The Dacian War (Book 6 of the Veteran of Rome Series)

by William Kelso

  “Where are we going to stay tonight, Marcus, it’s getting late?” Esther asked, as she raised the hood of her dusty cloak over her head.

  Marcus sighed and wearily turned to look back down the Via Portuensis, the brand-new road that connected Portus directly with the city of Rome. It had taken them four long hours to walk all the way to Rome and now he was tired, sweaty and hungry. But Esther’s question had been much on his mind for he didn’t know anything about the city of Rome and entering this vast, unknown metropolis without knowing what to expect, made him uneasy. As he silently contemplated the decision he had to make, a column of empty, horse drawn wagons came rolling past heading in the direction of the harbour some fifteen miles away. The wagon driver’s eyes were fixed on the road and no one paid them the slightest bit of attention.

  “The river captain in Portus,” Marcus said, carefully clearing his throat as he watched the wagons trundle away down the road, “he told me that if a man wished to disappear in Rome and not attract any attention to himself, then he should head for the Subura district. So, that is where we will go. We will find a room to rent and in the morning Petrus will go out to make contact with Abraham, the Christian priest. The Subura is in the heart of the city. The captain said it was a rough, lower class district but he also said that it was where all the migrants go when they first arrive in Rome.” Marcus paused and then turned to Petrus and Esther. “So, if anyone asks, that’s who you are, just another immigrant flocking to Rome in search of work. Got it?” Marcus turned to look at Esther and as he did his tough, hard face softened a fraction. “If all goes as planned,” he muttered, “we will find you a place within the Christian community of Rome and we will be saying goodbye within a few days.”

  Esther’s face was unreadable as she turned to gaze at the walls running along the top of the Aventine hill.

  “Thank you, Marcus,” she said at last in a quiet, subdued voice. “God was truly wise when he sent you to protect me. And you have my solemn promise; what happened in Britannia shall remain solely between you and me. You have nothing to fear from me. I will be true to my word as God is my witness and I shall include you in my prayers.”

  Marcus nodded, looked away but said nothing.

  ***

  The Aemilian bridge was broader and longer than Marcus had expected it to be and a little way upstream, in the gathering gloom, he was just about able to make out Tiber island and the Temple of Aesculapius, the god of healing. Tiber island split the river into two streams and the Temple itself, he’d been told, was said to be one of the oldest buildings in all of Rome. As he peered at the Temple, Marcus suddenly blushed as he realised that this must be the place where so many years ago, Corbulo, his father had come to ask the Gods, who ruled the destinies of men, for forgiveness for the way he had treated his family. His father had told him the story many years later of how, before he had left Rome for Caledonia in search of Marcus, he had waded out into the river and had allowed the soothing waters of the Tiber to cleanse him of his shame and guilt. And as Marcus now stared at the island in the middle of the Tiber he felt his cheeks burn. He had forgotten. Rome was not just the capital of the world or some vast indifferent metropolis. It had once been Corbulo’s city, his father’s home.

  It was nearly dark when the three of them joined the crowd of pedestrians and labourers who were returning home. As they crossed the Tiber and approached the eastern bank, Marcus suddenly caught sight of a squad of soldiers from one of the urban cohorts. The men, clad in legionary armour and armed with spears and shields were keeping a careful watchful eye on the crowd as they streamed across the bridge and as Marcus stared at the policemen, he saw them pick out a man from the crowd and take him aside. Quickly Marcus glanced at Petrus. He too had noticed the incident and was fidgeting nervously with his fingers. But as they drew level with the city guards nothing happened and within a few swift moments they were back on firm ground and lost amongst the swelling, bustling crowd of commuters.

  As they left the crowded river harbour behind and entered the Forum Boarium, the ancient cattle market of Rome, the stench of the city hit them full on and involuntarily all three of them raised their hands to their noses. The pungent smell was eye wateringly strong and rancid.

  “Fuck me, this place stinks,” Petrus hissed in outraged disgust as he glanced around at the people going about their business. “This is incredible. How can they stand it?”

