The early afternoon sun made Carbo blink as he entered the street. He paused to get his bearings, then retraced his steps from the night before. He walked back up to the third floor of the insula he had grown up in and knocked on the door. It was opened cautiously by Gnaea, who looked at him with a mix of suspicion and sympathy.
‘Carbo,’ she said guardedly. ‘I didn’t really expect to see you back.’
‘I won’t bother you for long. I just need to ask you a question I should have asked last night. My mother, Atella, where is she buried?’
Gnaea looked uncomfortable. ‘Atella wasn’t a member of a collegia, and she had no money and no family members to look after her when she was gone.’ She shifted from foot to foot. ‘I mean, no family in Rome. She was cremated and her ashes were going to go to one of the mass burial pits outside the city. But Lucius, he knew her and had a soft spot for her, so he pulled some strings to get her a place in his collegia’s columbarium.’
Carbo was quiet for a moment, then nodded. ‘I understand. My thanks to you both.’
After getting more detailed directions to the tomb, just outside the Esquiline gate, he took his leave. He traced his steps through the crowded city streets until he reached the place Gnaea had described to him, pausing on the way only to purchase a small meal as a sacrifice from one of the opportunistic vendors working near the tombs. The columbarium was a rectangular brick building, with niches set within the façade in the manner of a dovecote. The particular one that Gnaea had told him housed Atella’s remains was one of the larger ones, three storeys tall, with dozens upon dozens of niches, most of them containing urns of varying degrees of ornateness. A small garden in front of the tomb was occupied by a handful of people paying their respects. One small family group – a young mother and several small children – clothes tattered and dirty, body condition lean, sat on the grass. They ate a meal composed mainly of bread, presumably from the grain dole, and a few garden vegetables. The children seemed distracted and bored, not noticing the tears that intermittently overflowed from their mother’s eyes.
Carbo counted across and up from the bottom left until his gaze came to rest on a plain pottery urn. He walked up to it and touched it with his fingertips, then lifted it down. The urn was enclosed and he thought about opening it, but knew there would be nothing of solace to see. Instead he kissed it and placed it back gently. He unwrapped the meal he had purchased, made from milk, oil, honey and the blood of a sacrificed goat, and ate a small amount, placing the rest in the niche with the urn. He then poured a small amount of wine from the tavern’s stocks onto the ground. He hoped it would be enough for the manes, the spirits of the dead.
Rufa examined the garden vegetables on the market stall, testing them for ripeness, turning them for signs of rot. Shafat would beat her if the produce was substandard. The vegetable seller complained at her handling of the goods and harangued her, but she refused to be hurried, and when she had picked a satisfactory selection she haggled the seller down to a price which wouldn’t get her into any further trouble.
Task completed, she made her way back to the house of her mistress, Elissa. As she approached it she felt her legs weakening, a terrible sense of foreboding descending on her. She ran through the events of the previous night in her mind for what seemed like the thousandth time. But try as she might, she could only come to one conclusion.
Surely she had misunderstood. This was Rome in the reign of Tiberius. Human sacrifice hadn’t occurred here for centuries.
Yet she couldn’t forget the mark on Fabilla’s forehead and the fact that Glaukos said he had marked the sacrifice. She reached the house and hesitated. Only the fact that her daughter was inside stopped her from turning and fleeing.
But if she was right, if this insanity was true, what could she do about it? She was a slave. She had no one to turn to and nowhere to go. She knocked on the door. As she waited for the porter the image returned to her of Fabilla’s doll, Arethusa, being fed to the flames.
Elissa stood in her study, staring down at a map of Rome spread over a table. Glaukos and Shafat stood around the table, following her fingers as she traced the streets.
‘It will start here,’ she said, tapping at one point on the map. ‘From here it will spread uncontrollably.’
Shafat nodded thoughtfully. ‘With half of the population at the games and the cohorts and vigiles involved in crowd control, there will be no one to stop it. It will spread throughout Rome, destroying every building in its wake.’
‘But is that all we want to achieve?’ asked Glaukos.
Elissa looked at Glaukos sharply. ‘All?’ she asked archly.
‘Rome’s power is not in her buildings. It is in her people. Look at their history – Romans never surrender in adversity. Even when defeated by Pyrrhus or Hannibal, they kept fighting when anyone else would have surrendered. If we destroy their city, they will rebuild it, and it will all have been for nothing.’
‘You say this now?’ said Elissa coldly. ‘After all our planning? You think our mission is worthless?’
