Watchmen of Rome Read online

  ‘Of course, sir. Poscum, I presume, will suit?’

  Carbo grimaced, realizing that his dirty clothes and unkempt appearance must have him marked as a street beggar, come into a couple of asses to fund a drink. He reached into his purse and took out a denarius. ‘I came here for wine, not vinegar and water. Make it a Falernian.’

  The tavern keeper looked a little shocked, both at the value of the coin, which was sixteen times the value of the copper as that would usually be enough to buy wine, and also at the request for the fine vintage.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, this is just a humble Suburan tavern. We don’t keep such fine wines here. Maybe I could suggest a Mamertinian.’

  Carbo considered, then nodded. The tavern keeper poured a small amount of wine concentrate into a cup, then topped it up with water. Carbo took a sip, not bothering to comment on how diluted the drink was. He wasn’t intending to get drunk anyway, at least not yet. The tavern keeper retreated through a back door. A short-legged bitch with a shaggy brown and white coat came and sniffed his hand, and Carbo stroked her rough-coated head. The tavern keeper returned with a loaf that was still warm. Carbo devoured it, only now realizing how hungry he was, but saved a small crust for the dog who had stayed at his feet throughout, her gaze fixed on him. She gobbled the offered morsel in one swallow.

  ‘I apologize for Myia,’ said the tavern keeper. Carbo raised his eyes questioningly. The tavern keeper indicated the dog. Carbo waved the apology away.

  ‘Think nothing of it. She is good company.’

  ‘I haven’t seen you in here before, sir. I’m Publius Sergius by the way.’

  ‘Carbo,’ said Carbo through a mouthful of bread. ‘And I’ve been away.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Publius, realization dawning. ‘The legions?’

  Carbo nodded.

  ‘I would have loved to have fought in the legions. The glory, the riches. But I am just a lowly freedman. Just able to buy this place after a lifetime of servitude, due to a small bequest on the death of my master.’

  Glory and riches. Maybe the latter, compared to the people living in this district at least. The former, precious little. But before Carbo could retort, the door to the back room swung open and two arguing slaves strode in.

  ‘You are a lazy boy, Philon,’ said the first, a tall, well-built, dark-haired girl in her twenties, with a strong Germanic accent. ‘Master should punish you. But he won’t. He is too weak. Just be thankful you aren’t my slave, or you would feel the rod on your backside every day till you mended your ways.’

  ‘You are just spiteful, Marsia,’ Philon shot back angrily. ‘I do my chores. And the master would never hurt me. I am his favourite after all.’

  Carbo looked at Philon, an effeminate-looking teenage boy, and then looked at Publius. The tavern keeper appeared to be doing his best to ignore the altercation, and when he caught Carbo’s eye he gave him a small shake of the head and a weary shrug of the shoulders.

  ‘Publius!’ said Marsia. ‘Why don’t you correct this slave, like a true master of his household should? He was supposed to have cleaned the bedroom and when I checked this morning I found six spiders, two cockroaches and a dead rat. I had to slap his face just to get him to wake up.’

  Philon rubbed a red mark on his face and gestured at Marsia. ‘Master, shouldn’t you correct this slave, who takes it on herself to discipline your property without your say-so?’

  ‘Enough. We have a customer. Sort your petty squabbles out between yourselves.’

  The two slaves seemed to notice Carbo for the first time, wrapped up as they had been in themselves. Philon’s demeanour changed instantly, a coquettish smile appearing on his face. Marsia put her hands on her hips and regarded Carbo steadily.

  ‘And now we have become a home for all the beggars and destitutes of the streets. I knew business was bad, Publius, but how desperate are we?’

  Publius hissed at her. ‘Marsia. Enough. He paid in silver.’

  Marsia raised an eyebrow. ‘I see. And who did you rob?’

  Carbo held her stare. ‘Several thousand Germans,’ he said evenly.

  Marsia paused, then nodded her head. ‘So, you are a war hero. Good. We are honoured. And stolen German money is as good as any.’

  ‘As are stolen German slaves. Publius, get me another loaf, I’m still starving.’

