Fields of Blood h-2

by Ben Kane

  In the early evening, Aurelia determined to go out. The dreadful heat had begun at last to abate, and she wanted to make a start on her shopping list, which, thanks to the advice of the local midwife, was quite extensive. Lucius was still busy. Apart from recommending she take a slave as protection and authorising Statilius to give her a purse of coin, he barely looked up from his desk when she stuck her head inside his office door. His lack of attention didn’t surprise her. It took something monumental to drag him from his estates’ accounts. Not that she minded. After his earlier outburst, she wanted to escape before he also reconsidered her outing.

  Stepping from the cool of the house into the baking warmth of the street was like being slapped in the face. Despite the umbrella wielded by Elira, which shielded her from the unforgiving sun, instant beads of sweat prickled on Aurelia’s scalp, forehead and swollen belly. Her dress stuck to her back. The insides of her thighs rubbed together. Perhaps coming to the city had been rash? Dismissing the notion, she pictured the items on her list: a cradle, swaddling cloths, squares of linen to wash and dry the baby, scented oils to use when bathing. If she could find it, Aurelia had also resolved to buy some expensive perfume as a treat. After that, a visit had to be paid to the stall in the forum that sold spiced sausages. She had been craving them for months. The cook in Lucius’ house had tried to follow her instructions in recreating them, but his version wasn’t a patch on the real thing. Perhaps the stallholder would part with his recipe if she slipped him a few coins. That happy thought helped carry her from Lucius’ house down the quiet residential street to the main avenue that led to the forum.

  A strapping farm slave armed with a short cudgel dogged their footsteps. Aurelia soon noticed that more often than not his gaze was directed at Elira’s shapely rear; a sharp reprimand redirected his attentions to their surroundings. With the threat of Phanes removed, there was little risk in being abroad at this hour, she thought, but that didn’t mean there weren’t cutpurses about. The purse Statilius had given her weighed heavily around her neck. A shawl might have covered it from prying eyes, but there was no way Aurelia could have borne the extra layer of clothing. As it was, she was already dreaming about peeling off her wool dress when they got back.

  Although the crowds frequenting the streets and the forum added to the heat and the feeling of claustrophobia, the expedition began well. Aurelia spent time in a cloth merchant’s shop, admiring the wide variety and colours of fabrics on offer. She handled a piece of silk for the first time and was amazed by its gossamer appearance and the way it slipped through her fingers. The price was no less stunning: a hundred didrachms for a short length that would serve only as a lady’s scarf. ‘You’ve got to understand, mistress,’ the sweating shopkeeper explained, ‘it’s come thousands of miles just to get here. Far to the east of Greece and Asia Minor. Past Judaea and Syria. Months of journeying beyond Persia, even. It comes from the land of the Seres, a yellow-skinned people with black hair and slanted eyes.’ Aurelia had laughed, disbelieving, and settled instead for a score of linen squares and two sets of swaddling cloths.

  Drawn by the alluring smells, she next ventured into a perfumer’s. The proprietor, a Judaean with twinkling eyes, insisted on giving her a tour of his premises. Aurelia’s curiosity got the better of her. There were benefits to being a Roman matron, she thought. Some doors that had previously been closed to her now opened with ease. The Judaean seemed trustworthy, and she had little compunction about leaving the male slave outside. Elira came with her. As Aurelia’s eyes grew used to the dim light, she gazed with fascination at the benches lined with little glass flasks and vials, the mixing bowls and the copper alembics in which the perfumes were prepared. A dizzying mix of smells assailed her nostrils, among them coriander and myrtle. Urged by the Judaean, she dabbed essence of almonds and lilies on her wrists and neck. Countless others were offered to try. After a while, she lost count. ‘I love them,’ she said, refusing yet another bottle, ‘but there are too many to choose from.’

  ‘You must have a favourite, mistress.’ The Judaean smiled, all brown teeth and reddened gums. ‘The rosewater, maybe? Or the lily? Choose one. I’ll give you the best price in Capua, and because you’re so beautiful, you can have a second vial at half price.’

  Aurelia laughed. The shopkeeper was a rogue, of that there was no doubt, but he was charming and friendly. She wanted to give him custom. ‘It has to be the lilies.’

