‘Which tavern? What is your master’s name?’ Elissa’s patience was running out.
Philon opened his mouth to speak, but Shafat was back, head bowed.
‘What is it?’ Elissa snapped.
‘You have more visitors, Mistress.’
Elissa considered telling Shafat to send them away, but then realized if she had done that with this eunuch, she would have missed out on this vital information.
‘Who are they?’
‘That commander from the vigiles, Vespillo.’
Elissa tutted. Glaukos had told her that one of their followers, Dahia, the Numidian girl, had information that Vespillo had been making enquiries into her followers. She wondered whether he was going to be a problem, one that would need a decisive solution.
‘There is another man with him,’ said Shafat. ‘His name is Carbo.’
A small noise came from Philon, and Elissa and Shafat turned to him. His face had paled, his eyes wide.
‘He cannot see me here,’ hissed Philon in a loud whisper.
‘Why ever not?’
‘Carbo is my master. He is the one who has your slaves.’
* * *
Carbo and Vespillo waited in the atrium. Carbo took in the room, noting the same things that Vespillo had told him about – the neglected shrine for the lares, the tarnished statue inside. The doorman was uncommunicative, so Carbo just stood, while Vespillo wandered around looking at the frescoes. After a wait which was shorter than they expected, the doorman escorted them into the peristylium.
They were confronted first by a huge, muscle-bound man with the tanned skin of an easterner, and a deep scar across his cheek. Carbo found himself looking up into his face, an unfamiliar feeling for the tall veteran.
‘What do you want?’ he said in a strong eastern accent, Galatian or Asian, Carbo thought.
‘And you are…?’ asked Vespillo.
‘Glaukos. What is your business here?’
‘We are here to see Elissa. On personal business.’
Glaukos folded his arms. ‘You can discuss her personal business with me.’
‘Oh, you are her secretary?’ sneered Vespillo. ‘You don’t strike me as a man of many letters.’
Glaukos took a threatening step forwards and Carbo tensed, ready to react to any aggressive act.
‘Glaukos!’
Elissa’s sharp voice stopped the giant instantly. He glared at the two visitors for a moment, then his shoulders drooped and he stepped aside.
Beyond him, the priestess stood, straight-backed, clothed in a white dress. Whatever image Carbo had had in his head, he had to re-evaluate at the sight of this cold-eyed but beautiful woman. He was instantly transfixed by her gaze, like a spear through his chest, pinning him in place. Her face seemed to blur, transforming into the face of a German priestess from the Teutoberg forest, disdainfully regarding her pathetic captive. He felt his heart start to race, his mouth turn dry.
Her eyes flicked to Vespillo and her spell over him broke. He let out the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding.
‘Commander,’ she said, inclining her head. ‘Have you come to purchase one of my slaves again? Shall I have them parade out here for you to choose one? I’m afraid you haven’t given me any notice, so they may not be as well turned-out as I would have hoped.’
Vespillo gave a cool smile. ‘Actually it’s more of an official visit.’
Elissa raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh? You are going to aid me in finding my fugitives? That is, after all, one of the duties of you little bucket boys, isn’t it?’
Vespillo’s expression hardened. ‘We prefer to be known by our official title. We are the vigiles.’
‘Of course. And this man with you, is he a little bucket… I mean, is he a member of the vigiles too?’
‘He is… an associate.’
Elissa allowed her gaze to run slowly up and down Carbo’s figure, her eyes coming to rest on his face. Carbo returned her stare, trying to look impassive.
‘And you aren’t going to introduce me to this unofficial associate of yours that you have brought into my house while on official business?’
Vespillo cursed inwardly. She had taken control of the conversation smoothly, left him on the back foot. He had no desire to give Elissa Carbo’s name – it might lead to the woman making her own investigations. Carbo, however, gave a small bow.
‘Gaius Valerius Carbo,’ said Carbo, making an effort to keep his voice steady. ‘Thank you for inviting me into your home, Mistress.’
‘I’m not sure I did any inviting, Carbo. Nevertheless, you are welcome.’
Carbo inclined his head. With an effort he held her eyes long enough for Vespillo to start to become uncomfortable. Then, without taking her gaze off Carbo, Elissa said, ‘Please, both of you, take a seat. Now, Vespillo, tell me how I can help?’
