The Dacian War (Book 6 of the Veteran of Rome Series)

by William Kelso

  “Esther,” Petrus blurted out, “she is gone.”

  “What?” Marcus shouted in alarm as hastily he turned to look around the empty room.

  “I went to sleep,” Petrus stammered. “It was just for a short time but when I woke up she was gone. I have no idea where she went.”

  “Oh, you stupid boy,” Marcus hissed, his face darkening, “I told you both to stay here. You were supposed to watch over her. Now think, where could she have gone? Why would she leave without saying anything?”

  Beside the window, Petrus helplessly shook his head. “I have no idea, Marcus. I am sorry. What do we do now?”

  Chapter Twelve – Women of Rome

  It was getting dark when Marcus heard a faint sound outside the door on the landing. Hastily he scrambled to his feet and Petrus did the same. There had been nothing else left to do but wait to see whether Esther would come back. As he glared at the door there came a soft knock. Opening the door Marcus saw Esther standing in the doorway, her head covered by the hood of her cloak. Angrily Marcus grasped hold of her shoulder and propelled her into the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

  “Where the hell have you been?” he roared, “I told you to stay in this room. Why did you not tell Petrus that you were going somewhere?”

  Esther pulled down her hood from over her head and calmly turned to face Marcus.

  “You would not have let me go if I had told you,” she said in a defiant voice. “There was something that I needed to do.”

  “What?” Marcus and Petrus cried out at the same time.

  Esther took a deep breath and folded her arms across her chest. “You told me once,” she said addressing herself to Marcus, “that I was no longer a slave. That I should act like a freeborn woman. Well, I have been trying. I went out to have a look at the house where I was born.”

  Esther paused as Marcus and Petrus gazed at her in astonishment.

  “I went to the house because I hoped to find out a bit more about who my parents were,” Esther said quietly and in a dignified voice. “I saw my old mistress. I remember her. She was always kind to me. She is old and frail now but I recognised her. She still lives in the same house. It’s on the Aventine hill.”

  “So, did you speak to her?” Petrus asked.

  But Esther shook her head. “No,” she muttered, looking away. “There was no opportunity to speak to the woman but it felt good to see her again. If anyone knows anything about my parents, it will be her. My mother and I were slaves in her household for many years.”

  “You should have told us what you were going to do,” Marcus said unhappily. “The city is not a safe place for a single woman to walk about on her own. Especially at night time. This will not happen again.”

  Esther nodded. “I know,” she replied, “but I had to see the house and my old mistress. This is the closest I have ever been to my family. I need to know who they were, Marcus. I have thought about this for so long. I can’t stop now. A person who does not know their past, does not know who they themselves are. If it is God’s will, then I will discover the truth and be content with who I am.”

  “This will not happen again,” Marcus said angrily, raising his finger in warning. “I haven’t come all this way so that you can discover your past. We will meet Abraham, the Christian priest, he will arrange for you to vanish into the Christian community and then Petrus and I are out of here. I have a family waiting for me back on Vectis. I don’t have the time or patience for your games.”

  ***

  It was morning and a day had passed since Esther had returned. Idly Marcus stood leaning against the brick wall of a building on the Quirinal hill, in the northern district of Rome that abutted onto the city wall. He had been waiting for over an hour already but so far nothing had happened. Just down the noisy, narrow and congested street the tall gates of the ludus, the newly opened school, that the Batavian veterans had told him about, remained firmly barred and closed. Had he mistimed his visit? There was no way of knowing. With a weary, bored sigh, he turned to look around him. The corner of the intersection he’d chosen was busy and in the streets around him people jostled their way past each other. Labourers carrying the tools of their trade, the odd litter-born noble, slaves running errands for their masters; a man leading his horse in the direction of the cattle market. No one paid any attention. Opposite him a woman was operating a fast food stall. It was nothing more than a small handcart on wheels, that was selling pieces of dried fish and other meats, covered in thick helpings of Garum, fermented-fish sauce. The Garum stank to high heaven but no one seemed to mind. The meat however looked rotten and covered in flies but despite its doubtful condition people were happily buying it. As he looked on with a distasteful expression Marcus suddenly realised the reason why Garum must be so popular. For it hid the multitude of rotting sins that lurked inside the meat. With a little disbelieving shake of his head he wrenched his gaze away from the meat and glanced up at the city walls that loomed up behind the buildings across the street. On his morning vigil, he had asked a man how old the walls were but he had not known and neither had the second person he’d asked. It was as if the inhabitants of Rome had forgotten how old their city was. It was a far cry from the people in Londinium, who knew exactly when their city had been founded.

