“Yes,” said Durmius. “He does look like he might do good service. But the rest of them…” Durmius swept an arm to indicate the other prisoners. “Really. How long do you think they will last?”
Zosimus shrugged. “Not really my concern,” he said. “You work them till they drop. These are the scummiest of the lowest of all slaves, they are all marked for death. That’s why they are so cheap.”
“About that,” said Durmius. “I think the price is still too high.”
“We’ve done our negotiating. Pay me, and they are yours. Otherwise I dump them in the Strait of Messana.”
Durmius laughed. “You wouldn’t. Come, I think we should consider at least a discount of a twelfth for this rotten bunch.”
Zosimus stepped up to the prisoner who had been on Carbo’s left for the journey. He grabbed his chains, jerked him to the seaward side of the boat, then tipped him unceremoniously into the water.
The prisoner’s cry was cut off as he hit the water with an impact that winded him. Briefly, he struggled to keep his head afloat, gurgling and pleading. But the weight of the iron chains was too much, and he disappeared under the waves. The prisoners stared in horror at the frothy patch of water that marked their comrade’s fresh grave.
“You have one less slave now,” said Zosimus. “The price is the same.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, you will have to at least refund me for that one.”
“Our negotiations are done, Durmius.” He grabbed Sica, and pulled her to the edge of the boat. She cried out and struggled ineffectually. Carbo tried to yell through his gag, and made to move towards her, but a guard kicked him in the back of his legs and he collapsed to his knees. Zosimus dangled Sica over the side, her midriff balanced on the railing, head down towards the water, legs kicking in the air
“Fine, fine,” said Durmius. “Point taken. I will honour our original deal. Just think yourself lucky that I am so desperate. Production is down due to the recent level of…losses among the workforce.”
Zosimus hauled Sica back into the boat and threw her to the deck, where she lay, trembling and sobbing. Carbo shuffled over to her awkwardly and took hold of her hand. She squeezed it tight.
“Though you might as well have thrown that one in too,” said Durmius nodding to Sica. “I don’t think she will be with us long.”
Durmius pulled out a purse full of money and handed it to Zosimus. Zosimus opened it, and carefully counted it, before nodding, satisfied.
“They are all yours,” he said.
“A pleasure doing business as always,” said Durmius. “Guards, let’s get them moving.”
Carbo and Sica struggled quickly to their feet to avoid the kicks and blows they would have received if they had remained down. As they shuffled onto the gangplank, Eutropius indicated Carbo.
“Why is the big one gagged?”
“He is mouthy,” said Zosimus. “I think you might want to watch him.”
“You don’t need to worry about that. Right let’s get this sorry bunch to the mines. Move on everyone.”
Carbo walked down the gangplank, and onto the island of Sicily. It was a place he never expected to leave.
Chapter XIV
Vespillo wandered along the docks in Neapolis. Marsia was by his side. She had insisted on coming, and though he felt it wasn’t right to be giving in to a slave’s demands, he did feel sorry for the young woman. She was as distraught as any of them at Carbo’s disappearance. The cooling between her and Quintus had become pronounced and she seemed glad to be away from Carbo’s farm, and doing something active to help. Quintus himself had offered to come, but Marsia had coldly suggested he had more important things to do, and Quintus had taken the hint.
This part of the waterfront smelled of fish and tar. The docks here tended to industry, whereas further along were the seafront villas for the wealthy. This whole region catered to the nobles who wanted to escape Rome for some luxury, especially in the summer months, and Puteoli to the north and Stabiae to the south were popular holiday destinations. Neapolis was a bit more cosmopolitan, and Vespillo had seen poor and rich quarters, Greek and Roman influence, as they had travelled here from Nola.
