The King of Rome

by Francis Mulhern

  ****

  As the last man left the room and the slap of his sandals echoed off the walls of the road outside, Cincinnatus turned and nodded to a thick-bellied man who had appeared from one of the anti-rooms to his left. The man followed him into a smaller room where a pungent candle let out a dim, flickering glow. The newcomer was dressed in a drab brown tunic covered with a thick woollen cloak of the same material. His forearms were both covered in heavy leather guards, the pattern of which had long ago faded into insignificance and was obscured by the deep scratches scoured into them as if he’d been attacked by a wild dog. The man had heavy lidded brown eyes and a thick beard which was close cropped to his chin. A rank smell permeated his body, at which Cincinnatus scowled.

  “Ten?” said Cincinnatus as he looked at the details scratched into the wax he’d been handed. The man’s heavy lids acknowledged the comment as he nodded. “Tell him he will pay seven or he’ll have to deal with the consequences” he said with a shake of the head.

  The man moved to leave. “And Baltus.” The thick body turned back to look at his employer. “Crack a few ribs just to make sure he gets the message” he grinned.

  Baltus grinned in response and turned to wave to three other men who were waiting by the door stuffing their faces with the remains of the Senators food.

  ************

  Chapter 2

  The door of the inn smacked against the wall with a crack as the group of men rolled in, their shoulders barging and knocking as they jostled to get through in a jumble of arms and legs. Men pushed and shoved as they raced towards a table with low benches running along each side. One bench scraped along the floor as three of the men fell onto it at the same time, each man screaming “seat” as his hand rose in the air and he stared wildly about himself. Four others pushed to the far side and two men were grappling for the last space at the end of the bench as the others cajoled them, shouting “seat, seat, seat.”

  The smaller man, his short-cropped hair wet with sweat, half sat as the taller man pulled at his arm, his body almost level with the floor in his attempt to drag the man from the last space on the bench, his friends gripping him around the waist to hold him down.

  “Seat” the man shouted, cheers coming from the others around him.

  “No!” yelled the taller man as a grin split his face and he let go of the smaller man’s arm and watched as the little man shot backwards onto the bench and thrust his arms jubilantly into the air.

  “Yes” yelled the small man, the veins standing proud on his temples as he screamed at his friends who were all jeering and shouting at the taller man, fingers pointing.

  “It’s a fix” shouted Narcius, his mock anger causing the men to jeer more loudly as he stood with his hands on his hips and stared at the seated men.

  “Centurion Narcius” said a thick set man with shoulders as wide as the double doors to the inn. “I believe it is your round” he said as he lifted his chin and the men all fell silent. “Again” he added as he slapped the table and the men fell about laughing.

  Narcius shook his head. This was the third Inn they had been in since leaving the final closing ceremony of the games and he had managed to be last to get a seat, and so first to buy the drinks, in each one. He rubbed his head, the wine in his system already making his wits slower than they usually were. “Centurion Crastinus” he said, shaking his head again, “if you are ever busted to my century you will be cleaning latrines with your tongue for a year” he said as the men burst into another fit of laughter.

  “It’d probably taste better than that crap we had in the last bar” shouted Crastinus as the men’s voices rose into an even louder cheer. Narcius laughed at Crastinus before turning to the bar owner and waving to him to come across.

  “Wine for the centurions of Camillus’ Eagles” he said as each man stared at the bar owner menacingly. “And none of the cheap rubbish either” he added quickly. The bar owner nodded nonchalantly, shaking his head as he turned with a wry smile towards the bar.

  Narcius shoved in next to the smaller man as the conversation level rose and each of the men started chattering noisily as they waited for the wine to come.

  “Bloody good games” Petronius, the smaller Centurion, said with a grin.

  “Brilliant” chimed in a muscular man on his right with a long scar across his left cheek which ended just behind the bones of his eye socket. “Best we’ve had for years” he added as his head came up to stare at the bar tender who had appeared with several clay cups and a large amphora of wine.

