Watchmen of Rome

by Watchmen of Rome (retail) (epub)

  ‘Manius obviously went for a real show of force,’ he said. ‘Wanted to properly subjugate the locals.’

  ‘And it turned into a rout,’ said Vespillo. ‘His power is well and truly broken now, both in manpower and morale. The locals won’t let him rise again.’

  ‘Probably not. But he is a wounded animal now. He is still dangerous.’

  ‘That’s not a worry for today.’ Vespillo held out a hand and helped Carbo to his feet. Carbo prodded himself carefully. His injuries seemed to be superficial burns, a lost molar, bruises, contusions, and probably a cracked rib. He had got away lightly, he reflected. Vespillo took Carbo under one arm, Marsia took the other, and while the vigiles made sure order was restored, they helped him inside.

  * * *

  The fugitivarius slouched against a pillar, looking at Elissa with a disrespectful half smile on his face. She returned his gaze with a cold stare.

  ‘That’s a ridiculous sum,’ she said.

  He shrugged. ‘I was told by your man here,’ he gestured at Shafat, ‘that this escaped slave is valuable. That you wanted the best. That you wanted Sextus Pontius Dolabella.’ He swept his hands downwards to indicate himself. ‘Here I am.’

  ‘I will give you half that amount.’

  Dolabella straightened, then gave a short bow. ‘I think we have wasted enough of each other’s time. I was obviously under a misapprehension.’ He turned to leave.

  ‘Very well.’ Elissa hated being the supplicant, but time was running short. She looked calculatingly at the short, wiry man with the calm expression but the wary eyes. ‘I will pay you half now, and half on completion of your task. She, and her child, need to be in my possession by the evening of the fourteenth day before the Kalends of October, at the very latest. It is the child that is the most important to me. You may keep the mother alive to keep the child pacified if you must, otherwise kill her. If the child is dead, though, you will get nothing.’

  Dolabella inclined his head. ‘Five days should be more than adequate. You will have your property back soon.’

  ‘Start your investigations with this man, Carbo. Watch him, though, he is dangerous, and he seems to be in with the vigiles.’

  Dolabella laughed. ‘Really? The vigiles are supposed to catch fugitives themselves. They are hopeless amateurs, though, freedmen playing at law enforcement. They won’t be any impediment. If this Carbo is involved with your property somehow, however, that will be useful. Now, with your permission, I will start my work. Once, of course, your steward has sorted out the… deposit.’

  ‘Pay him, Shafat, and show him out.’ Elissa waved a dismissive hand.

  ‘Yes, Mistress.’

  When Shafat returned she glowered at him. ‘Do we really need him?’

  ‘He is the best, Mistress. Everyone says so. He has never failed to return a fugitive slave when he has taken the work on.’

  ‘But I hear they don’t always return alive.’

  ‘His methods are reportedly… severe, sometimes. I don’t think we would want to enquire too closely what he actually does, I doubt he will stay within the law. He is also reputed to have certain urges, which mean that the property is not always returned in pristine condition. He always seems to have a plausible explanation for any damage. But you were clear that you needed the girl slave alive for him to be paid, and it seems money is the one thing that will control him.’

  Elissa nodded, but she remained worried.

  ‘We need that girl. All the followers knew the importance we placed on her as a sacrifice. I never considered there would be any problem in ensuring there would be an appropriate sacrifice, if I selected her from my own slaves. With her distinctive appearance, that little brat was ideal. My followers will think our cause is cursed by the Lord and Lady if we do not go ahead with the ceremony as planned. We would have to delay, wait for the next major festival, maybe wait a whole year, a year in which our plans may be discovered. A year in which Carthage will remain unavenged.’

  ‘He will find her, Mistress. The Lord and Lady will ensure it.’

  Elissa turned to stare into the middle distance. ‘So much planning, so much work. To hinge on this.’ She faced Shafat again, and squared her shoulders. ‘You are right. I must have faith in the Lord and Lady. They will find her. We will go ahead.’ Her eyes blazed. ‘And then Rome will pay, in fire and blood.’

