They kept on, Curtius muttering complaints, Orobazes and Sica silent. The rocky ground turned to grass beneath their feet, making the going less painful. A few sheep milled around, grinding the grass down, looking up with bored curiosity as the strangers passed. The wind chilled them, and Carbo started to worry about exposure. He was chilled to the core himself, but Sica was trembling all over. How ridiculous, he thought, to survive all they had, and then freeze to death for want of a tunic or blanket, a hut or cave.
“There,” said Sica, pointing. Carbo peered into the distance, could make out nothing. But Sica was insistent, and her younger eyes proved accurate. Out of the darkness loomed a small wooden hut, smoke curling out from a hole in the roof. Carbo put a finger to his lips as they approached it. When they reached the door, he held up a hand, and counted down from three on his fingers.
When his last finger curled down, he barged the hut door open, entering with the roar, the other three hard on his heels.
A young boy screamed at the sight of four demons bursting into his hut, naked, dirt-smeared, yelling for his blood. Carbo grabbed him, pressed him up against a wall, retrieved a short knife from the boy’s belt, then looked around him. A small fire glowed in a hearth in the centre of the room, smoke drifting lazily upwards. A pot bubbled over the fire. Blankets were strewn on the floor. A shepherd’s crook stood propped up in a corner.
“Is there anyone else nearby?” asked Carbo, voice dripping with menace.
The boy shook his head, eyes wide with terror.
“How far to the nearest village?”
“About…half of an hour’s walk.”
Carbo released him, then said to Curtius, “Tie him up.”
Curtius nodded, and bound the shepherd boy’s hands behind his back, using strips of torn blanket, then hobbled his ankles.
They all moved near the fire, mesmerised by the heat and light.
“Carbo.” Orobazes held up a jug. He took a sip, smiled, took a deep glug, then passed it to Carbo. Carbo drank, the cheap, watered, vinegary wine which tasted like the finest Falernian. He passed the jug to Sica, who drank and passed it to Curtius.
The pot on the fire contained a rich mutton stew. Only meant to feed one for a full meal, but enough to ease the hunger cramps that the smell of cooking had instantly induced.
They huddled together around the fire, and for a moment, Carbo thought he had never been so happy. To have his most basic needs met, warmth, drink, food, rest, was not what he had imagined happiness to be. Now he knew better.
“I’ll take watch first,” said Carbo. “The rest of you get some sleep. Use those blankets. Tomorrow we can cut holes in them to make tunics, until we can find some real clothes.”
“Then what?” asked Curtius.
“Then, we are going to find our way back to Italy. I have unfinished business there.”
Durmius looked thoughtfully at the rope. He gave it an experimental tug, noted it held fast. He looked at the ground, saw scuff marks in the dirt.
“When was this noticed?” he asked.
“At first light,” said the Cominius, the guard captain. “When the shifts changed, the new patrol saw it straight away.”
“The guard that was patrolling this section at night. Have him whipped.”
“Yes, sir,” said Cominius. “Do you think someone has escaped?”
“No, captain, I think some of the prisoners have been practicing wall climbing for exercise, because they have too much energy left at the end of the day.”
“Really sir? I thought they were usually tired by the end…”
“Captain, how did you get this job?”
“Well, my mother’s aunt was…”
Durmius held up a hand. “That’s enough information. Which of the prisoners are unaccounted for?”
“None, sir.”
“None?”
“All the prisoners were in their huts at morning head count. No one unaccounted for. Apart from the dead ones of course.” The guard let out a chuckle.
Durmius looked thoughtful. “When did the engineers intend to clear out that tunnel that collapsed yesterday?”
“Not for a few days, sir. They said they wanted anything that was unstable to have found its position before they started messing around with it.”
Durmius put a hand to his face, and chewed on his lip. “It’s that Carbo, I’ll bet. I knew he was going to be trouble.”
“You think he survived?” asked Cominius.
“I think if anyone could, it would be him.”
“What do we do then? If he is already counted as dead, surely we don’t need to put ourselves out recapturing him.”
“It’s the principle, captain. Nobody escapes from here. If word got around it was possible, your men would be fighting off escape attempts every night.”
The guard captain sighed, shoulders slumped, knowing what was coming.
“Organise a party. Get the dogs. You will lead.”
“Yes sir.” Cominius scurried off to obey his orders.
“Listen,” said Sica.
They had left the shepherd boy tied up, after a brief debate over whether he would be found before he starved to death. They decided if he didn’t return home, his family would likely look for him in good time, so decided the low risk of him dying a slow painful death was outweighed by the high risk of him reporting them to the authorities. Now they trudged roughly north east, wrapped in makeshift clothes made out of blankets, though still bare-foot except for Curtius who was wearing the shepherd boy’s rather snug sandals.
Carbo paused to listen, turning his head so the noise from the whistling wind was minimised. For a moment there was nothing. Then he heard the barking.
“Merda. Dogs.”
“They hunt?” asked Sica.
Carbo nodded. “We need to find water to disguise our trail.”
“Water?” asked Curtius. “But it’s freezing out here.”
“Would you rather be cold out here, or warm back in there, awaiting your punishment?”