Carbo was forced to break eye contact first as he looked for a place to sit, and when he had located a stone bench he looked back up to see a faint smile on Elissa’s lips. He remained expressionless, inwardly chagrined that he had lost that first battle of wills. Carbo and Vespillo shared the stone bench and Elissa sat on a small wooden stool with a cushion that one of the slaves had brought out. When they were settled Elissa looked at Vespillo expectantly. Vespillo hesitated.
On the walk over, Vespillo had explained how he would improvise questions, try to draw Elissa out, while implying that they knew more than they really did. Now, as Carbo glanced over at him, he realized that this forceful, beautiful woman had robbed Vespillo of his usual confidence. The old army veteran, leader of the rough and ready vigiles, was struggling to string two words together. Carbo turned his attention back to Elissa and spoke.
‘The vigiles are investigating some… er… concerning allegations and rumours.’
‘How exciting! What rumours may these be?’
‘We aren’t at liberty to discuss them, but we have a credible source that suggests you may have useful information for us.’
‘A credible source? Not a slave then. Unless you had them tortured, of course.’
‘A credible source is all I can tell you for now.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t want you to give away any state secrets. But I ask again, what does this have to do with me?’
‘Our source suggests that you have knowledge of a conspiracy to commit a human sacrifice. And further, that you are leader of a cult that indulges in human sacrifice.’
Elissa laughed, a light, tinkling laugh that contrasted with the hardness in her eyes.
‘It is true I am a worshipper of gods that are foreign to these shores. And that I have some followers of my own. That is hardly a crime, is it? Or has the Senate made a new law? Are you now going to arrest all the followers of Isis and Cybele and Mithras and Jehovah?’
‘Human sacrifice is murder,’ said Vespillo, finding his voice at last. ‘It will not happen in my city.’
‘And yet it did, didn’t it, Commander? Oh, it wasn’t recent, but then when was the last time Rome was truly threatened? When Hannibal had massacred your entire army at Cannae. And when all seemed lost, what did the city of Rome do? They took two Vestal Virgins, two girls forced to abstain from sexual relations for all their youth, just for the good of the city, and accused them of having had sexual relations. Their punishment? One committed suicide, the other was buried alive. Imagine that, being entombed until the lack of air or food or water killed you. Another time, a Gallic man and woman and a Greek man and woman were buried alive in the Forum Boarium, as sacrifices, because of words written in the Sibylline books. Yet you tell me that Rome believes human sacrifice is murder?’
Despite himself, Carbo was impressed by the woman’s knowledge of their history. Vespillo’s face was starting to flush and he spluttered a reply. ‘Those things happened a long time ago. They were dark times.’
‘Aren’t dark times always among us? It wasn’t so long ago that the Germans inflicted a defeat on Rome that was nearly the equal of Cannae.’ She t
urned her stare back to Carbo. ‘I wonder how that must have felt. The proud Roman army cut down by barbarians. The survivors tortured. Sacrificed.’ The last word came out as a hiss, and Carbo felt a shiver run down this spine that he couldn’t control. He felt cold, the woman’s words, his memories, making his heart start to race, his skin become clammy. He swallowed hard. He would not let the terror overwhelm him!
Elissa watched him intently for a moment, something like excitement in her eyes. As Carbo mastered himself, he saw a look of disappointment come to her face. She turned back to Vespillo.
‘In any case, this is academic. I worship, I have followers. There is nothing more to say.’
Carbo felt disappointment rise within him. The plan to get her to confess all, and use the knowledge to force her to relinquish her claim over Rufa and Fabilla, had always been a little shaky. Now he had met the woman, though, he realized the utter futility of it. He resigned himself to fleeing the city with Rufa and Fabilla, finding somewhere in the country out of reach of this madwoman.
A pounding came from the street door. Vespillo and Carbo exchanged surprised glances, but when Carbo turned back to Elissa, he noticed a strange expression of satisfaction on her face. A moment later, Shafat appeared.
‘Apologies for the interruption, Mistress, but the urban cohorts are here.’
Elissa smiled. ‘Show them in, Shafat.’
