Carbo sat with Vespillo in the tavern that was becoming locally known as ‘Carbo’s place’. It was early evening and the place was packed. Carbo’s reputation for being able to keep order within his establishment had been good for business among those who wanted to be able to drink and talk and gamble without the threat of violence. Carbo made sure that his customers had no doubts about the consequences if they stepped out of line. Already this evening, two drunken members of the urban cohorts had fallen out over a game of tali, one claiming he had thrown the Venus hand, the highest possible, while the other accused him of cheating. When they had started to come to uncoordinated blows, Carbo had cracked their heads together and tossed them both out, sprawling on the streets, to much laughter and applause. Vatius, drinking in his usual seat, had toasted Carbo with a full cup of wine, far from sober himself.
‘Not only an old man becomes a child again,’ said Vatius, ‘but also a drunkard.’
‘Socrates?’ hazarded Carbo.
‘Plato, actually. Good guess, though.’
A long sleep during the day had relieved Carbo and Vespillo of some of the tiredness that the previous night’s exertions had caused them, although they both still ached and stung from burns, cuts and bruises. Carbo rubbed the lump on the back of his head, where his skull had connected with the ground despite the thickness of the mattress. It throbbed, and he probed it. He was lucky not to have cracked his head open, or to have suffered after-effects from the injury. He had seen more than one man die some hours after obtaining a head wound in battle which appeared from the outside not to be serious.
‘Why did you do it?’ asked Carbo.
Vespillo drank deeply from a cup and wiped his grey beard with the back of his hand. He belched.
‘Do what?’
‘Run into a burning building.’
‘It was my job.’
‘It was the job of every man there. You were the only one to do it.’
‘Not the only one. Some idiot civilian followed me in. Why was that?’
Carbo shrugged. He wasn’t sure himself. He knew that he liked this man, and thought that he probably needed him too. Certainly he was the only friend he had in Rome right now.
‘I think it must be the military training. You follow your commander into battle, wherever he leads.’
‘I’m not your commander.’
‘I got caught up in the moment. I felt like one of your men. Why did you go in first? I wouldn’t have done that.’
‘I wonder. I think you might. Especially if it was to rescue someone you cared about.’
‘That’s just it, though. The deaths of that family would have been a tragedy, but they meant nothing to me. I wouldn’t have risked my life for them. I risked it for you. So why did you go in? What were you trying to prove?’
Vespillo swirled the contents of his cup around, looking down into them, as if they would provide him with a simple answer. Then he looked up at Carbo.
‘Do you want to know my story? How I ended up a ranker in the vigiles?’
Carbo regarded him steadily. ‘Do you want to tell me?’
Vespillo paused, then said, ‘Yes, I think I do.’ He sighed. ‘Pannonia was bad. Do you remember it?’
‘I was in Germany at the time. I recall that old Biberius Caldius Mero had withdrawn a lot of troops from Dalmatia and Pannonia for a campaign on the Danube.’ Carbo used Tiberius Claudius Nero’s old army nickname, meaning ‘drinker of strong hot wine’.
‘That’s right. It was a mistake. Pannonia had never accepted Roman rule and there had already been several rebellions in the past few years. As soon as our troop numbers reduced they rebelled in strength. They killed citizens, traders, wiped out a detachment of auxiliaries. I was at Raetinum.’
Carbo’s eyebrows went up. ‘You were there at the fire? What happened?’
Vespillo’s face clouded. ‘We made a breach in the town wall. We thought it was all over, just mopping up to do once we were inside the defences. But the rebels fired their own homes. We had already started to let our guard down. Many of the boys were in the houses, looting, pillaging, raping no doubt. You know the score. Hundreds of us were trapped in the flames. You never get used to the stench of cooking flesh, the screams of people burning to death. But that first time was the worst.’
Carbo suppressed a shudder, his own memories bubbling up.
‘So that’s why you joined the vigiles?’
Vespillo shook his head. ‘I wish it was so noble. Truth is, the vigiles were the only ones that would have me. Even the urban cohorts wouldn’t touch me with a pilum.’
Carbo was quiet, letting Vespillo collect himself.
‘When the war was over, we thought we would get our rewards. Land, discharge for those who had served their time. All our back pay. Then we heard about the Teutoberg disaster, and everything changed.’ Vespillo noticed that Carbo had gone very still. ‘Were you there?’ he asked.
