Furies (38 page)

“Pesach,” Aculeo called in a low voice, walking towards him.

The slave glanced up and one of the skins sloshed its odious contents onto the dusty ground. “Gah, look what you made me do!” he spat, then continued staggering towards the treading vats. “I told you last time to fuck off and leave me be,” he growled as two slaves helped him unhitch the skins from the yoke.

“Gurculio’s dead.”

Pesach scowled, taken aback. “What did you just say?”

“He was murdered in his villa a week ago.”

The fuller’s slave nodded slowly to himself, lips twisting into a half smile. “Who did it?”

“Panthea I think.”

“That fucking whore,” Pesach said, then shrugged and dumped a foul smelling skin into the vat. “But it hardly helps me. The treacherous shit already sold me off like some old plough-horse.”

“What does that matter? Come on, let’s go.”

“Easy enough for you to say. Do you know the punishment for a runaway slave?” He nodded towards a thoroughly wretched looking young man limping painfully through the atrium, lugging a basket heaped with dripping wet clothes. “He tried to run away four months back. When he was finally captured, they cut the three middle toes off each foot. He won’t be running far anymore. Thanks very much for your encouragement, Aculeo, but I happen to like my toes.”

“Stay then,” Aculeo said. “You’ll likely be dead before the year is out.”

“There is that,” Pesach allowed grudgingly. “But where would I even go? I dare not face my family. I’ve no friends left. None that would admit to it at least.”

“Stay with me then. We’ll figure it out from there. I just took Gellius in as well.”

“Gellius?”

“It’s a long story.”

Pesach considered him for a moment, then gave a bitter laugh. “No, I don’t think so,” he said, hoisting the second of the skins of stinking urine to empty into the treading vat.

“Why not?”

“You’re up to something. What’s in it for you?”

“What do you mean?”Aculeo asked.

“Why are you trying to help me?”

“Because this is no way for a Roman citizen to live. I feel responsible for you somehow. I can’t bear to have your fate hanging like a millstone around my neck.”

Pesach snorted. “See, it’s always about you.”

“Just put down that pisspot and let’s go before the fuller catches us.”

“But I’d be giving up all I accomplished here. I’m to be head velicus once Polus over there is dead. Which should happen soon enough. He’s not looking well lately. It comes with an extra ration of bread per day, you know.”

“I’ll get you all the fucking bread you can eat, alright? Now come on!”

“I might as well, I suppose,” Pesach said with a sigh. “What’s the plan?”

“What do you mean?” Aculeo scowled. “We just … go.”

“So we’re to simply traipse out the front gate? You really planned nothing better than that?”

“Well …”

“I have to do everything I suppose. Alright then.” Pesach grabbed a clean tunic from a drying rack and changed into it, tossing his old one onto a smouldering sulphur pit. A yellowish-grey stream of smoke spilled forth as the tunic ignited. “Come on, help me out,” he snapped and they grabbed a few more tunics and piled them on the fire until a thick smoke reeking of rotten eggs filled the atrium.

Then came the first screams of panic from the other slaves.

“Now we can go,” Pesach said, coughing and gagging from the smoke.

The master fuller stumbled through the atrium and looked around, florid-faced and confused. “What the fuck’s going on here?” he cried. He grabbed a pair of frightened slaves by the shoulders. “Empty the vat on the fire you fools! Pesach, help them!”

“Why would I help them put out the fire, you pox-faced cunt? I’m the one who started it,” Pesach said cheerfully.

The fuller gave him a bewildered look, then threw up his hands in exasperation and ran towards the exit. Pesach tripped him as he went past, sending him sprawling to the ground.

“Can we go now?” Aculeo demanded.

“With pleasure,” Pesach said, leading the way to the posticum at the back of the atrium.

As they walked back along the city streets, Aculeo revealed what he knew about the murders of Gurculio, Myrrhine, Trogus and Iovinus and the search for Neaera and Posidippus of Cos.

“I’d have been safer staying in the fullery,” Pesach said. “It sounds like a madhouse out here these days.”

They came to the edge of the Agora, the smell of fine food and rich spices from all the merchants’ carts and little shops like heavenly perfume. Pesach stopped, closed his eyes and sniffed the air, licking his cracked lips. “Ah, the smell of freedom! I’ve not eaten anything decent in months, unless you count maggoty bread. Which isn’t all that bad, by the way, you rather get used to it, but still …”

“Come on then, we’ll get you some food.”

“Not so fast,” Pesach said. He was looking towards a tall limestone building with long blue glass windows and a pair of weathered statues of some old Egyptian gods dragged from some abandoned temple propped up on either side of the entrance. The Baths of Sabinus, the inscription over the lintel read.

“The baths? Now?” Aculeo asked irritably.

“Of course. What are we, barbarians? If I’m to return to some semblance of civilization, surely a visit to the baths is a requirement, is it not? Besides, we can get something to eat in there.”

“Fine. Whatever, let’s go.”

A few minutes later they’d stripped off their chitons in the change area, walked barefoot down the mosaic-tiled corridor to the showers and stood next to one another as funnels of cool water poured from the stone lions’ maws overhead, dousing them both head to foot. After the showers they headed into the vapour room, taking a bench well away from the braziers of hot coals. The steam smelled of sandalwood and enveloped them like a thick cocoon. Bath attendants came forward to apply oil to their skin.

