Aculeo returned home, exhausted and apprehensive at the same time. Sekhet’s right, he thought. A man like Ralla likely has a thousand ears and eyes about the city – if he learns what we have on him, he’ll try to crush us before we can act on it. This is not my battle anymore, it never truly was. I’ve done what I can. It’s for men like Capito to finish it. I need to gather Calisto and the girls so we can flee the city while we still can.
As he stepped through the door of his lodgings, Pesach practically attacked him. “Where’ve you been?” the man demanded.
“It’s a long story.” Pesach’s stay had become increasingly difficult to tolerate of late. He never ventured outside, never bathed, spent most of his time drinking Aculeo’s wine, eating his food and sleeping and had become as clinging and wheedling as an old woman. “Where’s Gellius?”
“How should I know? He got himself shitfaced drunk and stormed out of here.” Pesach scowled and slumped back into the slingback chair that had become his permanent headquarters of late. He belched and scratched absentmindedly at his crotch. “Tell me again what happened between you and Corvinus.”
“I don’t have time for this,” Aculeo said irritably. He tried to walk past him but Pesach stood up suddenly, blocking his way.
“Tell me again about you and Corvinus,” he slurred, his breath stinking of fermented fish paste and sour wine.
“Pesach, I’m tired, and I’ve many things to do, so if it’s all the same to you …” Aculeo pushed his way past the other man. “Xanthias,” he called.
“Yes, Master?” Xanthias replied, emerging from Aculeo’s cubiculum, rubbing his eyes.
“Were you sleeping in my bed again?”
“Master, I would never even consider such a thing!” the slave said, visibly shocked.
“Pack our things. We’re leaving.”
“Of course, Master. An easier task each time we do it, might I say, given how dramatically our possessions have diminished. Where are we running off to this time?”
“As far as we can go,” Aculeo said. “Oh, and set aside Posidippus’ documents. I’ll need you to take them to Capito before we go.” Xanthias grumbled vague complaints but set to work all the same.
“And what of Gellius and me?” Pesach demanded. “Where shall we go?”
“Stay here if you like,” Aculeo said. “Or go. I’ve done what I can for the both of you. I need to care of myself now.”
“I see. That’s a new thing, then, is it?” Aculeo ignored him, heading towards his cubiculum. “You know I used to think you were just a fool,” Pesach called after him as Aculeo changed into some fresh clothes.
“Oh did you?” Aculeo said, weary of the game.
“Yes. The way you lived. You were always such a rich, pompous prick. All the parties you threw, your ostentatious villa, and that fine wife of yours, Titiana. She really was lovely by the way, such a fine ass, and those beautiful milky tits.”
“Shut your mouth, Pesach.”
The other man ignored him, just closed his eyes, lost in his recollections. “Yes, you were a very lucky man. The way you spent your fortune, throwing money away like flower petals cast upon the water. You must have thought yourself a god.”
Aculeo glanced around at his shabby little flat. “There’s not much casting of flower petals now, is there.”
“No indeed,” Pesach cackled. “Then, when it all fell apart and the money started to disappear, and we all lost our fortunes while you continued to live your life in that fine villa of yours, I assumed you must have been a thief. That you stole it from us. It was the only explanation I could think of.”
“My Master’s no thief!” Xanthias cried indignantly.
“He’s a poor one if he is,” Pesach acknowledged. “Now just today, I’ve come to realize I was right in the first place. You’re just a simple fool,” he said, his bleary eyes blinking, his words so slurred they were barely intelligible. Xanthias offered no defense this time.
“I’ve things to do,” Aculeo said, bristling.
“Yes, Aculeo, you’re just a fucking idiot. It wasn’t you who was the thief – it was Corvinus.”
Aculeo’s irritation suddenly boiled over into a red hot fury. All the hurts, fears, insults and resentments that had formed his life of late congealed at once. Corvinus, a good, kindly and generous man who had been like a father to him, to be called a thief by this stinking drunk? He moved in fast, his fist raised to strike the man.