  Marcus ignored Petrus as he led the way across the crowded market and deeper into the city and as they headed in the direction of the Forum he noticed the shabby beggars sitting crouched along a wall, holding out their grimy and pleading hands to the passers-by and the bawdy puppet show that had attracted a small crowd of laughing and amused onlookers. No one seemed concerned by the smell. The inhabitants of Rome must have got used to it.

  As they entered the Forum, Marcus paused to gaze about in quiet contemplation. The Forum Romanum was the political centre of Rome, the very beating heart of the Empire and the place from where Rome ruled the world. It was here that the Senate met and on its western side, perched grandly on top of the Palatine hill was the vast, forbidding complex of the imperial palace. As Marcus looked around he could see that there were surprisingly few people about and the spaces, where the city’s merchants, lawyers and bankers set up their stalls during the day, were empty and deserted. It was getting late. Burning torches had been placed along the steps leading up to the huge Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus that stood proudly on the top of the Capitoline hill. And as he stared up at the Temple, home to the patron god of Rome, in the flickering firelight, Marcus noticed the magnificent four horse chariot on top of the roof.

  A patrol from the urban cohorts came marching past in a single file, the policemen’s heavy hobnailed boots clattering across the paving stones and their spears pointing up at the dark, star covered heavens. They paid him no attention.

  “Friend,” Marcus called out as a man appeared in the gloom hurrying past them. “Friend, which way to the Subura? We do not know the way. We are new to the city.”

  In the darkness, the pedestrian hesitated but he seemed to relax as he caught sight of Esther.

  “The Subura,” the man frowned. “Just go straight ahead and when you come across the Temple of Janus take the Argiletum, the street of the book sellers. That will take you right into the centre of the Subura.” The man hesitated again. “But are you sure you want to go there? No one goes to that district at night unless you have a death wish. The Subura is a dangerous place. It’s rough.”

  “Thank you,” Marcus replied, “We will be fine.”

  “It’s your life,” the pedestrian said with a weary shake of his head as he hurried away.

  Crossing the Sacred Way, Marcus led them across the Forum until in the darkness he suddenly caught sight of an imposing building. The Temple of Janus, the God of boundaries was smaller than the grand Temple of Jupiter up on the Capitoline hill and surprisingly its doors were open.

  “The Temple doors are only closed when Rome is at peace,” Petrus muttered as the three of them came to a halt in the darkness. “I heard about this. They are opened and left open during times of war.”

  “Trajan’s Dacian war,” Marcus murmured as he stared at the building. “They are open because Rome is at war with Dacia. That must be why.”

  As the three turned into the Argiletum, the street narrowed dramatically until it was only a few paces wide. The brick terraced buildings on either side of the street were several storeys high and packed into every available piece of space. All the shops were locked up and barred and in the darkness not a single flicker of light showed from within the merchant’s homes. There was no one about. At the end of the street however Marcus could hear singing. Marcus raised his hand to his nose as the three of them advanced down the deserted street towards the noise. The stench was growing worse and as they approached the end of the Argiletum, the noise of singing, laughter, screams, yells and music grew louder. Idly Marcus drew back
his long travelling tunic so that his sword and army knife were on clear display.

  The Subura seemed to live up to its seedy reputation. Along the narrow street, people spilled out onto the pavement from the multitude of taverns, whorehouses and tall tenement buildings, some five or six storeys high. The darkness was lit up by the flickering torch light from within the buildings and the street was noisy and chaotic. Drunks staggered about urinating carelessly against the walls of buildings and as Marcus carefully led his two companions through the rowdy crowds of revellers, he noticed a couple having sex down an alley, uncaring about who could see them. In another alley, a man lay face down on the ground without moving. As they passed a tavern someone emptied a bucket of shit and urine onto the street from a third-floor window and Marcus had to jump aside to avoid being splattered. A moment later a brawl erupted a few paces away, spilling out into the street and from somewhere close by Marcus heard the noise of glass smashing to pieces. Silently he pushed on down the street, ignoring the silent seductive glances of the female and male prostitutes who lounged about in doorways and alleys and who tried to catch his eye. The Subura however was not only filled with taverns and whorehouses though. Here and there Marcus saw the advertising signs of cobblers, wool merchants, barber shops and iron mongers but all the merchants’ premises were shut and locked up for the night and there was no sign of any police from the urban cohorts.