A broad, earnest-looking man in the uniform of a centurion of the urban cohorts was ushered in, four fully armed and armoured legionaries behind him. Vespillo and Carbo stood, facing the newcomer uncertainly. Elissa remained seated.
‘Lucius Mocius Poppillius, centurion of the second cohort of the urban cohorts, at your service, Mistress.’ The centurion took off his helmet and gave a short bow.
‘Thank you for coming so promptly, Centurion. You received my full message regarding my missing slaves?’
‘Yes, Mistress. I’m only sorry it has taken us this long to be of assistance. My men have been keeping their eyes open, but found nothing.’
‘Well, we know why now, do we not?’ She gestured at Carbo. ‘This man is Gaius Valerius Carbo. He is the man who has been harbouring the fugitives.’
Carbo’s stomach lurched at the words. He looked across at Vespillo, whose horrified expression must have mirrored his own.
‘I want him arrested, at least until my property is returned. Be careful, though. He is a veteran of the legions, and I understand somewhat hard to handle.’
‘Not to worry, Mistress. We’ve seen the type before, all puffed up with their own size. There’s little me and the lads can’t handle, though.’ He drew his sword, the legionaries behind doing the same, and advanced on Carbo. Vespillo stepped between them.
‘Hold it right there, Centurion,’ he said, raising his hand, palm outwards.
The centurion paused at the tone of military authority in Vespillo’s voice.
‘Who are you?’ he asked suspiciously.
‘Lucius Vedius Vespillo. Tribune in charge of the second cohort of the vigiles, Esquiline station. There is no evidence this man is guilty of anything.’
‘Vigiles?’ The centurion barked the word out with a laugh. ‘You have no authority over the urban cohorts. Now stand aside and let proper soldiers do their work.’
‘Proper soldiers?’ Carbo stepped up to the centurion, their faces close, so he could smell the mix of garum sauce and wine on his breath. ‘Walking around Rome, beating down disturbances amongst unarmed citizens. Your men are thugs and you know it. Try facing a horde of Germans, berserk with rage, armed to the teeth, roaring down the hillside onto your position, when all you have to protect you is your shield, your sword, and the man either side of you. Then talk to me about proper soldiers.’
The centurion looked momentarily cowed, but Elissa snapped, ‘Do your duty, man, and arrest him.’
The centurion’s expression was more respectful when he eyed Carbo now, but his voice was still firm. ‘You must come with me now. Please turn around and put your hands together.’
Carbo looked at Vespillo, bracing himself for action.
‘Do as they say, Carbo. They have nothing on you. I will make sure you are free before you know it.’
Carbo hesitated, then nodded. He turned and felt his wrists firmly bound behind him.
‘Don’t worry about me,’ he said to Vespillo. ‘First, go and make sure my… loved ones are safe.’
Elissa clapped her hands and laughed, again the incongruous, light laugh. ‘Loved ones? Oh, how sweet. I presume you mean my slaves. Well, don’t worry about them, the cohorts are already on their way to retrieve them now. Isn’t that right, Centurion?’
The centurion nodded, hesitant, unsure now about the rights and wrongs of the situation. Carbo stared at Elissa in disbelief, unable to understand how she had found them so quickly. Then he roared, and charged at the centurion, head down, butting him in the stomach. The centurion went down hard, but the banded metal hoops of his lorica took much of the force, and dazed Carbo. He turned to confront the legionaries, and aimed a kick at the knee of another, who howled as his leg buckled. But as Carbo whirled to face a third, the hilt of a gladius smashed into the back of his head. He went down onto his hands and knees, stars flashing before his eyes, the world spinning rapidly around him.
‘Go, Vespillo,’ he croaked. ‘Do what you can.’
Vespillo, who had barely had time to move, such was the speed and ferocity of Carbo’s attack, made to leave. One of the legionaries barred his way, and the centurion staggered to his feet.
‘Get out of my way,’ said Vespillo, voice low and dangerous. ‘Unless you are going to arrest me too.’
‘Yes,’ said Elissa firmly. ‘Arrest him too.’
The centurion shook his head. He turned to Vespillo. ‘You may go.’
