Bandits of Rome Read online

  “And you, dear,” said Blaesus, addressing Rufa. “You are our hero veteran’s wife?”

  “No, master, I’m just…”

  “Just his fancy woman, huh? And I’m not your m… m…, I don’t own you.”

  “No, master, sir, um…”

  Blaesus let out a low laugh.

  “Rufa is a freedwoman, father,” said Quintus, still trying to be helpful. Now it was Carbo’s time to throw Quintus an annoyed glance, but Quintus seemed not to notice.

  “That explains it. And not long freed, unless I am much mistaken.”

  “Rufa was born free, and is free now,” said Carbo firmly. “I believe that is all anyone needs to know about her.”

  Blaesus gave Carbo a long, appraising glance, and for a moment Carbo feared he had crossed a line, insulting the nobleman. But Blaesus merely nodded.

  “Very well.” He looked around. “Where is that s…slave? Quintus, is it time for dinner yet?”

  “I’m sure it must be, father. Shall we head for the triclinium?”

  “Yes. Take my arm boy. Carbo, Rufa, please join us for dinner.”

  Carbo inclined his head as he stood. “It would be an honour.”

  Blaesus took the central place at the top couch, and invited Carbo to take the place on the same couch to his right. To Carbo’s surprise though, Quintus was relegated to the couch that ran at a right angle to the top one. He settled himself in on Carbo’s right hand side, and when Carbo shot him a questioning glance, he simply gave a resigned shrug. One of the slaves ushered Rufa to the left couch, so she reclined opposite Quintus.

  Blaesus gestured at the slave who had assisted him earlier.

  “Pharnaces, food and drink.”

  Pharnaces bowed, his dark, wavy hair flopping forward as he did so, then hurried to give orders to the serving girls to fetch drink, and organised the attendant male slaves to start serving food. Carbo noticed that some of them gave him resentful looks, and he wondered at the youthful Pharnaces’ apparent position of responsibility. Could he be the old man’s lover?

  As the serving girls arrived with wine and water, Blaesus stared pointedly at the empty space next to him.

  “Pharnaces, where is my son?”

  Pharnaces glanced at Quintus. “You mean, Publius?”

  “Of course I mean Publius,” snapped Blaesus.

  “I… do not know, master.”

  “Please request his presence.”

  “Is uncle Lucius joining us tonight?” asked Quintus.

  “No,” said Blaesus, harshly. “He has gone away. A trip.”

  “A trip?” said Quintus, looking surprised. “Where? For how long?”

  Blaesus ignored him. “Pharnaces. Immediately!”

  Pharnaces bowed and hurried out. An uncomfortable silence fell over the room, broken only by the sound of Blaesus drinking deeply from his cup of wine. Quintus sipped with more restraint, and Carbo followed Quintus’ example. Rufa looked anxious, separated as she was from Carbo, and Carbo gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

  Presently, another young man entered the room. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with curly, dark hair like Quintus. Carbo estimated him to be in his mid twenties.

  “Publius,” said Blaesus, and Carbo saw the man smile for the first time, a broad beam full of affection. Publius embraced his father, and settled himself in the space Blaesus had reserved for him.

  “I’m sorry I am late, father. I was exercising, and I needed to bathe.”

  “Of course, of course,” said Blaesus. “It is no inconvenience. We have only just settled ourselves.”

  Publius looked around the room, and his gaze settled on Carbo, narrowing his eyes. “You must be this Carbo that Quintus keeps gushing about.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” said Carbo, carefully.

  Publius turned to Rufa, who reclined to his left. “And who is this beauty?” He smiled broadly and took her hand, kissing it gently. Rufa looked like a rabbit hypnotised by a fox.

  “This is Rufa,” said Carbo. “She is my…” Jupiter, what was she? She wasn’t his slave, and she wasn’t his wife, not yet. He couldn’t call her his lover. Feeling a surge of jealousy as the young man looked into Rufa’s eyes, he used the same term as Quintus. “She is my… freedwoman.”

  Even to his own ears, it sounded weak, and the frown that Rufa shot his way made his heart sink. She was so much more to him than he knew how to describe. Soon, when the moment was right, he would ask her to marry him.

