by Alex Gough
‘And some fresh olives. And grapes. Apples. Honeycakes. I get hungry.’
Marsia couldn’t help dropping her eyes to Olorix’s vast belly. She kept thoughts about the benefits of maybe staying a little hungry to herself – she was often outspoken, but she wasn’t stupid enough to risk a beating for no reason.
Nevertheless, Olorix saw the direction of her gaze and frowned. He gestured towards the cubicle at one side of the room. Its tatty curtain was drawn back, and the stone bed within had no mattress.
‘The bed doesn’t seem to be made.’
‘It is not in use, master,’ said Marsia.
‘You mean we have no whores working here?’
‘We used to. A young boy called Philon. But he died…’
‘And you aren’t offering yourself because…?’
‘I don’t do that, master.’
Olorix let out a short bark of laughter.
‘Who told you that?’
‘My former owners. Both of them. They said I did not need to provide this service.’
‘Well, that changes now. Put up a sign. You obviously don’t have much experience and you aren’t that much to look at, but you aren’t too old, and you’re healthy. I would say four copper coins a go sounds about right.’
‘No, master.’
Olorix stiffened. ‘That’s not a word I here very often from a slave. Unless it is in answer to a question, such as, “is there any reason I shouldn’t punish you severely for disobedience?” But I think I will show my kind side and pretend you didn’t speak. You start tonight.’
‘No, master. I will not.’
Olorix sighed. He looked around the room, and his eyes lit on the broom, resting in a corner. He stood with an effort, and picked up the broom, gave the floor a little swish. He nodded to one of his bodyguards.
‘Bend her over the bar.’
Before Marsia could move, the bulky henchman grabbed her arm and dragged her towards the bar. She struggled, hissed, scratched and tried to bite. Her fingernails raked a bloody gouge in the man’s forearm, and he cursed and smacked her round the side of the head. It did little to calm her, so the other bodyguard joined in, taking her other arm. Together, they forced her face onto the bar. She turned her head to one side, her cheek pressed against the granite surface, and she could see the grime around the rim of the one of the depressions which held the big pots of soup and stew.
She heard Olorix swagger up behind her, and then felt him grasp the hem of her tunic and yank it up around her waist. Her bare backside was exposed to all the onlookers. She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself for what was to come. She had never felt so vulnerable and helpless, and terror of what he was about to do to her welled up inside. He drew the moment out, and her horrified anticipation heightened, as she imagined him abusing her with his member, or even with the broom.
When the handle of the broom cracked across her buttocks, it was almost a relief.
Until the pain hit her.
She had taken beatings before, but Olorix seemed particularly skilled. He paused long enough between each stroke for the pain to crescendo, peak and start to fade, before the next stroke fell. The guards held her firmly, but did nothing to stifle the screams coming from her.
It seemed to continue forever, but in fact was around a dozen swipes of the broom handle. Abruptly, the guards let her go. Her legs gave way, and she slumped to the floor, curled up and sobbing. She pulled her tunic down to protect her modesty as best she could, but when the material touched her buttocks it felt like fire, and she had to hold it away from her skin.
She looked up at Olorix, who was standing over her, through tear-misted eyes. He was breathing heavily, and she could see the bulge of excitement sticking out against his clothing from under his bloated gut. She wondered why he hadn’t taken her himself. But Olorix, for all his crassness, thought of himself as belonging to the higher echelons of society, and she presumed he didn’t want to put that side of himself on public show, lest it damage his carefully cultivated reputation.
‘Starting tonight,’ he said. ‘Four asses.’
She looked down, her defiance ended. Olorix looked at her contemptuously, then turned to leave. A croaky voice arrested him for a moment.
‘You know, I’ve always fancied a turn with her myself.’
Marsia stared at Vatius in horror. Had she heard right? Did the kindly old teacher really say those words?
‘Really?’ said Olorix, looking at the old man with a half-smile.
‘Oh yes,’ said Vatius. ‘She has a shapely calf. And a delightful bosom.’
‘Well,’ said Olorix. ‘Pay your money and you can take your turn.’
