by Alex Gough
Carbo nodded, looking back into his wine. His thoughts drifted back to the message from Rufa, and he felt pain and hope in equal measures as her face floated in his mind.
Vespillo sat back, and pushed his drink away.
‘I’m back on duty in a few hours, and I have barely slept today. I need to get home, or Severa will forget what I look like, and shack up with the local butcher. I’m sure he has his eye on her.’
‘Well, thanks for the visit. However, brief.’
‘Tomorrow,’ said Vespillo, ‘We will go to visit an old friend.’
‘Who?’
‘You’ll see. I just think you will benefit from a chat with him.’
Carbo nodded non-committally, and rose when Vespillo stood, shaking his hand and bidding him goodbye. When his friend had left he turned to see Marsia regarding him, arms folded across her chest.
‘What is it?’ he said, tone harsh.
‘We have no bread today.’
‘Then get some.’
‘We don’t have any money.’
‘What? Why not!’ His voice rose.
‘Well let me see,’ said Marsia. ‘Gambling. Drink. Mystic seers. No customers.’ She counted the ideas off on her fingers.
‘Stop! Go to the baker and ask for bread. Tell him Carbo asks it, and I will repay him, on my word.’
Marsia looked doubtful. ‘You already owe the baker twelve denarii.’
‘Just go. He won’t refuse me.’
‘And if he does? Will you threaten him?’
‘Get out of here!’
Marsia strode out of the door and slammed it behind her. Carbo fingered his purse, which contained a few meagre coins. His mood had soured, but he had to admit that Marsia and Vespillo had a point. If he wanted to keep seeing Sitkamose, he would have to find some money soon, and the tavern wasn’t bringing in nearly enough. He swirled the liquid in his cup around, and thought about Camilla, and her inside information. He finished his wine in one long draught, and left the tavern with a purposeful step.
* * *
It didn’t take Carbo long to track Camilla down. After asking around at the Ass and Cart, he was directed to a brothel two streets away, with a few winks and ‘give her one for me’ comments. The bodyguard at the front door was a bulky Syrian slave who eyed Carbo suspiciously but let him enter. The madam who ran the place gave him a more friendly smile, and when he asked for Camilla, she told him to take a seat.
‘She’s with someone now, and this gentleman is next. Then it will be your turn.’
Carbo sat on a bench next to the client before him in the queue, a nervous looking youth, and waited. The madam offered him a drink, but he turned it down. The familiar anxiety was building inside him, inactivity, anticipation, unfamiliar environment all combining. He found himself gritting his teeth and clenching his fist and he took some deep breaths to try to relax.
The waiting area was small and had an overpowering stench of sweet perfume which couldn’t completely mask the undertones of sweat and other fluids and the cheap make-up the prostitutes used to whiten their faces and rouge their cheeks. The walls were badly decorated with explicit images of various different practices that were on offer, and there was a price beneath each.
There were two cubicles separated from the waiting room by linen curtains, and from within both came the sounds of sex – the weird noises men made when in the throes of pleasure, and the encouragements and fake moans from the women. Eventually an animal grunt came from behind the left-hand curtain and moments later a portly, pox-scarred man came out, adjusting his tunic. In the cubicle, the prostitute was visible; a fat woman with face heavily whitened in lead, down which the kohl from her eyes had run in black streaks. She looked out into the room, and gave a leering smile that revealed brown teeth.
‘Felicia is free,’ said the madam.
‘I’m waiting for Camilla,’ said the youth in a high voice.
Carbo leaned close to him and whispered in his ear, in the conspiratorial tone of two men comparing notes. ‘Take Felicia instead or I’ll break your neck here and now.’
The youth swallowed, then stood. ‘Actually, I’ll go with Felicia.’
Felicia stretched out a hand, and when the youth was in reach, she grabbed him and pulled him inside. The curtain swung closed, and Carbo heard the youth give out a high-pitched cry that was suddenly cut off.
