The walls were thick, brick-built. There was only one entrance, a small door, too narrow to fit a cart through, with multiple locks and bars on. The original owners had been paranoid about fire and theft. No building was immune to either, though. The wooden pillars and beams that supported the roof were dry as tinder.
She glanced at the tiny window leading on to the street. It was too small for even a child to crawl through, and was shuttered. The only other light came from windows high up on the two-storey-high walls, larger but also shuttered. Was it time yet? The light filtering through the windows was still bright. Soon, when the games were at their climax. It wouldn’t be long now. She fingered the amulet that hung around her neck, the sign of Tanit that her father had given her, all those years ago. I’ve never forgotten Carthage, Father, she thought, nor you. She hoped he was proud of her.
She stood and reached for her ceremonial knife, hilt etched with astrological symbols. She tested the blade against her thumb, watching in satisfaction as beads of red welled up where she had drawn the edge. She would have liked to have tossed the sacrifice into the flames alive and conscious. The Lord and Lady would have enjoyed the child’s screams. But she was one woman, alone. She knew she didn’t have the strength to lift a struggling, resisting body into the fire. She would have to cut the girl’s throat first.
Maybe she could do that now? A thrill of pleasure rushed through her at the thought. No, she was capable of delaying her gratification in order to get the timing right. She reached down and stroked the girl’s thick red hair. The girl trembled at her touch. The colour of fire and flame. The image that had come to her in her dream, the Lord and Lady telling her to make this sacrifice for her to avenge Carthage, to destroy Rome. She had been working for so long. That cursed tavern keeper had nearly ruined everything when he destroyed her followers and half her stores in the temple that day. She could not be stopped, though. The full stores might have been necessary if the weather had been less favourable, if it had been raining, for example. Instead, the Lord and Lady had sent heat and strong winds. The conflagration would be unstoppable.
A hammering came at the door, hard, rapid blows. She tensed. Was she discovered? How was that possible? She reached for a torch, ready to thrust it into the naphtha and wood that she had made to start the fire. What about the sacrifice? Did she have time for the sacrifice first? Surely she must, or the Lord and Lady would be displeased.
‘Mother,’ came a cry from the door. ‘It’s Glaukos. I beg entrance.’
Glaukos? How? She placed the torch back in its holder and peered through the slats of the shuttered window. She couldn’t see the front door properly, but she couldn’t see any sign of the urban cohorts. She walked to the door.
‘Glaukos? Have you betrayed me?’
‘No, Mistress. I swear it.’
‘Swear it by the Lord and Lady!’
‘I swear it by the Lord Ba’al Hammon and the Lady Tanit, and may they inflict on me eternal torment if I lie.’
Elissa lifted the bar on the door and opened it a crack.
Glaukos stood there, unshaven, panting. By the shoulder, he held a red-headed woman. He had brought her Rufa. She smiled broadly and opened the door wide.
Chapter XXV
Carbo and Vespillo watched as Glaukos took Rufa inside the warehouse. It was a large wooden building, nestled up close to residential dwellings and businesses, in the haphazard, unplanned manner of much of Rome. The Caelian Hill was the most south-easterly of Rome’s seven hills, and was densely populated. The insulae were so tall that one had once been ordered to be demolished, as it blocked the view of the augurs as they tried to make their observations. Carbo looked around at the combustible structures that surrounded them, tinder dry from the recent warm weather, and the uneasy feeling that had felt like a tight ball in his guts grew into stark dread.
They had followed Glaukos at a safe distance as he had taken Rufa through the streets from the forum, ascending the Caelian, and finally reaching this warehouse. After a brief conversation through the doorway he had been admitted and disappeared inside, Rufa in tow. They hadn’t been able to see the person that had opened the door for him, but it surely could only be Elissa. As the door slammed shut and he heard a heavy bar thud into place, Carbo felt a moment of despair. What had they done? Had they sacrificed Rufa to this madwoman and her cruel servant? Were they as bad as her? But they had had no choice. How else could they get Fabilla? And what was Elissa still planning?
