Ruso and the Root of All Evils

by Ruso

  Marcia said, ‘We don’t have to do what you say.’

  Hearing echoes of his childhood, Ruso looked into the hazel eyes and said, ‘You have to do what I say. Apologize to your mother, and to Diphilus.’

  Marcia opened her mouth to answer, then closed it as understanding dawned. Her brother and official guardian had been to the gladiator barracks. What followed was not gracious, but it was an apology.

  After the girls had gone Ruso had piled the splintered remains of the table in a corner beneath a cheerful cupid who was driving a chariot pulled by two goats. Returning to the couch, he took refuge in his wine while the staff scoured the floor for potsherds and testicles and while Diphilus explained in detail to the three remaining diners why fixing the drains would involve digging up most of the garden. Arria was so intrigued that she did not notice the glass in her hand gradually tilting and tipping its contents across the floor.

  To Ruso’s alarm, Lollia glanced across at him and winked.

  60

  Arria brushed a stray olive aside and sank on to the couch while the cleaning girl and the laundrymaid lit more lamps and bustled around her with cloths and brooms. ‘We can’t go on like this, Gaius. Those wretched girls!’

  ‘Lollia said it was a very entertaining evening.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it. And that child! At this rate we shall have no furniture left.’

  ‘There’s too much of it anyway.’

  Arria picked at a piece of fluff on the cushion. ‘I know you and your brother aren’t interested, but your father always wanted us to have a nice home.’

  ‘At the moment we’re lucky we’ve got a home at all.’

  She looked up. ‘Well, I’m sorry to have to say it, dear, but whose fault is that?’

  Ruso stared at her.

  ‘Your father was wonderful with money!’ she said. ‘And always so generous. I can’t understand how you two have grown up the complete opposite. He worked so hard to set up all those investments, and neither of you seems to have the faintest idea how to manage them.’

  Ruso started to laugh. ‘Father didn’t have investments, Arria, he had loans! Loans to pay for all the things you insisted on buying. All the plans that got bigger and bigger –’

  ‘He agreed to the plans. I never bought anything without consulting him first.’

  ‘He never intended to build a temple that was going to cost a fortune to run for ever and ever. And he didn’t live long enough to agree to all these cupids.’

  ‘He would have liked them!’ cried Arria. ‘Do you want us to live in a mud hut like your barbarian?’

  Ruso took a deep breath and reminded himself that he was no longer nine years old. He was a grown man and he was responsible for what was left of the family. ‘No,’ he said, wondering how many times Lucius had already tried to explain this to her, ‘I want us to live within our means. I know Father didn’t tell you all the details, because he didn’t tell us either, but a lot of the money was never really there. Now we have all this …’ He glanced around the dining room. ‘We have all these things, and we have to find a way to survive while we pay for them.’

  Arria’s hand crept to her mouth. ‘Are you saying your father lied to me?’

  ‘I’m saying,’ said Ruso, trying to remember what Cass had told him and wishing she were here to deal with this, ‘he was very fond of you and he wanted you to be happy. Now you won’t be ordering anything else, will you?’

  Arria sniffed. The paint in the outer corner of one eye had smudged, giving her a black streak like an Egyptian. ‘It isn’t my fault, Gaius,’ she insisted. ‘Not all of it. Not the court case and everything. And all those children!’

  ‘We’ve all contributed,’ Ruso conceded. ‘But you have to listen, Arria. The only way out of this is to stop spending money.’

  ‘Not even a little outdoor dining room? It won’t cost much. Diphilus is such a nice man.’

  ‘No. We have to concentrate on keeping things going while Lucius and Cass are away, and we have to get these wretched investigators off our backs.’

  Arria shook her head. A pin tumbled out of place and landed unnoticed on the couch. ‘There never was any money? Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No more lovely things?’

  ‘Just enjoy the lovely things you have.’

  She was saying sadly, ‘Poor Diphilus will be so disappointed,’ when a voice from the doorway announced, ‘Never mind poor Diphilus. When are you going to make Gaius give me a dowry?’