Xanthias leaped in, holding him back. “No, Master! Stop!”
Pesach merely laughed. “Why not? Let him come! I don’t care anymore. You can’t do anything to me I haven’t endured a dozen times or more these past few wretched months.”
“Corvinus was my dearest friend and an honourable man!” Aculeo cried.
“He was a thief and a coward!”
“He can hardly speak for himself now, can he?”
“No, but these can,” Pesach said, shoving the scorched remains of Flavianus’ tablets across the table towards him.
“What are you talking about?”
“I read what was on the tablets.”
“How? The wax was completely melted.”
“Yes, but the wax inscriptions left impressions in the back wooden panel. I was able to reveal them with powdered charcoal pressed on papyrus. I admit I wasn’t able to read all of it mind you, but still …” Pesach started giggling like a child.
“And what did you find?” Aculeo demanded.
“There were details of the company’s financial obligations to Marcellus Flavianus dated the 14th Day of Augustus last year.”
“So what? I have records of the company’s obligations already, not to mention what I have from the documents Corvinus left behind.”
“I know, I know,” Pesach said dismissively. “I’ve already been through those in great detail. The problem is the numbers don’t match those recorded on the tablets. According to my calculations, the actual assets of the company could never have been more than two million sesterces, and that was at its peak over four years ago. As of the 14th Day of Augustus, the company’s debts were close to seven million sesterces.”
Aculeo looked at the man in disbelief. “You must be wrong. The first shipwrecks didn’t occur until the month of October, two months later. The company’s finances had been fine until then.”
“A fair point,” Pesach said, waggling his index finger in the air. “And so Gellius and I followed up with the Harbour Master’s logs this morning. There was no record of any ship belonging to or chartered by the company shipping so much as a turnip past last Maius, and that was a single freighter called the Winged Bull headed to Puteoli, bearing 2,000 amphorae of ordinary wine, 1,500 amphorae of oil and 2,300 modii of barley. It was barely half-full, the records said. The company’s only recorded shipment prior to that last year was two months before, the month of Martius, involving a similar load.”
“But that makes no sense at all,” Aculeo said. “We lost ten ships enroute to Puteoli in October, a dozen more in December.”
“You lost the money you provided Corvinus certainly, but my bet is the company’s ships didn’t exist outside of whatever papers he showed you. He stole it from you.”
Aculeo felt a chill stretch its talons out from the pit of his stomach. “But I saw them with my own eyes,” he said. “I watched them being loaded in the harbour.”
“I’ve no doubt you saw some ships being loaded. You can see that any day you wander down to the harbour. Their provenance, however, is another question entirely. Remember what I said before? There were too many ships in your records by far. There aren’t enough ships or grain in the world to hold what they said. Flavianus’ records confirm the lie. The company’s ships never sank enroute to Puteoli. There never were any ships to sink. Iovinus didn’t survive a shipwreck – he simply fled the city with the only thing of any value that remained in the company – the tablets linking Flavianus to this scheme.”
Aculeo felt the room spinning around. Could it
be true? he wondered. How could it be? I lost everything over this, my family, my fortune. “It’s not possible,” he whispered hoarsely. “Corvinus was my dearest friend, he was like a second father. He couldn’t have lied to me all along, knowing full well it would ruin me. I don’t believe it.”
“You were already ruined, Aculeo,” Pesach scoffed. “You simply didn’t realize it yet.”
“But he convinced me to invest everything I had left in the final weeks to support … what?”
“To keep the lies afloat a little longer. Perhaps he truly did think there was a way to still keep things going.” Pesach narrowed his eyes as he looked at Aculeo. “You don’t look well. Xanthias, fetch him some wine.”
“You and Gellius already drank it all,” the slave said sourly.
“Oh, right. Sorry.”
Aculeo stood up abruptly and headed towards the door. “Master? Where are you going?” Xanthias asked.
“To find Calisto.”
“Ah yes, don’t forget your whore,” Pesach said.
“Fuck you Pesach – she’s not a whore,” Aculeo growled. “She’s a hetaira.”