  ‘I knew it!’ He clapped his hands, and one of the slaves working at the benches padded to his side. ‘Prepare two bottles of essence of lilies from the latest batch. Quickly!’ As the slave hurried off, he bowed to Aurelia. ‘Would the lady like a cup of wine? I have a fine vintage from Sicily, and another from our own Campania.’

  Aurelia mock-frowned at him. ‘You haven’t mentioned the price yet.’

  ‘It will be a fair one, I swear to you, on my father’s honour.’

  ‘So what is it?’ she asked, growing a little suspicious.

  A greasy smile. ‘Ten didrachms for the first bottle, five for the second.’

  Even without Elira’s gasp, Aurelia knew the demand was exorbitant. ‘A fair price, you say? Ha!’ She turned, as if to go.

  ‘My lady, wait! We can negotiate.’

  ‘Your perfumes are incredible,’ she said, ignoring his pleased nod, ‘but I couldn’t pay any more than one didrachm for a bottle of the lily.’

  The Judaean wrung his hands together. ‘That would not even cover my costs. Do you know how many flowers have to be used to make just one vial? More than two hundred! Then there’s the labour that goes into its preparation.’

  ‘All work that is done by your slaves,’ said Aurelia tartly. ‘Whom you don’t pay.’

  He was unabashed. ‘The flowers have to be bought; the running costs of my workshop are high indeed. I couldn’t take less than eight didrachms for the first bottle. Twelve for the two.’

  Aurelia walked away without a word. She’d gone no more than three steps before the Judaean spoke again. ‘Ten didrachms!’

  She kept walking. ‘I’ll give you three.’

  ‘Mistress, you are trying to ruin me!’ he wailed.

  She stopped.

  ‘Eight,’ he ventured.

  At last she turned to look at him. ‘Five.’

  ‘Let us split the difference, as friends would. Six and a half didrachms.’

  ‘Six,’ declared Aurelia, knowing she had him.

  He let out a long sigh. ‘Very well, mistress. I, a poor ignorant trader, give you this price because of your outstanding beauty and charm.’

  Despite herself, she smiled. ‘Here.’ The coins were gone from her hand in the blink of an eye. More bowing and scraping from the Judaean. The perfume arrived a moment later; Aurelia gestured Elira to take the long-necked vials.

  ‘Some wine?’ he asked again.

  ‘Thank you, but no,’ replied Aurelia, suddenly overcome by the intense heat radiating from the workshop’s low tile roof. The Judaean didn’t protest, which pleased her. She must have fought him down to a good price.

  ‘Please come back when the baby is born, and try some more of my products,’ he urged. ‘I have scents to drive a husband wild with desire.’

  ‘I will.’ Aurelia made her way towards the front of the shop. Intent on getting out into the fresh air, she didn’t see the masked figure slip out from behind a set of shelves. The first thing she knew was the prick of a knife at the base of her spine. Her right arm was wrenched up behind her back. A low voice growled in her ear, ‘Over here, bitch.’ She felt herself being propelled over to the far wall. Elira cried out, and the Judaean spluttered in dismay. ‘Nobody move, or I’ll cut the whore’s throat,’ barked the man.

  ‘Who are you? What do you want?’ She fumbled for her purse with her free hand. ‘Take this.’ It was snatched from her grasp. Relief turned to terror a heartbeat later, however, when Aurelia felt the back of her dress being lifted up. She opened her mouth to scream, but a sharp poke from the kni
fe reduced her cry to a whimper.

  ‘Unless you’d like me to gut you as well, stay fucking still.’

  ‘I’m pregnant.’ Aurelia began to cry. She tried to turn around and look at her attacker, but was stopped by a slap to her face. ‘Please, don’t do this. I’ll lose my baby.’

  A cruel laugh. ‘That’s none of my concern. Next time, you might think twice before having an honest businessman threatened.’

  Aurelia’s distress was so great that his words didn’t register. Nausea washed over her as he released her arm to rip at her undergarment. Feeling faint, she reached out to hold on to the bench in front of her. Great Ceres, she prayed, do not let my baby come to any harm. Please.

  There was a grunt of satisfaction as he succeeded in baring her rear; a pause as he tugged at his own clothing. ‘I’m going to enjoy this.’

