by Alex Gough
‘You’re lying to me. You are just trying to… to…’ He glanced to his side, then turned round rapidly in a full circle. ‘Veleda? Veleda! Where have you gone?’ His voice held tones of panic.
‘Sextus. She was never here. She never came to Rome. She is dead.’
Sextus stared at Carbo and his eyes held absolute despair. Tears welled in the corners, trickled down both cheeks.
‘She can’t be. She guided me. I… loved her.’
‘I’m sorry, Sextus. Come back down with me. We can talk. You can help me understand.’
Sextus took a step back, then another, closer to the edge. Carbo put out a hand in warning. ‘Be careful!’
‘It doesn’t matter. If she wasn’t with me in body, she was here in spirit. And I did what she wanted. I made her proud of me.’
Carbo reached out towards him. ‘Come, Sextus. Let’s return to the ground. You can teach me her words.’
‘No.’ A firmness had returned to his tone. ‘I said it ends here. There will be sacrifice. So that Rome will see her truth.’ He took another step backwards.
‘Sextus, stop!’
His heels were on the edge of the roof now. He looked Carbo straight in the eyes.
‘Please, brother.’
Sextus folded his hands over his chest, and leaned backwards. Carbo darted forward, lunged for him. He caught a piece of his tunic in his fist.
The fabric ripped, leaving him clutching a small handful of wool. Silently, Sextus tumbled through the air. Carbo watched him all the way down, until the moment of impact, the sound of the wet thud dulled by distance. Tears fell from Carbo’s eyes, dropped like rain onto his brother’s body.
The onlookers looked down in curiosity at the dead man. Two slaves emerged from the temple, and at the direction of the priest, they took him by the feet and dragged him away. The priest shooed the crowd, and the excitement over, they shrugged and dispersed.
Soon, there was no sign that anything had happened, except for a dark stain on the flagstones.
Chapter Nineteen
Vespillo looked up as Carbo entered his office.
‘I would say you look like shit, but I’ve seen you looking worse.’
‘Thanks.’ Carbo had spent the night at Sica’s, nervous exhaustion and profound fatigue uniting to render him unconscious until the sun was high in the sky. He had woken to a new world. Not the sort of new world that Cicurinus had envisaged. Just new for him. No longer wanted for murder. No longer subject to Olorix’s myriad mockeries and humiliations. And, he hoped, no longer a slave to gambling and drinking. The last was more tentative, but Sica had shown him he could do it, and she had assured him she was going to support him as long as he needed it.
Could the same be said for Vespillo? After what had passed between them over the last few weeks?
Vespillo narrowed his eyes.
‘Are we good?’
Carbo considered then gave a short, sharp nod. Vespillo looked at him carefully, and then gave him a half-smile.
‘And how much trouble are you in with Pavo and the Urban Prefect?’
Vespillo waved the concern away, but Carbo saw an uncertain look in his eyes, and wondered how much his friend had sacrificed in standing up for him. Then another look came into Vespillo’s eyes. He looked down and scratched the back of his thumb.
‘Fabilla wants to see you,’ he said cautiously.
Carbo swallowed, and for a moment he found it hard to form words.
‘I think… I think I would like that too,’ he said.
Vespillo’s smile broadened.
‘Anyway, thanks for coming over so promptly. I know you must still be tired, and you have other things to do, but this is important.’
Carbo felt a familiar unease growing inside him that had started when he was disturbed by Pinarius, coming to Sica’s to inform him Vespillo requested the pleasure of his company as soon as it was convenient.
‘So, it seems Olorix died intestate,’ said Vespillo. ‘It doesn’t surprise me. Men like that always think they will live forever.’
‘I see,’ said Carbo, not really seeing at all.
‘Furthermore, since he died, we have had a number of people coming forward, testifying to his activities. Lots of claims of criminal activity. Fixing races. Extortion. Bribery. It’s likely that most of the riches he has accumulated will be confiscated by the state. People who feel they have been taken advantage of by him can of course apply for restitution in the courts.’
Carbo raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re saying I should sue his estate?’
Vespillo shook his head. ‘That would take a long time. And be very expensive. And once the state has their hands on money and property, they are very reluctant to ever let it go.’
Carbo nodded. He didn’t feel disappointed. For all Olorix’s trickery, and Camilla’s duplicity, he really couldn’t blame anyone else for his losses. He was alive, and free. That was enough. He could take on bodyguard work. Or help Sica in her fullers. It didn’t matter.
Vespillo tossed a couple of scrolls across his desk to Carbo.
Carbo picked them up curiously. ‘What are these?’
‘Plancus found them amongst Olorix’s private documents when he was searching his house. He thought I might prefer to keep them out of the hands of the authorities. Restore them directly to their rightful owner, without the need for protracted litigation.’
Carbo squinted at the scrawled writing, reading slowly and carefully. His eyes opened wide as he realised what he held.
‘These are the deeds for my farm and tavern!’
Vespillo smiled.
‘You know what? I know it’s early, but I feel like a drink. Do you know anywhere decent?’
Carbo grinned broadly. ‘I think I might.’
‘Oh, and you might want to bring this with us.’
He passed Carbo a felt cap. Carbo turned it over in his hands, puzzled. Then understanding dawned, and he looked at Vespillo gratefully. ‘Thank you. Friend.’