The other curtain opened, and a rough, dirty-looking man, maybe a dock worker or builder, came out with a satisfied grin written across his face. The curtain fell back behind him, concealing the occupant. He gave Carbo a wink, then said to the madam, ‘She’s fucking amazing, Priscilla.’ Then to Carbo, ‘Enjoy yourself mate.’ And he was gone.
Carbo rose and walked to the cubicle. Priscilla coughed. ‘Money first.’ She pointed to the prices on the walls. Carbo ignored her, and pulled the curtain aside.
Camilla was seated on the edge of the bed – a stone platform built into the wall with a thin straw mattress on top. She was naked, and when she recognised Carbo, she attempted to cover herself with her arms. Carbo turned his back on her.
‘Come on, Camilla,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘We’re going.’
‘I can’t leave,’ she said. ‘I’m working.’
‘Your shift’s over.’
‘If I walk out on them, they won’t have me back. They will find someone else to fill this cubicle.’
‘No they won’t. You’re young and popular. They might be annoyed, but they will want you back.’
‘What’s going on?’ asked Priscilla irritably. ‘Are you having her or what? I told you, cash up front.’
‘Get your clothes on,’ said Carbo. He heard Camilla dressing hastily.
‘Antiochus,’ called out Priscilla. ‘Get in here.’
The Syrian slave swaggered in. He had a club on a strap hanging from his belt, and he untied it and slapped it into his hand, looking at Carbo with a theatrical menace.
Carbo took one swift step forward and head-butted Antiochus in the centre of his face. The slave crumpled, slumped backwards against the wall, head lolling as blood poured from his nose. Priscilla put both hands to her mouth and Camilla groaned. The noises of sex from the other cubicle stopped abruptly, and the curtain was flung back. Felicia was on top of the lad, and both stared wide-eyed at the scene.
Priscilla found her voice. ‘Get out! Get out, both of you! And neither of you ever come back, or I will round up a group of thugs and have them beat you both to death!’
Camilla gave Carbo a shove, which did little to move his bulk. ‘You idiot.’ She turned to the madam. ‘Priscilla, I’m sorry…’
‘I don’t need this kind of trouble. Find somewhere else to work.’
‘Fine,’ said Camilla. ‘I was fed up with this shithole anyway. And you smell.’
She flounced out, and Carbo grinned and followed her.
Once they were outside, Camilla turned to Carbo and slapped him hard across the face.
‘You had no right to do that.’
Carbo rubbed the stinging cheek slowly, looking down at her.
‘That’s how I earn money. How I eat! As well as pick up my tips on gambling. You know, the ones I share with you.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Carbo. ‘I should have been more patient.’
‘Yes you should!’ She turned away from him, spent a moment collecting herself, then turned back.
‘What is it you want?’
‘Your expertise.’
Camilla looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Same deal as before?’
‘Or something similar.’
She considered for a moment. ‘Fine. There is a wrestling match. Proper rules, hold down for a count of three or a submission. Lots of money changing hands. The two contestants are quite evenly matched in size and experience, but one is generally thought to be the better fighter. I’ve heard that he has been bribed to throw the fight.’
‘Good, I’m in.’
‘Care to wager a bit more this time?’
>
Carbo hesitated. He could scrape together a few coins, a bit more than last time, but if he lost, it would really wipe him out. On the other hand, he really needed the money. And the thrill…
He felt a bit guilty, like Rufa would not approve. Now he had found her again, he shouldn’t need the solace that gambling brought.
He would stop soon. This win might be enough. He could get the tavern back on track. Gradually pay off his debts. And he would talk to Rufa, and live out his retirement quietly.
One last win. Then he would stop.
Chapter Seven
Carbo didn’t realise where Vespillo was taking him until he saw the signs painted on the outside wall of the house. Astrological symbols like a crab and a ram and a goat, and other mystic characters Carbo didn’t recognise.
‘Why have you brought me here?’
‘I just thought it would be nice for us to check in.’
‘He’s a fraud.’
Vespillo didn’t reply but knocked loudly on the door. A willowy slave answered the door with a radiant smile, but couldn’t disguise a flicker of annoyance when she recognised Vespillo.
