The Forgotten Legion

by Ben Kane

  'See you in the Senate tomorrow,' the lean man called after them.

  He stood in silence, holding the slave until the group was some distance away. Two personal bodyguards waited in the shadows. The girl peered at him nervously, hoping to be released, but when the noble 's piercing gaze turned back, it was filled with lust. Tightening his grip, he dragged her towards an alleyway.

  She whimpered with fear. It was obvious what was about to happen. Only the rapist had changed.

  'Be quiet, or I'll hurt you.'

  Glancing up from his latest pile of vomit, the burly equestrian saw the pair disappear. 'Probably planned it all, so he could have her to himself,' he muttered. 'That man will not stop at quaestor.'

  'He'll be a consul before long,' complained Caelius. The redhead had not seen the girl's fate.

  For centuries, Rome had been governed each year by two elected consuls, supported by military tribunes, judges and the Senate. It was a system that worked well if the participants complied with the law. Historically, the pair of officials, effective rulers of Rome, had changed every twelve months. This ancient statute had been passed to stop individuals from holding on to power. But since a civil war over enfranchisement thirty years before, Rome's democracy had been slipping into decline and the important positions had changed hands less than a dozen times in a generation. Ambitious nobles such as Marius, Cinna and Sulla had begun the trend, forcing a weakened Senate to let them retain the consulship long term. Now only a favoured few ever succeeded to the posts, which were jealously guarded by the richest and most powerful families in Italy. It took incredible drive to become a consul by sheer merit.

  'The prick will make a mistake eventually,' snarled Caelius. 'Everyone does.' Still seething with anger, the redhead knew he was too drunk to outwit his enemy. Dragging his companion away, he staggered towards the Lupanar.

  The lean man strode into the darkness, the girl held firmly by one arm. Waste and broken pottery discarded by the inhabitants of nearby houses littered the alley. Finding a suitable spot at last, he ripped her light shift off and shoved the slave to the ground. She fell awkwardly, exposing a triangle of dark hair at the base of her belly. Adjusting his toga, he swept open both legs with a foot and lowered himself to his knees. The girl cried out in terror. With a shove he entered her, sighing with pleasure.

  The lean man thrust in and out eagerly. His wife had not been well for some time and his physical needs had been neglected. Caught up with furthering an ambitious political career, he had gone for months without sex.

  The girl's eyes were wide with fear.

  'Look at me again and I'll cut your throat!'

  Hastily she obeyed, jamming a hand in her mouth to keep silent. Tears rolled silently from between closed lids. This was the lot of a slave.

  With a loud moan, he climaxed, pushing deep inside.

  She did not open her eyes as he got up, rearranging his toga.

  The lean man stared down with a satisfied smile. Even with a swollen, tearstained face, the girl was a real beauty. Lust sated, he could return home. He had to finish the speech on public spending for the next day. If it was well received, his chances of election as quaestor would be greatly enhanced. Having served in the priesthood of Jupiter and as a military staff officer, he was determined to proceed along the noble 's career path – the cursus honorum – as fast as possible.

  He was sure his father would have been proud to see how far an only son had risen. Though patrician, the family had not been wealthy. His father had worked hard in the Senate for many years to achieve the rank of praetor, just below that of consul, shortly before he died.

  Initially the young man's own career had been helped by the family's connections, which opened many doors that would have remained shut otherwise. Long years of listening to his father's conversations with political allies, watching debates in the Forum and attending society banquets had also paid off. He had become a consummate politician and a suitable marriage had cemented his social position. The union of an aunt to a powerful consul had brought him into the public eye, but when his uncle had died during a period of civil war, his progress had faltered somewhat. Sulla's bloody reign had been dangerous for anyone with different ideas. The first general ever to march soldiers into Rome, Sulla had executed virtually everyone who got in his way. It had earned him the nickname of 'the butcher'.

  Only the lean man's intelligence and will to survive had carried him through that time. Through sheer hard work, he had built up a network of friends among the rich and powerful and was now a rising star of the Roman political world. People like Cato and Pompey Magnus were starting to notice him. Marcus Licinius Crassus, one of the most prominent figures in Rome, had lent him huge financial backing, but the young politician needed smaller men's support too. It had been a good opportunity to show who led the group.

  By cowing Caelius into submission, the lean man had strengthened his dominance over more lowly equestrian friends. On the road to power, he needed obedient allies for a smooth passage. The capital was full of those who wanted to rule, but that position was really only open to a few. By playing his hand right, he too would be one of them one day.

  He came back to the present. 'Go home. Before someone less merciful finds you.'

  Disbelief flitted across the slave 's face, but it was instantly hidden. 'Thank you, Master.' She had seen the dagger and knew how easily he could have used it.