  Ruso growled, ‘Not tonight.’

  ‘Then what about Tertius?’

  Ruso said, ‘Tertius made a choice,’ at the same time as Arria said, ‘Who is Tertius?’

  ‘I need money, Gaius.’

  ‘So do we all.’

  ‘Then Tertius is going to die!’ cried Marcia, bursting into tears. ‘And all you want to do’ (this was addressed to Ruso) ‘is to make money out of cutting him up! It’s all your fault, Gaius! I hate you!’

  ‘Then you shouldn’t have summoned me home,’ said Ruso.

  61

  After a restless night throughout which one of them waited in dread for mice and the other for spiders, Tilla was relieved to open her eyes and find she could make out the hump that was Cass’s shoulder. Beyond it she could see the outline of the shutters. She closed her eyes again and slid her hands up over her ears in case the movement she was about to make should disturb anything with four paws and a tail and send it scuttling across her face. Then, with a move sudden enough to scare it away, she sat up.

  Beside her, Cass muttered and groped for the blanket, pulling it over her head. Tilla peered at the floor, decided there was nothing moving down there and padded across to open the window.

  The chilly air out in the yard smelled of dung and woodsmoke. A donkey shifted and stamped, banging its bucket about in the hope of food. Somewhere beyond the walls, a bird chirruped an early call.

  ‘Wake up!’ she hissed, shaking her companion by the shoulder. ‘Wake up. We have to go and find Phoebe’s bar.’

  The sun had risen by the time they had tidied themselves, rejected the woman’s offer of breakfast and made their way through the waking streets to join the early traffic crossing back over the floating bridge. Safely on the opposite shore, they headed downstream to where the merchant ships were moored along the wharf.

  A swaying crate was being guided into a hold by men shouting instructions to the crane operators. They dodged out of the path of a slave lugging an amphora just as a long train of laden mules began to pass along the road in front of them. An old man wheeling a trolley of boxes of fish plodded by in the opposite direction. As they approached, the screech of metal on stone signalled the opening of warehouse doors.

  Cass was muttering something that sounded like ‘Oh dear, oh dear …’

  Tilla said, ‘I hope this Phoebe serves breakfast.’

  They were barely past the first warehouse when she stopped.

  ‘Is it here?’ Cass was gazing around her. ‘I can’t see it.’

  ‘Something else.’

  The sight of chained slaves was not unusual. What Tilla had not expected was that the grimy and dejected figures slumped on the dockside ready for loading would be dressed just like the people she had left at home. She hurried forward, ignoring the guard who was busy chewing and examining his own teethmarks in a hunk of bread.

  Kneeling by the nearest woman – the trader had at least had the decency to chain the men separately from the women and children – she whispered in her own language, ‘I am Darlughdacha of the Corionotatae amongst the Brigantes. What is your name, Sister?’

  The woman’s sunken eyes held no expression.

  ‘We are nobody,’ said the girl chained next to her. ‘We are prisoners. Leave us alone.’

  ‘You must have a tribe. Your accent is – what? Selgovae?’

  ‘We have no tribe.’

  ‘Of course you do! Selgovae? Anavionenses?’

  ‘What
does it matter?’ demanded the girl. ‘In a few days we’ll dock in Ostia, and they’ll put us up for sale like cattle.’

  ‘What is she saying?’ demanded Cass, crouching beside Tilla. ‘Does she know my brother?’

  The girl looked at them both, asking in British, ‘What does that one want? Why are you here?’

  ‘Tilla! What is she saying?’

  Tilla put a hand over Cass’s. ‘She doesn’t know your brother. She has her own troubles.’ She turned back to the girl. ‘I cannot help you,’ she said, ‘and our own gods cannot hear you from here. But I have found out there is a great god who is everywhere, a god with no name who answers if you call him Father.’

  Several of the nearby slaves were paying attention now. The guards were watching too.

  ‘My friend needed to travel to this place, and straight away this Father God sent a man with a cart to bring us,’ continued Tilla. She glanced round before adding. ‘He is more powerful than the Emperor. He has a son called Christos, and the Romans tried to kill him, and he came back to life. You should try praying to him.’

