The Forgotten Legion

by Ben Kane

  'Gemellus, you say?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  The official considered whether to turn the boy away or not. Crassus had dealings with countless people, not least the merchants whose business kept the wheels of industry turning. Practically all of them owed him money. And for those who did not, Crassus would go to any lengths, make himself amenable to anyone he came across, just so long as he obtained what he wanted. There would be some advantage to be had from this.

  'Wait here.'

  The slave walked away, the note held at arm's length.

  'Effeminate fool! Thinks he 's so bloody important.' The doorman snorted, shifting angrily on his stool. Behind him lay a sword, spear and wool blanket. It was where he lived and slept, much like Juba.

  Relaxing slightly, Romulus looked round with awe. The flagstones leading off on each side, into the house proper, were of solid green marble.

  Magnificent statues of the gods, better carved than he had ever seen, lined the hallways. It was a clear manifestation of enormous riches. Gemellus was well off, but this put his wealth into the shade.

  Crassus' ways of making money were well known. Under Sulla he had profited hugely from the executions of proscribed nobles, buying up their seized properties cheaply. Other methods were similarly unsavoury. As most buildings in Rome were wooden, fires were common and large areas were regularly razed to the ground. Crassus would visit affected quarters with his private fire brigade, refusing to put out the flames unless the owners of burning tenements sold for knockdown prices on the spot. It allowed him to rebuild and sell for huge profits. While other equites admired the ruthless practice, citizens despised it. Rumours abounded that the nighttime blazes were not accidental, but the proceeds had added to Crassus' incredible wealth. He had only one other purpose in life: to become the Republic's leading citizen. To achieve this, Crassus needed massive public support. Military success was the best method of ensuring that in Rome and so he determined to forcibly expand the state 's borders once he became governor of Syria. His only problem was that the more popular Pompey wanted the job too.

  The atrium walls in front of Romulus had been covered in stucco and then painted. Aware of his low status, he strained to see without moving more than his head. Hunting scenes covered one side of the well-lit room, while the other depicted Crassus leading armies in battle. He jumped as the doorman spoke.

  'That's the master defeating Spartacus.'

  Everyone knew the story of the Thracian gladiator who had taken up arms against the state. The slave rebellion had been the biggest threat to Rome since Hannibal a hundred and fifty years before.

  Romulus opened his mouth to reply, but fell silent as a brown-haired man with an unsmiling round face passed. The stocky noble was in his early thirties, clad in a toga of the finest fabric. He glanced uninterestedly at them.

  Romulus waited until the figure had disappeared through a door down the corridor. Slaves knew it did not pay to attract attention.

  'Spartacus the Greek?' Since first hearing the story, Romulus had idolised the man who had defied all the rules to throw off his chains. It had given him hope, fuelled his own dream of seizing freedom. It was a dream he had never articulated, except to Juba.

  The big doorman sighed. 'Such a leader.'

  Romulus gasped. 'You knew Spartacus?'

  'Quiet! You'll get me killed.'

  Romulus moved closer to the slave, whose tattooed face had turned sad. There was a long silence before he began to whisper.

  'I was in Capua the day Spartacus struck down the lanista. A gladiator was injured and could not fight. Flaminius began to beat him cruelly, as he often did at such times.'

  Romulus was rooted to the spot.

  'Spartacus watched for a moment, then walked up to Flaminius without a word. Cut off the bastard's head with one swing of his sword. "Who's with me?" he roared. Crixus was first.' His voice shook with pride. 'Then we all joined in.'

  'The rebellion lasted a long time, didn't it?'

  'More than two years. And we kicked the shit out of every army Rome sent at us.'

  'They say you marched north.'

  'We were heading for Gaul.' A wistful smile crossed his face. 'Spartacus wanted to leave Italy. Then Crixus won him over with talk of overthrowing the Republic and things started to go wrong.'

  'Crassus drove you south again.' It was common knowledge that the rebels had been pushed down into the narrow heel of the Italian peninsula and a defensive wall built to hold them in.

  'They didn't defeat us, though!' retorted the doorman. 'Until Brundisium.' It was there that Crassus had smashed the slave army.

  'I thought all those captured were . . .' Romulus paused. The prisoners' fate had been the talk of the city, dashing the hopes of the slave population.

  'Crucified.' He nodded sadly, tears glinting in his eyes. 'Poor bastards. On the sides of the Via Appia. All the way from Capua to Rome. Six thousand of them. Just so Crassus could claim back the glory from Pompey Magnus.'

