Tales of Ancient Rome (12 page)

Gritting his teeth, he climbed out of the torrent onto one of the walkways and began to plod along the tunnel. He would have to get his bearings. He needed to make it back to the Aventine, but was now so thoroughly turned around that he could be anywhere.

Sighing as deeply as he dared, he peered down at the direction of what could laughingly be called ‘the flow’. It would be a bit of a walk, but following it to its inevitable conclusion where the Cloaca Maxima emptied into the Tiber, he would at least exit somewhere away from the crowded central markets.

Miserably, he plodded and slapped along through the tunnels, slowly becoming acclimatized to the oppressive darkness, broken only by the occasional light from a drain cover above, and to the unbelievable smell. How you couldn’t smell this in the street above was beyond him. He was pretty sure he’d be able to smell this for the rest of his life, no matter where he was.

Several twists and turns later, he saw a bright glow ahead and picked up his pace as much as he dared, worrying over the possibility of slipping back into the murk. Gradually the arc of light came closer until finally, he found himself striding out into the brilliant dazzling sunlight. Edging toward the end of the tunnel, he peered left and right along the river bank. The Tiber flowed past deep and green. Well… green until it converged with the brown sludge beneath him. Taking a lungful of air he exploded in a coughing fit.

There was no one close by. A fisherman sat on the bank some hundred yards away upstream, but he could keep himself hidden by shrubs.

Tentatively, he slipped down the bank by the side of the channel that emptied Rome’s sewage into the river. Taking a deep breath, fully clothed, he continued sliding down until he plunged with relief into the cold water. Deep beneath, among the weeds, he thrashed around, trying to get as much as possible of both clothes and skin in cleansing contact with the water. He stayed down as long as he could hold his breath and finally launched himself upwards and out into the air with a loud splash.

Looking round, he saw the fisherman watching him. He considered a cheeky wave, but this was not the time for frivolities. Looking down, the remnants of the sludge that had covered him sat like a slick on the surface of the water, gradually carried away from him by the flow.

He took a deep breath.

No.

He may be ostensibly clean, but he still smelled like a public latrine during the Saturnalia. Wincing, he swam to the bank a few yards away and splashed water into his armpits. Sighing, he climbed the bank up to the pavement. Peeking over the edge, he saw the forum boarium stretching away before him. There were a few people setting up stalls, but no one close enough to the river to panic him.

Taking another deep breath, he stood and stepped back into the civilised world. Shaking his head in amazement at the things that happened to him, he turned south and began to run along the bank.

Ignoring the looks he received from passers by and the few audible comments about vagrancy and atrocious smells, he jogged past the end of the circus maximus and off into one of the many streets that snaked up the hill of the Aventine, keeping his head down to stay unrecognisable as he passed the houses of friends and neighbours until finally, blessedly, he saw the front gate of his family’s villa.

In a flood of relief, he rushed to the door and hammered repeatedly on it, hopping nervously from foot to foot, while he waited to be admitted. A moment later, Posco, the chief house slave opened the door, his eyes widening in disgust.

“
Can we help you?”

“
Posco… it’s me!”

The slave blinked and then stared at Fronto.

“
Master Marcus?”

“
Yes, now in the name of Venus Cloacina, will you let me in?”

The slave stood to one side and Fronto tried not to take personally the face the man made as he passed close by. Posco closed the door behind him.

“
Would the master care to make his way to the bath and I shall find some clean clothes and a strigil?”

Fronto deflated and nodded.

“
Thank you, Posco.”

“
To remove the odour from your person would be a pleasure, sir.”

Fronto shot him an irritable glance and then rolled his eyes skyward as his sister turned the corner into the atrium.

“
Gods, Marcus. What have you been doing? Swimming in sewers?”

“
Faleria, you have no idea. I have had the morning from Tarterus, Hydra, Tisiphone and all.”

“
Hydra, Tisiphone, and apparently poo.”

Fronto glared at his sister as she laughed past the hand that held her nose shut.

“
Funny. Very funny. I’m going for a bath.”

“
On our evening of debauchery, dear brother, did we perhaps lose another toga?”

Fronto nodded, grimacing.

“
Going to have to borrow some more coin from mother to buy another.”

Faleria chuckled.

“
She’s going to love that. You’ll have to get a move on, too. You need a good one.”

Fronto shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere for several days. I won’t need it. It can be packed away for the voyage.”

“
I think not, Marcus” she said as she turned to walk away. “The day after tomorrow, the Vestalia begins. With no father around these days, you’ll have to escort her to the Vestal temple for the rites.”

Behind her, Posco rushed to try and catch the young master as he fainted. He was too late to prevent a nasty bump on the head but then, under all this mess, who would notice it.