The Forgotten Legion tflc-1

by Ben Kane

  'You'll win no friends like that, Caelius,' commented the lean man.

  'Who needs scum as friends?'

  'Beat plebs when necessary.' He glanced at the door. 'Otherwise let them be.'

  'Always know best, don't you?'

  'These people are not slaves.'

  'Equestrians can do as they wish.'

  'If you want them to support you for a position in the Senate, keep behaving like that.'

  Caelius curled his lip, but had no reply.

  'We equites are the most powerful people in the strongest state in the world. Those men knew that already, Caelius. Rule them through respect, not fear.'

  There were nods of agreement but the redhead scowled.

  'Is there nowhere better round here?' Aufidius lowered his voice slightly. 'This place is a shithole.'

  Most turned to Caelius, the self-elected expert on brothels.

  'I've had better horse piss and the clientele are low class too. But it's only a short walk to the Lupanar,' said Caelius, satisfied to be the centre of attention again. He drained his beaker. 'Let's have a few here. Then we can give some blonde whores a good seeing to!'

  Everyone nodded, with the exception of the lean man.

  'I'll be going home after this.'

  'What? Fading on us?' The burly equestrian refilled his friend's cup and shoved it along the table, spilling wine.

  'I have to prepare for a debate in the Senate tomorrow.'

  'Genius flows better after a night in the saddle!' Aufidius made an obscene gesture to gales of laughter.

  'I want to be a quaestor next year, my friend. Such positions don't just fall into one 's lap.' As an assistant to the senior magistrates, the lean man would have the opportunity to learn much about the intricacies of the Republic's legal system, perhaps even to manage some of the public finances. It would be valuable political experience, preparing him for the rank above, the praetorship.

  'Jupiter's balls, will you lighten up?' sneered Caelius, aware that without a powerful sponsor, he had no chance of election to such a post.

  'The man has a point,' admitted Aufidius. 'Once in the magistracy, nights like this won't happen too often.'

  'I'm aware of that.'

  'Then stay out with us!'

  'I would rather decide the path of the Republic. You can all screw the night away.'

  'You're not the only one with an important job.'

  'Forgive me,' he said quickly. 'I meant no insult.'

  'Did you not?' Caelius gripped the edge of the table so hard his knuckles went white. 'Not a quaestor yet. You're still an equestrian, like us! Arrogant prick!'

  The lean man's stare became icy and the pair locked eyes.

  'Come now, Caelius,' Aufidius interjected. 'Sooner a whore soothes your brow, the better!'

  The redhead forced a smile.

  The other's eyes remained stony.

  'It's Caelius' balls need soothing more than anything!'

  Most laughed at the joke.

  The equites continued drinking and talking, but the convivial air had been lost. Eventually conversation petered out altogether. In the tavern's din, it was noticeable only to those at the table.

  'Who's for the Lupanar?' Aufidius drained his cup to a chorus of approval.

  Following Caelius, the group weaved out on to the rutted surface of the street. Two prone bodies lay in the dirt a few steps from the door.

  Caelius kicked the nearest in the belly. 'Won't forget us in a hurry.'

  The lean man pursed his lips in disapproval.

  They had not gone far when Caelius collided with a young girl hurrying through the semi-darkness. She was knocked to the ground and a basket of meat and vegetables went flying.

  Recognising a slave by the light wrist chains, Caelius backhanded her across the face as she got up. 'Watch where you're going! Clumsy bitch!'

  The girl fell back into the dried mud with a cry, her worn shift riding up slim, shapely legs.

  'She meant no harm, Caelius,' said Aufidius, helping her up.

  The young woman was about seventeen, very pretty, with dark hair and blue eyes. Uneasy in the presence of nobles, she bobbed her head in thanks.

  'Sorry, Master,' she mumbled, turning to leave.

  Caelius was having none of it. He had seen how attractive she was. Grabbing the front of the light woollen shift, he ripped it to the waist, revealing a pert pair of breasts. The girl cried out in terror and embarrassment, but Caelius' blood was up. He tore the dress completely off her shoulders.