Carbo nodded. When he remained quiet, Vespillo continued.
‘I had been promoted to centurion by the time Percennius stirred things up. Protesting against the usual things, pay, conditions, length of service. The local civilians took a hammering. Robbery, rape, murder.’
‘Were you part of the revolt?’
Vespillo shook his head. ‘No.’
‘Good. Mutineering cunni,’ spat Carbo.
Vespillo raised his eyebrows.
‘I’m sorry, friend,’ said Carbo, ‘but really, you guys did not have it bad. None of you went through what we, what I…’
Carbo broke off. Vespillo waited to see if he would say more, then continued.
‘Well, I was beaten by my comrades as a result of my loyalty. Although later, after Drusus had talked the mutineers down, my steadfastness was noted and I was promoted to leading centurion of the second cohort. I was posted to a border fort in Thrace. Life became simpler, and more comfortable. I met a local woman, Orphea, who lived in one of the villages near the fort. She became as near to my wife as it is possible for a soldier to have. I made her comfortable, made sure the locals knew she was under my protection and was to be left alone. She was resented, even ostracized, for her fraternizing with the occupiers, but she bore it well, and she loved me. Eventually we had a son together.’
Carbo looked up sharply. He had thought Vespillo was childless. Vespillo didn’t meet his gaze, but continued to stare down at the table. For a moment he didn’t speak and Carbo wondered if he had decided he had said enough. Then he went on and this time his voice cracked as he spoke.
‘Two years ago the Thracians revolted. The recruiting officers had been through their towns and villages, enthusiastically press-ganging anyone of military age into the auxiliaries. The Thracians probably had the right of it. They were certainly suffering, and at first they made peaceful representations. The governor played for time until reinforcements arrived. A legion from Moesia and some loyal Thracian auxiliaries answered his call, and he took the fight to the rebels. After his first victories he moved his headquarters closer to the enemy camp and he left the loyal Thracian auxiliaries behind to guard his previous headquarters.
‘I was stationed with the governor, fortifying his camp. The Thracians were fortified in the hills, and it became something of a stand-off. Then word got back to the camp of how the loyal Thracians were behaving. Apparently, with the blessing of their superiors, they were allowed to plunder the local countryside, provided they were back at night to guard the camp. That included my Orphea’s village.’
Vespillo shook his head. ‘Remember, I had seen it before in the mutiny. I had seen what happened to civilians when soldiers drunk on wine and rage and battle lust were let loose on them.
‘I petitioned the governor to command them to restraint, or to send a detachment to enforce discipline. He ignored me, told me that the locals were in revolt and they were getting what they deserved. I cursed him and he had me removed from his presence. I was broken to the ranks and put on sentry duty. Out of my mind with worry, I deserted.’
Vespillo looked into Carbo’s eyes now, searching for a reaction. Carbo stared back at him, shock written on his face.
‘You did what?’ he whispered. ‘And you have the nerve to sit here and drink with me?’ His voice rose. ‘A deserter. A coward!’
Vespillo’s expression looked drawn. He nodded.
‘I deserve that, I know. But I was torn. Loyalty to the legions, or to my family.’
‘The legion first, Vespillo. Always.’
‘Really, Carbo. Are you so perfect? Do you always do the right thing, without hesitation? Besides, how would you know what it is like to have your family threatened? You, who have no one.’
Carbo opened his mouth to retort, then closed it again, chastened.
Vespillo sighed and continued. ‘I ran through the countryside, avoiding Roman patrols, Thracian rebels and rioting Thracian loyalists. I ran past burning villages and crops, past trees with bodies nailed to them, many still alive. I skirted around groups of soldiers who had cornered civilians, an old man they were stoning, a woman they were taking it in turns to rape. When I came to Orphea’s village it was already alight. Soldiers went from house to house, as they drank and laughed among the destruction. Orphea’s house wasn’t burning and I felt a surge of hope as I rushed inside.
‘Orphea was on her back on her table. A Thracian soldier was between her legs, while another jeered and laughed. I killed the spectator first with a thrust in his back, then when the other stood, I stabbed him in the heart. Then I turned to help Orphea. She was already dead, her throat cut. In the corner, his head caved in, was my four-year-old son.’
Carbo looked down at the table. ‘I’m sorry.’ The words seemed completely inadequate.