  Carbo felt completely out of his depth. It had seemed like a good idea, when Quintus had invited them. Meet an influential local dignitary, maybe make a powerful friend, possibly a patron, that would make life easier. And maybe find out more about the local banditry. How safe were they here really?

  But the sumptuous setting, the delicately flavoured, incredibly tasty food, presented in styles he had never encountered, the clearly fabulously wealthy host, all unsettled him. He couldn’t even reach a hand under the table to receive a reassuring touch from Rufa. Publius was still favouring her, making suggestions as to what morsels she should try next, even feeding her, and what was worse, Rufa was smiling and laughing at his comments. After a couple of cups of wine, Carbo was feeling a little less diffident, and decided to try to initiate some conversation himself.

  “So, um, sir…”

  “Call me Blaesus,” interrupted Blaesus.

  “Thank you… Blaesus. You have a beautiful home here.”

  “You are most kind,” said Blaesus.

  “You have a house in Rome, too?” Carbo was aware that many of the super-rich elite kept town houses on the Palatine and holiday homes in the countryside.

  “No, Rome is a stinking cess pit. I never go there.”

  “But, you don’t attend meetings of the Senate?”

  “I’m not a S…Senator,” snapped Blaesus. “Firstly, I have no interest in the affairs of state. Rome can burn to the ground, for all I care about her. Secondly, even if I did care about Rome, why would I want to be a Senator? Senators have had no power since before Caesar’s time. Rome is run by one man.”

  “Tiberius,” said Carbo, nodding.

  “No, you idiot,” said Blaesus, sounding exasperated. “Sejanus. That snake, running the Empire like it was his own personal kingdom.”

  Quintus looked concerned. “Father, I don’t think you should talk like that.”

  Blaesus looked surprised. “Do you think we have an informant amongst us? Maybe our guest Carbo here, whom you hold in such high regard? Your brother? Pharnaces?”

  Quintus looked down, chastened, while Publius grinned at his brother’s discomfort.

  Carbo tried again. “You have lived here a long time then?”

  “I quit Rome some twenty years ago. Soon after Quintus here killed my wife.”

  Quintus reddened but said nothing.

  “He was too big, or too twisted, or something wrong. They r…r…ripped her apart, getting him out. If I had known, I would have sacrificed him in a heartbeat. But the doctors told me they could save both.”

  Blaesus shook his head. “So much loss.” A tear gathered in the corner of one of his eyes and rolled down his cheek. Then he looked up again and glared at Carbo. Carbo looked down, embarrassed at the display of grief. Quintus too looked close to tears.

  “I’m sorry,” said Carbo, tentatively. “You aren’t tempted to go back to Rome? Nola seems too small for someone of your wealth and rank.”

  Blaesus fixed him with a steely stare. Then shook his head derisively. There was a dragging silence.

  Carbo decided to change the subject.

  “We ran into some bandits on our travels,” he said.

  “So my son tells me,” said Blaesus.

  “I got the impression that they have been causing a lot of trouble around here lately. Is the region safe?”

  Blaesus shrugged. “The locals and the travellers seem to have their loin cloths twisted about something. Fuss about nothing as far as I can see. There is alwa
ys a low level of banditry in the countryside. It is as inevitable as the fact that the poor stink and the rich are corrupt. So, you helped my Quintus out of a hole? Trust him to need someone to save him.”

  “Quintus fought bravely,” said Carbo, eyeing Quintus.

  Blaesus grunted dismissively. Carbo felt a surge of anger.

  “He took wounds,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “To the front. Protecting ones I care about.”

  Blaesus looked at him with renewed interest. “You have people you care about, Carbo?”

  Carbo was taken aback by the question. “Of course. Don’t you?”

  Blaesus shook his head. “Sometimes, I wonder if I really care about anything. Have you heard of Hegesias of Cyrene?”

  “I’m afraid my schooling was quite limited.”

  “More a man of action than learning, I suppose. Hegesias said that happiness is impossible to achieve in life. Wealth, poverty, freedom, slavery, none of it matters. It brings no more pleasure than pain. Therefore the only worthwhile pursuit in life is to be free of pain and sorrow.”