  Once more his eyes wondered down the street and came to rest on the tall solid- looking doors of the school. Would the Augusta come today? There had been no time to send a message to Alexandros cooped up on the Hermes in Portus. But as he stood staring at the school gates Marcus sighed again. Since he’d arrived in Rome he was in two minds. If the chance arose and he could catch the empress’s attention for a few precious seconds, should he tell her about the voyage of the Hermes to Hyperborea or should he raise the plight of the homeless veterans begging and sleeping on the streets of Rome? He would not be able to raise both issues. Not unless the empress took a shine to him, invited him back to the palace for a drink and asked him to explain his whole life story. Marcus lowered his head and grinned as he imagined that highly unlikely scene. Now, that would be a story to tell the others he thought.

  Suddenly from down the street he heard a commotion. Turning to peer in the direction of the commotion he caught sight of the crowd hastily moving aside, as a big, well-dressed man clutching a vine stick, came striding down the narrow street, clearing the path in a loud, confident and commanding voice.

  “Make way for the empress, make way for the Augusta,” the man cried out.

  He was followed by a detachment of soldiers from the Praetorian Guard who came marching down the street in full armour, carrying their shields and spears. And behind them Marcus noticed the grand litter carried by eight litter bearers. A line of stony-faced freedmen armed with sticks, strode along in single file alongside both sides of the litter and bringing up the rear, was another detachment from the Praetorian Guard. A noisy crowd of citizens was following the procession up the street, calling out to the inhabitant of the litter. Along the sides of the street others had stopped to stare as she swept past. Hastily Marcus left his position and crossed the street so that he was pressed up against the wall beside the school gates. He had just made it, when with a creak the gates swung open and two slaves quickly knelt on one knee on both sides of the gate and respectfully lowered their heads. The litter was approaching. Marcus gazed at the white square box. Fine curtains of white silk billowed gently on all four sides of the litter, obscuring the inhabitant from view but through the gaps Marcus caught sight of a plump lady of around forty-five, dressed in a fine, expensive toga. She was lying on a comfortable- looking mattress with a pillow made of silk. Along the street some of the onlookers were calling out, gesturing with their hands as they tried to attract her attention.

  “Augusta,” Marcus cried out. He surged towards the litter as it was about to enter through the school gates. “How do you sleep at night knowing that many of your faithful veterans are homeless and sleeping on the streets. Have pity on them, Augusta. I beg
you.”

  One of the freedmen shoved Marcus back against the wall and from inside the litter there was no reply or response. Then the litter vanished into the school-yard, the gates slammed shut and the rear-guard of Praetorians took up their position in a solid line along the school entrance, their hard, cold faces staring straight ahead into space. Dejected Marcus shook his head as he stared at the school gates. The Augusta had said nothing. He wasn’t even sure that she had heard him. He had wasted the whole morning.

  Across the street, the woman selling the rotting meat was laughing at him.

  “You think she wants to talk with you,” the woman called out. “The Augusta only talks to those who deserve her attention. Not your day is it.”

  “Shut up,” Marcus retorted.

  “You will get another chance when she leaves,” the meat seller cried, “but she will have the children with her then so her attention will be on them. Come back again tomorrow and buy some of my meat next time. Maybe it will change your luck.”

