many slaves. They burnt, strangled, cut throats, cut off heads. You can’t imagine…’
Carbo swallowed to keep down the rising bile. After a moment, he continued.
‘The next day they took those of us that remained away, bound in chains. We had travelled maybe half a day when the soldier behind me managed to wriggle out of his chains – he was pretty skinny and they didn’t really fit him properly. He ran and most of the guards chased him. One of those remaining came over to inspect the chains he had escaped from. No others were near. I was seized by a sudden desperate madness. I strangled the guard with the chains, took his key to undo my bonds, threw the key to the others, and we fled in multiple directions.
‘They couldn’t chase us all down, even mounted. I found out, years later, that about twenty of us escaped, but only three of us made it to freedom. I think it was weeks before I made it back to a Roman camp, moving at night, living off roots and bugs that I found. I was sick, thirsty, hungry, my wounds festering. It took me over a month to recover physically. But my spirit… I don’t think it ever has. Or will.’
‘Your spirit is strong, Carbo,’ said Rufa firmly, but Carbo shook his head, inwardly cursing the feeling of weakness he still carried inside him.
‘I joined Germanicus’ campaign and I was with him years later when he found the site of the massacre. Bleached bones lay in the dirt where the bodies had fallen. There were broken spears, horses’ legs, heads still nailed to the trees. A few of us that had survived the massacre were in Germanicus’ legions, and we showed him where their fortifications were, where Varus had died, the pits where they had held us, the pillories wher
e they had strangled us, and the altars where they had burned us. Germanicus wept, we all did. We buried them then, my comrades. Germanicus himself laid the first turf on the funeral mound.
‘I fought for Germanicus, for the legions, for Rome, for many years after that. But most of all, I fought for my comrades, the ones about me, and the ones who had fallen. Like your father.’
He finished speaking. Rufa looked at him, moisture filling her eyes. She held him close, and despite his best efforts, he felt tears welling up inside him as well. He bit his lip and held them in.
* * *
Philon gave the password again and entered the cult meeting. He scanned the gathered cultists sitting in the dimly torch-lit room until he found Dahia. He squeezed beside her and she turned to him with a genuine smile.
‘Philon, how have you been?’
‘As well as a man who is slave, eunuch and prostitute can be.’
Dahia’s expression was sympathetic and she took his hand. ‘That’s why you’re here, why everyone is here. Life has been cruel to us, and we look to the Lord and Lady to restore justice.’
Philon patted her hand gently. ‘And why do you come?’
‘I am a slave too, you know that. Many slaves accept their lot. Some even relish it, those with a good master who looks after them, shelters them, keeps them free of the peril of starvation. But it isn’t right. No one should be owned by another.’
‘Radical words. Do you think the Lord and Lady coming to Rome will change that?’
‘Yes!’ she said, the word an emphatic hiss, eyes flashing. ‘They will not allow this injustice to continue.’
Philon felt a leap of excitement and hope in his belly, even though he doubted the words. He was not so foolish as to believe the Carthaginians had any different views on slavery than Romans. Slavery was a universal situation, a way of life in every nation and every culture that had ever been. That had been drummed into him as a child, when he first learned that he wasn’t the same as free men. As long as there were free men, there would be slaves, he was taught. Dare he hope that the coming of the Lord and Lady would make things any different?
A thin, beautiful woman entered the room and a hush fell. ‘That’s the Mother Elissa,’ whispered Dahia. Philon stared at her, captivated by her presence and beauty. She said nothing, but nodded to the worshippers, and then retreated to a simple chair at the side.
The leader of the mysteries today was a plump man who Dahia said was called Scrofa. He was obviously high in the confidence of the Mother from the way he spoke easily to her. He moved to the front of the room and raised his hands in the air. The followers all knelt, leaning forward so their foreheads touched the floor.
‘Lord and Lady, hear us, your faithful servants. Bless us with your presence, your strength tonight, and keep us till the time of your return.’
The followers chanted in unison. ‘Ha-mmon, Ta-nit, Ha-mmon, Ta-nit.’
‘Sit up, faithful ones.’
The followers raised their heads, so they all rested with their haunches on heels, straight-backed.
‘Soon, the day of freedom will come. Soon, the Lord and Lady will descend on us, rewarding us for the offering we will give. The time is nearly upon us. These are not just words. The Mother Elissa has told us the hour and the date. We will offer them the ultimate sacrifice on the last day of the Romans’ biggest games, the Ludi Romani. On that day, Rome will be destroyed, and the Lord and Lady will descend to reward her faithful army.’
‘Glory to Tanit, glory to Hammon,’ breathed the followers in awe.
‘But before that day comes, we have work to do. Some of you have tasks already entrusted to you. I bid you carry these out diligently. The rest, be ready on the day, for whatever comes.’
Scrofa paused and looked around the captivated faces.
