“Is this him?”
Febrox nodded.
“He is expecting you. Go on through.”
Febrox led Vespillo through to the triclinium. The room was sumptuously decorated, marble statues, elaborate chandeliers, ornate oil lamps, delicate carved wooden furniture with fur upholstery.
Reclining alone on the couch, closely attended by a voluptuous and scantily clad slave girl, was an enormously obese man. His jowls hung low in folds of flesh, and his bald pate, rimmed by a thin line of grey hair, was shiny with sweat. He wore a toga, which hung loose enough to reveal a fleshy chest, covered in large moles. The man took a deep glug of wine, and looked from Vespillo to Febrox.
“Well?”
Febrox gave Vespillo a hard shove in the back, and with his unsteadiness, he didn’t have to pretend to lose his balance, as he fell to his knees.
“This is the one my source mentioned,” said Febrox.
“What’s your name?” demanded the obese man.
“Who are you, first?” said Vespillo, defiantly.
The man laughed. “Febrox, tell the little cunnus who he is dealing with.”
Febrox pulled his blade and touched it to Vespillo’s throat. He let the point dig in then drew it in a curve, in a half circle around his neck. It dug in just deep enough to draw a thin line of blood. Vespillo tensed at the sting, keeping stoically silent, then remembered his role and allowed himself a little cry.
Febrox lifted the blade to his mouth, and licked the blood off it. “This, cunnus,” said Febrox, “Is Rabidus.”
Vespillo looked confused. “I’m sorry, I… I’m not from round here.” He stared up at Rabidus, letting a little of the fear he was feeling appear in his eyes. “I don’t know who you are.”
“I am the one who is going to teach you some respect.” He nodded to Febrox, who without warning punched Vespillo in the side of his head. Vespillo sprawled sideways, stunned. Febrox was instantly on top of him, rolling him onto his back and straddling him, pulling his hair back. The thug leaned down, putting his face close to Vespillo’s, while he placed his blade just underneath Vespillo’s eye socket.
Vespillo froze. The foul breath of rotting teeth and spicy food washed over him, and he suppressed a gag. Febrox’s cheeks flushed red around the livid scar. Some saliva gathered at the edge of his lips, and dripped onto Vespillo’s face.
“Let him up,” said Rabidus. Febrox sneered down at Vespillo, then rolled off him. Vespillo righted himself uncertainly, but judged it best to remain on his knees. Rabidus laughed.
“That’s a bit better. Now, I could just keep calling you cunnus, but there are so many cunni in Nola, it would get confusing. Tell me your name.”
“I’m Hilarius,” said Vespillo.
“And I believe you owe me something.”
“I don’t know…” Febrox flashed the blade near Vespillo’s eyes. “I mean… yes, I do, I do. I just don’t know the exact… nature of the debt.”
Rabidus took a mouthful of a fruit tart, chewed slowly, then washed it down with some more wine, draining his cup. He passed the empty vessel to the slave girl, and as she turned to fill it, he put a hand on her backside and squeezed painfully, causing her to flinch.
Rabidus wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his toga, then belched loudly. The smell of the expelled gases reached Vespillo, who tried not to betray a physical reaction.
“Understand something, Hilarius,” said Rabidus, getting louder. “I run this town. Not the duucuntmvirs, not the decurions, not that idiot Asellio who commands the sons of slave whores who make up the stationarii.” He slammed his fist down on the table in front of him, causing the freshly-filled cup of wine to jump in the air, then roll off to smash on the floor. “Me!” he roared.
“Yes…master,” said Vespillo.
Rabidus took a deep breath, partially mollified by Vespillo’s deference.
“There is a tax, payable by all businesses in Nola. Legitimate and not so legitimate. Twenty per cent of all takings is payable to me.” Rabidus smiled. “And not to those masked bastards,” he added. Vespillo noted some of the thugs exchanging concerned glances.
“I apologise sincerely, master,” said Vespillo. “I didn’t realise.”
“Your apology is accepted. And since you are new in Nola, I will not punish you.”
