Bandits of Rome

by Bandits of Rome (retail) (epub)

  Pamphile squeezed her shoulder. “It seems so unreal. It has from the moment those bandits jumped out on us, wearing those horrible masks.”

  Carbo looked up sharply. “Masks?”

  “You too?” asked Meru. “They took me! I was travelling from Nola to Rome to learn philosophy. He killed everyone in my group who resisted, took the rest of us as slaves. I’m a freedman, but I was going to make my fortune.”

  Carbo stared at his fellow slaves.

  “Sica? How did you end up here?”

  “Was captured when Roman soldiers raided my village. Was with a kind master, a merchant. The bandits killed him, took me.”

  “The masked ones?”

  Sica nodded.

  “Atreus and Thyestes.” Curtius spat.

  “Were you taken by them as well?” asked Carbo.

  “Not exactly,” said Curtius. “I worked for them.”

  They all stared at him. Carbo opened his mouth to speak.

  The door to the hut opened again, and a guard came in carrying a large cauldron filled with a steaming stew, and another guard brought a jug of water. The aroma of boiled meat was the sweetest smell imaginable. They all stared hungrily at the cauldron, but none moved, awaiting the guard’s instructions.

  “Did you think we wouldn’t feed you?” laughed the guard. “Where would be the logic in that? A farmer feeds his livestock doesn’t he?” He set down two clay bowls, and left, locking and bolting the door behind him.

  Curtius scrambled forward, but was pulled short by Orobazes yanking on his chain. Curtius yelped, and turned angrily to the fugitive slave, but Orobazes held him firm, and regarded Carbo questioningly.

  Were they looking to him as leader? He wanted none of that. If he couldn’t look after his own, what good was he to anyone else? But the whole group, starving as they were, waited expectantly for his instructions.

  “There are two bowls,” said Carbo. “The stew is too sloppy to eat with our fingers. We take it in turns to use the bowls, one bowl each. Then we see how much is left, and share it evenly. The youngsters first, then the ladies.”

  Orobazes and Phraates clearly didn’t understand, but nodded their acceptance anyway.

  “Why do they get to go first?” grumbled Curtius.

  “Be grateful we are letting you eat at all,” growled Carbo. Curtius looked down.

  Carbo passed the bowls to Meru and Sica, who took them gratefully, dipped them into the cauldron and then drank from the bowls greedily. Agamede and Pamphile were next, both examining the contents of their bowls with suspicion, before consuming it with as much decorum as they could muster.

  “Will you hurry up,” groaned Curtius, but he was ignored.

  Carbo ate last, with Curtius, and by this time they were down to the dregs. The cooks had measured quantities accurately, one bowlful each. They could scoop the remains from the sides of the cauldron, but the majority was gone. The stew was thin, hot water with corn and small amounts of gristle, which Carbo tried to chew, then simply swallowed whole.

  Carbo let Sica and Meru lick the bowl clean, despite Curtius’ protests. When it was all gone, they sat in silence, stretching aching limbs, inspecting blisters on hands and feet, grazes on knees.

  “I guess you two had an easy day,” said Curtius to Agamede and Pamphile. Pamphile looked down, and let out a single sob. Agamede put an arm around her.

  “Oh come on,” said Curtius. “We were down in the pits, in the dust and heat, working the skin off our fingers. What can you have been doing to compare with that?”

  Agamede glared at him and Pamphile trembled.

  “What?” pressed Curtius. “I want to know what you did that means you get an equal share of our food.”

  “If you really want to know,” said Agamede, her words clipped, “We spent the whole day treading the boards that operated the water pump, until our legs cramped, and our feet bled. But the kind guards gave us regular breaks, during which they took turns to rape us.”

  Curtius stared, mouth open. Sica paled. Carbo put his head in his hands.

  No one spoke.

  Carbo pulled Sica to him, let her rest her head on his shoulder. So much wrong here. The rage that burned inside him started to change. Yes, he wanted revenge, so bad it was a bitter taste in his mouth. But he was beginning to see the extent of the injustice the masked men were committing against the people of Nola. It wasn’t right.

  But what could he do, destined to die in these mines? Weariness overcame him and he closed his eyes.