  She backed away and was instantly blocked by two of the others. Aware they could not help, the bodyguards moved discreetly into the shadows. There was no one else around to help a lone slave. From dusk to dawn, Rome's streets were the province of the lawless. Only the foolhardy ventured out without guards. Or a slave sent on an errand.

  'Please, Master.' The girl's voice trembled. 'I meant no harm.'

  Caelius grabbed her arm. 'This won't take long.'

  There was a murmur of agreement. Only the lean man and Aufidius remained silent.

  The girl moaned with fear.

  'Let her go.'

  'What did you say?' said Caelius incredulously.

  'You heard me.'

  'Rot in Hades!' Shaking with anger, Caelius took a step forward. 'She 's only a damn slave.'

  The lean man plucked a long-bladed dagger from inside his toga. 'I am sick of you.' He held it nonchalantly by the tip. 'Do as I say.'

  Caelius' eyes darted to the bodyguards.

  Instantly the knife was poised to throw. 'I can put this through your heart before they come five paces.'

  'Calm yourself, my friend,' said Aufidius, looking worried. 'No point anyone getting hurt.'

  He smiled. 'That depends on Caelius.'

  The rest watched the argument unfold. It had been brewing for months, and none of them wanted to oppose the powerful and ambitious noble.

  Scowling furiously, Caelius released the girl.

  The lean man beckoned her over. 'Enjoy the Lupanar,' he said, gesturing commandingly down the street.

  'He disapproves of two lowlife citizens getting a beating, then stops an equestrian screwing a slave?' spat Caelius in an undertone. 'The prick is going soft. Or mad.'

  'Neither.' Aufidius shook his head. 'He is far too shrewd.'

  'What then?'

  Aufidius ignored the question, clapping the redhead jovially on the back. 'It's time for more wine!'

  Caelius let himself be led away and the others followed meekly, glad the argument had been settled without bloodshed.

  It would not always be so.

  'See you in the Senate tomorrow,' the lean man called after them.

  He stood in silence, holding the slave until the group was some distance away. Two personal bodyguards waited in the shadows. The girl peered at him nervously, hoping to be released, but when the noble 's piercing gaze turned back, it was filled with lust. Tightening his grip, he dragged her towards an alleyway.

  She whimpered with fear. It was obvious what was about to happen. Only the rapist had changed.

  'Be quiet, or I'll hurt you.'

  Glancing up from his latest pile of vomit, the burly equestrian saw the pair disappear. 'Probably planned it all, so he could have her to himself,' he muttered. 'That man will not stop at quaestor.'

  'He'll be a consul before long,' complained Caelius. The redhead had not seen the girl's fate.

  For centuries, Rome had been governed each year by two elected consuls, supported by military tribunes, judges and the Senate. It was a system that worked well if the participants complied with the law. Historically, the pair of officials, effective rulers of Rome, had changed every twelve months. This ancient statute had been passed to stop individuals from holding on to power. But since a civil war over enfranchisement thirty years before, Rome's democracy had been slipping into decline and the important positions had changed hands less than a dozen times in a generation. Ambitious nobles such as Marius, Cinna and Sull
a had begun the trend, forcing a weakened Senate to let them retain the consulship long term. Now only a favoured few ever succeeded to the posts, which were jealously guarded by the richest and most powerful families in Italy. It took incredible drive to become a consul by sheer merit.

  'The prick will make a mistake eventually,' snarled Caelius. 'Everyone does.' Still seething with anger, the redhead knew he was too drunk to outwit his enemy. Dragging his companion away, he staggered towards the Lupanar.

  The lean man strode into the darkness, the girl held firmly by one arm. Waste and broken pottery discarded by the inhabitants of nearby houses littered the alley. Finding a suitable spot at last, he ripped her light shift off and shoved the slave to the ground. She fell awkwardly, exposing a triangle of dark hair at the base of her belly. Adjusting his toga, he swept open both legs with a foot and lowered himself to his knees. The girl cried out in terror. With a shove he entered her, sighing with pleasure.