  Marcus shook his head in disgust but he didn’t move from his position beside the gates. It was a few minutes later when the gates creaked open and a sharp, shouted command made the praetorians form up in the middle of the street, sending anyone unfortunate enough to get in their way tumbling into the dust. As the litter once more appeared, Marcus surged forwards once more but two freedmen swiftly pushed him back.

  “Augusta, remember your veterans,” Marcus cried out, “They are our best people. They do not deserve to be homeless and sleeping rough.”

  But from the enclosed litter there was no reply or acknowledgment and swiftly the procession departed down the street in the direction of the Palatine hill. Sourly Marcus watched them go. He was about to have a go at the laughing meat seller when a woman’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

  “Marcus, Marcus, is that really you?”

  Slowly Marcus turned around to look at the woman who had spoken and as he recognised her, a fierce blush appeared on his cheeks. Standing in the school courtyard was a woman in her fifties, clad in a simple black tunica with a fine see through black mourning shawl covering her head. Her greying hair was elegantly done up above her head and fixed with a long bone fibula. The only indication of her status was the array of gleaming amber and gold rings that adorned her fingers. And at her side, she was holding the hand of a little boy of five or six.

  “Lady Claudia,” Marcus replied, dipping his head with a quick respectful gesture. “You are not mistaken. This is a surprise.”

  In the school courtyard, Claudia was staring at him in shocked surprise. Then a little teasing smile appeared on her lips and she beckoned for him to come towards her.

  “Indeed, this is a most welcome surprise, Marcus. Come on, don’t be shy, I won’t bite, not this time anyway,” Claudia said as the cheeky smile on her lips widened.

  Marcus did as she had asked and swiftly the slaves closed and barred the gates behind him leaving him alone with her and the boy. The school yard was small and a few paces away was the entrance to the school building. Claudia’s smile was genuine. She took her time, silently looking him up and down, as if he were a prize horse. And as she did Marcus was suddenly transported back twenty years to the Prefect’s quarters in the wooden fort at Luguvalium during the great northern rebellion. A stark-naked Claudia, the Legate’s wife, was lying on his bed and beckoning him to join her; and he’d joined her. He’d made love to her all night whilst Kyna and Fergus had been sleeping less than a hundred paces away. Hastily Marcus blinked and looked away.

  “What are you doing in Rome, my lady?” Marcus said in an uncomfortable voice. “I thought you had made your home in Londinium. I trust that all is well with you and your husband.” Marcus cleared his throat awkwardly, “I believe that when we last met, you said that he was a senator, here in Rome.”

  “Things don’t always work out like you would like them to,” Claudia replied smoothly. “The school in Londinium is doing just fine as is your son, Ahern. He is a most promising student, Marcus. He is going to be a great man one day.”

  The smile slowly faded from her face and with a little tap on the boy’s shoulder, she sent her student scurrying into the school, leaving her alone with Marcus. Slowly Claudia folded her arms across her chest. “This is my new school,” she said indicating the building. “I now have three schools. I am doing well. That’s why I am here in Rome and now we are lucky enough to host some of the children of the Imperial family. As to my poor husband, the senator. He is dead. Yes, died just after I arrived in the city. It’s such a shame. He had his uses. He was a powerful man, unfaithful but powerful. As you can see I am in mourning for him.”

  “I am sorry to hear that,” Marcus replied lowering his eyes. “How did he die?”

  “Someone poisoned him,” Claudia said with a breezy sigh as she looked away. “But let’s stop talking rubbish Marcus,” she snapped, turning to stare at him. “You don’t give a damn about my husband and neither do I. Neither of us were faithful to each other as you know. I am glad that he is dead. You were more of a man to me than he ever was.”

  “I don’t think we should talk about this,” Marcus muttered as he fixed his eye on Claudia.

  “And why not?” Claudia said as she took a step towards him. “You saved my life and that of my daughter, twenty years ago, when you gave us protection in that fort of yours. What was it called again?”

  “Luguvalium,” Marcus muttered.