  Chapter XVI

  Lutorius felt conflicted with lust and shame. Not because Calidia was the wife of his commanding officer. He had no great respect for Asellio. The shame came from what he was doing to her. She lay back on the bed, knees up and parted, her hand on the back of his head, grinding her hips against his face as he kissed and licked her. No real man would do this, he thought. The Greeks would, he knew, or the Egpytians, but not a Roman. Yet the taste of her, her cries of pleasure, the way her body writhed at his touch, drove him wild.

  She squeezed his head between her thighs and bucked, letting out a wail as her climax arrived. When the convulsions subsided, he kissed his way up her body, over her nipples to her lips. She smiled, then rolled him onto his back, and knelt between his legs. She gripped him tightly in one hand, licked his shaft, then slid her mouth over it. As her head moved up and down on him, he lay back with a satisfied smile. This was more like it. Those Greek bum boys didn’t do it like this, he was sure.

  When she had swallowed him down, she wriggled herself up beside him, warm body against him, one arm across his chest. He closed his eyes. The patrol through the market had been predictably pointless. They had caught a homeless child in the act of taking a loaf of bread, and caned him publicly before letting him go. Otherwise the market seemed more or less as normal. Maybe a little subdued. Word had got around about the violence in the plaza a few days before. But most of the citizens of Nola figured it had nothing to do with them, and got on with life as normal.

  He stroked her hair.

  “I love you,” he said. What? Where had that come from?

  She looked up at him, searched his eyes. He returned the gaze, then when she said nothing, he looked away in embarrassment.

  “I’m sorry. Forget I said that.”

  “No,” said Calidia. “It’s fine. I just… wasn’t expecting.”

  He sat up abruptly, taking her hand off him.

  “I have to go.”

  “No, Lutorius, not like this.”

  He pulled on his tunic, slipped into his sandals.

  “I’ll see you, Calidia.”

  “Soon?” she asked.

  “Sure,” he said.

  He slipped out of her bedroom, and out of his commanding officer’s house. When he was a safe distance away, he slumped against a nearby wall, and thumped his fist into it. What a fool. Of course she didn’t love him, she was married, she couldn’t. Why did he need to spoil things like that?

  But he did love her, and saying it out loud, and not hearing it back, was an unexpected pain. For a moment, he wallowed in his own, self-indulgent misery. Then, he wondered where Carbo was, and his situation suddenly didn’t seem quite so bad.

  Carbo woke abruptly as the door to the hut flew open with a bang, early morning light flooding in. For a brief moment, he thought he was still in his dream, Rufa and himself, working in their tavern. It didn’t take long for all the memories of loss and despair to come crashing back.

  A jug of water was brought in, and the bread. Seven loaves. Seven?

  Carbo looked at the food uncertainly.

  “Why seven?” asked Sica.

  Carbo didn’t speak. He hoped the obvious answer wasn’t the right one. They divided up the food as best they could, though it was hard to divide the seven loaves into eight portions accurately. They had mostly slept remarkably soundly, although they had all been woken by Pamphile suddenly bursting into screams in the middle of the night. When her sister had failed
to calm her, a guard had banged loudly on the door and threatened to silence her permanently. Fortunately, Agamede had managed at least to stop the terrible noise, if not provide her sister with any comfort.

  When they had eaten, they took it in turns to squat in the corner of the cell in the latrine area. Soon the small room was overpowered with the ammoniacal, farmyard smell of urine and faeces.

  The time allotted to breakfasting and toileting was brief, and soon they were being led outside again, blinking in the sunlight, shivering in the cold early morning air, the mine workers naked except for the aprons the men wore, the two women working the pumps allowed short tunics.

  The slaves were lined up in their workgroups of around eight workers, and Durmius strutted before them like a cock showing off to the hens. When they were all gathered, he addressed them in a loud, high-pitched voice.

  “You all know how things work here. You have jobs to do. You do them, or there is punishment. We don’t stand over you, whipping you as you mine or carry or pump or smelt. That is frankly far too much effort. What we do, is ensure that you are motivated enough to carry out the work you are required to do.”

  He looked up and down the shivering rows of slaves. “Mining work groups have quotas, and when those quotas aren’t met, the mine as a whole misses its quota, and the owners become unhappy, and that becomes a problem for me. I don’t like problems.