Glaukos shook his head. ‘No, Mother, not at all. I have been thinking, we need to destroy more than the buildings. We need to destroy the Roman people. Their families, their freedmen and subservient slaves. Annihilate them so totally that those few remaining will have neither the numbers nor the will to rise again. Without Rome their whole Empire will disintegrate in months.’
Elissa looked curious now. ‘Go on. How will we do this?’
Glaukos smiled. ‘We use the Romans’ own contempt for their lower classes. The shoddy, tottering buildings can be used to create chaos.’
Elissa looked doubtful. ‘I want to know this works before we commit too many resources to this.’
‘Of course. Give me a little while, I will instruct a few of our followers and then give you an unforgettable demonstration.’ He grinned like a gourmet about to embark on a banquet.
Carbo sat before the tomb for most of the afternoon, indulging in painful nostalgia as one childhood memory triggered another. Games with wooden soldiers with his childhood friend Sextus; scoldings and beatings for misdemeanours; births, marriages and funerals; all spun through his mind. As the sun started to dip in the sky, and the bright early afternoon light was replaced by an orange glow, Carbo took a deep breath and stood. The family was long gone, no doubt wanting to be shuttered in their dwelling well before night fell, assuming they weren’t one of the many who lived on the city streets. He walked slowly, lost in his thoughts, and it was nearly dark when he arrived back at his new home.
The tavern was over half full and Marsia and Philon appeared to be coping admirably. Carbo suspected that Publius had often left them to it and so he had no qualms about doing the same. He entered quietly, slipping in behind the bar to appear at Marsia’s elbow as she was pouring wine from a jug.
‘Everything going well?’ asked Carbo. Marsia gave a little start, but didn’t spill a drop. Her voice was steady as she replied.
‘Of course, Master. You can rely on us to keep things in line here.’
Carbo smiled. ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he said as he surveyed the room. The atmosphere was pleasant, if loud and a little raucous, with at least half the clients happily inebriated. Vatius sat in his usual chair, feeding Myia crusts of bread. Three men caught Carbo’s eye, sitting around a table in a corner, sipping slowly from their cups and saying little. The eldest of the three, a short, stocky, grey-haired man, sat very still, but his eyes darted around the room, fixing a gaze momentarily on each dropped plate, each raised voice, seeming to assess a threat before moving on.
Carbo walked over to their table. They looked up at him but didn’t stand. Carbo weighed them up, then pulled up a stool to sit with them.
‘Gaius Valerius Carbo,’ he said, holding out a hand.
‘Lucius Vedius Vespillo,’ said the older man, taking it and shaking it, firmly enough to show some strength, but not so strong as to seem to be trying to prove something. ‘My colleagues,’ he said, gesturing to the other two men, who nodded and also shook Carbo’s hand.
Vespillo looked at Carbo appraisingly. ‘A veteran, am I right?’
Carbo nodded. ‘Is it that obvious?’
‘Twenty-five years in the army changes men in ways that it is usually easy to pick up. Physique, bearing. Calluses on your sword hand. The nervous tic.’
Carbo smiled. ‘You served?’
‘Twenty-five years in the XXth Valeria Victrix.’
‘The Pannonian War?’
Vespillo nodded, his mouth tightening at the mention. ‘You?’
‘I was with the Ist Germanica when I retired.’
‘You served under Germanicus?’
‘I did, his memory be blessed. What a loss to Rome he was. And we are left with Sejanus, the man who likely sent him to Hades, in charge.’
Vespillo sucked air in through his teeth. ‘Beware what you say in Rome, man. This isn’t the army, all loyal brothers. Around every corner lurks an informer, willing to sell their grandmother for a few denarii.’
Carbo held his gaze for a short while, and nodded. He had just opened his mouth to speak when the tavern door was flung open with a crash. Carbo groaned as the crack in the masonry, created just this morning, widened a little. He stood to admonish the culprit, and found himself face to face with three angry men armed with cudgels and knives. Carbo sighed as he recognized the man he had expelled that morning. Next to him was an older man, still imposing in bulk, whose facial features showed a family resemblance to Cilo. Another man, even bigger, a little older than Cilo and again similar in appearance, but with a slack-jawed expression, stood to the other side.
Cilo pointed at Carbo. ‘That’s him, Father.’
Carbo winced inwardly. He was outnumbered this time and what’s more he was unarmed, with his antagonists between him and the bar where his gladius lay.
The elder man regarded Carbo steadily for a moment. ‘I’m Manius Gellius Cilo, and I’m this boy’s father.’