  'Be swift, or you'll end up in the Tiber.' The idea of killing the girl did not appeal – he wasn't a cold-blooded murderer. He turned and was gone.

  The girl waited until all sounds had disappeared into the night. Gripping her torn shift tightly, she fled through the dark streets towards her master's house. Returning late and without her basket of food, the reception from Gemellus would be even worse than what she had just endured. But there was nowhere else for her to go.

  Nine months later . . .

  The merchant opened the door without knocking and entered the small room, his face dripping with sweat. He stared down at the sleeping baby in the cot.

  Velvinna, who was nursing the other twin, gazed at her owner with a mixture of terror and hate.

  'More mouths to feed! At least this is a girl,' Gemellus said, scowling. 'If I'm lucky, she 'll have your looks. Sell her to a whorehouse in a few years.'

  He turned to Velvinna. The young mother's face crumpled with anticipation.

  'I want you back in the kitchen tomorrow. Two days' rest is more than enough!'

  Velvinna had no choice but to obey. Although exhausted from a long labour, she would have to fire the oven and clean the floors. The other slaves would help as much as they could.

  'Keep up with your work,' Gemellus said threateningly, 'or I'll leave both of them on the midden.'

  Only the poorest citizens left new babies to die on communal dung heaps. Velvinna clutched the infant closely to her. 'I will, Master!'

  'Good.' Gemellus bent over and squeezed her breast. 'I will visit tonight,' he grunted. 'Those brats had better not cry either.'

  She bit her lip until it bled, stifling her instinctive protest.

  The merchant leered at Velvinna from the doorway and was gone.

  She gazed down at the male baby. 'Feed, my little Romulus,' she whispered.

  There would be no golden bullae charms for her twins, no naming ceremonies at nine days of age. Like her, they were slaves, not citizens. Her milk was the only thing she had to give him. 'Grow strong and healthy.'

  One day you can kill Gemellus.

  And the lean one.

  Chapter III: Olenus

  Northern Italy, 70 BC

  The Vinalia Rustica had been and gone and still no opportunity had arisen for Tarquinius to get away from the latifundium and visit Olenus. Normally he enjoyed the annual festival celebrating the harvest, a riotous affair that lasted several days. This year had been different in more ways than one. Large amounts of wine and food had been consumed but Caelius had ensured celebrations did n
ot get out of hand. Just as Dexter had predicted, there had been no meat for the workers. The nobleman never wasted a single sestertius if he could avoid it. And Tarquinius was growing impatient. He desperately needed to talk to the haruspex about his vision, which had now recurred a number of times. But he dared not leave without permission because the vilicus knew about his wish to climb the mountain. Dexter's speciality lay in punishing the workers who had disobeyed Caelius' rules. It was not uncommon for men to die of the injuries he inflicted.

  About two weeks after talking to the foreman, the young Etruscan was summoned to Caelius' stone-flagged office early one morning. Tarquinius was delighted. Events were beginning to move again. It was still intimidating to be in the hard-faced Roman's presence. Tarquinius strongly disliked the estate 's owner – he could not have explained why – and his dream had only strengthened this feeling.

  Studying a parchment on his desk, Caelius ignored him for some time. Tarquinius waited, staring curiously at mementoes throughout the large, square room. Greek statues of the gods sat either side of a low altar. A bust of a man with a beaked nose and piercing gaze sat in an alcove, displayed so everyone who entered could see it. Shields and swords of different types hung from nails, trophies from Caelius' time in the army. The weapons, evidence of a world outside the latifundium, sparked Tarquinius' imagination. He had learned much from Olenus, but most of it was theory. These objects were real.

  The noble looked up at last. He had not noticed Tarquinius' interest. 'Too many animals have been killed recently,' he said, tapping a fingernail against his teeth. 'I'm giving you three days. I want half a dozen wolf pelts on the wall by then.'

  'Three days?' Tarquinius was stunned by the timing. 'Six wolves?'

  Why now? He had told Caelius about the losses a month earlier.

  'Correct.' Caelius' tone was icy. 'Unless someone else could do it better? Plenty of men would jump at the chance to avoid harvest work.'

  'I can do it, Master,' Tarquinius said hurriedly. It would give him the chance to get meat for Dexter.

  Caelius waved a hand in dismissal.

  Tarquinius had reached the door when the redhead spoke again.

  'Return late and I'll have you crucified.'

  'Master?' Shocked, he stared at Caelius blankly. The threat sounded genuine.

  'You heard me,' the redhead replied. His eyes were dark slits.

  Tarquinius bobbed his head and closed the door behind him. Alarmed by the cryptic remark, he went to the family's room and gathered up a few belongings, together with a bow and quiver. The thought of time with Olenus soon lifted his spirits. Grinning broadly, he kissed his mother goodbye and left the estate buildings behind.