Now he questioned dock workers, porters, sailors and ships’ captains, asking if they remembered a large man, a prisoner or a slave, being transported from here a few days previously, or knew of a captain called Zosimus. He was met mainly with blank looks, and even the offer of coin seemed to jog no memories. It was unsurprising. The docks heaved with activity, all manner of goods and cargo being loaded and unloaded. One ship sat low in the water, laden with garum. Another disgorged a seemingly endless supply of miserable and vomit-stained slaves from its hold.
Despondently, Vespillo walked up to the captain of the slave ship. The man was tall, with a ruddy, weathered face.
“Captain, may I ask you a question or two?”
“You can ask,” said the captain, his accent suggesting to Vespillo Phoenician or other semitic heritage.
“I’m looking for a man who passed through these docks about three or four days ago. He may have been a prisoner, or a slave.”
The captain looked at the lines of slaves shuffling down the gangway of his ship onto the dock. “You might have to be a bit more specific.”
“This is a tall man. Strong, broad. Pitch black hair. Walks with a limp, and covered in battle scars. We’re also looking for a captain called Zosimus.”
The captain frowned. “And why do you want to know?”
“That’s my business,” said Vespillo.
“And the cargoes of ships are the business of their captains, and the merchants that pay them, and no one else.”
“Please, master,” said Marsia “If you can help us, we would be so grateful.”
The captain looked Marsia up and down. “How grateful?”
Marsia flushed, then looked down. “With my master’s permission, I would reward you in any way I could.”
“That’s not necessary,” said Vespillo. “We have coin,” he said to the captain.
The captain chewed his lower lip. “I’d like to see that coin,” he said.
Vespillo drew out a jangling purse. The captain put his hand out, but Vespillo tossed it in the air and caught it, so the captain could appreciate its weight without getting hold of it.
“I saw your friend,” he said.
Marsia gasped. “Please tell us where, master.”
“Do you always let your slave speak for you?”
“Marsia, be quiet. Captain, would you tell us what you know?”
The captain held out his hand again. Vespillo hesitated, then dropped the bag into his palm. The captain opened the drawstring, peered inside, and drew out a silver coin, holding it up to the light to inspect it. Satisfied, he tied the purse to his belt.
“The other night,” he said. “They were loading cargo onto the boat next to me. A fairly rotten looking bunch of slaves if you ask me. Unruly. Not sure they would be worth much. Anyway, your friend was among them. Tall, muscly, scarred. Stood out from the rest. Looked like he didn’t belong. Funny thing was, they had him gagged.”
Vespillo looked at Marsia, whose face had lit up with hope.
“Where were they headed for?”
“I’m afraid I didn’t ask. I wasn’t that curious.”
Vespillo felt his heart sink. Knowing where Carbo had departed from was useless if they didn’t know the destination. The boat could have taken him anywhere in the vast Empire.
“Strangely though, the captain was called Zosimus. He is due back in two or three days. I remember because he said he planned to catch the chariot races, and we had a wager. I’m a big supporter of the blues, he favours the whites.”
Vespillo shook the captain’s hand. “Thank you. You have been a big help.”
The captain patted the purse at his belt. “My pleasure.”
“Welcome to our establishment,” said the overseer. “I am Durmius, and I will be your host for… well, the foreseeable
future. We have all the modern amenities that you would expect. Your cells, I mean rooms, are furnished with luxury straw to give you a comfortable night’s sleep. A corner of each room is allocated as a latrine, and there are only eight of you per room. Regular meals will be provided at no extra cost, almost every day. As for the entertainment…no, I won’t spoil the surprise.”
Sica looked at Carbo with incomprehension.
Carbo shook his head. “Great, he’s got a sense of humour.” The words came out thickly - his tongue was swollen and his mouth and lips ulcerated from the gag that had only been removed when they arrived at the mining compound. Speaking and swallowing were painful. The overseer heard the comment, and nodded to one of the guards. The guard took a step forward and flicked out his whip, the stinging blow landing on Carbo’s chest. The speed of the punishment took Carbo by surprise, and he bit down to stifle a cry, then cried out anyway as his teeth closed on his tender tongue.