  “If you miss your quota by even a tiny amount, you will be punished. If you miss your quota by more, you will be punished severely. One group yesterday missed their quota by one part in eight. This is unacceptable. You will now be given a lesson regarding what happens to lazy slaves.”

  All the work groups were on edge, terrified they were to be singled out. When Durmius approached Carbo’s group, the collective sigh of relief from the other groups was audible.

  “I have a bag in here with eight stones. Seven are white, one is black. Take a stone each.”

  Durmius offered the bag to Carbo first. Carbo didn’t know what drawing the black stone would mean, but he knew he didn’t want it. He stared at Durmius, hands at his sides, in a brief show of defiance, but the overseer’s gaze didn’t waver, and Carbo didn’t have the fight in him to resist. He reached in and felt around. The stones were all smooth, and there was no indication that one was different from the other. He selected one at random, pulled it out, opened his fist, and sighed in relief when he saw the stone he held was white.

  Curtius was next, and he gave a shout of joy when he saw that his stone was white. The two women also drew white, and Phraates and Orobazes, though they looked confused, also showed relief when they found they had white stones.

  Only Meru and Sica remained to draw. Carbo looked at Sica, who was trembling from head to foot. He tried to calm her with his eyes, but he knew any reassurance was meaningless. Meru reached in, drew a stone.

  Opened his hand.

  Black.

  “No, no no no,” he cried. “It’s not fair. What does it mean?”

  Durmius offered the sack to Sica, and Carbo tensed. He wondered if Durmius might have been lying about the number of black stones.

  Sica drew a white stone.

  “It is decided then. Punishment will fall on this boy. Some of you may have served in the legions, many will not. Those of you who have will know there is a time-honoured practice of decimation, a punishment reserved for soldiers who mutiny and desert. The soldiers draw lots in groups of ten, and the unlucky one is beaten or stoned to death by his comrades. I consider a slave who does not work to be the same as a mutineer or a deserter. So the same punishment will be applied here. Although as there are only eight in a workgroup, I suppose we should call it octimation.” He chuckled at his own joke, although he was the only one smiling.

  “Guards, tie the slave to the stake.”

  The guards unchained Meru, who had been listening in disbelief. Only as they led him towards a tall wooden stake, buried deeply in the ground near the entrance to the mines, did he start to struggle. The guard’s grip was too strong, though, and soon he was bound, hands behind the post, another rope around his neck, holding him tight.

  Carbo’s workgroup was unchained, and led to a pile of rocks a short distance from where Meru was tied. Meru stared at them, eyes pleading.

  “Please, don’t do this.”

  “You will all throw two rocks each. If I deem you have not thrown hard enough, you will be punished and have to throw again. If I still think you have not thrown hard enough, you will be crucified. If he is not dead by the time you have all thrown, then he will be strangled by the guards, the lots will be drawn again, and another of you will undergo the same punishment. I hope that’s clear.”

  Carbo stared at Durmius in disbelief. The threat of decimation was well known in the legion, but rarely carried out. The last time had been in Augustus’ reign, as far as Carbo knew. It was a punishment that carried with it fear and humiliation and shame. Carbo was stunned that the overseer would inflict it on slaves. Yet why would he not? All the same reasons it was used in the legions applied here. The threat was so terrible, no one, slave or legionary, would step out of line.

  He looked at Meru, who had tears running down his grimy cheeks, his face twisted in misery and terror. Carbo had seen stonings before, and knew they could be prolonged and agonising. Carbo stepped forward, and picked up a fist-sized rock from the pile. This had to be done, but he could end it quickly. He drew his arm back to throw. Meru screamed.

  “Stop,” said Durmius, his voice penetrating through the murmurings of the onlookers.

  Carbo paused. Meru looked over at him, relief flooding his face. A mock execution? It had certainly served its purpose well, in terrifying the boy and the watching crowd.

  “You don’t go first,” said Durmius. “You are too strong, you might kill him outright. That would not be an appropriate punishment. You, girl.” He pointed to Sica. “You go first.”

  Sica looked at Carbo, miserable eyes questioning. He nodded to her, then looked down.

  Sica stepped forward, and took the stone off Carbo. She turned to face Meru.

  Meru was shaking his head, mouthing soundless words.

