Spartacus: Rebellion (10 page)

Carbo told himself to be patient.

By the time that they’d finished their jug of wine, however, they had heard nothing more of interest. ‘Time to move on,’ he muttered. The afternoon was passing. It wouldn’t be that long until it got dark.

Navio’s answering grin was huge. He leaned towards Felix. ‘Hey, friend! Where might two thirsty men find a decent watering hole? Preferably one that has whores who aren’t riddled with pox.’

‘That’s easy. Try the inn two streets up, on the right. Vulcan’s Anvil, they call it. You can’t miss it. Full of soldiers, night and day.’

‘It’s a good place to get hammered,’ added his comrade with a wink.

‘The pussy there is top notch. Expensive, though.’ Felix’s red-rimmed eyes regarded them closely. ‘I doubt you’ve got the brass to pay for one whore between you.’

‘You’re right, friend,’ said Navio, getting to his feet. ‘But there’s nothing to stop us admiring the flesh on display as we drink, eh?’

‘True enough. That’s what most of us do in there, unless it’s payday. We might join you later.’

‘We’d be honoured to buy you a drink,’ said Carbo, thinking the exact opposite. He nodded an amiable farewell. As soon as they were out of earshot, he muttered to Navio, ‘Let’s find somewhere else.’

Navio pursed his lips regretfully. ‘It would be a little dangerous, eh?’

‘He said it would be full of soldiers! Another inn would be far safer.’

‘Think about the whores, though.’ Navio’s tone was wistful.

‘The ones we can’t afford?’

‘Can’t we?’

‘No,’ snapped Carbo.

With a sly look, Navio pulled on the leather thong that held his purse around his neck. ‘I found two
aurei
in one of the farmhouses we sacked a while ago. There hasn’t been anything to spend them on until now.’

‘Spartacus said not to take much money,’ protested Carbo.

‘I know, I know. But a man’s got his needs, hasn’t he?’

‘What do you think an
aureus
will buy?’

‘What won’t it buy? You’ll get the fuck of your life or my name’s not Marcus Navio!’

Lustful thoughts filled Carbo’s head. Then he pulled himself together. ‘Not in Vulcan’s Anvil,’ he said firmly. ‘Somewhere else.’

‘There’ll be more than one good brothel in town,’ said Navio with a shrug. ‘Let’s try another inn, see what we can hear. There are bound to be more off-duty soldiers complaining about Longinus.’

They began pushing their way through the crowds.

Neither saw the figure slip from the shadows opposite the restaurant to dog their trail.

Despite the warm glow from the wine, Carbo couldn’t fail to notice the pinched faces and ragged appearance of the town’s inhabitants. Squads of legionaries tramped to and fro, driven on by the shouts and vine canes of their officers. No one looked happy, especially the shopkeepers, who stood in the doorways of their empty establishments, regarding the passers-by with sour expressions. There were beggars everywhere, squatting on the rutted mud at the side of the street or working their way through the throng, dirty hands outstretched. Spartacus is responsible for this, Carbo thought, shocked yet proud. We all are.

Their quest to eavesdrop on conversations proved more difficult than the pair had supposed. Wandering the thoroughfares, they found numerous inns of one kind or another. There were soldiers in all of them, but the confined spaces meant that it was difficult to secure a table near enough to have any chance of listening in. The friends had to be discreet about what they were doing and, more than once, they had to content themselves with standing at the bar, or sitting on the other side of the room to the men whose banter and complaints they wanted to hear. On the one occasion that they managed to settle down next to a party of legionaries, all they gathered was that no one wanted to be serving under Longinus, two of the men had the pox and that it was three months until the next payday. When Carbo let his gaze linger for too long on the group, he was told in no uncertain terms to mind his own business unless he wanted to be picking his teeth from the back of his throat. The pair quickly moved on.

Although they only drank watered-down wine, they visited enough establishments in the subsequent hours for their senses to become dulled and their levels of frustration and anger to grow. The fifth tavern was the worst of the lot, a dingy hole down a side alley. It had rickety furniture, a couple of ancient whores and the foulest wine Carbo had ever tasted. He spat out the first mouthful, and just sat, furiously studying the contents of his clay cup as a soothsayer would. But he found no inspiration. When a drunk spilled his wine over him, the young Roman struggled not to beat the fool into a bloody pulp. Glad that he had mastered his temper, he then had to stop Navio from eyeballing a couple of legionaries who were challenging the other customers to a wrestling match. ‘Leave it. Don’t go looking for trouble.’