They grasped hands, exchanged a wordless moment, then set off for Carbo’s newly recovered tavern.
When they entered, Myia was first to react, jumping off Vatius’ lap and barking excitedly at Carbo’s feet. He bent down to tousle the little dog’s head.
Marsia emerged from the backroom to see what the noise was about. When she saw Carbo, she pressed both hands to her mouth. Then she ran to him, and held him tight.
He hugged her back, and they were both crying, wetting each other’s shoulders with tears of relief and joy.
Eventually Carbo disentangled himself from the hug. He put his hands on Marsia’s shoulders, then dried her eyes with his tunic sleeve.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘So sorry, for what I did, how I behaved.’
Marsia opened her mouth to speak, but Carbo put a finger to her lips. ‘But most of all, I’m sorry that I didn’t do this a long time ago.’
He took the felt cap from beneath his tunic, and gently, almost reverentially, placed it on her head. She reached up to touch it with her fingertips, stroking it in disbelief.
‘Is it really… you’re giving me the pileus?’
‘No one deserves it more. I was selfish, not giving it to you sooner. I suppose… I didn’t want to lose you.’
‘Carbo, you must know I’m not going anywhere, with or without this.’
Carbo nodded, swallowing hard, not trusting himself to speak.
‘Of course,’ said Vespillo, ‘your manumission is not official until you have gone before the Praetor, and had your head shaved, and so forth. But we’ll sort the formalities out in short order.’
Marsia didn’t seem to be looking. She leaned forward, and kissed her former master’s cheek gently. Then once more, tentatively, as if it might have disappeared already, she touched the pileus, the felt cap, the symbol of emancipation. For the first time since she had been taken from her family by the Romans, all those years ago, she was free.
Author’s note
I hope yo
u have enjoyed spending time with Carbo again after a long hiatus caused by other writing commitments (namely four novels in the Imperial Assassin series!). It was five years from planning and starting to write the first few chapters of this book to finishing it, yet hanging out with Carbo again was like meeting up with one of those old friends you haven’t seen for yonks, and the conversation picks straight up like you last saw them the day before.
There isn’t a lot to discuss about the contemporaneous history of this novel, since the story doesn’t touch too much on the real events of the time. Tiberius was in self-imposed exile in Capri, and Sejanus the Praetorian Prefect was the de facto ruler of Rome. While this may have been a concern to those of senatorial and equestrian rank, who feared his ambition and power, it would have likely had very little impact on the inhabitants of the Subura, who continued to work, struggle, fight, love, laugh, be born and die, without interference from the state. There really was a plague of cold sores in Rome around this time, and public kissing was outlawed. And Julius Caesar really did write a play about Oedipus, and the fact that it is lost to time suggests it may not have been as well received as his autobiographical histories.
Serial killers in Ancient Rome are not well-documented. One murderer who is commonly thought of as one of the first serial killers was Locusta, a poisoner who worked for Agrippina the Younger and Nero. But she appears to have been more of a paid assassin or executioner than the sort of person we associate with serial killers in modern times, with the usual presumption of some form of mental instability associated with their behaviour. Did Jack the Ripper style serial killers exist in Ancient Rome? We will likely never know, but basic human psychology and behaviour has not evolved significantly since those times, even if culture has changed. So it would seem likely there were individuals who for self-gratification, or because of mental delusions, felt the urge to kill. If this is the case, why didn’t we hear about them? Because, as explored in this book, no one “important” in Rome cared about the poor, provided they weren’t rioting. If Jack the Ripper had been active in the Subura in the first century, it is likely that the authorities would not have batted an eyelid, and it wouldn’t have even made a passing mention in the histories. Of course, the locals would have been scared, and there would have been some attempt at mob justice, and likely some innocent scapegoat would have been accused and beaten to death if they couldn’t find the real culprit. But the poor didn’t write the history books.
This novel is just fiction. Could it have happened for real? You can decide.
Alex Gough 2021
Acknowledgements
Thanks to Michael Bhaskar and Kit Nevile from Canelo for their advice and help, to Laurel Sills for a great copyedit, and to Naomi and Abigail for all their support. And of course to my readers – without you this whole exercise would be pointless!
About the Author
Alex Gough is an author of Roman historical adventures. The Carbo Chronicles, including Watchmen of Rome and Bandits of Rome, was written as a result of a lifelong obsession with ancient Rome, and the culmination of a lot of research into the underclasses of the time. He has also written a collection of adventures following Carbo and other characters from Watchmen of Rome, where you can learn more about their rich lives.
For reviews of Roman fiction, and articles about Roman history go to www.romanfiction.com
Also by Alex Gough
Carbo and the Thief
Who All Die
Carbo of Rome
Watchmen of Rome
Bandits of Rome
Killer of Rome
The Imperial Assassin
Emperor’s Sword
Emperor’s Knife
Emperor’s Axe
Emperor’s Spear
First published in the United Kingdom in 2021 by Canelo
Canelo Digital Publishing Limited
31 Helen Road
Oxford OX2 0DF
United Kingdom
Copyright © Alex Gough, 2021
The moral right of Alex Gough to be identified as the creator of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Ebook ISBN 9781800325005
Print ISBN 9781800325241
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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