“We do have one or two house rules to follow,” said Durmius. “Some minor chores to earn your keep as well. You’ll pick it all up as you go along. But enough of me, you’ll be dying to get settled in, I’m sure.” He chuckled to himself, and nodded to the guards.
The line of prisoners shuffled forward. Their ankles were chained so they could not take a full stride, wrists were chained close together, and iron neck collars were chained to the prisoner before and behind them. The slow march to the mines from the dock had taken most of the day, during which they had not been fed, although had been given short breaks for rest and water. Carbo had watched carefully for an opportunity to escape, but had quickly realised it was hopeless. The guards were competent and numerous, and the chains were heavy and unbreakable. A bud of optimism that his best chance to get away would be during the transfer from ship to mines had withered and died in a short space of time.
They were led to a group of long stone buildings, divided up into small cells, and they were split into groups of eight. Carbo and Sica were herded in with six others adjacent to them in the line, and the door behind them was slammed shut and barred from the outside.
There were no windows, but there was a large hole in the wooden roof that let enough light in, once Carbo’s eyes had adjusted, for him to take in his surroundings, and the sorry group who had become his roommates.
As the overseer had said, there was a little straw on the floor, less than you would give a horse in a stable, and one corner in particular reeked of urine and faeces, suggesting a designated latrine area. The walls were damp, but with little graffiti, which surprised Carbo given what he had seen of cells in the past.
And that was it. His new home.
He looked around at the other prisoners, who were staring around them with unanimous misery. They were a mixed group. In addition to Sica and himself, there were two other women and four other men. Both the women were middle-aged, one younger than the other, and they clung to each other. From their resemblance, Carbo speculated they were sisters. Three of the men had the physiques of manual labourers and bore stigmata branded onto their foreheads, two of them reading ‘FUG’ for fugitivus, meaning they had escaped in the past and been recaptured, and one reading ‘FUR’ for fure, meaning he was a thief. The fourth man, a boy really, appeared more delicate, with soft hands and poorly developed muscles, and his expression showed stark disbelief at his circumstances.
Carbo sighed, and shuffled towards one corner. Sica moved with him, but the prisoner on his right, the boy, did not, and when the chain between them grew taut, Carbo gave it a little tug. The boy seemed to startle out of his daze, and once Carbo had some play in the chain, he slumped against the wall and slid to the floor.
Clumsily, the other slaves found ways to sit or lie that afforded them the best comfort they could achieve. Carbo closed his eyes, trying to keep from thinking.
A warm body nestled into his left side, and he opened his eyes to see Sica grinning up at him. He hesitated, then placed an arm around her and drew her closer. She laid her head on his shoulder, relaxing into him.
“You, big guy,” said the man branded as a thief. “Do you speak Latin?”
“Pretty well,” said Carbo.
“Good. These two don’t.” He gestured at the two fugitives, who glared at him, realising they were being spoken about, but not understanding.
“I do, too,” said the boy.
“Did I ask you?” asked the thief. The boy opened his mouth, then thought better of it and closed it rapidly.
“Looks like it’s up to you and me to run this group then,” said the thief.
“Does it?” Carbo’s tone was non-committal.
“Yeah. Now you look like you can handle yourself, so I don’t want to fight you for the top spot. But I know a dirty trick or two myself, so you really don’t want to tangle with me either.”
“I see.”
“So we are agreed? Both of us in charge.”
“I think the overseer believes he is the one in charge.”
“Not in here, not when we are locked in together and the guards are outside.”
“I see your point.”
“Good. So first we need to draw up some sort of rota.”
“Rota?” asked Carbo. “For what?”
“For who gets to fuck the women, obviously. You and me get first choice of course. But we probably need to let these two lumps have a go, or they will be trouble. The boy looks like he would prefer a cock up his own arse anyway, so we can ignore him. Now, do you want to take it in turns, or would you rather have your own woman. That girl curled up to you is the prettiest one here, but as a gesture of goodwill, you can have her if I have those other two.”