  Chapter XIX

  Carbo lay face down, naked on a towel on the hard floor. Marsia did not have a gentle touch, and he clenched his fists as she scraped grit out of his wounds with a cold, damp cloth. Pain and frustration combined in him, till he wanted to howl. He had slept soundly and only woken with the sun, starting awake as he realized how much time had gone past without looking for Rufa and Fabilla. He suspected that the drink Marsia had given him the previous night had contained poppy juice for him to have slept so well. He tried again.

  ‘Just tell me,’ he said, pronouncing each word slowly, ‘where are they?’

  Marsia tutted. ‘They are safe. I will tell you where they are when you are fit to walk without support.’

  He opened his mouth to protest, and she pressed the cloth against an abrasion on his ribs, causing him to cry out. Nearby, Vespillo laughed.

  ‘Give it up, Carbo. You won’t win with that one. If she says they are safe, I believe her.’

  Carbo simmered, allowing Marsia to finish her ministrations. When she was finally done, she passed him his tunic and he sat up and threw it over his head. He made to stand and his leg gave way, dumping him on his backside again. He looked at Marsia but no help was forthcoming there, so he tried again. This time, as he started to buckle, a firm arm gripped him under the elbow, supporting him. With Vespillo’s help, he made it to his feet. Placing one hand on a table to steady himself, he looked defiantly at Marsia.

  ‘There, as good as new. Now you can tell me. They spoke to you before they fled, am I right?’

  ‘They did, Master,’ said Marsia, her eyes narrowing as they watched him swaying slightly. ‘I’m not sure if you are truly…’

  ‘Marsia,’ interrupted Carbo, his tone urgent. ‘There are other people looking for them. They need my help.’

  Marsia’s expression looked stricken, and her gaze dropped to the floor.

  ‘He’s right, Marsia,’ said Vespillo gently. ‘I know you are looking out for your master, but Rufa and Fabilla need his help too.’

  Marsia nodded. ‘Very well. Rufa asked me where she should go. She was terrified, and I don’t think she was thinking straight.’

  ‘Where did you send them?’

  ‘Where can you go in Rome, when you are an escaped slave, with no money and nowhere to live? You cannot stay in a tavern, you cannot stay with a friend, you cannot beg aid from a patron or master.’ She shrugged. ‘You go where all the other poor and homeless go.’

  ‘Where?’ demanded Carbo.

  ‘The tombs.’

  Carbo and Vespillo exchanged glances. Romans had a healthy respect for superstition, and hiding with the dead did not feel like a good omen. It did make sense, though. There would be shelter, and a crowd of other homeless amongst whom she could disappear.

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘I suggested she head outside the pomerium, to the east. There are lots of tombs that way.’

  ‘Did you tell her which one to go to?’

  ‘No, Master. I am not familiar enough with them to have made a recommendation.’

  Carbo felt a surge of anger at what he took to be her irony, before he realized she was just stating a fact in flat Germanic fashion.

  ‘But she seemed to have heard of one,’ continued Marsia. ‘She said something I didn’t quite understand. She laughed, a strange mirthless sound, and said, “out of the fire, into the oven”. But the soldiers were entering the tavern. She had to flee before I could ask her what she meant.’

  ‘Then I guess we need to do some searching. Vespillo, do I have your help?’

  ‘Of course you do,’ said Vespillo. He reache
d out an arm to Carbo, but Carbo shrugged him away.

  ‘I can walk without aid. I’ve taken a lot worse and kept fighting.’

  ‘I’m sure you have,’ said Vespillo, and stood back, while remaining close enough to catch Carbo if he should fall. Marsia helped Carbo into his sandals and Vespillo and Carbo left the tavern together.

  * * *

  Dolabella hung back in the shadows and watched the two men emerge from the tavern and turn down the street with a purpose. He assessed them with a professional eye. The larger one, who he presumed was Carbo, was obviously injured, and he had heard from the sausage seller from whom he had bought breakfast what had happened the previous day. It was a factor to consider. He couldn’t rely on the usual apathy of the crowds to leave him to his work where this one was concerned.