‘My Master is resting now.’
‘When has that ever stopped me seeing him, slave?’ asked Vespillo with a friendly smile.
The slave gave a little show of reluctance, just for appearances, then let out a sigh, and stepped aside. Vespillo nodded his thanks and entered the vestibule. Carbo followed him through into the atrium, and took a seat on a marble bench.
Vespillo strode to the door leading to the interior of the apartment and let out a deep bellow.
‘Kahotep! Wake up! You have visitors!’
There was a crash from somewhere inside, like the noise of someone falling out of bed, then a string of curses. They waited, Vespillo’s face showing a trace of amusement as they listened to the sounds of someone hurriedly getting dressed. When he finally emerged, it was without the make-up that Carbo had seen him wearing previously. He wore a blue, embroidered robe that appeared to be back to front, and his eyes held gloops of sleep in the corners. Carbo suspected his hair would have been a mess too, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was completely bald.
Kahotep rubbed his face, and glared at Vespillo through his close-set eyes.
‘Shit. It’s you. Slave, why did you let them in?’
The girl shrugged helplessly.
‘Your greetings are always so warm,’ said Vespillo, smiling broadly. ‘May we have a few moments of your time?’
‘How much are you paying me?’
Vespillo looked over his shoulder. ‘What’s the state of your fire-fighting equipment? Do you have beaters and buckets of water at the ready? When was the last time you had an inspection?’
Kahotep let out an irritated grunt.
‘Of course, there is no charge for the Tribune of our local vigiles,’ he said, with a complete lack of grace. ‘Come through.’
He showed them to two comfortable chairs on one side of a table in the tablinum and sat opposite them.
‘So, Tribune Vespillo. To what do I owe this… pleasure?’ The last word was forced out through clenched teeth. ‘Is it about the murders?’
Vespillo’s smile vanished. ‘What do you know about the murders?’ His voice was suddenly menacing.
Kahotep shrank back, spreading his hands before him. ‘Only what everyone knows. That there is some crazy man killing randomly and leaving insane messages behind. A big man, with dark hair and a limp.’ Kahotep gave a sidelong glance at Carbo, who frowned.
‘If you know something you aren’t telling me…’ said Vespillo.
‘I swear to Isis and Serapis I know no more than anyone else on the streets.’
‘Make sure you come to me immediately if you hear anything. Understand?’
‘Of course, Tribune. You know I would.’
‘I know no such thing. Just remember how miserable I can make your life if I want to.’
‘I never forget that. Well, it’s been a lovely visit, so if that’s all…’ Kahotep started to rise, but Vespillo clamped his hand on Kahotep’s forearm and forced him back down.
‘Actually,’ said Vespillo. ‘That isn’t why we came to visit.’
Kahotep’s shoulders slumped. He flicked his fingers at his slave. ‘Three cups of wine. Nothing too expensive.’
‘Water for me,’ said Vespillo. He looked at Carbo.
The greater part of Carbo craved the wine, but he took a deep breath and said, ‘Water for me, too, please.’
Kahotep shrugged and waved the girl away. She hurried off and returned quickly with three cups and set them down before them. Carbo looked wistfully at Kahotep’s wine, then took a sip of his water. It was flat and tasteless in his mouth, but he was more thirsty than he realised and he drained the cup quickly.
‘So?’ prompted Kahotep.
‘You are aware my friend here suffered a tragic bereavement.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Kahotep looked at Carbo with genuine sympathy. ‘I am so sorry. No one had a bad word for Rufa. A real loss.’
Carbo inclined his head, a lump growing in his throat that made it hard to speak or swallow.
‘Yes,’ said Vespillo. ‘A wonderful woman, and truly loved by my friend. So imagine my feelings when Carbo told me he had been able to speak to her from across the Styx.’ Vespillo’s voice and expression were neutral, but Kahotep’s eyes narrowed.
‘He… what? How?’
‘I thought you knew all about this sort of thing, wise one. Communing with the gods and the spirits of the departed.’