  * * *

  Carbo spent the morning sitting in a corner of the tavern, sipping slowly from his drink, and gradually restoring some energy with the simple food he bought. Philon and Marsia busied themselves – Marsia efficiently, Philon only with constant encouragement and bullying from Marsia. Publius tried to engage Carbo in conversation, but soon became dispirited by the one-way flow and got on with his own tasks. Other customers drifted in and Publius soon forgot about Carbo, as he chatted to his regulars.

  One early visitor caught Carbo’s eye – a thin, balding man, with a long grey beard and a deeply lined face. He moved purposefully to an empty table next to Carbo’s and spent some time settling himself, groaning as his elderly joints accommodated the change in posture. He gestured to Marsia, who came over with a cup of wine and some bread and garum.

  ‘There you go, Vatius.’

  The man nodded his thanks and slid a coin across the table with an arthritis-twisted hand. He then looked around the room and his gaze rested on Carbo for a moment. He gave him a calculating look, then smiled and winked. Carbo couldn’t help but smile back at the friendly face.

  ‘Haven’t seen you here before,’ he said, in a gravelly voice.

  ‘I haven’t been here before,’ said Carbo.

  The elderly man seemed to digest this for a moment and then gave a nod that seemed to suggest this was a satisfactory explanation.

  ‘Gaius Annaeus Vatius,’ said the man, and stuck his hand out. Carbo leaned over and grasped it.

  ‘Gaius Valerius Carbo.’

  ‘Enjoying the games, lad?’

  Carbo smiled to himself. A lifetime in the legions with all the accumulated wear and tear on his body, coupled with a night spent sleeping rough, had left him feeling like anything but a lad.

  ‘I’m new in Rome. There are games on?’

  ‘Aye, lad. The Ludi Romani. The greatest of the Roman games. Chariot racing in the Circus Maximus, gladiators in the arenas, plays in the theatres, if you like that sort of thing.’

  Vatius’ grimace suggested he didn’t like that sort of thing, and Carbo couldn’t help but agree with him – what little theatre he had seen seemed to be either convoluted tragedy or low farce, neither of which appealed much.

  ‘New to Rome, then? Where have you been?’

  ‘Away, in the legions.’

  ‘Ah, one of our heroes. Then it is even better to meet you.’

  ‘You never served?’

  Vatius shook his head ruefully. ‘Not I. I’m a mere son of a freedman.’

  ‘What was your trade then?’

  ‘Oh, this and that. Actor in my wilder, younger days. Tutor. Itinerant philosopher.’

  ‘Is there much call for an itinerant philosopher?’

  Vatius eyes seemed to twinkle. ‘You would be surprised. It made me enough money that I can sit here and eat and drink and watch the world go by, rather than live under the arches of the aqueducts and try to support myself and my wife with the corn dole.’

  ‘You are married? You prefer to be in here than with your wife?’

  ‘Socrates said that everyone should marry,’ Vatius said with a grin. ‘If they get a good wife they will be happy, if they get a bad one they will become a philosopher.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Carbo. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Vatius fixed him with a stare. ‘Don’t be. Happiness depends upon ourselves.’

  Carbo returned the look questioningly.

  ‘Aristotle,’ said Vatius by way of explanation. ‘I am content with my life.’

  Soon the room filled enough that there was a constant background of noise, clanking cups, laughter, the odd raised angry voice, chat
ter. Once, a rather drunk customer rolled in and declared in a loud voice that he had won on the blues at the chariot races. He bought everyone a drink, then gave Publius a coin and grabbed Philon by the hand, guiding him to the small alcove. Philon sighed, and pulled the curtain closed behind them. A surprisingly short while later, the curtain was drawn back. The man, clothing awry, winked at Carbo and staggered back out of the inn. Philon emerged, his clothing undisturbed, wiping his hands on a grimy cloth.

  Carbo took everything in, but his mind was wandering aimlessly. He felt paralysed with indecision. Since he had left the legion a few weeks ago, he had had only one aim, to go home. Now he found out he didn’t have a home. He didn’t have a family. The only people he called friends were still serving in the legion. He owned some land he had never visited, a purse full of money, a pension, his clothes, a stiff leg, and nothing else.

  The sun rose high in the sky. The tavern was full, which surprised Carbo after Marsia’s earlier comments about business being bad. He started to wonder whether to stay here for lunch, or to make an effort to overcome his lethargy and inertia and make his way out into the streets of Rome. He didn’t know where to go, or what to do, but he had to do something, didn’t he?