Vespillo swallowed. ‘There were ten Thracian auxiliaries in the village. They were drunk and slow. I killed them all. Then I returned to the governor and threw myself on his mercy. When he heard my story he put me in the front line, aiming to carry out my full punishment after the battle. I think he hoped I would die in the assault. I think I hoped I would too.
‘The Thracians were desperate when they came, starving and out of water. We fought all day, and then night fell and we fought all night. In the dark, no one could tell friend from enemy. We broke. A few of us stayed and fought. Those of us left pushed the Thracians back to their hill fortress at dawn, and they surrendered.
‘I was taken before the governor, ready to receive my punishment. In view of the way I had fought, and the reasons for my desertion, he took pity on me. I was dishonourably discharged, quietly and without fuss. I lost my back pay and my chance of any land on retirement. I made my way back to Rome, doing odd jobs along the way, or begging scraps of food.
‘When I arrived in Rome, I was destitute. I was sleeping under the aqueducts and in the temple doorways, begging along with the rest of the poor. Some of the crippled veterans I begged with told me about the vigiles, how they would take anyone, so I applied. They were right. I didn’t hide the truth of my dishonourable discharge, but my recruiting officer didn’t care. The vigiles were made up of thugs and freedmen, and they were keen to have someone with experience of the legions, especially an officer.
‘I threw myself into the work, and found that I enjoyed it. It’s exciting and rewarding, genuinely helping the people of Rome. I could put the memories aside and I could try to restore my pride, bury the dishonour of desertion, and of failing to save my family. My work and command experience were noticed and I was promoted quickly. I met Severa, who was the widow of a local tradesman, and we married. Life now is good. I enjoy my work, I command a lot of men, I have a position in the community, respect, and a wife who loves me.’
‘Yet still you have something to prove, don’t you,’ said Carbo quietly.
‘Yes,’ said Vespillo. ‘And I always will.’
They remained quiet, drinking together in silence, while the hubbub of the busy bar swirled around them. Eventually Vespillo looked up at Carbo.
‘And you? You have a story to tell?’
Carbo shook his head. ‘Not today. Maybe never.’
Vespillo’s face showed disappointment that his openness had not been reciprocated. But when he saw Carbo’s stare into middle distance, his stillness, the tension in his jaw, he realized he shouldn’t press the subject. He sighed and drained his glass.
‘So, now you know all about me. Maybe you understand a bit more why I wanted to help you and Rufa. I couldn’t protect the ones in my charge, but I can help you protect yours.’
‘Thank you,’ said Carbo. ‘For that, and for sharing your past with me.’
Vespillo waved the thanks away. ‘So, the question is, what next? Can we do anything with the information we got from Kahotep?’
Carbo considered the question. ‘We need more specifics, don’t we? We need to find out what Elissa is up to.’
‘Slaves are usually easy enough to bribe. Ask Rufa who she thinks would be the best one to approach.’
‘Good idea. I’ll go and talk to her. Thanks again, Vespillo. I’m sorry for judging you. You are a friend.’
Vespillo smiled. ‘It seems I am.’
Carbo sat in the back room of the tavern with Rufa. Her expression was tight, and she was snappy when Fabilla’s childish singing irritated her. For her part, Fabilla was quick to tears at the rebuke, and it required a hug and an apology from Rufa to calm her. Carbo realized that Rufa and Fabilla had been confined to this one room and the bedroom for several days now. He reached out across the table and covered her hand with his. She looked up at him and suddenly her eyes were full with tears.
‘What is going to become of us, Carbo?’ she asked.
‘That’s what I’m working on. I need to persuade Elissa to leave you alone. Vespillo and I think we need to find out more about Elissa’s activities, so we can have some leverage.’
‘You told Vespillo about me?’
Carbo nodded. ‘I can’t do this alone, Rufa. It’s too big.’
Rufa turned away. ‘I’m being unfair on you, aren’t I? I’ve come here, calling in a promise you made to a little girl a lifetime ago.’
Carbo squeezed her hand. ‘I made the promise and I will stick by it. Now, have you told me everything you know about Elissa and what she does?’
‘I think so. She has these meetings with people who seem important, but I don’t know them.’
‘Do you remember any names?’
She closed her eyes in concentration. ‘There was a woman called… Metella, I think.’