  The lean man thrust in and out eagerly. His wife had not been well for some time and his physical needs had been neglected. Caught up with furthering an ambitious political career, he had gone for months without sex.

  The girl's eyes were wide with fear.

  'Look at me again and I'll cut your throat!'

  Hastily she obeyed, jamming a hand in her mouth to keep silent. Tears rolled silently from between closed lids. This was the lot of a slave.

  With a loud moan, he climaxed, pushing deep inside.

  She did not open her eyes as he got up, rearranging his toga.

  The lean man stared down with a satisfied smile. Even with a swollen, tearstained face, the girl was a real beauty. Lust sated, he could return home. He had to finish the speech on public spending for the next day. If it was well received, his chances of election as quaestor would be greatly enhanced. Having served in the priesthood of Jupiter and as a military staff officer, he was determined to proceed along the noble 's career path — the cursus honorum — as fast as possible.

  He was sure his father would have been proud to see how far an only son had risen. Though patrician, the family had not been wealthy. His father had worked hard in the Senate for many years to achieve the rank of praetor, just below that of consul, shortly before he died.

  Initially the young man's own career had been helped by the family's connections, which opened many doors that would have remained shut otherwise. Long years of listening to his father's conversations with political allies, watching debates in the Forum and attending society banquets had also paid off. He had become a consummate politician and a suitable marriage had cemented his social position. The union of an aunt to a powerful consul had brought him into the public eye, but when his uncle had died during a period of civil war, his progress had faltered somewhat. Sulla's bloody reign had been dangerous for anyone with different ideas. The first general ever to march soldiers into Rome, Sulla had executed virtually everyone who got in his way. It had earned him the nickname of 'the butcher'.

  Only the lean man's intelligence and will to survive had carried him through that time. Through sheer hard work, he had built up a network of friends among the rich and powerful and was now a rising star of the Roman political world. People like Cato and Pompey Magnus were starting to notice him. Marcus Licinius Crassus, one of the most prominent figures in Rome, had lent him huge financial backing, but the young politician needed smaller men's support too. It had been a good opportunity to show who led the group.

  By cowing Caelius into submission, the lean man had strengthened his dominance over more lowly equestrian friends. On the road to power, he needed obedient allies for a smooth passage. The capital was full of those who wanted to rule, but that position was really only open to a few. By playing his hand right, he too would be one of them one day.

  He came back to the present. 'Go home. Before someone less merciful finds you.'

  Disbelief flitted across the slave 's face, but it was instantly hidden. 'Thank you, Master.' She had seen the dagger and knew how easily he could have used it.

  'Be swift, or you'll end up in the Tiber.' The idea of killing the girl did not appeal — he wasn't a cold-blooded murderer. He turned and was gone.

  The girl waited until all sounds had disappeared into the night. Gripping her torn shift tightly, she fled through the dark streets towards her master's house. Returning late and without her basket of food, the reception from Gemellus would be even worse than what she had just endured. But there was nowhere else for her to go.

  Nine months later.

  The merchant opened the door without knocking and entered the small room, his face dripping with sweat. He stared down at the sleeping baby in the cot.

  Velvinna, who was nursing the other twin, gazed at her owner with a mixture of terror and hate.

  'More mouths to feed! At least this is a girl,' Gemellus said, scowling. 'If I'm lucky, she 'll have your looks. Sell her to a whorehouse in a few years.'

  He turned to Velvinna. The young mother's face crumpled with anticipation.

  'I want you back in the kitchen tomorrow. Two days' rest is more than enough!'

  Velvinna had no choice but to obey. Although exhausted from a long labour, she would have to fire the oven and clean the floors. The other slaves would help as much as they could.

  'Keep up with your work,' Gemellus said threateningly, 'or I'll leave both of them on the midden.'

  Only the poorest citizens left new babies to die on communal dung heaps. Velvinna clutched the infant closely to her. 'I will, Master!'

  'Good.' Gemellus bent over and squeezed her breast. 'I will visit tonight,' he grunted. 'Those brats had better not cry either.'

  She bit her lip until it bled, stifling her instinctive protest.

