Rosemary Rowe - Enemies of the Empire

‘We had a bet, confound you. Pay up, or I’ll have to beat it out of you.’

‘How can I reach my purse, if you don’t let me go?’ the other muttered thickly, and then, as his companion grudgingly released him, ‘They don’t nickname you Cupidus, the grasping one, for nothing, do they?’ He gave his neck a rueful rub.

‘At least I don’t earn my name for having flapping ears, listening to all the gossip in town,’ Cupidus said, jeering in return. ‘You owe me three denarii , Big-ears! Pay up, or we shall see if you are a better fighter than your fish man was!’

Aurissimus ‘Big-ears’ was still arguing. ‘By rights I owe you nothing, except a hiding in the street.’

Cupidus clenched both his fists at this, and I was beginning to think that I was going to witness another contest of my own, when suddenly the third man noticed me. He tugged at his companions. All argument was forgotten instantly, and the three men turned as one to stare at me.

‘Well, well,’ said Cupidus, and with a sneering swagger he took a step towards me. ‘What have we got here? A stranger? Where have you sprung from? What are you doing here, alone and after dark?’ His tone was mocking. ‘Come to buy my friends and me a drink, have you?’

Nothing had been further from my thoughts but all at once it seemed a good idea. I did not fancy a dispute with three drunken men. Any one of them I might have tackled, even at my age, but combined and linking arms across the causeway as they now were, all at once they were formidable. They were all well dressed, well spoken and clearly affluent — the sort of people who can bribe town guards — and obviously they were looking for a fight.

That would have been alarming in itself. I had heard tales of bands of wealthy, drunken youths like this roaming city streets after dark, fighting, causing damage, and terrorising passing townspeople. It was a problem which had started long ago, in Rome — the Emperor Nero was said to have led such a gang himself — and though he and the fashion were both long dead by now, there were still corners of the Empire where such things survived. Perhaps Venta was one of them. But there was a still more worrying possibility. I remembered what I had already learned, that areas of the town were unofficially controlled by rival family groups, and I wondered if I’d encountered one of them.

Wisdom seemed to lie in a peaceable response. ‘I saw that there was a tavern over here,’ I said, as cheerfully and casually as I could, deciding that the presence of the inn afforded me a reasonable excuse for being in the vicinity. ‘I should be more than happy to provide a mug of wine, if you will tell me which way the forum is.’

Big-ears looked stonily at me. ‘The forum, eh? Now why would you want the forum at this time of night?’

These men were wealthy, but not citizens, at least not law-abiding toga-wearing ones. It was clear from their talk that they’d been at some form of public games — a gladiatorial contest thrown together in Marcus’s honour, by the sound of it — held in some amphitheatre in the town. If I had been invited to accompany my patron tonight, no doubt I would have been required to endure that quintessentially Roman spectacle as well.

But if these youths were not invited guests (and their presence at the tavern suggested that they weren’t) they must have bought tickets for the privilege. Not hostile to all things Roman, then. A moment’s reflection suggested that my best hope was to give them some version of the truth.

I tried my most winning smile again, and said in the best Latin that I could produce, ‘I left my slave outside the pastry shop there, with strict instructions that he was to wait for me. I’m a visitor from Glevum, just here for the day. I went off looking for silver cloak clasps for my wife, and now it seems that I have lost my way.’

If I was hoping to impress them, I had failed. Cupidus gave another scornful laugh. ‘You left your slave behind? A likely tale! Whoever left a servant standing by and went walking after dark in a strange town without a bodyguard? Come on! You’ll tell me next that you’re a citizen and the town guard will worry if you’re set upon.’ He took a lurching step forward and thrust his flushed face close to mine. I could smell the cheap wine and vomit on his breath.

I didn’t like the tone of this at all. ‘I am a citizen, in fact,’ I said. ‘I understand that you’ve been at the games. In that case you’ll have seen the visiting magistrate who was guest of honour there. His name is Marcus Aurelius Septimus and he comes from Glevum, over to the east. I’m a member of his party. I came here with him and I’m staying at the mansio tonight.’

Cupidus put a heavy hand against my chest and pushed me roughly up against the wall. It seemed to be his favourite form of argument. ‘You think I’m blind and stupid, Tunic-face? If you’re a citizen, how come you’re dressed like this? And why weren’t you with him at the games as well? You just heard us gossiping and made this story up.’ He gave me another brutal shove. ‘You’re a low-born nobody — that’s what you are. A liar and probably a thief.’

‘He’s worse than that, Cupidus,’ said the spotty boy. ‘He’s a spy. I saw where he came from, when I came out just now — just to relieve myself, that’s all; it wasn’t that I’d drunk too much and had to get some air — anyway, I saw him. He came down that alleyway and was hiding in that doorway over there. Straight from the baths quarter of town.’

Cupidus grabbed the neck of my tunic and forced my head and shoulders back against the wall. Drink had given him uncommon strength. ‘Is that so, my friend? A confounded bath-side spy, are we? Well, we know what to do with spies. The same thing as your ancestors once did to mine — may their spirits never sleep in peace.’ He laughed. ‘That makes you sweat with fear, does it? The thought of having your private parts cut off and stuffed into your mouth?’

It was enough to strike terror into my bones. Such things have been reported in the past — and these youths were so buoyed up with drink that any atrocity was possible. But I have had dealings with would-be torturers before, and I knew that often those who talk most act least, and that to show panic was to play into their hands.

Somehow I forced myself to say, as calmly as I could, ‘I doubt my ancestors did anything to yours. I have no connection with this area. I came from Glevum, as I told you earlier, but I was born a freeman and a Celtic chief, hundreds of miles from here, far off in the south. I was captured and sold as a slave, and on my master’s death was freed and bequeathed the rank of citizen. I told you, I came here with the Roman magistrate. I am no part of any local feud. Look at me. Do I even look like one of you?’

Spotty-face had plucked up courage now, and he joined in the taunts. ‘What’s that supposed to prove? I haven’t got red hair either, nor the stocky build. My mother was from another tribe.’ He turned to Cupidus. ‘Of course the man’s a spy. Why else would he be setting out to hide?’

Cupidus sneered at me. ‘We’ll see if you tell another story when we get you back and let the tribal elders question you. They fought alongside the Romans and they’ve learned a trick or two. They know how to make a man confess the truth.’

‘And so do I!’ Spotty-face had drawn a wicked-looking dagger from underneath his cloak. Carrying such arms in the street is a capital offence, even in more peaceful areas: here, with all the local problems I had heard about, the law was likely be ferociously enforced, but this boy did not look as if he cared. This was clearly an ancient weapon — and a deadly one, judging by the nicks along the glittering blade, and the fine carved sheath which he’d revealed at his belt, its writhing serpent clearly visible in the flickering red glow of the tavern torch. It was a tribal dagger, to be reckoned with. He handled it as if he were not at ease with it himself, though he brandished the blade with relish, right before my eyes, carving elaborate patterns in the air.