  The girl held out both palms. ‘We have nothing to give.’

  ‘He does not want your gifts. He likes …’ Tilla paused, wondering exactly what this God the Father did want. ‘He likes songs and long prayers,’ she said, ‘and sharing food and – oh, you must stop doing sins and you have to forgive people, and then Christos will come back from heaven and fetch you.’

  ‘What are sins?’ asked a woman.

  ‘Forgive which people?’ demanded one of the men.

  Tilla, who was not exactly sure what sins were herself, said, ‘People who need forgiving, I suppose.’ Somehow this new way of life did not seem as attractive here as it had in the company of the other believers.

  ‘So,’ said the woman, ‘if we honour this Father God and forgive the guards, will he help us escape?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ admitted Tilla. ‘But they say that if you love this god and obey him, he will take you to live with him in the next world when you die.’

  ‘Huh,’ retorted the man. ‘We’d like a bit of help before then.’

  Tilla got to her feet. ‘You will never know till you try,’ she said. Turning to the girl, she said, ‘Courage, Sister. I have been a slave to a Roman. He is a good man. It may not be as bad as you fear.’

  ‘I hope not,’ agreed the girl, ‘because what I fear is very bad indeed.’

  As Tilla and Cass began to walk away the man called after them, ‘Oi! What tribe did you say you were?’

  ‘Corionotatae. Of the Brigantes.’

  ‘I might have known!’ retorted the man. ‘Trust a Brigante to be playing both ends against the middle.’

  ‘That’s enough!’ called the guard, putting his bread down. ‘No more talking!’ He turned to Tilla. ‘If you’re not buying, don’t interfere with the stock.’

  Tilla sighed. ‘My people,’ she said sadly, gazing out between the masts to where a lump of driftwood was swirling on the current. ‘Always the same.’

  ‘What is the matter with your people?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Tilla, setting out once more along the wharf. ‘They are clever and brave. But when you offer them something good they can always find a reason why it will not work. I tried to tell them about Christos.’

  ‘Justinus believed Christos would take him to heaven,’ Cass mused, falling into step with her. ‘But how will Christos find him when his body is not buried?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Tilla. ‘I have only been to one meeting. I think there are some things I have not found out yet.’

  62

  Ruso woke, stared at the ceiling and remembered why there was no one in the bed beside him. One by one, all the other things he was supposed to be worrying about sidled into his mind and drifted around it like unwelcome guests. Thus it was something of a relief to realize that he had something to celebrate. He was not poisoned.

  He swung his feet to the floor, stood up, stretched, then bent and touched his toes, wincing at the stiffness from yesterday’s accident with the horse. He flexed his fingers, shook his head and spent a quiet moment assessing the state of his interior. Then he slapped his thighs, punched both fists in the air and went in search of breakfast.

  ‘Galla!’

  She changed course, eyes wide with apprehension.

  ‘You promised to give me something. Where is it?’

  She swallowed. ‘I cannot, my lord.’

  ‘While you are part of this household, Galla, you are to do as I say.’

  She lowered her head and said, ‘Yes, my lord.’ Her stance as well as her voice betrayed her misery.

  ‘You might think it doesn’t matter,’ he explained, ‘but you see where all this secret society business has led to with Tilla. If this sort of thing carries on they’ll decide to start rooting out the Christians again. Don’t you think this family’s in enough trouble?’

  ‘We would never want to cause you trouble, my lord.’

  ‘Not we,’ prompted Ruso, ‘they. Now what is it, and where is it?’

  Moments later Ruso was in the study with the door wedged shut, munching on an apple and running one finger along a line of Greek lettering. When he reached the end of what appeared to be the first sentence, he threw back his head and laughed.

  All slaves under the yoke must have absolute respect for their masters.

  What a shame it was that Galla could not read this document she had been hiding inside Little Lucius’ mattress. The rest of it was a denunciation of philosophy, a shrewd observation that a fondness for money was at the root of most of the world’s troubles and some sort of rant about fighting a good religious fight in order to win eternal life.