  The merchant leered at Velvinna from the doorway and was gone.

  She gazed down at the male baby. 'Feed, my little Romulus,' she whispered.

  There would be no golden bullae charms for her twins, no naming ceremonies at nine days of age. Like her, they were slaves, not citizens. Her milk was the only thing she had to give him. 'Grow strong and healthy.'

  One day you can kill Gemellus.

  And the lean one.

  Chapter III: Olenus

  Northern Italy, 70 BC

  The Vinalia Rustica had been and gone and still no opportunity had arisen for Tarquinius to get away from the latifundium and visit Olenus. Normally he enjoyed the annual festival celebrating the harvest, a riotous affair that lasted several days. This year had been different in more ways than one. Large amounts of wine and food had been consumed but Caelius had ensured celebrations did not get out of hand. Just as Dexter had predicted, there had been no meat for the workers. The nobleman never wasted a single sestertius if he could avoid it. And Tarquinius was growing impatient. He desperately needed to talk to the haruspex about his vision, which had now recurred a number of times. But he dared not leave without permission because the vilicus knew about his wish to climb the mountain. Dexter's speciality lay in punishing the workers who had disobeyed Caelius' rules. It was not uncommon for men to die of the injuries he inflicted.

  About two weeks after talking to the foreman, the young Etruscan was summoned to Caelius' stone-flagged office early one morning. Tarquinius was delighted. Events were beginning to move again. It was still intimidating to be in the hard-faced Roman's presence. Tarquinius strongly disliked the estate 's owner — he could not have explained why — and his dream had only strengthened this feeling.

  Studying a parchment on his desk, Caelius ignored him for some time. Tarquinius waited, staring curiously at mementoes throughout the large, square room. Greek statues of the gods sat either side of a low altar. A bust of a man with a beaked nose and piercing gaze sat in an alcove, displayed so everyone who entered could see it. Shields and swords of different types hung from nails, trophies from Caelius' time in the army. The weapons, evidence of a world outside the latifundium, sparked Tarquinius' imagination. He had learned much from Olenus, but most of it was the
ory. These objects were real.

  The noble looked up at last. He had not noticed Tarquinius' interest. 'Too many animals have been killed recently,' he said, tapping a fingernail against his teeth. 'I'm giving you three days. I want half a dozen wolf pelts on the wall by then.'

  'Three days?' Tarquinius was stunned by the timing. 'Six wolves?'

  Why now? He had told Caelius about the losses a month earlier.

  'Correct.' Caelius' tone was icy. 'Unless someone else could do it better? Plenty of men would jump at the chance to avoid harvest work.'

  'I can do it, Master,' Tarquinius said hurriedly. It would give him the chance to get meat for Dexter.

  Caelius waved a hand in dismissal.

  Tarquinius had reached the door when the redhead spoke again.

  'Return late and I'll have you crucified.'

  'Master?' Shocked, he stared at Caelius blankly. The threat sounded genuine.

  'You heard me,' the redhead replied. His eyes were dark slits.

  Tarquinius bobbed his head and closed the door behind him. Alarmed by the cryptic remark, he went to the family's room and gathered up a few belongings, together with a bow and quiver. The thought of time with Olenus soon lifted his spirits. Grinning broadly, he kissed his mother goodbye and left the estate buildings behind.

  The small groves on slopes above the villa were full of slaves bringing in the olive harvest. The original trees had been brought from Greece hundreds of years before. Green olives and their valuable oil provided a huge part of Rome's wealth. Tarquinius wondered again why Caelius had not planted more of them to help with his financial problems.

  'Don't forget our deal,' the vilicus yelled when he saw Tarquinius. 'Otherwise I'll put you to work in the mill.' Grinding flour was even more backbreaking than cutting wheat, and a common punishment. 'It's good you're going up there,' Dexter added ominously.

  'What do you mean?'

  'Crassus has an interest in the old man. Gods alone know why.'

  Tarquinius opened his mouth to ask more, but the foreman had already turned away, shouting orders.

  What interest could Marcus Licinius Crassus have in Olenus?