‘Ah, well there is my dilemma,’ said Vatius. ‘I’m not very good at sharing.’
‘That isn’t really my problem,’ said Olorix. ‘Take your turn or don’t.’ He reached for the door.
‘How about I make you an offer?’
Olorix grasped the handle but waited. ‘I’m listening.’
‘How about I have her to myself for two weeks? I’ll pay five sestertii a day.’
Olorix quickly did the maths. ‘That’s twelve and a half copper asses. She could earn me that with three men in one hour.’
‘She could,’ conceded Vatius. ‘But would she? There are a lot of prostitutes in Rome. Can she have three customers per day guaranteed? As you said, she isn’t much to look at. And don’t forget she has other duties. If she is on her knees in that cubicle, she won’t be serving the customers their wine.’
‘Hmmm.’ Olorix stroked his double chin. ‘I had rather hoped to see Carbo’s precious slave used by all and sundry, night in night out. But maybe having her taken by a geriatric old duffer like yourself would be just as humiliating. And business is business. You have a deal, old man.’
‘You’re too kind,’ said Vatius, and reached out his hand to seal the bargain. Olorix took it, pumped it once, then with one last leer at Marsia, he took his leave.
Vatius smiled at Marsia, who looked at him in horror.
‘Well, my dear, no time like the present. Come on.’ He put Myia on the floor, stood painfully, put both hands in the small of his back and stretched. Then he held out a hand to Marsia. She took it in a stupour, and allowed herself to be led to the cubicle. The soldiers watched them disappear behind the curtain with envious glances. In spite of Olorix’s and Vatius’ unkind words, Marsia was a handsome woman. Firm of jaw and thick of brow, not the typical picture of Roman beauty, but attractive in her way.
She looked at Vatius with profound disappointment. All this time, had the kindly old man being looking at her with lust? Dropping his eyes to her bust or buttocks when she wasn’t looking? Imagining her naked, in his bed? It felt like a betrayal. How a rich man must feel if he overhears a best friend saying that he only tolerates his company because of his money.
She swallowed to keep the sickness from rising. Then she knelt down and put a hand on his leg.
Vatius reached down and pulled her gently back to her feet.
She looked into his eyes uncertainly. He wanted something else? She closed her eyes and leaned forward to kiss him. Her lips met only air. Vatius had stepped back. She opened her eyes again. Vatius was gesturing to the bed.
‘Sit please, Marsia.’
She did as she was told, shifting on the stone bed gingerly to try to minimise the pain from her backside. Vatius sat beside her, pulled out his battered copy of Caesar’s Oedipus and began to read. After a moment, he glanced at her, and smiled sadly at the look of confusion on her face.
‘Oh my dear. What do you think of me?’
‘I don’t… understand.’
Vatius sighed and put the play down.
‘Marsia, you are an intelligent woman. But sometimes you don’t think. Look at me. I’m old. It’s been a long time since I was able to enjoy myself with a young woman. Not that I don’t appreciate beauty, and regardless of what Olorix, and indeed I, said earlier, you are a beautiful woman.’
‘So, you pai
d for me just so you could look at me? You could do that in the tavern for free.’
‘Oh Marsia. I understand why you find it hard to think the best of people. But you must realise, I did this for you.’
Marsia swallowed, and suddenly tears welled up. She put her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed quietly. Vatius patted her head and stroked her hair, until she recomposed herself.
‘But why the pretence? Why bring me back here? You could have just said you would pay for me not to be whored.’
‘Olorix would never have accepted that. He doesn’t need the money. His sole purpose was to hurt and humiliate Carbo. Everyone knew that Carbo wouldn’t sell your, um, feminine services, for any price. He wants to show how completely he has triumphed over your former master.’
‘But why? Why does he hate Carbo?’
Vatius patted Marsia’s knee.
‘I have known men like Olorix all my life. They have power, or money, but deep inside they are weak. Men like Carbo scare them. Men who are innately powerful. Physical and strong and self-reliant. And of course, well-liked. Or at least, he once was. So Olorix saw Carbo’s current situation, and spotted a chance to take advantage.’