  This was her only chance, thought Aurelia. Her eyes fixed on a large glass bottle full of liquid. If she could just grab that, wheel and smash it on his head, she might escape. Little by little, she eased her fingers over the work surface. There was no reaction from behind her, just the hideous feeling of something stiff pushing against the tops of her thighs. Terrorised, Aurelia lost all control and lunged for the bottle. A muttered curse; a blinding pain in her lower back. In slow motion, the vessel slid over the edge and fell to the floor, where it shattered into a thousand fragments. A warm liquid ran down on to Aurelia’s buttocks. She knew it for blood. Waves of agony rippled out from where the blade had opened her flesh. Why hadn’t he stabbed her? she wondered dazedly.

  He cuffed her heavily across the back of her head; only her outstretched hands prevented her face smashing off the bench. ‘Try another trick like that, bitch, and it will be your last.’ His erection probed forward again, searching for a way into her.

  Her eyes hunted for another object to fight with. Nothing lay within reach. She lifted her legs one by one, tried to twist away from him, but he just slapped her buttocks and laughed. ‘I love it when a woman fights back!’

  Her despair mushroomed. Aurelia could feel her ability to resist ebbing away with the blood running down her legs. Let him do it, she thought wearily. If coupling with Lucius doesn’t harm the baby, this won’t either. It’s better to survive. Better that my child lives rather than dies.

  The sound of rushing feet in her ears made no sense. It was followed a heartbeat later by a loud cracking sound and a cry of pain. Aurelia was still struggling to understand what had happened when a hand grabbed hers. ‘Come on, mistress! Run!’

  Aurelia lurched upright, took in her attacker reeling backwards, clutching his head. An alembic rolled in circles at his feet, the large dent in its surface evidence of what Elira had done. Panic flared in her belly — he was still conscious and still armed. When Elira tugged at her arm again, Aurelia ran for the door after her slave. A roar of anger gave her extra speed, but it was too little, too late. There was no way that she could outrun a big man in her state.

  That was until the Judaean, who had appeared from nowhere, emptied a flagon of scented oil over the floor between them. There was a strangled cry and a thump as the man’s feet went from under him. Aurelia dared to hope for the first time. Few people would help but outside they could blend into the crowd while her slave slowed down or stopped the attacker.

  ‘I’m coming for you, you whore!’

  Near the shop’s entrance, she risked a glance behind her. To her horror, her attacker had scrambled to his feet. The Judaean approached him, but retreated before the savage thrusts of the man’s blade. ‘Out of my way, greybeard, or you’ll be picking up your own guts!’

  ‘Mistress!’ Elira was beckoning urgently.

  Aurelia urged her tired legs onwards and burst out into the golden light of the setting sun. Lucius’ slave regarded her with open mouth. She must look a sight, thought Aurelia, with blood all down her back, but there was no time to consider that. ‘I was attacked inside. Stop the man who’s chasing us. He’s masked. He has a knife!’

  ‘Y-yes, mistress.’ Looking scared, he raised his cudgel.

  She shoved past without another word. Whether he survived or not was none of her concern. What mattered was that she got away. The street was busier than ever. Women, men, children, carts pulled by oxen, mules laden down with merchandise. Residents of the city, visitors, slaves and merchants: they were all out at this, the best time of day to do business. The press, the reek of unwashed humanity made Aurelia begin to panic. ‘Which way is Lucius’ house?’ she hissed at Elira.

  The Illyrian’s hand stabbed to their left. Aurelia’s heart sank. A large wagon was nearing them from that direction. It was loaded so heavily that there was almost no room to pass on either side. Under normal circumstances she could have squeezed through, but not now. If they went the other way, however, they risked getting lost. The pounding of feet close behind made her mind up. It was go right, or die. ‘The other way!’ She pushed Elira forward. ‘Quickly!’

  They shoved into the crowd, ignoring the protests and cries of indignation that met their entry. It was hard to follow Elira, but Aurelia did her best. She dodged under the outstretched arm of a beggar who was harassing a portly, well-dressed man; she muttered an apology as she edged past a woman who was berating a small child for not holding her hand. Her feet dragged with every step and her belly felt as if it had doubled in size. The pain from her back was excruciating, but she pressed on regardless. Perhaps twenty paces into the mass of slowly moving people, she risked a look over her shoulder. At first, she thought they had escaped. There was no sign of her attacker. Maybe the slave had restrained him? Another scan changed her mind. Not far behind, a hooded man was wading through the throng; his elbows moved right and left like clubs, clearing the path before him. One of his victims, a merchant, began to protest. A heartbeat later, he had collapsed out of sight, levelled by a punch to his considerable paunch.