“It’s as a chariot to a wagon, isn’t it?” Pesach said. “It may look prettier and cost you more but it’s used for much the same purpose.”
Aculeo lunged across the table, turning it over, striking the man across the face once, and again. Pesach didn’t even bother to defend himself, he just gave his maddening laugh.
Xanthias seized his master around the chest, pulling him off. “Stop it, you’ll kill him!”
“Let him, what do I care?” Pesach cackled and coughed, blood dripping onto his tunic from his nose and mouth.
“Maybe you’re right – maybe I am a fool,” Aculeo said, trembling with anger. “What does it matter in the end? Whatever happened to Corvinus and Iovinus and the company is over and done. I’ve lost Titiana and Atellus, my fortune, my honour and everything else I held dear. It’s all gone. There’s nothing I can do to get it back. But I’ve got something worth living for again, and I won’t lose it as well. I can’t. So I’ll get Calisto and the girls to safety. And I’ll finish what I’ve fucking started.”
Aculeo was still shaking when he went to the Baths of Sabinus four blocks over. He couldn’t go to Calisto like this, still filthy from the journey to the wretched farm. He entered the showers, stood gratefully beneath a funnel of cold water which doused him head to foot, wincing at the stinging sensation where the water washed across his face and scalp. The water swirled pink with blood and red clay around his bare feet, trickling down the drain.
He headed into the vapour baths and found a bench well away from the braziers of hot coals, the steam enveloping him like a thick cocoon. His head was ringing with insane thoughts. Could Corvinus have actually been a thief all these years? Building an empty empire on lies? How could he have allowed me to do the same? How could I have been such a fool to follow him blindly, sacrificing everything … Fuck!
Enough! he thought, I can’t let it distract me now. I have to get Calisto and the girls away from this damned city, tonight if possible before Ralla has a chance to respond. Capito will have the documents he needs to make the arrest as long as he can get the advocates on our side as well. No matter how powerful Ralla might be, he’s still just a man, isn’t he? Still, he’ll be no less dangerous once he’s arrested. He’ll be like a cornered animal, and prison walls will likely do little to hinder him.
Aculeo closed his eyes for a moment, but found rest elusive. He couldn’t get the nightmarish images of the farm out of his head, the cries of the pigs as they’d been slaughtered, the sensation of the scorching, oily heat of the fire on his face, Corvinus’ smiling, liar’s face and Pesach’s maddening laugh …
Slaves stood outside Calisto’s villa. Ralla’s men, Aculeo realized. He waited until dark, hiding in the shadows, but the guards gave no indication they’d be leaving anytime soon. The lamps in the villa finally dimmed for the night. It devoured him, the thought of Ralla being there with Calisto and the children now like a viper in the nest. They couldn’t wait any longer. He decided to return home, gather his things then return for them.
He made his way along the dark winding streets to his flat. He realized before he even set foot across the doorstep that something was amiss. The door hung limply from its hinges. Inside, the furniture had been overturned, the chairs smashed and broken against the plastered mud-brick walls. Did Pesach throw another tantrum, he wondered. There was no sign of him or Xanthias though. What then? Ralla? Theopompus? He could only hope Xanthias, Gellius and Pesach had managed to escape in time.
The door to his cubiculum was open. His storage chests had been dumped out on the floor, the funeral masks of his ancestors lay scattered, the waxen faces staring at him accusingly with their empty eyes. A few of them had been stepped on, destroyed. It was a senseless, sickening loss. He searched frantically through the flat but Posdippus’ documents were all gone. Shit. Shit! That’s what they were after. How could they have even … ah, someone at the Titles Office must have told them, he realized wretchedly. Which means the records there have likely been stolen as well. Capito will be left with no evidence to go on. Fuck!
Something sounded in the street outside, the sound of many pairs of boots marching against the paving stones. They’re back. Aculeo slipped down the stairs, his back against the wall, heart pounding in his chest. He could hear them outside the door now. He slipped out the posticum into the tiny courtyard, his heart pulsing in his chest. As he clambered over the wall then slipped into the alley, he wondered desperately whether it wasn’t already too late.