Manius looked around him. ‘So, old Publius Sergius sold you this place and fled?’ He glanced at his son. ‘I did warn you not to squeeze too hard.’ He turned back to Carbo. ‘I have no doubt that my impetuous son deserved to be thrown out of your fine establishment.’ Cilo scowled but said nothing, and his father carried on.
‘Nevertheless, there is a way of doing things around here. I run this district, with the help of my friends and my sons, Cilo and Balbus here.’ He indicated Cilo and the other, larger young man. Then he picked up a stool and hurled it across the room. It crashed into a table, scattering plates and wines and causing the men sitting there to jump back, startled.
‘People must show me respect,’ continued Manius calmly. ‘And if someone doesn’t show respect to a family member something has to be done. Otherwise no one would respect me. Then where would I be?’
‘Am I supposed to care?’ asked Carbo.
Manius shook his head. ‘It doesn’t really matter whether you care or not. It only matters that you show me the deference I am owed, or your bloodied corpse will serve as a reminder of what happens around here when respect breaks down.’ He nodded to the men behind him, who stepped forward.
A voice came from behind Carbo. ‘It’s illegal to bear arms in the city of Rome, friends.’
Manius paused and looked over Carbo’s shoulder at the speaker. Carbo didn’t turn, keeping his eyes fixed on Manius, but recognized the voice of Vespillo. He saw Manius assessing the source of the interruption, before smiling humourlessly.
‘I’ve heard that, friend,’ he replied, emphasizing the last word ironically. ‘It seems to be a custom honoured more in the breach than the observance, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Even so,’ said Vespillo. ‘It is the law and tradition that arms are not carried within the sacred boundary of Rome. Please put your weapons away and leave in an orderly fashion.’
‘By Pluto’s balls, who are you to command me to do anything?’
‘Lucius Vedius Vespillo. Tribune of the vigiles.’
Now Manius laughed out loud. ‘The little bucket fellows? Sons, either of you on fire?’
Cilo smiled and Balbus let out a mocking laugh.
The scrape of chairs from behind Carbo told him that Vespillo and his companions had stood, and he now risked a look behind him. Vespillo had drawn a gladius-style sword and the others had produced solid-looking clubs. The expressions on their faces suggested they didn’t appreciate being addressed that way.
Manius’ eyes narrowed and Carbo saw him recalculating the odds. He stepped up close to Carbo, so their faces were inches away from each other. Carbo could smell fish sauce and onions on his breath.
‘You don’t seem to understand. All this around here, it’s mine. The houses, the businesses, the citizens, the slaves. They all owe me honour, duty and taxes. I am their paterfamilias, and like the father of the household I have the right of life and death over everyone here.’
‘Not me,’ said Carbo. Balbus and Cilo had stepped up close behind Manius, and now Vespillo moved to just behind Carbo’s shoulder. ‘Leave my tavern. You are not welcome here. Don’t come back, or we will have a problem.’
Manius’ eyes flicked from Carbo’s to Vespillo’s. ‘We already have a problem. And we will be back. Just remember when the time comes for you to regret your attitude that I gave you a chance.’
Behind them Marsia moved to the door and held it open for them, her features set firm.
Manius spat on the floor, the spittle hitting Carbo’s shoes. He spun abruptly and walked out. Cilo and Balbus followed. As Cilo passed Marsia he squeezed her buttock painfully and winked at her. ‘I’ll be back for you, beautiful.’
Marsia slammed the door behind them and composed herself. Carbo gave her a moment, then said, ‘Tidy up, Marsia.’
She nodded, then directed Philon to right the upended furniture, while she produced a mop and a bucket to clear up the spillages.
‘First though, Marsia, a drink here for my new friend, Vespillo. Anything you like, on the house.’
‘Falernian?’ said Vespillo with a wry smile.
Carbo laughed. ‘Well, I haven’t had time to assess my stock yet, but if Publius was telling me the truth, Falernian is a little out of our league. This isn’t the Palatine, you know.’
Vespillo laughed. ‘I had noticed. Whatever you have will be fine.’
Marsia went to fetch a cup of wine and Carbo directed Vespillo to a seat.
‘Thank you. That was… unexpected.’
Vespillo looked embarrassed. ‘Just doing my job.’
‘And what job would that be?’
‘As I said, I’m tribune of the second station of the vigiles, on the Esquiline.’
‘And who are the vigiles exactly?’
‘Who are the vigiles? Where have you been for the last twenty-one years?’
‘Germany. As I said. For the last twenty-five years, as it happens.’
