Killer of Rome

by Alex Gough

  ‘I’ll pay for the damage,’ he said.

  * * *

  Marsia watched the men troop in and out of the brothel. She shivered, sickened as she watched them enter with animal hunger and leave with satisfied swagger. All sorts paraded past her, young and old, fat and thin, smooth-cheeked and purulent and pock-marked. How long would it be until she had to start servicing them? How long until Vatius couldn’t pay Olorix any more, or Olorix got bored with that arrangement?

  Finally there was a gap. A man left, and none was queuing to take his place. Marsia took a breath, and stiffly entered.

  The atrium smelled sickly sweet – cheap perfume, wine and sex. The walls were frescoed floor to ceiling with pornographic imagery, partly designed to titillate and stimulate the customers, but also, with numbers written beneath many of the varied positions, acting as a price list.

  The leno, a skinny, greasy-haired man, sat in a chair, his back to the wall and his feet up on a stool. He held a finely embossed silver cup which was halfway to his lips when Marsia walked in. He stopped in the act of taking a sip, eyebrows raised in surprise.

  He looked to his bodyguard, a tall, scarred man with the air of a veteran gone to seed, but still enough about him to sort out any patrons that got out of hand. The bodyguard shrugged.

  ‘Client or employee?’ asked the leno.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ asked Marsia, momentarily non-plussed by the environment and the abrupt question.

  The leno, picking up her accent, said loudly, slowly and clearly, ‘Do you want a job or a fuck?’

  ‘Oh,’ said Marsia. ‘Neither.’

  The leno frowned. ‘Then what do you want?’

  ‘I just wanted to speak to Camilla.’

  The leno turned to the bodyguard with a questioning look.

  ‘The freelancer, boss. Second floor.’

  ‘Oh, her. Well, she is working. And she pays me a decent percentage of what she earns, so I don’t want anything to interfere with my cash flow.’

  ‘Is she with someone now?’

  ‘Well, no. But you never know when a customer will walk through that door.’

  ‘Please, sir. I just want a few moments with her. I’ll leave straight away if she is… required.’

  The leno stroked his stubbly chin. ‘Why do you need to see her?’

  ‘I’d prefer not to say.’

  ‘Then the answer is no. Get out of here.’

  ‘Sir, I beg you. I can’t get away from my master for long. I don’t know when I will get the chance next. And he will beat me so hard if he knows I am here.’

  ‘Who is your master?’

  ‘His name is Olorix.’

  ‘Olorix? The bookie?’

  Marsia nodded.

  ‘That fat, cheating bastard. He stiffed me at a dog fight just last week. I found out he had given poison to the hound I bet on. The poor beast barely made it into the ring before he keeled over.’

  ‘That sounds like him, sir.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know what you want, but the fact you are doing it behind Olorix’s back gives me some satisfaction. Up the stairs, two flights, second cubicle on your right.’

  ‘Thank you, sir, so much.’

  ‘Hurry up. Who knows how long her break will last.’

  Marisa bowed her head in gratitude and hurried up the stairs. Some of the cubicles had doors half open and as she passed them she saw a variety of girls, all shapes and sizes and skin tones, some attending their make-up, some staring blank-eyed at the walls, one curled up in a ball and sobbing quietly.

  The door to Camilla’s cubicle was closed and she knocked tentatively.

  ‘Come in, darling.’ Camilla’s tone was light and inviting.

  Marsia opened the door and found Camilla sitting on the edge of a cheap bed, cheeks rouged, eyes accentuated with kohl, lips bright red, wrapped in a pristine white toga.

  ‘Marsia!’ Camilla couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice.

  Marsia closed the door behind her and stood with her back to it. Now she was here she was uncharacteristically uncertain what to say. Her eyes dropped to the toga, the elaborate folds concealing much more than they revealed. Camilla noticed the direction of her gaze.

  ‘Well, prostitutes are supposed to wear togas in public,’ she said. ‘To show the world what kind of women we are. Though we mostly don’t bother. But I find that here in private, some men like it.’

  ‘Really?’ Marsia didn’t understand, but then, much about men was a mystery to her.