  “Water?” he asked in a monotone voice as he laid the cups around the table.

  “Not tonight” called Crastinus as the men cheered their agreement.

  Wine cups were lifted as all eyes fell on Crastinus. Even though the man was not the Primus Pilus, the first centurion of the Legion, he had taken over the ceremonial toasts for the evening. Narcius listened as the man called upon the gods to bless their Legions and raised his cup to toast their fallen comrades, to whom they would be forever in debt. All the men drank sombrely before re-filling their cups.

  “Camillus can put on a show, can’t he” Vetto said, his old eyes already bloodshot from all the wine he’d consumed in the past few hours. The men grunted agreement. “It’s all changed since my day” he said, half to himself and half to Brevo, his scarred cheek looking angry in the light of a thick candle which the bar tender now placed on the table as the light outside had faded.

  “In the old days we didn’t get paid” he added as all eyes fell on him. “We had to carry twice as much on our backs as you girls do these days” he grinned as the men jeered him. “And” he shouted as the centurions jostled him and laughed loudly. “When we got home we still had to do all the work on the farm. Ploughing the land, bringing in the barley” he shouted as the men laughed even more loudly.

  “In my day” shouted Brevo as he stood and raised his cup in the air, wine swilling over the edge onto the men around him. “We had to carry the centurions on our backs with our packs, thirty miles a day in rain and snow” he called as the men cheered him, Crastinus rubbing Vetto’s head as the older man let his head fall backwards and laughed out loud. “We had to carry the pack mules as well when they went lame” Brevo called above the din. “And once we’d dug the latrine ditches and then set up the marching camp” he stared down at the group earnestly. “With our bare hands” he said as the noise level grew even louder. “We then had to leg it back home and plough the field before returning back to the camp and killing ten thousand Volscans each, before supper.” Vetto dragged his laughing form back to the table and stood, his face a mask of sincerity.

  “Brothers” he said as the mocking men leant forwards and smiled at him, Narcius wiping a tear from his eye. “You may laugh” he called as all the men did so, again. “But in my day” he started, before Crastinus grabbed his arm and yanked him back to his seat.

  “Drink, brother” he shouted as he refilled the man’s cup. Vetto shook his head and sat back with a shrug.

  “I’m a career soldier now” Crastinus said with a grin. “No more farming for me, Vetto.” He reached across and filled his own cup before calling for the bar owner to bring more wine. “You older men used to get your share of the treasures from the campaigns. And if there were none you went without. Times have changed. At least we get paid even if there are no wars” he finished.

  “Crastinus is right” Narcius said, as the men looked across to him. “We’re all career soldiers now” he said. “Paid men” he nodded. “And I, for one, am glad of it.” He looked at Vetto for a moment. “Rome is growing my friend” he said. “Changing. After the way Camillus defeated those Gaul’s nobody will stand in our way. Mark my words” he said brandishing his cup in front of him “Rome will soon take over half of the Latin Delta.” As he finished he nodded, his chin drooping slightly as all the men sat in silence for a moment, contemplating his words.

  “They’ll be plenty of wars for us to win, bring home some tr
easures and keep the tax collector from the door” said the rasping voice of Verus, a centurion with the third cohort who had been at Veii with Narcius and lost his voice for three months after being trapped in a fire. “And I’ve seen those scorpions he’s building as well” he added as his voice started to falter. “With them in front of us we can withstand a thousand Gallic or Volscan charges” he grinned as the men agreed noisily.

  “It’s still easy to fall into debt though” Vetto said as he gripped his cup in both hands with his elbows on the table. “Did you hear Bristius sold himself into slavery to pay his debts off?” he asked as grumbles went around the table. “A bad day” he said shaking his head.

  “Well” Crastinus said, breaking the moment’s silence which had ensued. “I’m a career soldier. I stay alive and I get paid. I win, and I get my share of the spoils from our victory. It beats farming any day of the year” he held up his cup. “For Rome gentlemen” he said, swiftly followed by the chant from all the men around the table.