‘The Metelli are a big family, that doesn’t narrow it down too much.’
‘There was someone called Scrofa too. I overheard the mistress ask how things were in the office of the Urban Prefect.’
‘She isn’t your mistress any more, Rufa.’
Rufa looked down, then shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. I feel a long way from being free. I might as well be imprisoned. It’s only been a few days and already I’m chafing to see a street, a crowd.’
‘You know why you must stay out of sight, Rufa.’
‘I know, Carbo, but it’s not just me. How do you explain to a seven-year-old child why we must remain hidden?’
‘It’s not worth the risk.’
‘Rome is a big place, Carbo. With my hair under my hood, I would never be recognized.’
Carbo changed the subject. ‘I need to speak to someone from Elissa’s household to find out more. Do you think any of the slaves would talk to me? One who might have some knowledge of what goes on in that house?’
Rufa considered for a moment. ‘I shared my quarters with my friend Natta and her husband Cossus. He was Elissa’s caretaker. He would know everything about that house. He wouldn’t talk to you, though. He doesn’t know you. Why would he risk punishment?’
‘I can make him talk to me.’
‘You think threatening him will get you the information you want? He would probably just tell you anything he thought you wanted to hear, and then go and tell Elissa.’
‘There’s no alternative.’
‘There is. I will come with you. He might talk to me.’
Carbo shook his head firmly. ‘No, it’s too dangerous.’
‘Is it more dangerous than sitting here and waiting to be found?’
Carbo thought for a while. ‘He could come here, couldn’t he? There would be no need for you to go out.’
‘And how would you get him a message? He can’t read. Who would you trust to talk to him? I know his schedule. He usually goes out for supplies for repairs and suchlike early each morning. We could wait for him.’
Carbo sighed. ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’
‘Yes. I need to. Staying here and not knowing what will happen to me is killing me. If you think getting more information will be of use, then I can help.’
‘Fine. Tomorrow morning then. I’m going to get some sleep.’
‘I will retire too. Fabilla, bedtime.’
‘Mummy,’ moaned the young girl, who had been rolling some knuckle bones.
‘No argument.’ Rufa took Fabilla’s hand and led her upstairs. Carbo poured himself a glass of watered wine and drank. Marsia entered the kitchen to fetch a bowl of soup to take back to the bar, which was still noisy.
‘I’m going to bed, Marsia. Close up the bar when the last customer has gone.’
‘Yes, Master.’
Carbo made his way up the wooden stairs to the first-floor bedroom. He found that Rufa had settled Fabilla onto the mattress on the floor that Carbo had been sleeping on. Fabilla was already snoring, and Carbo marvelled at the way children could go from fully awake to asleep so quickly. He wished he had that ability. Rufa looked up and whispered, ‘I’m sorry, is it OK if she takes the mattress on the floor? She will sleep better if she has her own space.’
‘Of course.’ He looked around. ‘I suppose I will find a corner.’
Rufa looked at him shyly. ‘You can share the bed with me.’ She let her dress fall to the floor and she was wearing only a brief loincloth and a breast band beneath. Carbo felt his lust stirring as his eyes moved over her lithe body, her smooth skin marred only by the brand on her arm. She stepped forward and slid one arm around his waist, then slowly pulled him down to the bed, kissing him softly. His fingers slid over her skin and he sighed softly at her touch. Her hand moved down his chest, lower, light fingertips, seeking, till they reached his hardness.
For a moment, he tried not to think, tried to lose himself in the feeling. Then images started to flash in his mind. His heart started to race, he started to sweat, his breathing became tight, and his erection disappeared like a flower wilting in the heat. Rufa looked into his eyes.
‘Do you not like me in that way?’ she asked, her voice small.
Carbo shook his head. ‘It’s not you, it’s…’ He swallowed, fighting down the familiar sensation of rising panic. Rufa watched him for a moment, seeing his anxiety. She didn’t say anything further. She just slid her arms around him and cradled his head against her shoulder. They lay together and Carbo found to his amazement that his racing heart, the knot in his stomach, his fast breathing, all started to settle. He held Rufa close and he marvelled at the strange sensation, one that he hadn’t felt for so long, one that with his past, and with what was happening in his life right now, he knew was inappropriate. He felt relaxed. He fell asleep, holding onto Rufa.