  “That’s right,” Claudia snapped. “It may be twenty years ago, but I remember those days like they were yesterday. Oh, Marcus if only you knew. Those days in that fort with you, they were one of the few times that I have ever truly felt alive.”

  Claudia chuckled and raised her eyes to the heavens. “Who but you would have the balls to come after me and my daughter and single-handedly rescue us from those rebels. And then you had the guts to tell me off, slap me and embarrass me. Me - a lady of senatorial rank. I could have had you flogged for such behaviour. You must have known that.”

  “I have a wife,” Marcus said in warning. “I have a family. They mean the world to me.”

  Claudia sighed and turned to look at him.

  “I am not trying to steal you away from your wife or family,” she snapped impatiently. “I can have any man I like. No, Marcus you misread me. I have no interest or need for your cock. But like I told you when we last saw each other in Londinium, you have an ally in me Marcus and everyone in Rome needs an ally. You are an ambitious man. A man looking to go up in the world but sooner or later such a man must choose who his allies are going to be.”

  Chapter Thirteen – The Good Christian

  “Entrance gate 22, section 9, row 6, seats 12 and 13,” Petrus said hastily as he looked down at the numbered pottery shards in his hand. “They gave me these shards. They are our tickets into the Flavian Amphitheatre, called the Colosseum. My brothers told me that we should arrive early and take our seats on the benches where two cocks have been cut into the wood. We are not to sit anywhere else. When the games are over they told me that we should stay in our seats and let the rest of the spectators leave. Abraham will approach us then and we can talk. Those were the instructions. They were very specific about them. Screw up and Abraham would not show they said. That’s all. It’s a rather strange way in which to arrange a meeting.”

  Marcus nodded quickly as the two of them strode along the narrow, congested street. It was morning and a couple of days had passed since his encounter with Lady Claudia but there had been little time to dwell on her. For last night, Petrus had returned to the top floor room in a triumphant mood saying that he’d heard from his brothers and that Abraham, the Christian priest had agreed to meet them.

  “It doesn’t surprise me. You Christians are strange folk but at least you have a sense of humour; two cocks indeed,” Marcus muttered, as they pushed their way down the street. “But by meeting in this way, this priest Abraham will be able to observe us for the whole day whilst we have no idea who h
e is. He is clearly concerned for his own safety and he probably doesn’t trust us. It’s clever. He has the upper hand. The stands are going to be packed with spectators. We will never know who he is until he shows himself. But when we meet, let me do the talking.”

  “I can handle it,” Petrus snapped, “I set this up. I should be the one doing the talking. You are just the hired muscle here to protect us,” and as he said the last sentence, Petrus glanced at Marcus with a little humorous smile that revealed the excitement that was coursing through him.

  Marcus let the remark go with a little shake of his head. He too was strangely excited. Not only was he looking forwards to seeing the Colosseum for the first time, but if the meeting went well he would soon be on his way home.

  “Are you sure that we should not take Esther with us?” Petrus asked as the two of them swept out of the Argiletum and into the Forum.

  “No, not at this first meeting,” Marcus replied, as he gazed up at the magnificent, towering oval-shape of the Flavian Amphitheatre - the Colosseum that rose from the earth, utterly dominating everything around it. “If Abraham agrees to take her into his community then we shall hand her over at a second meeting. But we still don’t know who this man is. He could be a murderous, rapist for all we know.”

  “He is a good Christian,” Petrus retorted with an excited grin.

  “Let’s hope so,” Marcus replied, unable to take his eyes off the massive structure of the Colosseum.

  As the two of them strode down the Sacred Way, the crowds around them seemed to swell and everyone seemed to be heading in the same direction. A strange excited tension seemed to have made itself master of the crowds, a sense of expectation with a dark, violent undertone. As he wrenched his eyes away from the Colosseum and glanced about, Marcus could see that the crowds were already far too large and concentrated for the few visible detachments of the urban cohorts to control and the crowd seemed to know it too. For a moment, they were the masters of the streets and nothing was going to stop them from getting what they had come for.