“Thank you, master Rabidus.”
“So, how much did you steal.”
“Ten aurei.”
Febrox whistled through the gaps in his teeth.
“A fine yield,” said Rabidus. “And a very careless rich man. I will take my tax of twenty per cent.”
“Absolutely,” said Vespillo, fishing in his purse for two solidi, and placing them in Febrox’s outstretched palm.
“Good. However, this doesn’t compensate us for the inconvenience of having to track you down. For my colleague’s time. And of course, the fine for late payment.”
“Of course,” agreed Vespillo, anxious now to be away from this odious man and his mad lieutenant.
“Ten more aurei.”
Vespillo’s jaw dropped. “But, I only stole ten in the first place. And I spent at least half of that in the tavern tonight. I don’t have any more.”
“Then you had better find someone else to mug. You have until tomorrow night. Ten aurei. Bring them to me here. Now, out.”
Rabidus turned to his slave girl, putting an arm around her waist and pulling her onto his lap. He kissed her deeply, and her eyes widened as his tongue entered into her mouth. After a long, breathless moment, he let her go, and she pulled back, gasping, distressed, before remembering to smile, and gently stroke his cheek.
Febrox pulled Vespillo to his feet and led him to the door.
“Oh, and Hilarius.”
Vespillo turned.
“If you do rob someone, don’t forget to pay my tax this time.”
“No, master Rabidus,” said Vespillo. Febrox dragged him away as Rabidus lost interest in him again. He pulled him past the guards in the atrium, past the porter who opened the door, and pushed him out in the street. Vespillo sprawled onto his face. For a moment he lay there, head spinning, neck stinging, one side of his head throbbing.
Two pairs of strong hands gripped his arms and pulled him upright.
“Come on, friend,” said Carbo. “Let’s get you sobered up, and you can tell us what you learned.”
Carbo passed a cup of water to Vespillo, who took it gratefully. A thin scab ran around his neck, and one side of his head was swollen. He drained the cup, then looked at Lutorius through narrowed eyes that spoke of an intense headache.
“I don’t suppose there is anywhere around here that could do me some fried canary at this time of the morning?”
They sat in a corner of the mess hall of the quarters of the stationarii. The room was empty, dimly lit by the very first rays of sun.
“We will see what we can find,” said Lutorius.
“First,” said Carbo. “Are you up to telling us what happened yet?”
Vespillo nodded, then winced at the effect of the sharp movement on the pain in his head. He recounted what had happened, like a soldier reporting after a battle. Carbo let him finish before asking questions.
“Tell me about Rabidus. What did he look like?”
“Fat. Ugly. Old.”
“Apparently he is also completely ruthless,” said Lutorius. “He may not look like much, but no one would dare cross him.”
“It’s not him, is it?” asked Carbo. “He isn’t one of the masked men? Comedy or Tragedy?”
Vespillo shook his head, then groaned again. “Gods, that hurts. No, there is no way he is up to banditry. He clearly has men to do that for him.”
“Could the masked men work for him?” asked Lutorius.
This time Carbo disagreed. “They were their own men, that was clear. The thugs that attacked Rufa and me were working for them. If Tragedy and Comedy weren’t their leaders, then they must have paid for their help.”
“So Rabidus mu
st know their identities.”
“I don’t think so - he mentioned them but not by name. And I get the impression there was a little fear beneath the bluster.”
“So what now?” asked Lutorius.
“We gather up your men and arrest Rabidus,” said Vespillo firmly.
Lutorius laughed. “Are you kidding me? All the men are terrified of Rabidus. Why do you think he is allowed to carry on doing what he is doing?”
“Even Asellio?”
“Asellio turns a blind eye. It makes life easier.”
Vespillo shook his head in disgust, then slammed a fist into the wall to distract from the pain. “By Hermes’ scrotum, why do I keep doing that?”
“So the stationarii won’t act,” said Carbo. He held the other two men in a stern gaze, one after the other.
“In that case, we do it ourselves.”