  ‘I think some like to unwrap me, like a Saturnalia gift. Some like the message it shows, that I am no prim, Roman matron in stola and palla. And I think some actually like to imagine I am some rich young boy. It takes all sorts.’

  ‘How can you do it?’ asked Marsia, her fears forcing the words out before she could stop them.

  Camilla frowned, but considered the question. ‘I think it helps that I am free. I get to choose my clients. I can refuse who I want. I can refuse to do anything I don’t want to do. And I don’t have to put up with beatings from an angry master or leno for not doing as I’m told.’

  Marsia flinched at this, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath before opening them again. Camilla was looking at her curiously.

  ‘Marsia? What’s wrong? Why did you come here?’

  Marsia swallowed. Now she was confronted with the question, she wasn’t sure. What could she hope to gain from this self-absorbed girl? Would she show any remorse at all?

  ‘Did he pay you very well?’ she asked.

  ‘Who?’ asked Camilla.

  ‘Olorix.’

  ‘Oh.’ Camilla looked down. Marsia shifted her weight from one leg to another. The stinging pain from her back seemed to have barely abated, and she thought that the walk to the brothel had pulled off some scabs as they rubbed against her clothing. She hoped her dark tunic wouldn’t show up the blood.

  ‘I was born free, you know,’ said Camilla. ‘Born free, but I would have been better off a slave.’

  ‘You are never better off a slave.’

  ‘I had no food other than what I could beg for. My mother would get drunk and beat me. I never had a father. I was cold every winter, and hungry every day. My mother started hiring me out to men when I was thirteen years old.’

  Marsia looked at her, sympathy warring inside her with anger at what she had done.

  ‘My mother died when I was fifteen. Her lungs, they said. I think she just didn’t want to go on. It doesn’t matter. For me, that was when I started living. Taking control. I told myself I would be rich, any way I could. And when I had enough money, I was going to buy a farm in the country, and have slaves of my own, and grow grapes and make wine, and never be hungry or cold again.’

  ‘Any way you could? No matter who got hurt along the way?’

  ‘Hurt? I’ve made a lot of men happy. And I’ve never killed anyone.’

  ‘Maybe not with your own hands. But how many have you cheated, like Carbo, who went on to take their own lives?’

  ‘Carbo? He didn’t…’

  ‘No, thanks be to Nerthus.’

  ‘Then, what’s the problem?’

  ‘Camilla, he lost everything to Olorix, because of you.’

  ‘Everything?’

  ‘He was already a humbled, broken man before you got your claws into him. The things he had suffered – the pain and loss. It’s no surprise that he took to gambling and drinking. But you never knew the man when I first met him. Damaged yes, but a hero. And because of your scheme with Olorix, what little he had left has been taken from him. Now he has no business, no home and the vigiles are after him for murders he didn’t commit.’

  ‘I heard about the murders,’ said Camilla. ‘It wasn’t him?’

  ‘Of course not!’

  Camilla sighed. ‘Yes,’ she said.

  Marsia frowned at the non sequitur.

  ‘Yes, what?’

  ‘Yes, Olorix paid me very well. It’s the only reason I did it. Getting me closer to tha
t prize, to my farm. I have nothing against Carbo. I actually liked his company.’

  ‘Then help me make it right.’

  ‘How? What can I do?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Marsia helplessly. She had hoped something would occur to her, or that Camilla would volunteer something. But the truth was, she was completely without a plan. The goals were clear. Prove Carbo’s innocence. Restore his fortune. Help him heal. But the path there was shrouded in fog.

  ‘Look, I have no love for Olorix. And I feel bad for Carbo. If there is something I can do, I will. I just don’t know…’

  There was a loud banging at the door.

  ‘Time’s up!’ came the leno’s voice. ‘You’ve got a customer downstairs, Camilla.’

  ‘Give me a few moments,’ Camilla called back.

  ‘No,’ said the leno. ‘He asked for you, but if you keep him waiting he will choose one of the others. And you aren’t using my room for social callers. Either pay your way, or get out.’

  Camilla looked helplessly at Marsia. Marsia nodded her understanding.

  ‘Come to me, at the tavern. It’s hard for me to get out. Olorix would… hurt me again.’

  Camilla nodded. ‘I’ll come. I promise.’