Carbo felt Sica tense against him, though she didn’t move or speak. The two older women started to wail, holding onto each other tightly.
“No,” said Carbo.
“No?” said the thief. “You prefer to swap things around? Or maybe you want one of the older women instead?”
“No,” said Carbo. “We are all in this together. No one touches anyone else here.”
The thief looked at Carbo in surprise. “What are you talking about?”
“Be in charge, if that’s what you want. But you will not lay a finger on anyone else in here.”
The thief started to tremble in indignation.
“You do understand where we are? You know we are likely to survive only a few weeks or months down there? And you won’t let me take any small crumb of pleasure before I am worked to death?”
“I won’t allow anyone else’s misery to be worse than it has to be.”
The thief glared at Carbo, but Carbo did not blink. Eventually the thief looked away, face flushed with anger.
“This isn’t over,” he said.
The two fugitive slaves who were chained next to each other had watched the argument with interest, if not comprehension. When it finished, they turned to each other, embraced, and started to kiss. One of them reached down into the other’s lap, and started to stroke gently up and down.
“Juno’s tits, that’s just what I need,” muttered the thief, and turned away as the two men forgot their situation in a small moment of pleasure.
Sica relaxed against Carbo again, giving his arm a squeeze, then fell asleep.
Rufa visited Carbo once in the night, waking him from a disturbed sleep with a touch on his face that made him gasp. Sica was instantly awake at his side, and when she saw him staring into space with a look of horror on his face, she reached up to him, grasped his chin and turned him towards her. As before in the ship, she made him concentrate on her, until he sensed the apparition had vanished. He looked around to check Rufa was gone, then pulled Sica to him, waiting for his racing heart and his breathing to slow back to normal. Soon Sica was asleep again, and her gentle, deep breathing helped Carbo also to drift off.
They were woken at dawn by the door flying open. Eight loaves of bread and a jug of water were dumped into the cell and then the door was slammed shut and barred again.
&nb
sp; The thief was the first to react, grabbing three of the loaves for himself.
“There is one each,” said Carbo.
“Look,” said the thief, “Fine if you don’t want the women fucked, though I can’t understand why. But surviving in this place means staying fit and healthy. That means eating enough. If the weaker ones can’t fight for their food, well, the stronger ones have more of a chance. And the weak ones won’t survive long anyway.”
“One each,” repeated Carbo.
The thief clutched the loaves to him defiantly, but one of the fugitives reached forward, and before the thief could react, slammed his head backwards into the wall. The loaves dropped to the floor as the thief howled. The fugitive had obviously held back, or the thief would be unconscious or dead, but the thief put his hand to the back of his head and brought it in front of his face, staring in disbelief at the blood he found there.
“I’ll kill you for that, you cock-sucking barbarian,” said the thief.
The fugitive simply picked up two of the loaves and passed them to Carbo, then offered the other loaf to the thief. The thief snatched it out of his hand and started to chew it hungrily.
Sica passed around the other loaves and the jug of water, and everyone ate and drank. The meal was over in moments, and it was in no way satisfying. Carbo knew the amount was not sufficient for a man of his size, and wondered if there would be other meals during the day or in the evening. He hoped so, or he wouldn’t last long.
“What each names?” asked Sica. The other prisoners looked at her. “I Sica,” she said, pointing to herself.
“Carbo,” said Carbo.
The two fugitives smiled in comprehension. “Phraates,” said the first, the one who had assaulted the thief. “Orobazes,” said the second.
The names and accent reminded Carbo of slaves captured in battle he had encountered during his time in the legions. “Parthians?” he asked. The men recognised the Latin name for their people and nodded.
“I’m Meru,” said the boy. “My father was an Egyptian, my mother Greek. I shouldn’t be here.”
Bandits of Rome Page 19