Marsia nodded. Viewed that way, Olorix’s actions made more sense. He was never interested in Carbo’s material possessions. He wanted to break him spiritually.
‘But he would never have had the chance if Carbo hadn’t made those stupid bets. If that stupid Camilla bitch hadn’t talked him into it.’
Vatius stroked his chin. ‘Yes. I had presumed that Olorix had just capitalised on Carbo’s bad fortune. But what if he had engineered it?’
Marsia frowned, then her eyes widened. ‘You think maybe Camilla and Olorix are in it together?’
‘It has to be a possibility, doesn’t it?’
Marsia looked away. ‘I should have stopped him somehow. Tried harder to warn him. I knew she was trouble.’
‘You can’t blame yourself. Carbo has been in no mood to listen to anyone since he returned to Rome. Not Vespillo, not you, and certainly not an old fool like me.’
‘But it’s all too late anyway, isn’t it? Even if we found out that Olorix had cheated, what could Carbo do about it?’
‘If there was real proof, then Carbo could use the courts to try to reclaim what he had lost. There would be no guarantees, and the winner would probably just be the one who bribed or intimidated the jury the most successfully. But it is all irrelevant. Wherever Carbo is now, he can’t return here. Vespillo will have him arrested, and he will be tried and executed for these murders.’
Marsia grasped Vatius’ hand. ‘You don’t think he really did those horrible things, do you? Surely not Carbo.’
‘I would like to think not. But when a man is at his limits, who knows what he is capable of. Vespillo certainly thinks he did it. Or at least feels it is his duty to believe it.’
‘He didn’t,’ said Marsia firmly. ‘I know him better than anyone does. He couldn’t. It’s not in him.’
‘I admire your loyalty, dear, and I hope you are right.’
‘Vatius, what am I to do? How am I to help Carbo?’
Vatius shook his head sadly. ‘Just because I know the works of the great philosophers by heart, doesn’t mean I possess their wisdom.’
‘You’re the wisest man I know.’
‘Then you need to widen your circle of intellectuals, my dear.’
‘Vatius, what will happen to me? I appreciate your generosity, paying to stop me… to stop…’ She waved her hand at the bed. ‘But I know you aren’t a rich man. You can’t do this for ever.’
‘No. And Olorix probably wouldn’t allow it indefinitely either. He will get bored and want some new entertainment.’
‘Then what am I to do?’
‘I’m sorry, Marsia. This small thing I have done for you is all that is within my means. All we can do is pray that Fortuna, or whoever is your German god of luck, smiles upon you.’
Marsia stared at the wall, and a sense of hopelessness crushed her like a collapsing house.
* * *
Marsia flinched whenever the tavern door opened, terrified that Olorix was returning to humiliate and punish her further. This time though, it was just a small woman, barely more than a girl, unaccompanied. A faint smell of urine wafted around her.
‘We’re not open yet,’ said Marsia and turned back to her task, scrubbing the grease from the bar where it had slopped over the side of the stew pots the previous night. Then she looked up sharply.
The girl was still framed in the doorway, the light of the morning sun behind her making her features hard to see. Marsia squinted.
‘Sica?’
Sica stepped into the tavern. Marsia held her clenched hands to her chest, hardly daring to breathe.
‘Did you find him?’ Her voice was a whisper.
Sica nodded. Marsia let out her breath in a sob. Her shoulders slumped forward and she pressed one hand to her forehead.
‘I thought he was… he had…’
Sica stepped forward and took her hands, then threw her arms around Marsia. They hugged each other tight, then broke apart and looked into each other’s misty eyes.
Marsia gestured to a table. ‘Sit, please. I’ll bring you some wine and food.’
Sica sat, but said, ‘Just water please.’
Marsia brought her a cup of water and stood beside her. Sica frowned. ‘You don’t sit as well?’
Marsia shook her head, a sharp, jerky motion. Sica opened her mouth to question, then shut it again abruptly. Marsia knew that Sica was not a slow girl, and that she had been a slave herself. She knew intuitively what had happened. Casually, Sica got to her feet, and leaned against a wall. Marsia appreciated the gesture, allowing their subsequent conversation to be less awkward.