  Carbo thought of the pain and sorrow he had experienced, and the happiness with Rufa it had led him to.

  “I don’t think I can agree with that. Happiness is possible.”

  “I think you delude yourself. So who is it you care about?”

  Carbo shot Rufa an involuntary glance, and she blushed and looked down. Blaesus looked between the two lovers, a thoughtful expression on his face.

  “I’m prying. S… say no more, Carbo.”

  Carbo nodded, grateful to extricate himself from the embarrassing subject. Rufa gave him a surreptitious wink, and Carbo grinned inwardly. He would be alone with her again soon, and his heart leapt at the thought.

  After that the conversation became fragmented. Blaesus grew quiet, and drank steadily. Publius too became drunk, and started to grow even more forward with Rufa. Carbo watched the two of them, wondering whether to intervene, but Rufa was no longer flirting back, and was firmly deflecting both his suggestive remarks and his wandering hands.

  The courses grew ever more extravagant, to the point of absurdity. A whole roast pig was brought in, spit so it was in a standing position, and when its belly was slit by the chef, sausages tumbled out, mimicking intestines. Fried sow’s nipple, camel’s heels and flamingo’s tongues were followed by cheesecake and fruits drenched in honey. Soon Carbo was feeling bloated and nauseous, while next to him, Blaesus picked at the banquet idly, eating a little and leaving much.

  Pharnaces organised the entertainment, starting with a tumbler and a pair of jugglers, which barely drew a glance from Blaesus. Two dwarfs came out next, and proceeded to tell jokes.

  “I was beaten by my father yesterday,” said the first.

  “Why was that?” asked the second.

  “He caught me sleeping with my grandmother.”

  “Was he very cross?”

  “Yes, but I said, why are you so angry? You have slept with my mother many times. I have only slept with yours once.”

  Publius guffawed and slapped Rufa on the shoulder who winced. Carbo smiled thinly, it was an old joke. Quintus looked shocked. Blaesus picked up a fig and inspected it like the comedians weren’t even there.

  Next Pharnaces sent slave girls in, clad only in tassled skirts, to dance and twirl. When even this raised no interest from his master, Pharnaces summoned the final act, a hunchback and a bearded lady, who proceeded to have noisy sex in front of them all. Blaesus puffed out his cheeks and let out a sigh. The hunchback loudly emptied himself into the hirsute woman, and then Pharnaces hustled them away.

  Carbo felt some relief that the entertainment was finished, and sipped with restraint at his wine. Quintus chatted to Carbo about Nola, olive growing and banditry, and questioned him about life in the legions. Carbo listened attentively, though volunteered little of his own past. The evening dragged and Carbo wished the time away until he could escape back to his own environment, and feel in control once more.

  Finally, Blaesus rose, drunkenly. “I have partaken of enough pleasure for this evening. Wine, food, and…” he looked at Carbo, “interesting company. Pharnaces. Accompany me.”

  Carbo stood respectfully as Pharnaces helped Blaesus out of the room.

  “I’m for bed too,” said Publius. “Carbo, would you mind if I asked your freedwoman to accompany me?”

  Carbo opened his mouth to speak, but Rufa smoothly interjected.

  “I’m afraid I have commitments elsewhere.”

  Publius frowned. “I insist.”

  Carbo clenched his jaw, his fist closing involuntarily.

  “You may insist all you like, young sir,” said Rufa, giving Publius a placating smile. “But I am afraid my patron, the one who freed me, has first claim on me. And he looks like he wants to leave.”

  Carbo’s face was thunderous, but when he opened his mouth, Rufa gave him a stern look. He closed his mouth, swallowed, then nodded.

  “Rufa is right, the hour is late, and we have some way to walk home.”

  “Of course,” interjected Quintus before his brother could reply. “I will escort you as far as our boundaries.”

  Publius looked as if he would take the matter further, and he locked his gaze with Quintus. Quintus appeared to shrink back, but did not break the stare. Publius shook his head, and spat on the floor in disgust.