  ‘Camilla!’ yelled the leno, knocking hard again.

  Marsia pulled the door open so suddenly that the leno nearly hammered her on the nose. She brushed past him and down the stairs. In the atrium a man old enough to be Camilla’s grandfather was pacing up and down. She gave him a contemptuous glance, then hurried back out onto the street, heading back to the tavern as fast as her injuries would allow.

  * * *

  Rome never slept. Even at this time of night, a few short hours before sunrise, the streets were full of the wheeled vehicles that were banned during the day, taking their produce to the various markets throughout the city. Criminals prowled, vigiles patrolled, and groups of drunken young men staggered around looking for beggars and semi-conscious inebriates to toss in a blanket or throw in the river for sport.

  Nevertheless, the streets were dark, illuminated only by the moon when it peeped out from behind the scudding clouds, and the light of braziers and oil lamps shining out of unshuttered street-facing windows. It was an ideal time for Carbo to sneak out of Sica’s apartment, utilising the secret route through the cellars, and also an ideal time to visit his old tavern, empty of customers and in no danger of a visit from Olorix.

  Though being out on the streets made him nervous, it was easy enough to avoid the vigiles and any others who might recognise him, especially accompanied by Sica, who scouted ahead to warn him of any dangers. They reached the tavern uneventfully, and after giving a soft knock, were admitted by Marsia.

  Marsia gave Carbo a long hug, then Sica a much shorter one, and ushered them to sit around a small round table. Camilla was already present. The room was lit by one small oil lamp, but Carbo could see the anxious expression on her face as she looked up from her seat. She looked like she was about to bolt at the slightest sign of anger from him.

  And he did indeed feel a rush of fury at the sight of her. It was her fault that he was in this situation, skulking around like a thief, sneaking into his own tavern, with not a copper as to his name.

  But it wasn’t her fault, was it? If he hadn’t been looking for the thrill of the bet, if he hadn’t been desperate to pay off debts because of his drinking and gambling, he would never have been taken in so easily. She was just like a thief who sees a silver cup on a window ledge, and makes off with it before anyone sees. The fault belonged just as much to the fool who left his treasure negligently unguarded, didn’t it?

  Besides, what was she doing here, if it wasn’t to make amends?

  Camilla was looking at his hands, and he realised his fists were clenched into tight balls. With an effort, he willed them to relax. He ran one hand through his thick hair, then nodded to her.

  ‘Camilla.’

  ‘Carbo,’ she said.

  He sat at the table, across from Camilla, and Sica and Marsia sat on either side of him. For a moment no one spoke.

  It was Sica that broke the silence. ‘Well? What we going to do?’

  Marsia looked to Carbo for an answer, maybe out of habit, but he pursed his lips and waited. Marsia had arranged this meeting, and while he appreciated it, he didn’t know what it was meant to achieve.

  Marsia sighed. ‘Let’s establish some basics. Is there anyone here that believes Carbo committed these murders?’

  Sica shook her head emphatically. Camilla hesitated, then said, ‘No. I don’t.’

  ‘Good,’ said Marsia. ‘So we have two problems to solve. Firstly, we need to either prove Carbo couldn’t have committed these crimes, or find out who did.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Camilla.

  ‘And secondly, we need to prove Olorix cheated Carbo when he took his tavern and his farm.’

  Camilla looked doubtful.

  ‘We can take him to the law courts. If you testify that he fixed the bets, we can sue him for the lost assets, and damages too.’

  Even in the dim light Carbo could see the thought of this scared Camilla.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Who would believe someone like me? It would be my word against Olorix’s. That’s if I ever made it to court. More likely Olorix would have me murdered and my body cut up and dumped in the cloaca maxima.’

  ‘She’s right,’ said Carbo. ‘Besides, suing someone costs money, which is just what I don’t have.’

  ‘I am saving a little,’ said Sica hesitantly. ‘But my business is new and I…’

  Carbo put his hand on hers. ‘You are already doing so much for me,’ he said.

  Marsia looked at Camilla, one eyebrow raised. Camilla bridled at the unspoken implication.

  ‘If you think I am dipping into my savings for him, you can think again. I feel bad for Carbo, but not that bad.’