  Or did he? The life Vatius described suddenly sounded appealing to him. Just sit back, watch and take no further part in the world. Myia, who had been sniffing around his feet, stood up on her hind legs to put her paws in his lap, and he stroked her head absent-mindedly.

  The door to the tavern flew open so forcefully that the noise as it banged against the wall silenced the clientele. A small crack appeared in the masonry, making Carbo look up nervously at the ceiling for a moment, wondering what it would take to bring the building down.

  A well-muscled man with a pockmarked face swaggered in and gave an exaggerated grimace. Myia stood facing him, taking a step back into the shadows of the table, teeth bared and a grumbling growl coming from the back of her throat.

  ‘What a dump,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t get any better, does it?’

  He looked around at the clients in the tavern, who studied their drinks intently, avoiding his gaze.

  ‘Maybe it’s the atmosphere,’ he said. He walked to the bar, elbowing aside anyone too slow to move out of the way. Carbo regarded him with curiosity.

  ‘Cilo,’ said Publius, droplets of sweat appearing on his forehead, a tremor in his voice. ‘What would you like to drink?’

  ‘Mulsum,’ said Cilo, and waited impatiently while Publius poured a cup of the honeyed drink with shaking hands. Marsia had moved close behind Publius, saying nothing. Philon was at the opposite end of the room, trying to remain unobtrusive. A few customers slipped discreetly out. Cilo downed his drink, and Carbo noticed that he didn’t offer to pay, nor did Publius ask.

  ‘Cheap muck, as usual,’ said Cilo, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘I’ve come to expect no better. Now, give me what you owe, and I will leave you and your customers in peace.’

  Publius hurried into the back room. As he came out, he avoided looking at Marsia, who was regarding him with narrowed eyes. He thrust a small bag of coins into Cilo’s hand. Cilo hefted the bag speculatively, then laughed.

  ‘There was supposed to be a week’s payment here. This barely covers a single day.’

  ‘There are ten denarii in there,’ said Publius indignantly. ‘That is the price your father agreed.’

  ‘I’ve put the price up. One hundred denarii a week.’

  Publius gasped. ‘I can’t afford that. My entire takings wouldn’t cover it.’

  ‘Maybe you should think about a price rise. I’m sure your customers here would be glad to pay extra for the wonderful service they get here.’

  ‘I can’t, Cilo, please, you will ruin me.’

  Cilo touched a knife at his belt and looked hard into Publius’ eyes. ‘There are worse ways to ruin someone than financially. Give me what you owe.’

  Hastily, Publius emptied a pot from beneath the bar. ‘That’s all my takings from last night and this morning. That’s all I have.’

  Cilo weighed the money. ‘It will have to do as a down payment. I will come for the rest tomorrow.’

  ‘I don’t have any more,’ said Publius, pleading. ‘I don’t even have enough to buy new stock. How am I supposed to pay you if I don’t have the means to make money?’

  ‘Your problem. Maybe you should make those pretty slaves of yours work a bit harder at what they are good at. Talking of which, I think I fancy a turn with the handsome German.’ He turned his gaze on Marsia, who held it defiantly.

  ‘Cilo, sir, Marsia doesn’t provide that service. Take Philon.’

  ‘No, I have taken a shine to Marsia. Even more so now you tell me she isn’t for public use.’ He strode over to Marsia and grasped her by the wrist. Marsia glared at Publius, who turned away, eyes downcast. Cilo started to pull the struggling Marsia towards the cubicle and, as she resisted, he cuffed her hard around the head, dazing her a little.

  ‘If you struggle, I’ll leave you so you are no use to any man again.’

  ‘Please,’ whispered Marsia. ‘No.’

  Cilo drew his knife and stroked it around her throat, causing her to freeze. A livid line encircled her neck where the tip had touched it, one bead of blood oozing out where it had bitten deeper. He led her, unresisting now, towards the cubicle.

  Carbo’s voice was low, but it carried across the room. ‘She said no.’

  Cilo turned in surprise to see where the voice had come from. He took in Carbo’s appearance with a glance and laughed.

  ‘Fuck off, you idiot, or I’ll hurt you as well.’