Chapter IX
Carbo sat on a stone bench behind the farm, thinking hard. Melanchaetes wandered up to him, and Carbo absent-mindedly scratched the huge dog behind the ears. Melanchaetes sat, cocking his head to one side, and making a scratching movement with his hind foot, which thumped against the wet earth rhythmically. His tongue moved in and out in little laps with pleasure at the attention.
There were just three of them, and Rabidus had a gang. Frontal assault was clearly out of the question, so some sort of subterfuge would be necessary. Vespillo could obviously get near to Rabidus again, when he went to make his payment that night, but he would be searched for weapons like before. Carbo couldn’t work out how to turn the situation to their advantage.
He stood up and paced, and Melanchaetes trotted along behind him, clumsily treading on Carbo’s heels. Carbo turned angrily and lifted a hand and the dog shrank back. He sighed, and knelt down to give the beast some fuss.
“Maybe you should pay some attention to Fabilla too.”
Carbo looked up. Vespillo was watching him. Carbo flushed. He hadn’t seen the little girl since they had come back from town that morning. He told himself it was because he was busy, that he had too much to think about and do, but he knew he was fooling himself. He stood.
“She’s in the tablinum with Thera.” Vespillo’s expression was sympathetic but firm.
Carbo walked into the atrium, and looked into the small tablinum that was supposed to serve as an office, if Theron had been that organised. Fabilla sat at a chair pulled up to a low table, and Thera sat opposite her. Their attentions were focused on a board with three concentric squares, with dots at the corners and the mid-points of each side, and lines connecting the midpoint dots. Small pebbles sat on various dots, and each girl had a collection of pebbles at her side. Carbo recognised the game of merelles, and continued to watch.
Fabilla reached into her pile of pebbles and placed one on one of the dots. Thera quickly placed one of her pebbles to make a line of three. She snatched one of Fabilla’s pieces off the table, and smiled triumphantly. Fabilla simply looked at her blankly, then let her eyes drift to the wall, where they remained, staring unfocused at the colourful fresco there.
“Fabilla. Fabilla? It’s your turn.” Thera placed her hand on Fabilla’s which seemed to bring her back to herself.
“Oh, sorry,” said Fabilla. She turned back to the board, but made no move. Then Carbo saw her little shoulders start to shake, watched as she folded her arms on the table and buried her head in them, crying silently. Thera stood and walked to Fabilla’s side of the table, and put her arms around her, just holding her.
Carbo stared, helpless. Then cursing himself for his cowardice, he turned to tiptoe away.
He walked straight into Severa, who blocked his exit from the atrium with folded arms.
“Please let me pass,” said Carbo in a low voice.
“She needs you,” said Severa.
“No she doesn’t. I failed her. Her mother is dead because I couldn’t protect her. She should hate me.”
“She doesn’t hate you. She wants your strength and comfort.”
Carbo looked to one side, struggling with his own emotions. “I have none.”
Severa continued to glare at him, and he felt himself withering under her gaze.
“I will serve her better by avenging her mother,” he mumbled.
“No, that is how you serve yourself.”
He pushed past Severa, and stomped out of the farmhouse. Vespillo stood when he saw him, but Carbo marched straight past him, walking off into the olive groves, unaccompanied except by Melanchaetes who padded along behind and to one side. Images of Rufa flashed through his mind, passionate, happy, scared, dying. He clutched at his hair with both hands, dropped to his knees, and howled at the sky like an animal.
After some time, he returned to the house. Vespillo was waiting outside for him, but said nothing, just regarded him with concern.
“I’m fine,” said Carbo tersely. “But we need a plan for tonight.”
“Can we kidnap him?”
Carbo shook his head. “There is no other way in apart from the front door, and he has too many men to force it.”
“Lure him out?”
“He rarely goes out in public, Lutorius tells me.”
“What if I took Marsia, and she had a concealed weapon?”
“Do you think they would neglect to search her? They would take great pleasure in it, I’m sure.”
“What then?” said Vespillo helplessly.
Carbo smoothed his hair with one hand, musing. “Marsia. Maybe that would work.”
“You said they would search her.”