Curtius shivered and Carbo knew it wasn’t from the cold.
“Let’s get going.”
After maybe a mile, they found a stream snaking down the hillside. Carbo led the way, wincing at the bite of the ice cold water on his feet. They all followed, Curtius loudly complaining, Sica and Orobazes silent. The stones on the bed of the stream were sharp, and the pain of treading on them was intense, until the cold began to numb their feet. Then Carbo began to worry what damage his feet may be taking without him realising.
When they had travelled what Carbo judged a reasonable distance, they exited onto the far bank, and carried on. Their wet feet did not warm up, and they all stumbled frequently. The sound of barking dogs receded as they travelled, and Carbo felt his anxiety ease. He looked up. The sky was overcast, dark, threatening rain. They would need shelter if they got caught out in a downpour, but the hilly countryside offered little - no caves, no overhanging rocks, not even any trees of a size big enough to huddle beneath to wait out a rainstorm.
Orobazes, who was leading the way, stopped and pointed. “Carbo.”
To one side of their intended route, there was a small collection of huts. Three, Carbo counted, and some barns and other outhouses. How many would live there? he wondered. Say it was three families, with slaves, that could be easily twenty or thirty people. But the huts looked small, poorly maintained. Probably no slaves then. These were likely subsistence farmers. Husband, wife and some children. And maybe some of the men would be away, working the fields or tending flocks.
“We need food, we need shoes, and we need proper clothing,” said Carbo. “We go to the village.”
“And they will just give it to us?” asked Curtius.
“No. And we have nothing to trade. We will have to take what we need.”
“Armed with just that little fruit knife you took from the boy?”
“It will be enough,” said Carbo.
“The men with dogs?” asked Sica. “They
will ask at village. Find us.”
Carbo nodded. “I know. But they will find our trail again soon anyway. We will be faster with food inside us and proper clothes and footwear. The decision is made. Follow me.”
They approached the village warily. Some geese hissed at their approach, and as they got closer, an elderly dog, tied up to a pole between the huts, opened one eye, realised that intruders had got closer than they should, and jumped to his feet, barking furiously.
A woman came out from one of the huts, baby clutched to her breast. She took one look at the four escaped slaves, and retreated into the hut, slamming the door shut and barring it.
Carbo reached her hut, rattled the door, and realised it wasnt going to open easily. He turned to the next hut.
“Let’s try this one.”
This one was unlocked, and Carbo threw the door open and entered, knife extended.
A toothless lady sat in a chair at the far end of the single room, her sewing on her lap. She stared at them, masticating a morsel of something soft.
“Apologies for the intrusion,” said Carbo. “We are in desperate need of food and clothes. Can you help us?”
The woman continued to stare, chewing noisily.
“I don’t think she is all there, Carbo,” said Curtius. “Let’s take what we need and go.”
They looked around, found a man’s tunic that was too small for Carbo or Orobazes, but fitted Curtius, found a shawl that Sica wrapped around herself, and found some dried meat and fruits. They ate these hungrily.
Sica looked at the old lady’s sandals, then looked at Carbo, conflicted. Carbo nodded to her. Sica approached the lady, untied the laces that held them in place. As she started to take them off, the old lady seemed to awake from a trance, and started to smack Sica around the head, cursing her in accented Latin. Sica stepped back, looking distressed. Orobazes took the old lady’s wrists, and held, them, gently but firmly, allowing Sica to finish.
“Sorry, lady,” she said in a small voice, and put the sandals on.
“There’s nothing else here,” said Carbo. “Let’s try the other hut.”
The last hut was locked but not barred, and a shoulder barge from Carbo broke the lock open. This hut was unoccupied, and they quickly looted it. A little bread, which again they ate immediately, and some more dried meat, which they stored. Two larger tunics meant that they all now had some extra clothing against the cold, and one pair of very worn caligae. Carbo wondered if these belonged to a veteran, or whether they had just been picked up when some legionary had discarded them. Either way, despite the holes in the soles and the perished leather uppers, they would be a godsend. Carbo picked them up and looked at his own feet, blistered and bleeding. Then he handed them to Orobazes. The large barbarian smiled and put a hand on his shoulder.
There was no more to be had here, so they went back outside. They searched the outbuildings, but found only a grumpy looking ox, animal fodder and agricultural tools. Carbo took a solid looking axe, and a small hacksaw but nothing else. He looked at the barred hut that the mother and child had retreated into.
“We need more,” said Curtius. “More food, more shoes, more warm clothes.”
Sica nodded agreement. Orobazes pointed to Carbo’s bare feet.
“I know,” said Carbo. “But how do we get in?”
“Burn them out,” said Curtius.
“Great plan,” said Carbo. “Then we burn everything of use inside.”
“What do you suggest then?”
Carbo studied the door. The builders obviously had security in mind. It was heavy wood, with a sturdy metal handle and an iron lock. The handle was bolted securely to the door. He thought back to the outhouse he had just been in.
“I have an idea.”