Aculeo slumped on a hard bench in the backroom of the healer’s shop and gazed out the window, the early morning sky stained the colour of an old, forgotten bruise. He closed his eyes, leaning his head against the wall, but his mind still raced in circles. After escaping his house he’d tried calling on Capito but the Magistrate’s slaves claimed their master had never returned home from the trip to the farm, nor was there any sign of him at his offices in Beta. Meanwhile Ralla’s slaves maintained their post outside Calisto’s villa. Aculeo had waited out the night in a back alley tavern before making his way to Rhakotis when the Night Guard finished their rounds.
He’d finally drifted off into a sort of sleep when Sekhet appeared. “You’ve had me running about so much of late my patients are quite distraught,” she announced as she dropped wearily into a chair, her eyes underscored with dark circles. “Fortunately they save up all their illnesses for me to take care of upon my return.”
“How’s Dryton?” Aculeo asked.
“No better. I was up with him most of the night – the arrow seems to have done its job too well I’m afraid.”
“Poor fellow,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Ralla’s done his job also. Capito never returned home – he must have been taken. Ralla’s guards watch Calisto’s villa like a hawk. Xanthias, Gellius and Pesach are also missing.”
“Ah.”
“The documents I had linking Ralla to the farm were stolen. Likely the Titles Office deeds as well. I wouldn’t be surprised if he hasn’t already had Callixenes murdered.”
“Clever man,” Sekhet mused. “He’s slipped the net quite neatly.”
“I should have gotten everyone out of Alexandria days ago when I had the chance,” Aculeo said bitterly. “We’ll never be able to leave safely now – the city gates and harbours are surely being watched.”
“There are always ways. You just need to clear your head.”
“I need to talk to Calisto.”
“And how exactly do you intend to do that?” Sekhet snapped. “If what you say is true, Ralla’s simply sitting back, waiting for you to try such a foolish thing.”
“What else can I do? I’ve nothing left!”
“There’s something else that might interest you.” She took out a leather pouch and tipped it onto the scarred wooden table, spilling out half a dozen oily dark spheres, their potent incense smell filling the lit
tle room.
“More opium,” he said, looking at her in surprise. “Where did you get it?”
“Dryton was suffering terribly last night. He was unresponsive to anything else I had. So I went to the Agora and found a Cosian merchant who had a substantial inventory on hand. I inquired where I might get more, he mentioned a supplier in Canopus. A fellow Cosian it turns out.”
“Posidippus?”
“That’s the name he gave, yes,” Sekhet said with a smile. “It seems your old colleague has risen from the dead.”
“I need to get to Canopus.”
“One of my nephews can take you as far as Demanhur on his fishing barge. A thirty stade walk to Canopus from there, but the harbour in Demanhur is small and unguarded which should give you one less thing to worry about. But you’ll need to leave right away.”
“You’re brilliant,” Aculeo said, embracing the old woman.
“So many wondrous revelations in one morning,” Sekhet said.
Aculeo started towards the door, then turned around. “Promise me something.”
“I’m too old to make rash promises.”
“Watch out for Calisto and the girls while I’m gone,” he said. “I need to know they’re safe.”
“I’ll do what I can.” Sekhet was silent for a moment. “Have you given thought to what you and Calisto might do when all this is over? Assuming you’re still alive, of course.”
“We’ll leave Alexandria, live out our lives in peace somewhere, far away from all this madness.”
“A pleasant dream,” she acknowledged. “And Calisto shares it, does she?”
Aculeo narrowed his eyes in irritation. “Sekhet, please, just watch out for them, will you?”
The healer considered him for a moment, then gave a reluctant nod.
Dusk was falling when the barge finally reached Demanhur, the last vestiges of daylight draining from the sky. Sekhet’s nephew steered towards the makeshift harbour, a rough wooden dock at the end of a dirt road.
Furies Page 30