“Make certain you use real Attican oil, not that cheap Syrian dreck,” Pesach said haughtily. “And don’t skimp on the myrrh.” He leaned back against the wall and sighed as an attendant rubbed oil into his shoulders, arms and back and began to scrape it off with a strigil.

“I’ll see you in the pools,” Aculeo said irritably, and headed into a vast, crowded chamber with several large mosaic-tiled hot and cold pools. He plunged into a cold pool, the chilled water pumped up from the underground caverns prickling against his feverish skin, and tilted his head back so that only his mouth and nose broke the surface, letting the cool air fill his lungs in slow, deep breaths. Pesach entered the pool a few minutes later, looking almost meditative.

After a few minutes they moved to a steaming hot pool, sitting on one of the underwater ledges. Fresh, hot bath water gushed from the amphorae held by a pair of marble nymphs standing at the edge of the pool, both of them with generous curves and welcoming smiles. A food vendor carried his tray over to the side of the bath and met them with an eager grin. “Some food, gentlemen? I have spiced pork, wonderful fresh bread, luscious, plump olives, aged cheese, perhaps some chilled wine?”

“Mmm yes – I’ll have everything,” Pesach said, then settled back as the vendor began to set out some plates and cups at the pool’s edge, humming happily as he worked. “Wretched baths, you must admit. Is this where you usually come these days?”

“When I can afford it, yes,” Aculeo said, worrying what his generosity might cost him.

“They’re nothing like the Baths of Vitus, are they? I wouldn’t be surprised if they pump the bath water in from the latrines to save an as. Still, I suppose we all need to make accommodations in these trying times.”

“I suppose.” He was already beginning to question his wisdom in freeing Pesach – he’d forgotten how irritating the man could be!

“It’s not like we’re alone in this ignoble fate, I suppose. You’ll never believe who I saw in the vapour room after you left. Bitucus! Remember him?”

Aculeo sat up suddenly, startling the food vendor. “Who did you say?”

“Bitucus. That pompous prick, I never liked him.”

“We need to get out of here,” Aculeo said, and started climbing from the bath. He spotted a fully clothed man emerging from the vapour room, scanning the crowded room. Bitucus. Theopompus and Viator the slave were right behind him. “Shit,” he whispered, and sat back down, sliding down as low as he could in the water.

“What’s the matter with …?” Pesach began, then spotted the men. He
grabbed Aculeo’s upper arm, digging his fingertips deep into the flesh. “What trap have you led me into now?” he hissed.  “It’s not enough to see me suffer in that fucking pisshouse you induced me to escape and then this?”

“Shut up and hide, fool!”

Pesach scowled at him, then slid down in the water, watching, waiting. The four men finally turned around and left, not having seen them apparently.

“Come on,” Aculeo said. They climbed out of the baths, walking naked back towards the vapour room.

“Wait, what about your feast?” the vendor cried.

Aculeo peered into the vapour room. No sign of Bitucus or the others. They had just made their way back into the shower room when someone called out, “There he is!” Theopompus! Pesach sprinted back into the vapour room, shoving past the other bathers.

Aculeo tried to follow but Viator caught his wrist in a vicious grip and slammed him face-first against hot, dripping wall of the vapor room, twisting his arm so far behind his back he feared his shoulder would tear out of the socket. Viator wrapped his powerful forearm around Aculeo’s throat, almost choking him as he turned him about, then thrust his knee up hard between Aculeo’s naked buttocks. The other bathers and the attendants quickly cleared out. A moment later, Bitucus appeared, barely managing to keep ahold of the spitting, cursing Pesach.

Theopompus was right behind them, and
gave a predatory, brown-toothed smile.
“Good to see you again, Aculeo. And you’ve got a friend with you? What are you doing out, Pesach?”

“Fuck you, Icarian,” Pesach growled. “On my oath I’m going to kill you.”

“You’re not in much of a position to do that.”

“Not you, ball-sucker. Him,” he said, jerking his head towards Aculeo.

“You’re moving up in the world, Bitucus,” Aculeo gasped. “First working for a moneylender, now kissing his sycophant’s ass.”

“Shut your mouth, Aculeo,” Bitucus snapped.

“Just tell us where you stashed them,” said Theopompus.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The Icarian stepped in and punched him hard in the stomach.
Viator had to
hold him upright for a moment as Aculeo doubled over in pain, trying to catch his breath. “Now, where did you put them?” Theopompus asked slowly, as if he were talking to a slow-witted child.

“He’s not telling you a fucking thing,” Pesach snarled. Theopompus gave him a pleasant smile, then backhanded him across the face. Pesach shook it off, then grinned at the man, blood dripping from his split lip. “Ooh, that one tickled a bit. You’d better try harder than that, you Icarian assfuck.”

“Shut up, Pesach,” Aculeo said, trying to think, his head spinning.

“Tell me, Theopompus,” Pesach gasped, “do Icarians really have cocks like radish sprouts? Your mother told me that’s why your women prefer to be fucked by donkeys …”

Theopompus struck him across the face again, then kneed him in the groin. Pesach cried out in pain, collapsing to the floor.