Carbo studied the building. It was reasonably sturdy, built with an eye at keeping thieves out, their hands off whatever it stored. The shuttered window and closed front door gave no obvious means of entrance. Carbo wished he had a dozen vigiles at his back, but it would clearly have been impossible to stealthily follow someone with a group of disorderly watchmen in their wake. They could call for reinforcements now, but he didn’t want to leave Rufa with the deluded priestess for a moment longer than he had to.
‘Could there be another way in?’ Carbo asked.
Vespillo considered for a moment. The vigiles often had to gain entrance to a locked building, to control a fire, to enforce fire prevention, or to make an arrest. Their usual method, though, was just to break down the front door with an axe or battering ram. Neither Vespillo nor Carbo had any particular experience as stealthy housebreakers.
‘We could search around the back,’ Vespillo suggested.
‘What if this isn’t the right place, though? If this is just a stop on the way to Elissa? Or if Elissa is planning to move Rufa and Fabilla elsewhere? We could lose them both.’
Vespillo nodded. ‘You’re right. I’ll stay here and watch the front to make sure no one leaves.’
Carbo looked up and down the street. The warehouse was snug against the neighbouring houses on either side, so there was no direct way through to the back. He picked a direction and walked south, weaving through people, dogs, children and livestock. A hundred yards along, a small alley led between the houses. It was barely the width of a human body and Carbo had to squeeze past several people coming in the opposite direction, with much cursing on both sides. He emerged into a narrow street that ran parallel to the main road. Most of the buildings here were different dwellings from the ones that faced the main road, built back to back. The warehouse, though, was a bigger structure and so reached from the main street to this back one.
Carbo’s heart sank as he looked at a blank wall. There were no doors or windows facing the street on this side of the building. The insula next door, however, had some external stairs, leading to upper storeys. Carbo climbed them, until two floors up he was roughly level with the roof of the warehouse. There was no rail on the stairs, but the gap between the edge and the warehouse roof was about eight feet.
Carbo looked down. The drop was about twenty feet. It was enough to incapacitate or kill. Either way, if he fell, Rufa and Fabilla were dead too, and what would happen to Rome? He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. Took a breath. Jumped.
Pain shot through his leg, the old injury complaining about the overexertion. The weakness in that leg made the leap less powerful than he had intended. His heart seemed to pause as he thought the leap would be too short.
He landed on the edge of the warehouse roof and fell forwards. There was nothing to grab and he felt himself sliding backwards down the gentle pitch. Tiles came away beneath his scrabbling feet, pried loose under his fingers. Then one held and he managed to get some purchase with one hand. He came to a halt and took a deep breath, attempting to slow his racing heart.
He peeled a tile away. It made a dull, clunking noise as it lifted. He tried some more, but many were wedged in tight, and with little leverage, he realized it would take forever to make a hole big enough to climb through. Besides, beneath the tiles he could see heavy beams, and he wasn’t sure if there was space for him to fit through if they ran close together.
Slowly he turned himself so he was peering over the edge of the roof. The tiles overh
ung the wall by about a foot. Just beneath him was a shuttered window, large enough for him to fit through with room to spare. He reached down, testing the wood of the shutters. It was in poor repair, flimsy and rotten. He could peel away some of the boards to get in, but his entrance would certainly not be a surprise. Who knew what awaited him inside? An army of cultist bowmen, arrows trained on the window to pepper him as soon as he showed himself? His entrance would have to be swift.
He wondered what was on the other side of the wall. The building was two storeys high, but he couldn’t recall ever having been inside a horrea. Did that mean there was one room, two storeys in height, or an upper floor?
Time was running out. Rufa was in there, at the mercy of Elissa. As Caesar had said, sometimes you have to let the dice fly.
Gritting his teeth, he lowered himself over the edge of the roof, hanging onto a beam that jutted out to support the overhanging roof tiles. It held his weight, although it creaked in protest. He rested his feet against the wall just above the window and muttered a prayer to Jupiter, Mercury, Mars and the divine Augustus. Then he pushed against the wall with his feet, the explosive power in the muscles of his legs propelling him backwards, swinging by his arms. He let his legs drop as he reached the furthest point back of the arc of his motion, then braced himself as he swung forwards.