  The public had discovered long afterwards that Pompey had only mopped up a few thousand slaves fleeing the main battle. But in a masterly stroke, he had immediately written to the Senate, claiming victory over the whole rebellion. His opportunism had worked and he had been granted a full triumph through Rome. Crassus, apoplectic with rage, had ordered a prisoner crucified along every mile of the Republic's main road in response – gory proof of his success. It was rumoured the vultures had filled the sky above the road for weeks.

  As Romulus stared, he noticed a thick scar running down the side of the slave 's face on to his neck.

  The doorman grimaced, rubbing at the red welt. 'Got that the night before the final battle. Some of us fled when Spartacus gave his blessing, see? But we should have stayed. Died like men.'

  'Does Crassus know?'

  'What do you think?' he snapped.

  'But to end up here?'

  There was a sad shrug. 'I went on the run for a year and then killed a citizen in a drunken brawl. Got captured again and sold to a gladiator school in Rome. Crassus bought me after seeing a fight there.'

  'At least you're still alive.'

  'I might as well be dead.' The doorman's broad shoulders slumped.

  Conversation ceased abruptly as the major-domo reappeared. His lip curled knowingly. 'Has Pertinax been telling his stories? Don't believe a word!' He handed Romulus a rolled parchment. 'See what your master says when he receives this!'

  'Thank you, sir.'

  'Let the boy out.'

  Pertinax hastened to obey and Romulus ducked out of the postern door, which promptly slammed shut behind him.

  Mind racing, he walked back, the reply clutched tightly in one hand. Who would have thought he would see inside the domus of the richest noble in Rome? And meet one of Spartacus' original men? Despite the major-domo's scorn, there had been a ring of truth to Pertinax' words.

  Romulus couldn't wait to tell Fabiola and Juba. But first he had to get inside Gemellus' gate without the thugs stopping him. He grinned – it was a challenge he would relish.

  Near the last crossroads before home, Romulus heard the noise of loud chanting. The street was thronged with even more people than usual and potentially that meant trouble. Keen to get back, he ducked into a narrow alleyway off the main street and worked his way around the junction, the cries of the crowd filling his ears.

  'Who wants a trip east?' a man cried.

  'Pompey!' came the response.

  Romulus paused to listen. It sounded as if Clodius was up to his usual tricks. The leader of the collegia had been on a mission to humiliate Pompey for some time.

  'But who should go instead?'

  A great roar answered the master rabble-rouser. 'Crassus!'

  Romulus kept moving, remembering Gemellus' complaint that tolerating the mobs was just another sign of the Republic's decline.

  In the event, distracting the two heavies did not prove at all difficult.

  Romulus simply waited until a cart was
rolling past Gemellus' house. Using it as cover, he crouched down and ran alongside, leaving the men opposite completely unaware until he was by the door. The boy darted forward and rapped hard with his fist; the pair saw him, cursed and lumbered forward, reaching for their swords. But Juba was waiting and instantly emerged into the sunlight, his blade ready.

  Few men in their right minds would take on the Nubian.

  They skidded to a halt, leaving Romulus to saunter inside with his friend. He did not linger: delivering Crassus' reply was far more urgent than anything else. Smiling his thanks at the big doorman, he went in search of Gemellus.

  The sound of voices carried to him through the tablinum and instinctively Romulus tiptoed across its mosaic floor. From a statue near the open doors, he could hear every word spoken in the garden. The twins had discovered early on that eavesdropping on Gemellus was most informative.

  It also taught them plenty about his murky business deals. Although much of what he overheard meant little to him, Romulus took every opportunity to learn more about the world outside the high walls.

  The merchant was deep in conversation with his bookkeeper. Servilius was a thin Egyptian with protuberant eyes and receding hair and the only slave Gemellus trusted. Excellent with money, Servilius was despised by the other slaves, who could not understand his unswerving loyalty to his owner.

  'Continue.' Gemellus sounded unusually good-humoured.

  Servilius cleared his throat. 'My cousin in Alexandria mentioned a possible business venture in his last letter. A very profitable one.' He paused. 'But it would not be without risk, Master.'

  'Nothing is these days,' growled the merchant. 'Tell me more.'

  'Menes has dealt with a Phoenician bestiarius by the name of Hiero,' Servilius began, 'who proposes to lead an expedition into the deep south, near the headwaters of the Nile. There he will capture all manner of beasts for the arena.'

  Romulus could sense Gemellus' interest and craned his head, desperate not to miss a word. The job of the bestiarii was very dangerous and appealed to him immensely.

  'Lions, leopards and elephants,' announced the bookkeeper, warming to his task. 'Antelope and unearthly creatures with long necks and legs. The bestiarius even claims he can catch huge armoured monsters with lethal horns on their noses.'

  'Is Menes tempted to invest?'