Navio tore his eyes away from the soldiers, who had stripped to the waist and were parading around in circles, flexing their biceps and threatening to cripple all comers. ‘I could beat both of them,’ he said truculently. ‘At the same time.’

‘I’m sure you could,’ Carbo soothed. ‘But now is not the time. Remember why we’re here.’

Navio shot him a sour glance. ‘Not having much luck, though, are we? That old bitch Fortuna must be in a really bad mood.’

‘Our luck will turn. Let’s find another drinking hole. That’ll be the one where we hear something useful,’ said Carbo with all the enthusiasm he could muster. ‘And simmer down. Remember where we are.’

Navio grumbled but followed Carbo outside without further argument.

Seeing a temple dedicated to Fortuna, the goddess of luck, Carbo led his friend over. He saw Navio’s incredulous look. ‘She might need placating. Wait here. Do not cause any trouble.’ Buying a small offering of a votive lamp from a wizened old man, he went inside, where he asked the goddess’s forgiveness for Navio’s words, and asked for her help with their mission. Carbo felt better after he’d made his offering, and he led his friend in search of another inn with renewed enthusiasm.

They heard nothing of interest in the next place, however, nor at the busy restaurant where they each ate a plate of fried pork. Carbo’s spirits sank to match Navio’s. They sat miserably, watching yet another file of troops march past. ‘We could follow them,’ Carbo suggested.

Navio’s withering look told him what he knew already. ‘Stupid idea.’

Nothing was said for a while.

‘I don’t want to go back without any information,’ said Carbo at last.

‘Me neither, but what else can we do?’

Carbo thought of the soldiers they’d spoken to earlier. His stomach clenched at the idea of actively seeking the company of two men who, if alerted to their identities, would kill them without even blinking. But if they were very drunk, they wouldn’t find out – and they might reveal something. It was a long shot, but Carbo couldn’t think of anything else. ‘There’s always Vulcan’s Anvil.’

‘I thought we’d decided it was too dangerous?’

‘Can you think of anything better?’

Navio sucked in air between his teeth. ‘Other than walking up to an officer and asking what Longinus has planned, no,’ he admitted.

‘Well, then.’ Now that he’d thought of a possible solution, Carbo wanted to go for it. ‘Anything’s better than trudging around every low-class watering hole in Mutina. We’ll end up with gut rot if this keeps on.’

‘True.’ Navio’s expression grew sly. ‘Remember the whores they told us about? They’re supposed to be the best in town.’

‘Forget that. Let’s see if our luck has turned, see if we can overhear anything.’

‘And after that, a good screw!’

The idea was appealing. Carbo’s unfulfilled lust plagued him night and day. Telling himself that buying a whore would be just reward for finding out what Spartacus wanted to know, he headed in search of Vulcan’s Anvil.

It wasn’t hard to find. A three-storey detached brick building with a large courtyard surrounded by stables, it was a grander enterprise than most. The ground-floor frontage was covered in stucco, which had been painted imaginatively with Greek columns covered in vines. Over the front door, which was manned by a pair of hulking doormen, hung a sign depicting the god of fire crouched over his anvil, hammer in hand.

They swaggered up to the entrance. The noise emanating from the window openings – laughter, singing and the noise of women’s voices – was deafening. ‘Sounds promising, eh?’ said Navio, leering.

Even as Carbo’s imagination ran riot, his skin crawled. They were about to walk into the lion’s den. He gritted his teeth. The shame of telling Spartacus that he’d failed would be worse than risking his neck. And if they were careful, things would go according to plan.

The larger of the doormen, a colossus with a gaping socket where one of his eyes should have been, moved to block the doorway. ‘Can I help you?’ His tone didn’t imply that he wanted to be of any help whatsoever.

‘We were in search of a drink,’ said Carbo politely.

The doorman sniffed. ‘Really?’

‘Yes. And perhaps a chat with some of your young ladies,’ added Navio.

Now the giant laughed. ‘You two haven’t got the cash to afford one of our girls. Now why don’t you piss off before me and my mate break your arms?’

‘And legs,’ rumbled his companion.

Carbo’s nerves jangled an alarm. He began to back away.

‘Where are you going?’ Navio’s tone was jaunty.

‘To an inn where they’re less picky about their customers.’