With help from Orobazes, who proved adept at animal handling, they led the ox out by its nose ring, and harnessed it with some fencing rope, so that the rope ran through the door handle. They then shouted and smacked the stubborn beast, encouraging it to pull. For a moment it seemed oblivious to their urgings, then it started to pad forward. When the rope reached full tension the ox paused. But it was trained to the yoke, and besides, it was stubborn. It put its head down, and strained.
The door handle creaked, one nail popping out, but the rest remained fast, and the door and the frame it was attached to began to bow. Suddenly there was a loud crack, and the door flew open. Carbo rushed in quickly, knife held out, Orobazes behind him with the axe.
A woman screamed, which started a baby howling. In the dim interior light, Carbo could see a young boy, maybe ten years old, pointing a sword at them. His arm trembled with the weight, and Carbo could see he would not be able to keep it raised for long.
“Put it down, boy,” said Carbo, holding up a hand to restrain the others. “We don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“Go away,” said the boy. “Touch my sister and I will kill you.”
“Where are your parents, boy?”
“Nearby. They will be back soon.”
Carbo doubted it, but it was possible.
“We just want food, clothes, shoes.”
“Get out!” The boy’s voice had risen to hysterical pitch, and he moved forward, waving the sword in Carbo’s face.
Carbo took one step, grabbed the boy’s wrist and pulled it forward so the sword passed by his body and was trapped under his muscular arm. In one smooth movement he placed his foot behind the boy’s leg, then pressed firmly into the boy’s face with the palm of his face. The boy tripped over Carbo’s foot, and fell backwards heavily. Carbo retained control of his arm, and with a squeeze made him drop the weapon.
The girl had backed into a corner, looking terrified, clutching the baby like it was about to be taken away. The baby screamed.
“Search the place, quickly,” said Carbo, putting a foot on the boy’s chest so he couldn’t rise.
Orobazes found two tunics, holey and waiting for stitching, and a sheepskin cloak.
Sica went to a small wooden chest and threw the lid open. She pulled out a knife, the sort used for skinning and dicing meat, and looked at Carbo questioningly. He nodded, and she made a hole in her cloak to slide it into. She reached in again, and this time drew out a pair of large walking boots. She smiled and tossed them over to Carbo. Orobazes came over to restrain the boy, allowing Carbo to pull the boots on. He winced as the leather chafed on his sore feet, but he knew that now they were all shod, they would make much better progress.
Curtius opened some parcels wrapped in cloth and found cheese, bread and nuts.
“We’ll take that with us,” said Carbo. Curtius looked at the food wistfully for a moment, then wrapped it back up. “Anything else here?”
Curtius walked over to the woman, who shrunk away from him. Roughly he patted her over, taking time to run his hands over her breasts and buttocks.
“Nothing on her but her clothes,” he said. “Do we take them?”
Carbo looked across to Sica, who looked at her makeshift tunic, then at the stola the woman wore. She sighed and shook her head.
Carbo took inventory. They now all had footwear, none were naked, they had eaten and had a little spare food to take, and they even had weapons - two knives and an axe.
“It’s enough. Time to get moving.”
“Moving where?” asked Curtius.
“To Messana. It’s where we arrived, and it’s the quickest way back to Italy.”
“Why should we go back to Italy?”
Carbo looked at him in surprise. “It’s where I am from. My farm, my tavern, my friends.”
“I have no yearning to return to Italy. Rome has done me no favours. And what about these two? They aren’t Romans. Enslaved and taken from their countries. Sica, don’t you want to go home?”
Sica stared at Curtius, then turned to Carbo, confusion in her eyes.
Carbo’s expression hardened.
“I am returning to Italy. I have business with the man who sent me here.”
“Then you
are on your own. I’ll take these two into the heart of Sicily. We can hide out, live off the land, maybe steal enough so we can afford to get back into society. And there have been slave rebellions in Sicily in the past. Imagine if we could get the other slaves to rise up with us!”
“Those rebellions didn’t end well, if I remember correctly.”
“Who cares? We can look after ourselves. With or without you Carbo.”
Carbo looked around at the others. Orobazes looked confused, as usual. Sica looked torn. Curtius folded his arms.
Carbo picked up a leather sack, and stuffed a loaf of bread and the hacksaw into it. He made a length of twine into a belt, and put the knife through it. Then he walked to the door, opened it, and started walking, a marching pace, without looking back.
He had maybe gone twenty yards before he heard light, rapid footsteps behind him. Sica appeared at his side, gave his arm a squeeze, and walked with him. Shortly afterwards, heavier footsteps came, and Orobazes ran up, puffing from the exertion.
“Wait!” Curtius voice carried to them. Carbo turned, and Curtius approached, shoulders down, expression resigned. “You win, I’ll come.”
Carbo regarded him. “What if I don’t want you?”
Curtius looked taken aback. “But, you need me.”
“No, I don’t,” said Carbo. “Ever since we met, you have been a boil on my arse. The food, the women. Always moaning. Not pulling your weight. Meru is dead because you didn’t help us meet our target.”
“That’s not my fault,” said Curtius defensively. “We were never going to hit that quota.”
“We don’t know that. We might have made it, or at least close enough to avoid the stoning.”
“Come on, Durmius had it in for us. He was going to make an example of us from the moment we arrived.”
Bandits of Rome Page 27