  Nearly all the revellers appeared to be men. The only women about seemed to be either prostitutes or slaves. Catching sight of a well-dressed man staggering along the street with his arms around a female and male prostitute, Marcus hailed him, stepping out to block the man’s path.

  “We’re looking for a room to rent,” Marcus said. “Do you know anywhere around here where we can go?”

  The man was clearly drunk and swayed lightly on his feet supporting himself against the two prostitutes. Then he burped and gave Marcus a crazy, happy grin.

  “Sure, Janus runs a decent hostel,” the man said slurring his words. “He’s just down there on the left. He may have some rooms free.”

  Marcus acknowledged the man with a little silent nod but as he was about to push on down the street, the well-dressed man lurched forwards and pointed a finger at him.

  “Say, you are not Jews, are you?” the man hissed crunching up his face before bursting out into laughter and swaying off down the street supported by his two whores.

  At Marcus’s side Petrus slowly shook his head in disbelief.

  “And I thought the taverns in Reginorum were bad,” Petrus whispered. “This place is nothing but a heap of filth, heaped on filth.”

  Marcus however was not listening. Purposefully he started out down the narrow, congested street, his eyes searching the signs that hung above the doorways of the tall, rundown looking apartment buildings. Then at last he spotted what he was looking for. A sign above a door read.

  “Janus’s Hostel, rooms for rent, decent prices and good food. Foreigners welcome.”

  Beside the five storey insulae building and down an alley, a feral looking dog was hungrily gnawing on something whilst at the same time trying to keep another dog from stealing his prize.

  Without hesitating Marcus barged through the doorway into a small dimly lit hallway. A stairway led upwards into the building and a couple of oil lamps were hanging from the walls and behind a wooden counter a fat man of around forty, with grey thinning hair, seemed to be asleep with his head leaning against the wall. He was snoring. Startled, he woke up as Marcus banged his hand on the wooden desk.

  “I was told that you may have a room to rent,” Marcus snapped, carefully letting the man get a glimpse of a couple of coins in his hand.

  For a moment, the innkeeper’s eyes stared at the coins. Then sharply he looked up at Marcus and studied him for a moment as if sizing him up. Then the man’s shifty eyes glanced at Petrus and finally came to rest on Esther.

  “Would that be for an hour or longer?” the man said with dirty smile, revealing a mouth filled with a row of hideously rotting teeth.

  “We will need the room for a few days,” Marcus growled. “That’s all. I will pay you half now and half when we leave.”

  “Not from around here are you,” the innkeeper said as he turned to look at Marcus. “Let me have a guess. Retired veteran come to Rome seeking a good time. I only say that because you don’t look like a poor man and no one with any money or sense comes to this part of Rome if they aren’t looking for a good time. So, what is it?”

  “We will get on much better if you mind your own fucking business,” Marcus snapped. “So, do you have a room we can rent or not?”

  The fat innkeeper leaned back in his chair and sighed. Then he gestured towards the stone stairs leading up into the building.

  “Top floor, room number one is free. The rent will include food. We serve the best in the whole street. The cook finishes at nightfall. And you will need this, its dark up there,” the innkeeper said, handing Marcus a small oil lamp.

  The top floor of the crumbling apartment block was lit by a solitary oil lamp fixed to the wall and in its dim light Marcus could see a small landing with two doors. From behind one of the doors the noise of wild party was bellowing out onto the landing. Silently he strode across the landing, unlocked the other door and stepped into the room beyond. In the pitch darkness, he could see little. Behind him Esther suddenly screamed and turning around he saw a rat shooting across the floor and vanishing off down the stairs.