Marsia returned with a cup of wine for Carbo and Vespillo, then returned to restoring order in the tavern. Vespillo took a deep draught of the wine and swallowed.
‘Not bad,’ he said. ‘So you served your full tour of duty then.’
‘As did you in the XXth.’
Vespillo nodded. ‘I’ve been retired a lot longer than you, though.’
Carbo noted Vespillo’s head, full of hair but shot through with grey, and an almost entirely white, short-trimmed beard. ‘I can tell.’
Vespillo chuckled. ‘Cheeky bastard. Well, the vigiles, the watchmen, were set up by the divine Augustus in the year of the consuls Lepidus and Arruntius to fight fire, after a particularly bad blaze took out a large chunk of the city. There are seven cohorts each commanded by a tribune. Overall command is with an equestrian, currently Quintus Naevius Cordus Sutorius Macro.’
‘What’s he like? Usual clueless political appointee that we get in the army?’
‘He’s a good man, on the whole. Takes the job seriously.’
‘And that job involves putting out fires. That’s why Manius called you a little bucket fellow.’
Vespillo grimaced. ‘The name isn’t the most flattering. It’s been following the vigiles since they were formed, and it rankles. But we have all been called a lot worse. Besides, firefighting is only part of our job, admittedly a big part. Tall, poorly built wood-timbered buildings, indoor cooking and open braziers to keep warm, warehouses with wood, lumber and grain, narrow streets allowing blazes to spread easily – this all means several fires each night, of a greater or lesser extent, just in our district.’
‘So what else do you do?’
‘Well, if you put a bunch of men out on the street at night, organize them into cohorts and centuries, and give them axes, saws and ropes, it’s inevitable they will be given other tasks. So, the vigiles’ role quickly evolved into a night watch, keeping the peace when those lazy bastards in the urban cohorts are in bed. We catch thieves and muggers, break up fights, apprehend runaway slaves and make sure that the citizens are taking the appropriate precautions to prevent fire – keeping a bucket of water and vinegar-soaked blankets on the top floor of the insulae for example. Sometimes repeat offenders need to be taken into the street and shown that their negligence can have consequences.’
‘I presume your men enjoy administering the odd beating then.’
Vespillo sighed. ‘They can be rather enthusiastic sometimes. They are all freedmen, so were never going to get a chance to join the army, not unless there was another national disaster on the scale of Cannae. Discipline can sometimes be an issue. But they are a good bunch. And they are my men, so I won’t have a word said against them.’
Carbo nodded, understanding the kind of loyalty a man had for his comrades in arms, whether they deserved it or not. ‘So how does a veteran like you come to be in charge of a group of freedmen? Surely you could have found more lucrative work as a bodyguard, or even just retire on your pension to some peaceful farm in the countryside?’
Vespillo looked into his cup and was quiet for a moment. ‘That’s a story for some other time,’ he said. Then he looked up. ‘You should visit the station, meet the men. They would love to meet a hero from the German campaigns.’
‘I’m no hero,’ said Carbo flatly, then caught Vespillo’s frown. ‘Still, I would like that. Thank you.’
‘We are based at the second station of the cohortes vigilum, just outside the Esquiline gate.’
‘So how come you turned out to be here at the right time and place to be my saviour today, Vespillo?’
Vespillo laughed. ‘I have my ear to the ground. When I am told that a newcomer has barred the local gang boss’s son from his tavern, it doesn’t take a genius to work out that retribution is likely to come swift and hard. Besides, I wanted to meet the man who had the balls to stand up to Cilo and Manius.’
‘Well, I thank you again for your help.’
‘One veteran to another, it’s how it should be. I shall make sure my men visit regularly to keep trouble from your door.’
‘Would the promise of drinks on the house make it less of a chore?’
‘I’m sure,’ said Vespillo, smiling. ‘Just don’t let them get completely hammered when they are on duty. They may still be needed to put out a fire.’
Carbo shook Vespillo’s hand and watched his unexpected new ally depart. Then he turned to help Marsia clear up the mess.
Tegius reclined in the triclinium on the couch on Elissa’s left. The couch to the right was empty. Shafat hovered, making sure their plates and cups were full. Elissa waved him away, and he bowed and withdrew.
Elissa regarded Tegius with a cool stare. She had had time to recover her composure.
‘It has been a very long time, Tegius. How did you come to Rome?’
‘After it all happened, the master rewarded me for my… loyalty… at such a trying time. I think maybe he didn’t want to be reminded of what had happened every day by seeing me around. To him, the cost of a household of slaves was a relatively small sum, not completely trivial, but nothing to lose sleep over. So he decided to start from scratch. He emancipated me, and bought a new steward and a whole new household of slaves.’