  Servilius coughed awkwardly. 'He is providing two-thirds of the financial backing, Master.'

  There was no reply for a moment.

  'Each one would be worth its weight in gold,' exclaimed Gemellus. The trade in wild animals for gladiatorial contests was fast becoming one of the most lucrative in Rome.

  'I thought you might be interested, Master.'

  'How much capital is Hiero looking for?'

  'For the last third share,' Servilius said, sucking in his breath, 'one hundred and twenty thousand sestertii.'

  Romulus' mouth opened. It was more than he could even imagine.

  'Fortuna's tits!' cursed Gemellus. 'Where will I get credit like that these days? I'm up to my neck in debt already.'

  'Crassus, Master?'

  Startled by the name and the nature of Gemellus' dilemma, Romulus jumped. He had had no idea that the merchant was in financial difficulties. It was then that he heard the sound of someone coming down the corridor, probably a kitchen slave with a cool drink for their master. He could not risk being caught, so he squared his shoulders and stepped into the garden, making as much noise as possible.

  Gemellus' face darkened further when he saw who it was. Servilius immediately busied himself with his ledger, the giant tome that contained all the merchant's financial details.

  'What took you so long?' Gemellus peered at the sundial. 'It's been two hours!'

  Not daring to reply, Romulus held out the parchment.

  Gemellus scanned it silently. The only noise was the bookkeeper's stylus scratching out figures behind him.

  Romulus waited, knowing a beating would follow regardless of what Crassus had written.

  Closing his eyes, Gemellus crumpled the note and dropped it to the floor. The rate of interest demanded by Crassus for an extension of his loans was completely extortionate. He did not need that hanging over his head as well.

  Full of anger, the merchant beat Romulus harder than usual, but the boy took the punishment without a sound. The unexpected outing and the conversation with Pertinax had been well worth it.

  Fabiola watched from behind a bush, biting her lips to avoid crying out at the sight. It would only have earned Romulus an even worse hiding. Her hatred of Gemellus grew day by day. Not only did he rape her mother every night, he regularly beat her brother black and blue. Only the fear of what would happen to her family prevented Fabiola from trying to kill their master.

  It was two days before the bruises began to settle and an opportunity arose to confide in Juba. Every time Romulus went to talk to him, someone happened to be present.

  Gemellus was ingratiating himself with every banker and moneylender he knew, trying to raise capital for a proposed business venture. Romulus suspected it was to do with Servilius' suggestion. But word must have spread about his huge debts, because visitors came and went, shaking their heads regretfully. The merchant's temper grew even worse. Household slaves crept about, trying not to be noticed. Eventually Gemellus could take no more and stormed off to the Lupanar, his favourite brothel. The bookkeeper was told he would be gone at least a day.

  Hearing the master was gone, Romulus ran immediately to Juba, wooden sword in hand. The Nubian listened intently to the story, nodding approval when Spartacus was mentioned. His eyebrows rose with surprise to hear Pertinax had fought with the rebel Thracian.

  'I would have joined Spartacus if I'd been old enough,' said Romulus fiercely. He had not been born until a year after the slave uprising ended.

  Juba tapped his chest, signifying agreement.

  'Show me more moves! I must learn to fight like a gladiator.'

  The Nubian smiled and moved into the hallway. Ensuring Romulus was paying attention, Juba turned sideways to present less of a target, holding his sword out just above the waist, shield at chest level. He indicated that Romulus do the same. They stood side by side, repeating the same actions until Juba was happy.

  'Shield up. Thrust. Step back,' the boy muttered. 'Shield up. Thrust.

  Step back.'

  Next Juba handed over the shield. Romulus slipped his left arm into the smooth leather grips, hefting the unfamiliar weight. The Nubian showed him how to protect chest and face, keeping his weapon ready for an opportunity to strike.

  After a moment, they began to spar in slow motion, Juba taking care not to strike Romulus' wooden sword too hard with his own of iron. The knocking of blades echoed down the hall, and soon Fabiola arrived to watch.

  'What if the master catches you?' Her face was a picture of concern. 'Stop it, Romulus. I'll tell Mother!'

  'Go away! I'm learning to fight like Spartacus!'

  His sister watched with a mixture of pride and fear. 'It's too dangerous. Please stop!'

  Suddenly the idea of holding a real sword to Gemellus' neck came to him. Romulus redoubled the attack on Juba, who fell back, a wide grin splitting his ebony features.

  It would be the last time he ever practised with the Nubian. When they had finished, Romulus returned to the family's small cell, bursting with excitement. Images of freeing all the household slaves and killing Gemellus now filled his mind. It terrified and exhilarated him.