“Yes, but maybe she could have something on her that they would expect to find, that wouldn’t concern them.”
Vespillo looked puzzled.
“Come on,” said Carbo, “Let’s go and talk to her.”
Vespillo stood before Rabidus, sober this time, and more scared because of it. To his side, Marsia looked composed, though angry from the overly thorough frisking the porter had given her. She looked beautiful, made up for the role, Vespillo reflected. Her dress was long and flowing, her eyes darkened with kohl from Severa’s make up kit, her face whitened with white lead, then her cheeks lightly rouged, and her long hair pinned up stylishly. She looked every inch the pleasure slave she was intended to play.
Rabidus looked Marsia up and down with undisguised lust, grinned at Febrox who was lounging against a wall with another thug, then turned to Vespillo with curiosity in his expression. He looked at the purse of coins at Vespillo’s belt.
“You have my money, I see,” said Rabidus. “Why bring the girl?”
“I had a modest haul today, master. Just enough to pay what you need, with a little left over. I purchased this one from a passing slaver, for my…entertainment. I think though, maybe I am developing a taste for a life of banditry. I was thinking of continuing my, ahem, work. So I brought Marsia to you this evening. To see if, by offering you first use of her, as a gift, you could maybe see your way to allow me to go about my business in Nola, unharmed. With the proper taxes paid to yourself, of course.”
Rabidus’ eyes narrowed, looking at Vespillo with suspicion.
“I don’t like freelancers on my patch,” he said.
“Then maybe I should work for you,” said Vespillo, hastily. “Or you may tell me you will not allow it, in which case I will accept and move on. Whatever you decide, Marsia is for you to enjoy tonight.”
Rabidus thought for a moment, then beckoned her over. Marsia, walked over to him, hips swaying seductively, and every man in the room watched her move. Rabidus reached up to stroke her face gently, and Marsia smiled. Then he grabbed the front of her dress at her neckline and ripped harshly downwards. Her ample breasts tumbled out for all to see.
Vespillo couldn’t see her cheeks colour underneath the makeup, but he knew how the proud slave must be feeling. He suddenly realised how his own attitudes to the feelings of slaves had changed, in the short time he had know Rufa and Fabilla. Before that, the slave’s discomfort would have meant nothing to him.
Febrox whistled. “He’s brought you a fine one there, boss, to be fair to him.”
Rabidus reached up and grasped a breast, squeezing painfully, while Marsia kept her face inviting. He grabbed her and pulled her onto his knee and kissed her deeply. Marsia reached up into her hair, pulled out the hairpin that had kept her hair up, letting the hair tumble free, then stabbed the pin into Rabidus’ leg.
Rabidus howled and cuffed Marsia around the head, the force of the blow sending her sprawling across the floor. He leapt to his feet, pointing an accusing finger at Vespillo.
“What is wrong with your slave whore?” he roared. “Febrox, kill them both.”
Febrox drew his knife and advanced on Vespillo, while the other thug grabbed Marsia by the hair and put his dagger to her throat.
“Wait,” said Vespillo, desperately. “Kill us and you are dead.”
Rabidus laughed, but raised a hand to stay his men.
“Who is going to save you? The stationarii? The townsfolk.”
“You are,” said Vespillo, trying to keep his voice even.
Rabidus cocked his head on one side, a broad leer on his face.
“Now why by Juno’s tits would I want to do that?”
“Because if you don’t,” said Vespillo, “You will never get the antidote to the poison that was on that pin.”
The ruddy colour drained from Rabidus’ face, and his jaw dropped. Febrox looked at Rabidus uncertainly, still brandishing his knife in Vespillo’s face.
Rabidus slowly got to his feet. It took considerable effort to get his prodigious frame upright, and he reached down to rub the site of the prick in his leg, from which a tiny trickle of blood was seeping. He stepped forward, and then with a speed that was startling for a man of his size, he grabbed the knife from Febrox, seized Vespillo around the throat, and pressed the blade up under his chin, forcing his head back.
Bandits of Rome Page 11