  The small groves on slopes above the villa were full of slaves bringing in the olive harvest. The original trees had been brought from Greece hundreds of years before. Green olives and their valuable oil provided a huge part of Rome's wealth. Tarquinius wondered again why Caelius had not planted more of them to help with his financial problems.

  'Don't forget our deal,' the vilicus yelled when he saw Tarquinius. 'Otherwise I'll put you to work in the mill.' Grinding flour was even more backbreaking than cutting wheat, and a common punishment. 'It's good you're going up there,' Dexter added ominously.

  'What do you mean?'

  'Crassus has an interest in the old man. Gods alone know why.'

  Tarquinius opened his mouth to ask more, but the foreman had already turned away, shouting orders.

  What interest could Marcus Licinius Crassus have in Olenus?

  The immensely wealthy noble had defeated Spartacus the year before, ending the slave rebellion which had almost brought Rome to its knees. It was now common knowledge that the victory had been cleverly claimed by Pompey Magnus, his main rival. The lie had won him a full triumph from the Senate while Crassus had to be satisfied with a mere parade on foot. For months afterwards, the enraged Crassus had continually failed to regain the political advantage.

  But recently he had skilfully manoeuvred to become joint consul with Pompey, and in an initial show of unity, the pair had restored the tribunate, which had been abolished by Sulla. Only plebeians could serve in these posts. With their rights to veto bills in the Senate and to convene public assemblies to pass laws of their own, the tribunes were immensely popular with the Roman public. The reform had been a clever move and Crassus had immediately used his new-found recognition to stir up resentment against Pompey in the Senate. At only thirty-six, his co-consul was legally too young to serve in the post. In addition, he had never even served as a senator. Pompey had quickly heard about Crassus' tactics and soon the pair were publicly disagreeing with each other. Instead of working together as they were supposed to, their rivalry had become more bitter than ever.

  Tarquinius shivered.

  There could be only one reason for Crassus' interest. The bronze liver.

  Tarquin's sword. Caelius was planning to sell the sacred items to a man who wanted – needed – signs of divine approval.

  He walked on, mind racing. Time was suddenly of the essence.

  'Skiving again?' His leg manacles still in place, Maurus looked at Tarquinius sourly from his position halfway up a tree. In one hand the brown-skinned slave held a small, sharp knife to cut olives from the branches; he gripped the trunk with his other. A wicker basket hung from his back.

  'The master know about this?'

  'He's sent me to kill some wolves. Half a dozen in three days. Want to help?'

  Maurus' face paled at the idea of physical danger.

  Tarquinius mimed pulling back his bowstring and loosing an arrow. 'Keep picking, then.'

  The gnarled trunks and busy workers were soon left behind as he climbed above the tree line to see the surrounding countryside that he knew and loved so well. Lake Vadimon sparkled in the sunlight and he drank in the view, momentarily putting aside his worries at Caelius' and Dexter's comments.

  The powerful aroma of wild herbs filled Tarquinius' nostrils and he breathed deeply. Breaking off a small branch of rosemary from the nearest bush, he stuffed it into his pack to use later. The young man kept his eyes peeled for wolves, though it was unlikely he would see any in daytime. The predators lived in woods much higher on the mountain and came down to hunt only at dusk or dawn. He found traces of their passage here and there, in the form of spoor. There was even the carcass of an adult sheep near the track, bones picked clean of flesh by the birds. Only a jackal remained, sucking the marrow from a cracked femur. It darted away before he could string his bow.

  Tarquinius worked his way to Olenus' hut, continuously scanning the sky and slopes for unusual signs. The first thing the old man would ask was what there had been to see on the climb. He counted eight buzzards hanging on thermals that swirled over the peak. Pleased there weren't twelve and that the clouds appeared innocuous in shape and number, Tarquinius clambered sure-footedly up the light scree covering the mountainside.

  Spotting Olenus' tiny dwelling, his pace quickened. Despite the altitude, the temperature had been rising and he was looking forward to a rest. The makeshift hut where his mentor lived was built into the edge of a clearing, with commanding views south to the lake and beyond. It was one of Tarquinius' favourite places, full of good memories.

  'Finally you grace me with your presence.'

  He spun round to find Olenus standing on the track behind.

  'How did you get there?' Tarquinius was so relieved to find the haruspex alive that he nearly hugged him.

  Olenus smiled and adjusted his leather hat. 'I have my ways. Good to see you, boy. Notice anything on the way up?'

  'Nothing much. A jackal. Eight buzzards.' Tarquinius made an apologetic gesture. 'I'd have come before, but the harvest took an age to bring in.'