  “I’m sorry,” said Sica. She drew back her arm and threw.

  Whether she deliberately threw weakly, or it was her own internal will fighting her, the stone flew gently through the air, and smacked lightly onto Meru’s shoulder. He yelped at the impact, but there was little harm done.

  Durmius gestured to a guard, who stepped forward and laid his whip hard across Sica’s back. A streak of blood across the bare skin traced the whip’s impact, and she cried out.

  “Try again girl. Remember the punishment for two weak throws.”

  Trembling, Sica picked up another rock. This time, she managed to impart some force into the throw. It hit Meru in the chest, and his cry of anticipation ended in a grunt as the air rushed out of him.

  “Again,” commanded Durmius, and Sica threw again, hitting a shin painfully.

  “Now, you ladies, please,” said Durmius. Agamede threw next, her second throw earning a stripe of the whip. Pamphile threw with more power and anger, her eyes seeming to see someone other than Meru at the stake. Curtius went next. His throws were hard but inaccurate. One impacted Meru’s abdomen, the other smashed his shin, causing him to scream, and to keep screaming until one of Phraate’s stones caught him a glancing blow to the head, stunning him.

  Carbo was last, and by the time he picked up a stone again, Meru was unconscious, bleeding from gashes on his body and his head, one arm, one leg and probably a number of ribs broken. He was clearly still breathing though.

  “He’s still alive,” said Durmius. “This is getting exciting. If you don’t finish him off, slave, we get to do this all over again. Fortuna’s luck to you.”

  Carbo weighed the stone in his hand. He had to do this right, he couldn’t let anyone else go through this. He picked a point between Meru’s eyes, drew back his arm, and let fly with all his strengt
h.

  His fatigued muscles let him down, the throw powerful but inaccurate. It crunched into Meru’s shoulder, causing him to stir limply in his bonds.

  “Last chance, slave,” said Durmius, excitement in his voice.

  Carbo picked up the largest stone remaining in the pile. He took a deep breath. The watching crowd were hushed. From the corner of his eye, he could see Sica watching him with pleading eyes, hands clasped together.

  He threw. The stone hit Meru right in the middle of the forehead with immense force that caved in the young boy’s skull. Blood and brain matter oozed out through the hole Carbo had made.

  One of the guards stepped forward, bent to listen to Meru’s chest. He straightened, called out, “He’s dead.”

  The tension went out of Carbo’s body, quickly followed by guilt at the relief he felt.

  “Ah, shame,” said Durmius. “Still, I think this has been an adequate demonstration. I don’t think anyone will be in any doubt ahout the fate that awaits the work shy. Now, this group is a worker short. I’m nothing if not fair, so one of the women can be transferred from the pumps to the mines. The water level is low at the moment anyway.”

  “Please, master,” said Agamede, “Send Pamphile to the mines.”

  Durmius raised an eyebrow. “The younger, prettier one? I don’t think my guards would be too happy with that choice. No, you shall go. Amasis!” The supervisor scurried over. “Get them to work. And make sure they hit quota today, or I will have to start thinking about whether some punishment for you is in order.”

  “Yes, master, I will make sure of it.”

  Durmius turned and strode away. One of the guards took Pamphile’s chain and she was led away, looking numb. Agamede reached out for her, and was cuffed away by another guard.

  “Come on,” said Amasis, “The sooner you start, the better chance you will have of reaching your quota.”

  He led them down the ladder, back to the sparse air, and the heat, and the body-destroying labour.

  Chapter XVII

  They worked hard and they worked wordlessly. Agamede copied Sica in collecting the fragments and hauling them back to the central part of the mining complex for lifting back to the surface. Curtius joined in at the rockface with Carbo from the moment they arrived, heaving his pick aggressively, attacking the ore like it was his enemy. Carbo watched him from the corner of his eye as he too worked methodically. Phraates and Orobazes settled back into rock breaking. The workgroup started to develop a rhythm, the ore moving smoothly from rock face to basket, from boulder to fragment. Each of them developed an eye for their work, Carbo and Curtius learning where to aim to harvest as much as possible with each blow, Phraates and Orobazes picking fissure lines that fractured the rocks as efficiently as possible, Sica and Agamede learning to pack their baskets tightly, so they could carry more ore on each trip.