He crashed feet first into the shuttered window, which burst apart around him, and he was through into the warehouse.
And falling.
It took less than the length of a heartbeat to fall the twenty feet, but it was plenty of time to feel terror, as the sensation of his insides being left above him hit and the ceiling rushed away from him.
He landed on his back in a large vat of tallow. The rendered animal fat, used for candle making, was solid, but soft. He lay still for a moment, the breath knocked out of him, vision blurred. He had time to offer a brief prayer of thanks to the gods before he heard the sound of running feet. His vision came back to him just in time to see Glaukos charging towards him, dagger in hand. The giant man dived at him and Carbo rolled to one side, the dagger stabbing into the tallow where Carbo had been just a moment before.
Carbo continued his roll through the greasy tallow and out of the vat, bringing himself to his feet. He shook his head to clear it, reached for his gladius, then saw the sword a few feet away, jarred from his grip by the fall. Glaukos regained his feet, the animal fat sticking to his torso and arms. He started to circle, while Carbo watched his eyes carefully, looking for signs of an attack.
The thrust came without warning and with surprising swiftness for a man of Glaukos’ size. Carbo sidestepped in time for the dagger thrust to pass him and circled to bring himself nearer to the gladius. Glaukos followed him, feinted, backing Carbo away from the sword he needed to even the fight. Glaukos appeared to feint again, but turned the thrust into an attack. Carbo, misreading, was too slow. He threw himself sideways, but the dagger sliced the outside of his arm.
The movement, though, had brought Carbo within reach of the sword, and he and Glaukos realized it at the same moment. Carbo grabbed for the gladius, which was behind and to one side, while Glaukos made a vicious lunge, low, expecting Carbo to be reaching down. Carbo threw himself backwards, the dagger this time slicing deep into calf muscle.
He came to his feet with gladius in hand. The odds had evened up.
Carbo could feel blood flowing from the deep wounds in his arm and leg, and knew that he couldn’t last through a fight of endurance. Besides, he still hadn’t seen Elissa, Rufa or Fabilla in among the piles of combustible material that packed the warehouse.
Glaukos knew time was on his side as well, and kept his distance, a sneering grin fixed to his face. Carbo, though, had reach now. The giant was taller and heavier than Carbo, but not by much, and the gladius, though a short sword, was a lot longer than a dagger. Carbo closed with Glaukos, watching the giant’s smile falter as he saw the danger.
‘Give up, Carbo,’ said Glaukos. ‘Your slave whore and her brat will be dead soon, gone to appease the great Lord and Lady. They are worth nothing, why are you bothering with them?’
Carbo said nothing, manoeuvring himself closer to the giant.
‘You can buy another slave, if having one is so important to you. The Mistress Elissa would pay you enough to buy a hundred slaves like her, if you leave now.’
Carbo made a thrust and Glaukos fended it off in a desperate sweep of his dagger, so the point of the gladius drifted marginally wide.
‘Is she really that good a fuck?’ sneered Glaukos, then, still finishing the taunt, lunged hard at Carbo.
Carbo took one step to the side and swung his sword down hard on Glaukos’ outstretched hand. The sword he had kept faithfully sharpened cleaved straight through bone, tendon and muscle, severing Glaukos’ arm at the wrist. The hand, still clutching the dagger, fell to the ground, and Glaukos staggered back with a scream, clutching at the stump from which arterial pulses of blood spurted. He dropped to his knees, looking up at Carbo in disbelief.
Carbo pulled his sword back to deliver the killing blow.
‘Carbo, no!’
The voice was Rufa’s and he froze. Slowly, still keeping Glaukos in reach, he turned.
Rufa stood ten feet away, face pale. Behind her, Elissa held a knife to Fabilla’s throat.