  The smaller, stocky one of the pair, Vespillo he guessed, walked with a back only slightly bent with age. His manner was military in bearing, and he knew from his enquiries that both men had been in the legions and knew how to handle themselves. It was a concern, but not a major one. He had dealt with many men who fancied themselves in a fight – deserting soldiers, escaped gladiators, thugs who had stolen slaves. None of them knew how to fight the way he did. Caution was prudent, though. Besides, he needed these men to find his target. He wouldn’t have to fight them, if he was sensible.

  The two men continued east along the Via Labicana, to the Porta Esquilina in the old Servian wall. At this bottleneck in the flow of traffic in and out of Rome, the crowds were particularly concentrated, and Dolabella lost sight of them in the crush. He remained calm, however, as he always did, and soon had pushed his way through. He reached a clearer stretch of road and looked around, trying to identify his marks. For a moment he didn’t see them. Then he realized they had not made as much progress as he had expected – they were standing on a street corner, pointing in different directions and arguing.

  He lounged against a wall, took an apple from his belt pouch and took a deep bite. No point in passing up an opportunity to rest and replenish his strength. It was impossible to predict when he might need it. So, they didn’t know precisely where they were going. No matter. They would take him where he wanted to go in good time. He was in no hurry.

  * * *

  Rufa put her arm round Fabilla and cuddled her close. Fabilla snuggled against her, and they both savoured the warmth. Rufa looked around her. The tomb they were in was impressively large, but that meant that the air was cool, and they had with them only the clothes they had fled in. Of course, they weren’t the only ones in the building. Any place that provided respite from the elements was a potential shelter for the multitude of homeless in Rome. Many slept out on the streets in the more clement weather, or took shelter under the arches of aqueducts or in porches during brief downpours. The night had been cool, though, so there were a number of others in there. The atmosphere was thick with the stench of unbathed bodies, and of the excrement of those too lazy, or too infirm, to go outside to relieve themselves.

  It had been a good choice of hiding place. Fabilla and she were both wearing hoods to disguise their red hair, and only the destitute would brave the company, the conditions, and the presence of the spirits of unknown intentions that undoubtedly haunted the place. Rufa tried not to think too hard about the lemures, and she told herself that the shiver that went down her back was purely due to the cold.

  She looked around her. The tomb was the final resting place of a freedman called Eurysaces. She remembered the baker from whom she had purchased the bread for the household had told her about it, and how she needed to buy a lot more bread so he could afford a tomb like that when his time came.

  The building was constructed in the style of a bakery, with horizontally orientated cylindrical depressions in the front wall, exactly the right size to hold a unit of grain. Across the top of the tomb was a relief showing various stages of bread-making. The inscription on the outside read, ‘This is the monument of Marcus Vergilius Eurysaces, baker, contractor and public servant. Obviously.’ She liked that Eurysaces, dead for decades, had had a sense of humour, and she offered a silent prayer to his shade, thanking him for his hospitality and asking that he do her no harm.

  Nearby, a scuffle suddenly broke out between a filthy woman, maybe in her thirties, with almost no teeth and straggly hair, and a boy with a withered leg, over a small piece of bread. Rufa felt her stomach rumbling and knew that Fabilla, uncomplaining as she was, must be famished as well. The irony of starving inside a tomb designed to look like a bakery was not lost on her. Soon they would have to venture out. And then what? Begging? Worse, selling herself, so they could eat?

  A short, skinny man with boils on his face, wearing a tattered, dirty tunic, woke next to her. He sat up, wheezing, then coughed paroxysmally, before spitting a large gob of phlegm out. He looked over to Rufa.

  ‘Have you got any wine?’ he asked in a rough voice.

  Rufa shook her head. ‘No, sorry, we have nothing.’

  He peered at her in the gloom, looking a bit puzzled.

  ‘You’re pretty,’ he said. ‘Not like the rest of the women here.’

  ‘You weren’t complaining when I sucked your cock yesterday, Sentius,’ said the toothless woman.

  ‘Shut your mouth, Elpis,’ snapped the man. ‘Or I will shut it for you.’

  Sentius turned back to Rufa and reached out a hand to stroke her face. Rufa tried not to flinch, and kept her face impassive.