  “It’s not always in your own hands though is it” Vetto said, his melancholy mood still gripping him. “You need a good commander. Look at all those lost at the Alliensis” he said as all the centurions shook their heads as one and tapped their right forearms three times in unison.

  “Keep your voice down” Narcius warned, “You never know who’s listening” he added quickly as the men all glanced around at the other customers in the bar. “Here, have another drink old man and tell us about the time you carried a pack mule home and married her” he laughed as Vetto shot an indignant look towards him. The men exploded into laughter at this, and the mood shifted as quickly as it had turned sour.

  “He’s right though” Crastinus said. “A good commander, one whom the gods love, is a man we can all rely on.” His eyes shifted around the room quickly as he spoke. “Camillus is such a man” he nodded at his own words. The men agreed, their deep voices rumbling around the room as several fumbled with the small wooden eagles which were hanging from cords around their necks. “Thought we’d lost him to that Gallic druid” he added with a glance to Narcius. “The bugger just rose from the ground like a spirit from the underworld” he said with a grin. Narcius grunted.

  “Better in the Legions earning a low pay than struggling to earn a crust in the streets” Brevo said. “Half the men I know are already struggling to make ends meet.” Grumbles went around the table again.

  “Have they been to Manlius Capitolinus’ house for a hand out?” asked Crastinus.

  “Now where did that man get all that money from?” asked Petronius as he stood and reached across to grab the amphora and started to refill all the cups.

  “With this right hand did I make money from thin air” called Brevo as he raised his right hand in the air and the men grinned at his jest.

  “They say he has a chest in his house filled with Gallic gold” said Castus, a burly man who had, so far, been silent. His eyes gleamed at the thought of the money.

  “Old wives’ tales” scolded Narcius. “There is no missing Gallic gold as everyone keeps saying. If there was we would have been the first to find it when we took those wagons once we smashed their last line” he added with a long look at Vetto, who simply nodded a reply.

  “Well he certainly seems to have a lot of bronze, silver and gold to pass around” Castus said.

  “He’s a patrician” said Brevo. “They always seem to have money. It comes from taxing poor sods like us” he said with a cheerful grin. “With this right hand did I tax the arse off every pleb” Brevo said as the men started to laugh again.

  “I heard that there are meetings every night at Manlius Capitolinus’ house” Castus said, his eyes shifting across the group.

  Narcius studied him for a moment before replying. “Capitolinus is a good man. He’s a good leader and has brought much glory to his kin.” He glanced around the room. “I heard he was in charge of the rebuilding of the walls.”

  “Yes, me too” Crastinus said. “But I also heard that he’s got himself into debt with the other patricians because he’s loaned too much money.” His wide eyes looked around the faces of the centurions. “And I also heard he had started asking his new followers to swear their allegiance to Jupiter alone.”

  “Nothing wrong with that” Narcius replied coldly.

  “True” Crastinus said as he sat back on the bench and fiddled with his wine cup, glancing nervously to the senior officer.

  Brevo looked up at the serious faces of the men around him. “Well if he’s giving away silver I might go and stand in the queue. Can’t do any harm to take it if he’s giving it away so eagerly” he shrugged as he spoke.

  The centurions grinned. “He did save Rome” Castus said with a sigh. “And he is trying to change things for the plebeians. We need someone like him these days.”

  “With this right hand did I save the city from mortal peril and did I give every man a pound of silver” Brevo said as he shot his right hand in the air, the following laughter not as loud or long as it had been previously.

  “We are getting morose” Vetto said slowly and loudly as he thumped his empty cup on the table. “Time to find a new bar with better wine” he commanded, his chin in the air, as the men cheered and started to down their drinks. “The times haven’t changed that much, brothers” he said as he moved closer to the edge of the bench, Crastinus and Brevo catching each other’s’ eye as they grinned at the old man’s movement. “In my day” he said as the men around him started to groan and Brevo winked to Crastinus. “A man could” his arm tensed on the table corner as he shouted “get to the next bar and find a seat before his friends bought him a round.” The last words were called as he, Brevo and Crastinus were up and pushing out of the bar before the rest of the men could react with shouts and screams as they, too, pulled at their fellows in a mad attempt to get to the door.