  ‘Oh gods,’ whispered Aurelia, fighting exhaustion and resignation. All at once, the exertions of the day, the heat, her gravid condition were overwhelming her. She wouldn’t be able to go much further. Why had she been so foolish? She should have taken Lucius’ advice and stayed at home.

  She wasn’t expecting the crowd to part. When it did so quite suddenly, Aurelia stumbled and almost fell. A few steps ahead of her, Elira had just collided with a strapping man whom she did not recognise. Even as the Illyrian was being cursed for being a stupid slave, Aurelia took in the toga-clad figure behind the man. Grey-haired, distinguished-looking, he had to be one of the magistrates who ruled Capua. His companion, whose presence had been clearing the way, was his bodyguard. She rushed forward. ‘Your pardon, good sir.’ She clutched at the guard’s hand, gave his master a beseeching look. ‘Help us, please!’

  The big man’s brows lowered in suspicion, but before he could say a word, the magistrate spoke. ‘Stand back. By her dress, she is clearly of good standing. Can’t you see she’s hurt?’

  ‘I’m all right,’ replied Aurelia stoically.

  ‘What has happened, my lady?’ asked the magistrate, his tone concerned.

  ‘I was attacked in a perfume shop down the street. My assailant is still after us.’

  ‘This is an outrage. Lay your hand to your sword, Marcus.’

  Tears of relief sprang to Aurelia’s eyes as the bodyguard stepped forward. ‘What does he look like?’

  ‘You’ll see him any moment. He was just behind us. I didn’t see his face, but he’s big, and wearing a hooded cloak.’

  Marcus grunted; his sword snickered from its scabbard.

  Aurelia’s gaze followed his, left to right, right to left at the semicircle of people regarding them. There were men and women, young and old, tall, thin, short and fat. They had skin as white as alabaster, black as charcoal and every shade of brown under the sun. She could see no mask or raised hood, however, no familiar bulky figure.

  They waited. And waited. There was no sign of her attacker. No one dared to push past the magistrate from either directi
on, but eventually people began complaining. Aurelia began to grow self-conscious. She was almost grateful for the wound on her back: proof that she was no madwoman. ‘He must have seen you,’ she said lamely.

  ‘Most likely,’ agreed the magistrate. ‘Hannibal himself would think twice before tackling Marcus here. Best forget him. You need urgent attention from a surgeon.’

  ‘I want to find him,’ protested Aurelia, although she knew that the magistrate was right. There was no chance of finding the man who had nearly raped her. He would be long gone.

  ‘Your slave can help Marcus to search for him,’ said the magistrate kindly. ‘You, on the other hand, are returning with me to your house. But first, a message to the surgeon, with all possible speed. Who is your husband? We should also send word to him.’

  ‘His name is Lucius Vibius Melito,’ said Aurelia. Her vision blurred for a moment. She could feel herself swaying.

  ‘Melito?’ His voice was at her elbow, his grip supporting her, for which she was very grateful. ‘Why didn’t you say before? I know him and his father well. No need to tell me where his house is. Come.’

  Aurelia’s legs would not obey her any longer. As her knees buckled and she crumpled to the ground, she was dimly aware of raised voices around her. It was the last thing she remembered.

  She was woken by the baby kicking in her belly. Aurelia’s eyes opened, adjusting slowly to the dim light. She was in a bed, lying on her side, facing the wall. Relief bathed her as she recognised the decorated plaster. It was the main bedroom of Lucius’ house in Capua. Her back ached, but not as badly as she would have expected. Nor were there any signs that she was in labour, another cause for relief. With difficulty, she rolled over on to her back. Pain stabbed through her, and Aurelia moved on to her other side as swiftly as she could. To her surprise, Lucius was sitting right beside her on a stool. His face twisted with emotion — anger, relief, sadness — she wasn’t sure. ‘How are you feeling?’