Vespillo shot Carbo a quick look, where his friend was breathing heavily. ‘I’ll be back, Carbo. Don’t resist any further, it will just make things harder.’
Carbo tried to nod but it made the spinning worse. Vespillo turned and ran for the doorway, barging Shafat aside as he left the house.
Elissa turned her withering stare on the centurion. ‘Why did you disobey me?’
Poppillius looked embarrassed, but kept his head high. ‘With all due respect, Mistress, you are not my commander. We had no orders about that one, nor complaints against him.’ He nodded to two of his men, who lifted Carbo, with some effort, back to his feet. ‘We will take this one away, Mistress. Hopefully my men will return your property promptly.’
Elissa’s eyes flashed. ‘They had better, Centurion, or your superiors will be hearing about it.’
Poppillius nodded and led his men out, dragging Carbo with them.
* * *
Vespillo’s lungs were burning, his legs leaden, as he pounded along the streets. Although his job kept him active, he wasn’t trained or built for running a long distance, nor was age on his side, and his body yelled at him to stop, to lean against a wall and regain some breath. He carried on anyway, knowing what was at stake. The centurion had seemed reasonable enough, but he knew Carbo’s words were true. The urban cohorts were thugs and bullies, too cowardly to fight in the legions, most of them getting a thrill out of abusing the civilians. They weren’t restrained by the pride the Praetorians felt in their noble calling, nor, because they were recognized as real soldiers, did they have as much to prove as Vespillo’s own paramilitary force. He turned the last corner onto the street that led to Carbo’s tavern, dreading what he would find.
Slumped against the wall outside the tavern was Dentatus. His club was lying nearby, blood on it. Much more blood pooled on the ground around Dentatus’ still body, still trickling from a rent in his abdomen. A small crowd had gathered, but they stood back, not wanting to get involved, or endanger themselves in case the trouble had not yet finished. Vespillo checked Dentatus briefly for signs of life. There were none, so he rushed into the tavern.
As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, the car
nage became clear. Maybe because he had been forewarned by the attack outside, maybe just because he was the better fighter, Bucco had put up more resistance than Dentatus. Two urban cohort legionaries lay dead, heads caved in by Bucco’s club. Bucco himself had multiple sword wounds, to his face, his chest, his arms. A gaping throat wound was the fatal blow, and Bucco lay on his back in a darkening pool, sightless eyes staring at the ceiling.
The tables were overturned, crockery and glassware smashed, amphorae tipped out, food thrown at the walls. Vatius, the elderly philosopher, lay face down on the floor, bleeding from his head and not moving. Myia, herself limping on one hind leg and bleeding from her mouth, trotted in anxious circles around the prone man. Vespillo checked him quickly for a pulse and found one, weak but steady. From behind the bar, Vespillo heard a whimpering sob. He quickly moved round to see who was there.
Marsia was lying against the wall, hugging herself. Nearby, a legionary lay dead, a kitchen knife sticking out of his chest.
Vespillo touched Marsia on the shoulder. The German slave woman, lost in shock, had been unaware of his presence until that moment and she gave a small yelp of fear and surprise. When she saw who it was, her eyes filled with tears.
‘Marsia,’ said Vespillo gently. ‘Where are Rufa and Fabilla?’
Marsia shook her head in misery. ‘I don’t know,’ she cried plaintively.
‘Have… have the urban cohorts taken them?’ asked Vespillo, any icy fist clutching his heart as he waited for the answer.
‘I… don’t know,’ said Marsia again. ‘Maybe. We did all we could, to give them time to get away. They had a head start. Your men, they fought bravely. When Bucco went down, Vatius stepped in their way. He held them up for only moments. Maybe it was enough. Rufa would not flee at first, but I dragged them both out of the back, told her to look to her daughter. She ran, but I don’t know where, or how far.’
Vespillo noticed now there was blood trickling down the side of Marsia’s head.
‘I came back in to see if I could hold them up any further. I was clubbed aside and hit my head on the counter. When I came to that man was on top of me.’ She gestured at the dead legionary. ‘He was the only one still here. Had his cock out, getting ready to stick it in me.’ She spat in his direction. ‘Wish I could have cut his balls off before I killed him. I had to make sure first time, though.’
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