  ***********

  The dank room stank like a cheap, over-used, whorehouse. Piles of filth were strewn across the floor and the scuffling suggested that the rats were getting fat on the detritus that remained from the Gallic invasion. Two shapes stepped into the room and stood like statues as their eyes grew accustomed to the lack of light from the windowless room.

  “You choose the best of places for your business meetings” said a sarcastic voice.

  If he could have seen the smile on his companions face he’d have smiled too, but Marcus Furius Camillus was just a dark shape in the blackness of the room. “Light the candle” he said quietly as he edged into the darkness.

  A strike or two later and the candle was lit, the light seeping slowly into the corners of the room as if it, too, were wary of standing on something which might bite back. “May as well get comfortable, we’re a good half hour early” Marcus said as he brushed the dust from a low wall and moved to sit down.

  “Gentlemen.”

  The sudden voice startled both men to such a degree that swords were half drawn and the candle dropped to the floor before the voice could speak again. “Please, don’t be alarmed” came the voice from somewhere within the room.

  “Where are you?” asked Marcus. “Come out where we can see you” he said, his eyes narrowed as he stared into the space in front of him.

  The shape of a tall, thin, man stepped forward and bowed slowly, another dark shape looming behind. “Here, Marcus Furius” said the voice as he moved closer and picked up the candle, lighting one of his own and handing the original to Marcus’ companion. “Your clan and mine have been sworn enemies for years Furius” he said as he stroked the beard at his chin, his brown eyes looking out like two black dots at both men standing in front of him. “So I made sure that I was early and aware of your arrival. But why this?” his arm waved at the dark room with its curved ceiling and tightly packed brickwork. “All you had to do was come to my villa and we could have spoken more formally.”

  Marcus nodded at the words before speaking. “And then every faction in Rome would know that the Furii and the Aetius clans were ba
rgaining, and that wouldn’t be good for business.” The man returned his look with a wary glance of his own.

  “True, but the Caelian? This place is like the back end of a mule, only the half-dead and the ignorant live out here. It’d better be worth my time to have traipsed all the way over here in the dead of night.”

  “I’m supposed to be at home celebrating my triumph and eating the fruits of the labour of our fellow citizens. It took some doing for us to be here, un-noticed, as well. So, let’s be quick.” The dark head nodded in response. “Our families have been at the wrong end of a dagger for many years Flavius. I think it’s time we ended this feud and started to work together to rebuild Rome as a stronger city as my messenger told you.”

  “I find it hard to believe that the great Camillus needs the friendship of a lowly family like my own” Flavius replied. “Tell me how you think I will profit from asking the heads of my family to drop their feud with their Furii neighbours?”

  Marcus took a moment to respond. “Your business interests in the port.” Marcus watched as Flavius’ shoulders tensed. The Aetius clan had lost significantly when the Gaul’s had attacked, three brothers lost at the Allia, three houses burned to the ground by the docks where their main fishing businesses were located and all but two of their cargo ships destroyed. “Rome needs to rebuild Flavius. You lost heavily when the barbarians attacked. Rome needs to improve the supply lines to the docks. To do that I need men who know shipping.” He shrugged. “I know about warfare. I know about politics and religion, but I know nothing of trade in fish or goods from across the sea. I know that your clan do. I know that you are struggling to regain your place in the city having lost so much, but your family and mine have a history Flavius. Our great-grandfathers were close friends, they worked together, shared festivals, voted together” he said as Flavius narrowed his eyes and moved as if to speak until Marcus’ raised hand stopped him. “Yes, the house and lands on the Aventine” he said with a tight jaw and a shake of his head. “We’ve disputed them for many years” he added with a sigh.