‘Yes, your loyalty was paid back handsomely,’ said Elissa flatly.
‘Oh, it wasn’t all roses. I could write and add, and manage a household. But there was a certain level of disgust at both the crime and the punishment. Of course, none of it was my fault, but I was tainted by it. Slaves and freedmen shunned me, and the higher levels of society held me in contempt. I was actually reduced to begging for a while. I thought I wouldn’t survive that first winter.
‘I’m a resourceful fellow, though. I found a young nobleman who was in trouble with his gambling debts. I quietly helped reorganize his finances and he paid me well. Well enough to leave Carthage and make a new start.’
‘So you came to Rome.’
‘Not at first, no. I spent some time in Egypt and found work in various places. About a year ago, though, I had an unfortunate incident with the wife of a rather rich and violent equestrian, and the time had come to move on. I took ship to Rome, fairly hastily – just as you did, in fact.’
Elissa didn’t comment, and he carried on.
‘I have enough to get by, but little extra. Then, as I was drinking in a particularly grim little tavern, I overheard a conversation about a new cult in Rome. I say new, but of course we both know that it is very old indeed. It involved the worship of the old Carthaginian gods, Ba’al Hammon and Tanit, and the high priestess was called Elissa.
‘Surely that couldn’t be a coincidence, I thought. There couldn’t be another Elissa who was a hereditary priestess in the service of the Lord and Lady. So I came to your meeting to find out for myself. You have changed, grown into a very beautiful woman, might I say. But I recognized the young Elissa who fled Carthage in the night-time all those years ago. Leaving behind her friends and family to die.’
Elissa tried to retain her composure, but she felt the little tremble coming back. She had become happy, confident, powerful. Now this odious man from her past was stripping it all away, reminding her of the most horrific time of her life.
‘What happened that night, Elissa? Your father never said. All we knew was that the master’s guest, Gnaeus, was killed by your father. That he was found with the body and the bloody knife. He made no attempt to disguise his guilt, but offered no explanation.’
Elissa’s hand went to her neck. Around it hung a small charm, in the stylized shape of a figure, a round circle on a cross. Her father had given it to her that night. It had belonged to her mother and was the symbol of her priestesshood. She had wondered why he had chosen that night to pass it on. Maybe he had had some sort of premonition.
Tegius cocked his head on one side. ‘It was Gnaeus, wasn’t it? He asked for the master’s indulgence to make use of you. You, a young virgin, barely started your first flow, I’m guessing. He was a particularly repulsive individual too, wasn’t he? Obese and warty. I wonder what he looked like naked? Was he very rough with you, when he took you? Was it very painful?’
‘Stop,’ said Elissa, her voice a whisper.
‘I bet you cried out, I bet your father heard. Do you realize, if you had remained silent nearly a hundred men, women and children wouldn’t have been crucified? I helped the soldiers, you know. Identified all the slaves. Helped group them by family, as they nailed them out. The little ones died quickest. Some of the women wouldn’t stop screaming. Most of them just hung there, waiting for the crows to come and start pecking at them, hoping they would die before the agony became too much to bear.’
‘Please, stop,’ said Elissa.
‘Of course, of course, my apologies. It must be painful to be reminded. Maybe my presence itself is a sad reminder of your past. Of the guilt you bear for all those deaths. Maybe I should leave Rome, for your sake. That would be expensive, though.’
‘Do others know what you know?’
Tegius smiled. ‘I have only just confirmed for myself it was you. There is no need for anyone else to be told. Not your followers, about your past shame. Or the authorities, that you are a fugitive slave. I just need some money and I will be gone forever, and you can continue your privileged existence here and forget all about that terrible time.’
Elissa bowed her head and Tegius smiled triumphantly. She looked up to where Shafat was waiting, out of earshot, and gestured to him. He nodded and hurried out.
Tegius took a deep draught of his wine, then picked up some chopped morsels of liver, slid them into his mouth and swallowed with an appreciative noise.
‘You dine well, High Priestess. I am glad you have seen sense. It is best for both of us.’
Behind him, Glaukos appeared, his steps quiet despite his stature.
‘Mother?’ asked Glaukos.
‘It is as I thought, Glaukos.’ Her voice had steadied again and there was iron in it now. ‘Tegius here has asked for my assistance in return for a favour. Please compensate him as we discussed.’
Glaukos gripped Tegius’ head on either side, and before the surprised man could cry out, Glaukos snapped his neck.