  With a weary sigh, Marcus stepped into the room and held up the small oil lamp that the innkeeper had given him. In its faint light, he could see that the room was completely bare apart from a single dirty looking mattress that lay in the corner. One of the sides of the room opened out into an open window and through it he caught sight of the moon and stars in the night sky.

  “I think I will pass on the food,” Petrus muttered as the three of them entered the room and Marcus closed the door behind them. “I have a feeling that being the best in the street is not going to add up too much.”

  “Esther will take the mattress,” Marcus snapped. “Petrus and I will sleep on the floor. And remember,” he said, turning to face his two companions. “There is a reason why we came here. In this place, no one cares who you are or where you are from. It is ideal cover.”

  “Do you really believe that Cunitius will follow us here to Rome,” Petrus exclaimed turning to give Marcus an incredulous look. “You are paranoid, old man. That arsehole lost us when we got away from Britannia.”

  “Nevertheless,” Marcus growled, “I don’t like taking unnecessary risks. We must be prepared. Who knows what that man is capable of.”

  “He got under your skin, didn’t he,” Petrus said taking a step towards Marcus. “Cunitius actually managed to scare you when we were in Hengistbury Head. Well, well, I didn’t think I would see the day when I would see the great Marcus running scared of anything.”

  “Shut up,” Marcus hissed in an annoyed voice, “Of course I get frightened, I am just a man like you but the difference between you and me is that I don’t dwell on it. Now both of you get some rest, we have a busy day tomorrow.”

  “I think I will pass on the mattress,” Esther said quietly as she gingerly prodded the mattress with her shoe. “The thing looks like it is invested with lice.”

  ***

  As the others sat down wearily on the bare floor and Petrus unpacked the supplies they had purchased in Portus, Marcus strode across to the open window and gazed out into the cool night. In the moon and starlight, he was surprised to see that he had a fantastic night time view of the city of Rome as it stretched and rolled away over the dark hills. In the gloom his eyes picked out the massive oval shape of the Colosseum that seemed to dominate the city around it. Turning to look left and right he saw that the slight, sloping tiled roofs of the tall insulae buildings vanished off into the darkness. In the neighbouring room the loud grunting sounds and cries of multiple people fucking was clearly audible t
hrough the thin walls. Marcus sighed and closed his eyes. He already knew that he didn’t like Rome. The city was too crowded, congested, smelly and dirty but he would have to endure it. Tomorrow Petrus would find Abraham, the Christian priest and if all went well, they would leave Esther in his care and then set out for home, mission accomplished. And as he thought of the pristine meadows and forests of Vectis and his peaceful and well-ordered farm a stab of homesickness grew inside him. What would he not give to run his fingers through Kyna’s hair and feel her warm body beside him? What kind of man left all that behind to come here to this shithole.

  The sound of their neighbours fucking had finally subsided when some instinct made Marcus open his eyes and rise to his feet and turn to look at the door. The hour had to be deep into the night. On the floor beside him both Esther and Petrus seemed to be asleep, curled up and covered by nothing more than their travelling cloaks. Warily and silently Marcus rose to his feet and crept towards the door. Had that been a noise outside? Carefully he placed his ear against the door and as he did he heard it again, a little sound that had no right to be there. Someone was standing outside the door. Taking a deep, silent breath Marcus pulled his army pugio knife from his belt and then with a quick movement, he flung open the door. Two men were standing on the landing right outside the door. They seemed to have been listening and both were armed with knives and they looked like they were sober. A startled cry erupted from one of them as Marcus caught the man by his neck and with a violent shove sent him staggering backwards and then crashing over the side of the balustrade and down the stairwell. The second man cried out and came at Marcus, his knife slashing through the air and aimed at his chest. Dodging the blow, Marcus caught hold of the man’s knife arm and lashed out with his heavy army boot, catching the man square in his balls which sent him sinking to the ground with a deep painful moan. Then before he could recover Marcus’s boot caught him hard and square on the jaw sending him tumbling back down the stairs where he collapsed into an unconscious heap. Hissing in rage Marcus, replaced his knife in his belt, strode across the landing and descended the stairs. And as he did the neighbouring door opened a crack and an anxious face peered out.