‘Well, I dabble. It’s not a precise art.’
‘Carbo has been talking to a woman named Sitkamose.’
‘That charlatan?’ exclaimed Kahotep. ‘She wouldn’t know how to talk to the dead if they crossed the Styx to visit her personally for wine and honeycakes!’
‘So you are saying she is lying to Carbo?’
Carbo felt a sudden unease at the back of his neck.
‘Vespillo, what are you doing? Why are we here?’ he said.
Kahotep looked from Carbo to Vespillo uncertainly.
‘I… I wouldn’t say she is lying. I mean…’
‘Did you say you had three buckets or four?’ asked Vespillo innocently, looking towards the peristylium. ‘I really must arrange an inspection.’
Kahotep stared at Vespillo, then his shoulders slumped.
‘She is conning you, Carbo. She just wants your money.’
Carbo froze. His skin became clammy and damp. His heart raced.
‘No,’ he said, his voice cracking. ‘She can’t be. It was her.’
‘I know it seems real, Carbo. But listen to Kahotep. He knows what he is talking about.’
‘But. It was her. I know it. Sitkamose knew too much about her to be lying.’
Vespillo looked to Kahotep who sighed. ‘Sitkamose is good. Almost as good as me. When we say we are communing with the dead, we are actually reading your expressions, your words. We say vague things that could apply to anyone. We make guesses and when you respond positively we home in on those subjects. If we make a bad guess, we blame an evil spirit or that we can’t hear the dead person properly. And we ask around to find out more. Did she know all about Rufa on your first or second visit?’
‘The first visit was short,’ said Carbo. ‘She said she lost the connection and was too tired to try again.’
‘And the next time she knew a lot more about Rufa?’
‘Yes… but, how would she know that?’
‘Carbo, you are notorious in the Subura. And what happened to Rufa is common knowledge, too. She wouldn’t have to enquire too far before she had more than enough detail to convince you that she was speaking for her.’
Carbo shook his head. His hand trembled and he clenched it into a fist to hide it. He wished there was wine in front of him instead of water now.
‘I don’t believe it. It was her.’
Kahotep shrugged and sat back. ‘Believe what you want. It makes
no difference to me.’
Carbo looked at Vespillo. ‘Why are you doing this to me?’
Vespillo put a hand on Carbo’s shoulder. ‘Maybe believing all this gives you some small comfort. But it doesn’t help you, not really. You need to move on.’
‘Move on? How can you say that?’
‘I can say it because I know you can do it. I did, eventually, and you can too.’
Carbo shook his head. Anger and confusion warred inside him. He wouldn’t accept Kahotep’s words. He couldn’t.
‘Listen Carbo, maybe Kahotep is full of shit. It wouldn’t be the first time.’
‘Charming,’ muttered Kahotep.
‘I’m just saying, keep an open mind. Go and see her again. But test her. You aren’t stupid. Ask her about something that only you and Rufa would know.’
Carbo stood abruptly. ‘I’m not playing games, Vespillo.’
‘Neither am I, friend.’
‘I’m not so sure.’ He turned his back and stalked angrily from the house.
* * *
When Vespillo caught up with him in his tavern, Carbo was staring into a full of cup of wine. Beside him was a plate of bread and olives, untouched. Marsia was fussing around, cleaning and tidying, and throwing him concerned glances.
Vespillo sat opposite him, but Carbo didn’t look up. After a few moments of silence, Carbo said in a small voice, ‘I’m too scared to go and see her.’
Vespillo gripped his wrist. ‘I know. Do you want me to come with you?’
‘I don’t know. I’m embarrassed. Look at me. I’m shaking.’
‘Carbo, after all we have been through together. After what I have seen you do. You believe I would think any less of you for this?’
Carbo shook his head.
‘Thank you. I would appreciate the company.’
They walked together to Sitkamose’s house, and when she answered the door to his knock, she gave him a broad, gap-toothed smile.
‘Carbo, welcome back. I didn’t think we had an appointment until tomorrow.’
‘We don’t but… can I talk to her? Are you available?’