‘Elissa has also bid me to ask you all to be alert for something she has lost. Her slave and the slave’s daughter have betrayed her, left the sight of the Lord and Lady. She believes they are still within the city. Mother and daughter are quite distinctive, both with bright red hair. The mother has a slave brand on her upper arm that reads “Bad slave”. They may be anywhere, sleeping rough in a cemetery, staying in a tavern, hiding in the Cloaca Maxima. If any of you come across a red-headed mother and daughter who are new to your area, you are to let me know.’
The rest of the worship continued with ritual, chant and ceremony. At the end, Dahia leaned over to Philon. ‘What was all that stuff about the red-headed slaves?’
Philon didn’t reply, as a sudden certainty crept over him.
* * *
Philon walked home from the meeting, his mind occupied. Various noises, screams, laughs, roars and loud vomits still distracted him and sent shivers down his spine, but he made it home without incident, still lost in his thoughts. By force of habit, he walked in through the back door and into the room that until recently had been his bedroom. As the door swung open and he stepped inside the dimly lit room, he saw Carbo and Rufa, lying naked in each other’s arms. He stared for a moment, then his eyes dropped to the floor as Carbo lifted his head and looked at him.
‘What do you want, Philon?’ asked Carbo gruffly.
‘I’m sorry, Master,’ said Philon, voice humble. ‘I mistook my quarters.’
‘Close the door then.’
Philon bowed his head and retreated backwards, closing the bedroom door behind him. He climbed the stairs towards his own bedroom, mind in turmoil. He had seen the brand. It was her.
Philon lay in the dark, sleep far away. He was starting to feel a connection with the followers of the Lord and Lady. He thought of Dahia, a woman he could appreciate was both kindly and attractive, and he felt a pang of regret that he could not be for her what most men could be for a woman. He had thought that was something he had come to terms with a long time ago. But Dahia stirred strange, unfamiliar feelings within him. As for Elissa, she was simply mesmerizing. And Elissa had given them a command, to look for the red-haired slaves.
Philon knew now that the ones she had been talking about were Rufa and Fabilla. It all made sense now, their sudden appearance in the middle of the night explained by the fact that they were fugitive slaves. But to who did his loyalty belong? His master, Carbo, who had not treated him unkindly? Or his new mistress, the Mother Elissa? He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed to the Lord and Lady for guidance.
Chapter XVI
Elissa paced round the peristylium, irritable and uncharacteristically anxious. The date of the final day of the Ludi Romani came ever closer, and while most of the preparations were proceeding according to plan, she was still no closer to finding the sacrifice. What would happen if she wasn’t found in time? Could another be substituted in her place? The signs had been clear – it had to be her. So what would happen if there was no sacrifice, or the wrong sacrifice? Surely the Lord and Lady would not come. Or worse, they would come and let their anger fall on her and her followers, instead of the Romans.
Glaukos had turned out to be useless. He had told her that he thought he had seen Rufa, but then had let her get away. All he had returned with was the information that Cossus had met with them. And all that Cossus had been able to tell Elissa, before he died under her ministrations, was that Rufa was accompanied by a large, rough man.
Shafat approached her, but stood a short distance away, head bowed, waiting to be acknowledged. She realized he was aware of her temper and was trying not to provoke her, but his obsequiousness irritated her further.
‘What do you want?’ she snapped.
‘Mistress, you have a visitor.’
‘Who?’
‘A slave called Philon.’
‘What is he to me?’
‘He says he is a follower of yours. He says he has information about the red-haired girl.’
Elissa felt a tightening in her chest, of hope, and fear of false hope.
‘Bring him to me now.’
Shafat bowed and backed off. He returned moments later with a smo
oth-skinned, round-faced, plump young man. Shafat left them alone.
‘Speak,’ said Elissa.
The effeminate voice that the newcomer emitted, together with his appearance, clearly marked him as a eunuch to Elissa.
‘I am a new follower of yours, and of the Lord and Lady, Mistress.’
‘Shafat said you had information for me,’ said Elissa impatiently.
‘We were told at our meeting that you were looking for a red-headed slave woman with a red-headed daughter.’ Elissa inclined her head, but regarded him with an unblinking stare. Philon swallowed, nervous under the gaze, and continued.
‘I am the slave of a tavern owner. He has a red-haired woman and a red-haired girl staying with him. They arrived a few days ago. They forced me out of my quarters in fact.’
The whine in Philon’s voice set off another surge of irritation in Elissa’s gut, but she suppressed it with an effort, and kept her cool stare on his face. His words started to come faster now as his anxiety increased.
‘I saw the woman’s arm yesterday. She has a slave brand.’
Elissa almost dared not hope. There must be many red-haired slaves in the city. Could these be her fugitives?
‘Their names,’ she said, her voice not much more than a whisper. ‘Tell me their names.’
‘I was told the mother is called Rufa and the daughter Fabilla.’
It was them! Not even attempting to disguise their identity. They must be with a man they trusted, and by extension they had trusted his familia. She sent a silent blessing to the Lord and Lady.
‘Tell me where they are.’
‘In the back rooms of a tavern, in the Subura.’
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