  ‘I haven’t seen you round here before. You must be new. I wonder what your story is? You and your pretty little girl.’

  Rufa kept quiet, looking down. Sentius reached out a hand and tilted her chin up so she looked into his eyes.

  ‘It’s a bad place, you know. The tombs, the streets. A woman and a child on their own, they could get hurt. There are bad men here. Bad women even. Not to mention the lemures that lurk in the shadows when you turn your back. A woman needs protection.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ said Rufa. ‘I can look after myself.’

  Sentius grabbed her arm tightly, causing Rufa to cry out.

  ‘What sort of a citizen would I be if I left a vulnerable woman undefended? I can be your guardian, your protector. In fact, I insist.’

  He pulled her towards him. Fabilla looked up, eyes widening at the sight of the ugly man, and shrank back.

  ‘No, please.’

  ‘Of course, as your protector, it’s only fair that I have certain… privileges. But a pretty woman like you should have no problem obliging a handsome man like myself.’

  He shoved her hard and she tumbled over backwards. In an instant he was on top of her, rough hands pawing at the top of her tunic. She got her hands between them and shoved, rolling her body so he tipped sideways. She tried to move away, seeing Fabilla’s terror-filled face, then she was grabbed and pushed back down again. She struggled, but he slapped her hard across the face, temporarily stilling her. He drew a rusty knife from beneath his tunic, and touched it to her neck gently. Then he put it back in his belt, and as she lay, no longer resisting, he ripped the top of her tunic open and grasped her breasts painfully, letting out a throaty growl as he did so.

  Sentius pulled Rufa’s tunic up around her waist, exposing her to the interested onlookers within the tomb, some of whom were shouting encouragement to him. As he pulled up his own tunic to reveal his erect member, she turned her face away, waiting for the inevitable. Her eyes fastened on a stone about the size of her fist. His weight bore down on her, his hands fumbling between her legs. She gripped the stone and brought it round against his head with a dull thud.

  He cried aloud, rolling to the side off her, clutching his head. Rufa pushed herself up off the floor and ran to Fabilla, grabbing her arm. Fabilla looked at her, paralysed, like a rabbit caught in a hunter’s lamp.

  ‘Come on,’ she urged. Sentius was staggering to his feet, blood running through his fingers.

  ‘You bitch,’ he hissed. ‘I was trying to be nice to you.’

 
; He advanced towards her and Rufa backed up against a wall, pushing Fabilla behind her.

  ‘Leave me alone,’ she whispered. ‘Please.’

  Sentius laughed and stepped up close to her, his face against hers. She desperately brought the stone around again, but he was ready for her this time, and he caught her wrist, then squeezed until her hand opened and the weapon clattered to the ground. He pushed himself against her, foul breath in her face, hardness pressing against her. He fumbled for her again. She tried to push him away but her hands were weak and trembling. Her fingers brushed against the knife in his belt.

  His rod probed against her, trying to gain entry. She looked into his vacant, faraway gaze, and she gripped the knife hilt, then pulled it free from his belt. He thrust forwards, and she gasped in despair as he entered her. He let out a loud groan, then staggered back. The hilt of the knife protruded from his ribs, the blade buried deep in his chest where it had penetrated him just at the moment he had penetrated her. He clutched at the knife and pulled it free, and dark blood spurted from the wound.

  He turned on her, amazement and rage on his face, and took a step towards her. Then he sank to his knees, pitched forward on his face, and was still.

  * * *

  When Carbo found Rufa she was sitting against the wall, knees pulled up to her chest, trembling violently, Fabilla clutched to her side. He rushed to her and put his arms around her. She stiffened at his touch, eyes wide, then wrapped her arms around him and gripped him tight.

  Vespillo entered the tomb. He took in the scene in an instant, the terror in Rufa’s eyes, her dishevelled clothing, the dead man with the knife sticking from his chest nearby. He looked around at the other inhabitants of the tomb, who were sitting quietly, like children caught in an act of disobedience.

  ‘You all watched, didn’t you?’ he said. ‘Stood by and let this happen. Let this young mother be assaulted, without lifting a finger to help.’