  “Then goodnight to you all.” He pointed at a young female slave. “You, come to my bed chamber. And bring your sister.”

  The girl looked stricken, but bowed and went to do her master’s bidding. Publius stormed out without a backward glance.

  Quintus sighed and let his shoulders slump as he, Rufa and Carbo found themselves suddenly alone apart from a single attentive slave.

  “I should have known better than to invite you here,” he said

  Carbo bristled. “I’m sorry that we were a disappointment. We have not had the benefit of your cultured upbringing.”

  “No, no,” said Quintus hastily. “You misunderstand. I am the one who is apologising. My father and brother, they can be challenging company. I believe my father has never been the same since he left Rome.”

  “He left after you were born? After your mother died?”

  Quintus nodded. “Around then. One of the older slaves told me a long time ago, that father and uncle Lucius had left Rome suddenly, bringing Publius and me here when I was still a baby. We have lived here ever since.”

  “And you don’t know why?” asked Rufa.

  “He will never talk about it. He’s a moody old bastard at the best of times, and that is one subject guaranteed to raise his temper.” Quintus stood. “Come, as you say, it is getting late. I will walk with you a way.” He flicked his finger towards the attending slave. “Their cloaks.”

  The slave bowed, and fetched the cloaks, helping them put them on. Quintus showed them out, and they walked together in silence down the cobbled path that led to the track towards Carbo’s farm. When they reached a stone marking the boundary of Blaesus’ grounds, he offered his hand to Carbo.

  “Thank you for coming. I don’t suppose you will want to come again.”

  “It seems… awkward,” said Carbo. Quintus looked despondent.

  “But you are most welcome to visit us,” said Rufa. “For as long as we are staying.”

  Quintus brightened.

  “Really?”

  “Of course,” said Carbo, shaking his hand firmly. “Comrades in arms are always welcome.”

  Quintus grinned and returned the shake enthusiastically, then gave Rufa a light kiss on the cheek.

  “I will see you soon then,” he said, and turned to walk back to his father’s villa.

  Carbo let out a breath as he found himself alone with Rufa. He shook his head, and Rufa laughed, a light, beautiful laugh that caused his heart to miss a beat.

  “You weren’t tempted by Publius’ proposal then?”

  “Of course I was,” said Rufa. “Young, handsome, wealthy.”


  Carbo frowned at her. “So why did you turn him down?” he asked gruffly.

  “Unfortunately he was also a complete horse’s backside.”

  Carbo laughed. “Besides,” she continued. “I had a better offer.”

  She proffered Carbo her arm, and he took it, smiling as he pulled her close. They started to walk back to Carbo’s farm.

  Chapter V

  Carbo sighed and looked up at the sun, trying to judge the time from its position in the sky. It was a bright, fresh, late October day, without a cloud above them, and though the blue sky gave Carbo’s spirits a lift, they were currently being thoroughly dampened by the interminable shopping trip with Rufa.

  “How about these ones?” she asked, holding up a pair of copper earrings.

  “How are they different from the last ones?” asked Carbo wearily.

  Rufa wrinkled her nose at him. “Because, these ones have a left-hand twist in the pendant portion. The last ones had a right-hand twist.”

  “Of course, so unobservant of me.”

  “Don’t be such a grouch. Which ones?”

  “These ones,” said Carbo, gesturing to the earrings she held.

  “But you said you liked the other ones!”

  “Fine, the other ones then.”

  “Now you are just making it up.”

  Carbo exchanged an exasperated look with the market seller, then gazed around him. It was a nundinae, a market day in Nola. At dinner the previous evening, when Rufa had told Fabilla what they were doing, and after she had complained about not being allowed to come, she had asked why it was called a nundinae. Vespillo had explained the name came from the nine day week. Fabilla then asked how many days there were in two weeks. Vespillo thought about it for a moment, then told her seventeen. Fabilla had furrowed her brow, then declared that in that case there could only be eight and a half days in one week. Vespillo had looked confused at this, and his attempted explanation of the inclusive method of counting that Romans used was just met with the flat comment from Fabilla, “That doesn’t make any sense.” Carbo chuckled to himself now at the memory of Vespillo’s offended expression.