  ‘It’s fine, Camilla,’ said Carbo. ‘As you said, it’s pointless anyway. We need harder evidence, multiple witnesses of impeccable character, or something in writing.’

  ‘And Carbo can’t take anyone to court while he is wanted for murder,’ said Marsia.

  This gave them all pause for thought.

  ‘So that is first,’ said Sica. ‘Catch the killer.’

  Camilla laughed. ‘You make it sound easy.’

  ‘Not easy,’ said Sica. ‘Things worth doing never easy. But must be done anyway.’

  ‘How?’ asked Carbo. ‘How do we find this madman?’

  ‘What do we know of him already?’ asked Marsia.

  ‘He crazy,’ said Sica.

  ‘That’s helpful,’ said Marsia. ‘What else?’

  ‘We know he is my height and build. Dark hair like me. Walks with a limp.’

  ‘The appearance is unusual, but not unique,’ said Camilla. ‘But the limp too? That’s strange.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ asked Marsia, her tone ominous. ‘You said you didn’t think Carbo did it.’

  ‘I don’t,’ said Camilla. ‘But what if the limp isn’t real?’

  ‘You mean, pretending?’ asked Sica. ‘Why?’

  ‘To look like Carbo.’

  They were all silent. The implications were stunning.

  ‘But that means…’ said Marsia.

  ‘That means he is deliberately trying to frame me,’ said Carbo.

  ‘Why?’ asked Sica. ‘Who would do that?’

  Marsia laughed without humour. ‘Carbo has been making enemies since he first returned to Rome. The list is long.’

  ‘But why now? And this way?’

  ‘Someone I offended recently? Someone who is also a bit crazy?’

  ‘Not Olorix,’ said Marsia. ‘He looks nothing like you, and anyway, he seems satisfied that he has shown his superiority over you already.’

  ‘What about that strange guy who was with you at that wrestling match?’

  Carbo frowned. ‘Who?’

  ‘Is that the one who you were rude to the following day?’
asked Marsia. ‘When you were hungover?’

  ‘I don’t really remember.’

  ‘Tall, dark hair, but scarred face and a haunted look. He was very jumpy whenever there was a loud noise. Eyes always darting around. Terrible teeth.’

  ‘Yes, that’s him,’ said Camilla.

  ‘I’ve seen him in the tavern a few times,’ said Marsia. ‘He could definitely be mistaken for Carbo in the dark. His size and build. Maybe even something about the shape of his face, if it wasn’t for the broken teeth and scars. And if he put a limp on too…’

  ‘But why?’ asked Carbo. ‘Because I was rude to him?’

  ‘We don’t know it is him at all,’ said Sica.

  ‘And even if we thought it was him, we need to prove it.’

  Carbo scratched his chin. He wished Vespillo was here at his side, his friend rather than his adversary. He could really do with his advice. Then he looked at the three women seated around the table, and realised that Fortuna had just maybe turned her smile back on him. All three of them were clever, resourceful and cunning. He didn’t need Vespillo. He had them.

  ‘How do we draw him out?’

  ‘He leaves messages saying “Rome must be cleansed.” People say he is killing off those he doesn’t approve of. The weak and the immoral. The beggars. And the prostitutes.’ She looked at Camilla.

  ‘Oh no,’ said Camilla. ‘You had better not be going to suggest what I think you are.’

  ‘Please Camilla, think about it. You are the sort of person he is targeting. And what’s more, you have a connection to Carbo, who he is trying to hurt. You may be in danger already.’

  Camilla sat back. ‘Maybe I am in danger. All the more reason for me to keep my head down. Maybe I’ll just go to the country for a few weeks until this all dies down, he gets caught or gets bored, or Carbo is captured and executed.’

  ‘I thought you wanted to help,’ said Marsia.

  ‘Help yes. Die, no.’

  ‘How close to getting your farm in the country are you?’ asked Marsia abruptly.

  Camilla narrowed her eyes. ‘I still have some way to go. Why?’

  ‘Carbo had a farm. If we could clear his name, get his properties back maybe…’ She looked at Carbo.

  ‘The farm would be yours, Camilla,’ said Carbo without hesitation.