* * *
Vespillo heard the crash that marked Carbo’s entrance to the warehouse, heard the sounds of fighting from within, and hurled himself at the front door. It barely moved. Some dust fell from around its hinges, but the door, thick wood, locked and barred, stood stubbornly firm. He tried again, but the only effect was to increase the bruising on his shoulder. He looked around desperately. Nearby, a small boy watched him curiously. He pulled out a coin.
‘Boy. Run to the nearest vigiles station. You know where it is?’
The boy nodded, bemused.
‘Tell them Tribune Vespillo of the second cohort requires every man they have, with all their firefighting and demolition equipment. Repeat it to me.’
The boy did so.
‘There’s another coin here if you return quickly enough. Now run like your life depends on it.’
He watched the boy sprint off, then turned to glare at the unyielding door in frustration.
* * *
Carbo let all his senses absorb the situation, trying to think like a soldier, trying to ignore the fact that it was Fabilla with a knife at her throat, that it was Rufa who looked at him with hopeful, desperate, piteous pleading in her eyes. Glaukos was still on his knees, all his attention focused on staunching the flow of blood from his stump. He couldn’t be completely discounted, but to all intents and purposes he was out of the fight. Before him, Rufa stood, pale and motionless. Behind her, Elissa held Fabilla by the hair, the knife across her throat, a wild, triumphant look in her eyes.
They were in a clear space in the warehouse, surrounded by the materials Elissa had gathered here. Carbo saw now how the combustible material had been carefully arranged. Near Elissa were piles of tinder wood, soaked in naphtha. Arranged around that were pieces of lumber, untouched logs of varying sizes, some carpentered pieces like chairs and tables, positioned so that flames would reach them, while air fed them. There was charcoal, wax, tallow, olive oil, in various containers interspersed between the wood. Elissa had left nothing to chance. The naphtha-soaked tinder would ignite at the touch of a flame and, once it did, nothing would stop the building turning into a raging inferno.
In the middle of all the material, in front of an altar that sat against the wall, a strange structure glowed brightly, giving out light and heat. Carbo recognized the design as a larger version of the statue that Rufa had seen used to burn the sacrifice at Elissa’s domus.
Carbo stood motionless, trying to force himself to think. Vespillo would not be coming in to help him any time soon. He couldn’t move on Elissa without her cutting Fabilla’s throat and starting the fire. Helplessness suffused him, and that familiar, sickening feeling
of panic started to rise within, threatening to paralyse him. No, gods, please. Not here, not now.
Carbo looked into Rufa’s eyes. He remembered how she had been able to calm the panic in him when it overwhelmed him. He thrust the feeling down with an effort of will.
‘Take me,’ he said, his voice steady. ‘If you need a sacrifice, take me.’
Elissa shook her head. ‘The stars, my dreams, the Lord and Lady, they have chosen this one.’ She shook Fabilla roughly, who yelped. Tears were rolling down the little girl’s face. Carbo knew she was old enough to be fully aware of what was happening, and knew she was facing it as bravely as she could. Carbo tried not to look at her, for fear his breaking heart would sap his will.
‘But surely your Lord and Lady would rather they have me. A little girl is no fitting tribute to their power.’
Elissa looked a little uncertain. ‘It has always been so. Since time began, the Lord Ba’al Hammon and the Lady Tanit took the lives of children, our most precious gifts, in honour of their greatness.’
‘But this snotty brat, this slave girl, she isn’t a precious gift. You can purchase another for a handful of coin.’
‘She seems precious to you, otherwise why would you be offering yourself?’
‘Maybe so, but I am not the one making the sacrifice. Who would the gods prefer, this cheap slave girl, or a veteran of the Roman legions, a war hero, a pilus prior centurion?’
Elissa narrowed her eyes. ‘You would do this? Give your life as sacrifice in exchange for the life of these two?’
Carbo swallowed, looked at Rufa, who looked back, agony in her expression.
‘I would.’
Elissa nodded. ‘Very well. The time is nearly upon us. Lay down your sword.’
Rufa looked at him helplessly, shaking her head. Carbo smiled at her in what he hoped was a reassuring way, and placed his sword gently on the ground.
Watchmen of Rome Page 31