‘There’s no need for that.’ Navio’s hand dipped into his purse. Carbo had no time to react. Gold flashed in his friend’s fingers as he stepped right up to the doorman. ‘Is this good enough for you?’

The colossus’ face cracked into a gap-toothed smile. ‘Forgive my poor manners, sir. You are both most welcome to Vulcan’s Anvil. As everyone knows, we have the finest wines and women in Mutina.’ He stood aside and with a flourish of his meaty arm, bid them enter.

‘Come on.’

Reluctantly, Carbo joined his friend.

‘This is more like it,’ said Navio as they stepped inside.

The richly decorated interior was lit by half a dozen bronze candelabras suspended from the ceiling. The solid tables and benches were carved from hardwood, and the sawdust on the concrete and tiled floor was clean. The customers were mostly soldiers, a number of whom were officers.

Navio’s smile faded before Carbo’s scowl. ‘What?’

‘You know how damn rare
aurei
are! Those doormen will be talking about us all night.’

‘Relax,’ said Navio in a confident tone. ‘What do they care how we came by our money? I’ll be sure to tip them on the way out, tell them to forget they ever saw us. We don’t want our wives to find out we’ve been here. You know the type of line.’ He winked.

Carbo still wasn’t happy, but then he saw the quartet of women standing on a plinth behind the bar and all reason, all thought of their mission, left him. The four were more beautiful than his wildest dreams. His groin tightened as he realised that under their diaphanous robes, they were naked.

‘I thought you’d change your mind.’ Navio thumped him on the chest, bringing him back to reality. He handed over a gold coin. ‘Here. Spend it wisely. I’ll see you later for a drink. We can compare notes.’

Carbo clutched the aureus tightly. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Where do you think?’ Navio replied, nodding at the prostitutes. ‘We’ve got all night to find out what we need.’

With a pounding heart, Carbo watched his friend work his way to the bar, catch the eye of a stunning brunette and gesture to her. When she approached, their heads bent together for a moment. Long enough for the beauty to see the aureus, thought Carbo. The next time he looked, Navio was heading up the stairs with his arm around her. He didn’t look back.

A man carrying two jugs of wine collided with Carbo, taking his attention away from the whores. For some reason, he thought of his parents. The letter! If there was ever a good time to have it written, it was now. He’d be back within the blink of an eye. Navio wouldn’t even know that he had gone. Once it was done, he could have a drink and listen in to the loud chatter around him. With so many soldiers in the inn, it would be impossible not to hear some useful information. Then he could decide which one of the women he wanted. Excited by the prospect of completing Spartacus’ mission as well as his own, Carbo slipped outside again. In the failing light, the doormen were talking to a block-headed soldier.

Sensing Carbo’s presence, the colossus turned with an obsequious smile. ‘Leaving so soon, sir?’

‘I have a quick errand to run. Before I drink too much and forget, you see. Where’s the forum?’

‘That way.’ The colossus pointed northwards. ‘All the streets heading in that direction reach it.’

‘How far is it?’

‘No more than a quarter of a mile.’

Nodding his thanks, Carbo walked off.

The legionary waited until he had gone some distance up the alley before sidling after him.

The doorman proved to be correct. Carbo found the forum with ease. Although he’d never visited the town before, the large rectangular space felt familiar. Like most Roman centres of population, the forum was the beating heart of Mutina. Stalls packed the area, selling everything from tools, clothing, pots and pans to bread, meat, vegetables and love charms. It was bordered by a large number of temples – to Jupiter, Minerva, Juno and the Dioscuri, the twins Castor and Pollux – in addition to government buildings such as the court and the tax office. There were also
basilicae
, covered markets where lawyers, scribes, surgeons and pharmacists plied their trades.

Carbo headed straight for these. His eagerness waned as he crossed the threshold, however. What he was about to do was even more risky than entering Vulcan’s Anvil. If the scribe got even the slightest inkling that Carbo was one of Spartacus’ men, he would be arrested on the spot. He sauntered up and down the stalls, ignoring offers of a bargain price to read his fortune, to have his teeth examined and to write his will that very instant, in case the gods suddenly struck him down. His gaze settled on a portly figure sitting under a sign that read: LETTERS COMPOSED. NEAT SCRIPT. REASONABLE PRICES. Catching Carbo’s eye, the scribe gave him an amiable nod. Pleased that the man hadn’t verbally assaulted him as his neighbours had, Carbo nodded back. ‘I need a letter written,’ he blurted, feeling his resolve weaken.