‘How is he?’
Sica pursed her lips.
‘Bad.’
‘Sick? Injured? Sad? Scared? Tell me, Sica. What’s going on?’
Sica held up a hand to stop the flow of words. Sica’s Latin was much poorer than Marsia’s and she needed time to parse coherent sentences.
‘Like he is broken. Too much wine. Too much grief. Too much hating himself.’
Marsia’s face fell. It wasn’t news to her, but the words were like dagger stabs.
‘But,’ said Sica. ‘I help. He get better. Slow.’
Welcome as the words were, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. Hadn’t she tried to make him better? Why had Carbo listened to this young girl who he had known for such a short space of time, rather than her, his sole slave, who was beside him all day, every day? She could rationalise it, knowing that Carbo had reached a point where he couldn’t get any lower, and needed to either accept help or die. But still it rankled.
‘No more wine. No more gambling. Clean clothes. Give him back some…’ she looked for the words.
‘Self-respect?’ suggested Marsia.
‘Yes. Dignitas? Is that what the Romans call it?’
‘It is. It’s a good start, Sica. But it isn’t enough. How can we make him the man he was?’
‘We can’t,’ said Sica. ‘But he can.’
Marsia looked into Sica’s eyes, then gave a smile. She knew what Carbo was capable of. She had seen the kind of apparently invincible enemies he had defeated. Now he had to overcome his most powerful threat. Himself. And only he could to that.
But he had friends. Sica and Marsia, at least.
‘What about these killings, though?’ said Marsia. ‘As long as he is wanted for murder, he can do nothing to restore his fortune.’
‘You think he did it?’
Marsia frowned at the suggestion. ‘Of course not. Do you?’
‘No. So we need to find out who did.’
It seemed impossible. And yet, for the first time in so long, Marsia felt a stirring inside. What was that unfamiliar feeling? Hope? Purpose? Maybe there was something they could do. And, if Carbo became Carbo again, if he saved himself, ju
st maybe he could save her.
Sica hesitated, then took Marsia’s hand. ‘How bad?’
Marsia swallowed. ‘Bad. But Vatius stepped in to prevent the worst. Though he can’t keep… that sort of thing… away forever.’ She explained what had happened the previous night, what Vatius had done to help.
‘Don’t worry. We help Carbo. Then Carbo help you.’
Could it really be that simple? But it was something to cling to. Carbo had proved his resilience. He could do it again. She just had to keep her faith in him.
‘So what should we do first?’ It felt strange to Marsia to ask for advice from one so young. But Sica was giving off an air of confidence that was inspiring.
‘I know you stuck here. Just listen. See what people say.’
‘And you?’
‘I speak to Vespillo.’
* * *
‘It’s good to see you looking so well,’ said Vespillo. ‘You’re a fuller now, I hear.’
‘All day deal with shit-stains,’ said Sica. ‘Like you, yes?’
Vespillo laughed. ‘Glad to see you haven’t changed. Yes, maybe our jobs aren’t so different. And we both have to get our hands dirty to do them well. So to what do I owe the pleasure?’
‘Pleasure?’ Sica looked suspicious.
‘Why are you here in my office, Sica?’
‘Oh. Need to talk about Carbo.’
‘Not to see my smiling face, then? I guessed as much. I don’t know what there is to say to you.’
‘He no do it.’
Vespillo sighed and gestured to a chair on the other side of his desk. Sica ignored the offer, so Vespillo had to look up at the girl from his seated position, small as she was.
‘I want to believe that. But the facts point another way.’
Sica shook her head emphatically. ‘He no do it,’ she said, even more firmly.
‘Listen. A man fitting his description has been seen walking away from the scene of more than one of the murders. A witness heard one of the victims call out Carbo’s name. And I found Carbo’s sword covered in blood.’
Sica looked uncertain, but only for the briefest moment.
‘He no do it,’ she said again. ‘He can’t. He is Carbo.’