  Carbo stood and Cilo’s eyes widened momentarily, then he pushed Marsia aside and faced Carbo.

  ‘You don’t understand the size of your mistake.’ He waved his knife in small circles in the air. ‘But it doesn’t matter, as it will be your last one.’

  Carbo regarded him steadily, hands by his sides, unmoving. Cilo struck with the speed of a snake, knife flashing to plunge into Carbo’s stomach and up under his ribs. But Carbo was no longer there. The knife stabbed at the space out of which Carbo had sidestepped, and Cilo staggered forward, his momentum unbalancing him. Carbo grabbed the knife hand, twisted, and stepped back. Cilo found himself suddenly disarmed. Carbo tossed the knife aside and took a menacing step forward. Cilo retreated before the large, furious-looking man confronting him.

  ‘You’re a dead man,’ he hissed at Carbo. ‘You too, Publius. My father will destroy you all, and this tavern with it.’

  ‘Get out,’ said Carbo. ‘One chance to walk away.’

  Cilo hesitated, pride warring with prudence in his face. With a last obscene gesture he stormed out, slamming the tavern door behind him.

  Carbo let out a breath. His heart was racing, the anticipation of an imminent fight that did not materialize leaving him tense. He looked around to see Publius sitting with his head in his hands.

  ‘They’ll kill me, they’ll kill me,’ he was muttering, over and over.

  Carbo sat back down in his seat and sipped his wine, letting the drink soothe his jangled nerves. The tavern was silent.

  Marsia walked up to him unsteadily, fingers dabbing intermittently at her neck, which was still damp with blood. ‘Thank you, sir, that was a kind thing you did.’

  ‘Thank him?’ cried Publius, leaping to his feet. ‘Are you mad, Marsia? You know what Cilo and his family are like. This fool has destroyed us. We will need to leave Rome. Who will buy this place from me at such short notice? And with those men ready to terrorize anyone here? We will have to leave, and we will have nothing. I will have to sell you and Philon, but the money I get for you worthless pair won’t be enough to start a new business. Dead or ruined. Those are the choices I face.’

  Carbo looked around him. The customers looked conflicted, maybe pleased at the humiliation of the thug, but worried about the consequences. Philon and Publius both looked terrified, but Marsia was standing straight, a half smile on her
face. What would it be like, he wondered, to have somewhere to belong? Somewhere to have pride in? He suddenly realized how terribly lonely he was, since he had left the insulated life of the legions.

  ‘I’ll buy the tavern,’ said Carbo.

  All eyes turned towards him, Publius, the slaves, the customers. Publius gaped at him. ‘You? But you… surely you couldn’t… I mean… could you?’

  Carbo pulled out his purse. ‘I’ll give you thirty aurei. And throw in the slaves. And the dog.’

  Publius’ expression turned calculating. ‘Thirty? The slaves alone are worth that. And the building, the customers, this is a nice, steady-earning business…’

  Carbo knew he was driving a hard bargain, though the tavern owner was clearly overvaluing the slaves. The small farm Carbo owned was worth around a thousand aurei, but though he had never visited it, he knew it was a nice estate, bringing in an income, whereas this was a dive in the worst part of town.

  ‘You were ruined before I stepped in, Publius. You couldn’t afford to pay the money to those men any more. Thirty is a fair price, given the circumstances. Take it or leave it.’

  Publius took in Carbo’s set features and nodded. He disappeared out into the back of the tavern and returned shortly afterwards with a surprisingly small sack of belongings. He held out his hand to Carbo. ‘Give me the money and the place is yours.’

  ‘Wait,’ said Marsia. Both men looked at her, annoyed by the interruption. ‘This isn’t legal. By law of mancipatio you need five citizens as witnesses, some scales and an ingot of copper.’

  Carbo raised an eyebrow. There was obviously more to this Germanic barbarian slave than met the eye. Looking around the tavern he counted only four men remaining, the ones brave enough to have wanted to witness how the scene played out, or too drunk to leave. Vatius was one, grinning broadly, but neither he nor any of the other customers looked interested in the idea of participating, and although there was a rusty pair of scales behind the bar, finding a copper ingot seemed unlikely.

  ‘I don’t think you are going to come back to Rome to dispute my possession, are you, Publius?’ said Carbo.