  That, as far as he could recall, was the original problem with the Christians, even before they had started enticing women away from home. They saw religion as a fight. They upset everyone else by refusing to sacrifice to the normal gods on the grounds that their own wouldn’t like it, ignored polite requests to be a little more open-minded and then refused to be coerced, in the belief that clinging stubbornly to their faith in this world would win them happiness for ever in the next one.

  On the other hand, ‘absolute respect’ surely meant obedience? He would read this to her and translate it before he burned it. As an obedient slave with absolute respect for her master, Galla would do what she was told and stop fooling around with foreign religions.

  63

  Yesterday’s bread was dry, but cheaper. The two women were washing it down with a jug of watered vinegary wine, leaning over the ramshackle bar that opened on to a side street where two slaves were laying out a great length of fat rope. As Cass explained about the drowned brother, Tilla wondered how the grim-faced woman behind the counter could possibly have managed to lure away somebody else’s husband.

  ‘The only thing I know,’ said Phoebe, not looking up from stirring one of the huge pots set into the counter, ‘is that the dead don’t come back.’

  Cassiana straightened her shoulders. ‘But we can remember them.’

  ‘What I’m saying,’ continued the woman, ‘is, you don’t want to listen to drunks and layabouts. So if you’re chasing this rubbish about ghosts, you’re wasting your time.’

  ‘Ghosts?’ Cass’s hands on the counter turned into fists. ‘Who has seen a ghost?’

  The woman lifted out the spoon. ‘They all drowned. The captain and the owner and the crew and your brother. Don’t waste your time.’

  ‘Tell us about the ghosts,’ said Tilla.

  ‘A couple of fools who reckon they saw the captain and the owner. Late at night in a bar, of course.’

  ‘What are their names?’ Cass was almost on top of the counter now. ‘Which bar was it?’

  ‘I told you, it’s rubbish.’

  Tilla handed her too much money for the breakfast and said, ‘You knew this captain and this owner?’

  ‘I’ve seen them once or twice. They reckoned they were too good for us in here.’ The
woman counted the coins and did not offer to return any change.

  ‘And these two were the only ghosts anyone saw?’ asked Cass again.

  ‘Copreus and Ponticus.’

  ‘Tell us what these men looked like,’ urged Tilla. When the woman looked her in the eye she handed over another coin. At this rate they would be walking home.

  Moments later a fat man who walked with two sticks rolled up to the bar and manoeuvred himself on to the stool. The woman abandoned her attempts to describe the missing Copreus and Ponticus, and moved away to greet her latest customer by name.

  Tilla said, ‘One last question. Where do I find someone who has seen these ghosts?’

  ‘One of them cheap whorehouses downstream,’ said Phoebe, without turning round. ‘I wouldn’t know which. I’m a decent woman.’

  Evidently the time Tilla had bought had run out.

  Beside her, Cass murmured, ‘How can we go into places like that? What will Lucius say?’

  ‘It is not going in that is difficult,’ said Tilla, gathering up the two extra loaves she had bought to give to the chained slaves. ‘It is getting out. Besides, in a town this size we could spend all day finding them all.’ She weighed the purse slung around her neck. ‘We will have to buy more bad wine and make do with talking to bar girls.’ She glanced at her companion. ‘We will find out everything there is to know, Cass. Now we know that Captain Copreus is a muscly man with tattoos, and that this Ponticus wears a bronze ring with a ruby set in it. If they are alive, we will find them. I promise. Don’t cry.’

  ‘I am not crying for myself.’ Cassiana rubbed her fist across her eyes. ‘I am crying for my brother, here alone with all these wicked people.’

  64

  Outside the gladiators’ barracks, groups of rival supporters had taken to trading insults and chanting the names of their favourites in an atmosphere that suggested a party rather than a fight. Inside, half a dozen men Ruso did not recognize were sparring with wooden practice weapons under the eye of a trainer. The yard smelled of beef stew, grease and fear.