Gates of Rome

CHAPTER 40

AD 54, Subura District, Rome

‘Bob’s become some sort of celebrity,’ said Maddy.

Liam made a face and spat out an olive stone. ‘And what’s one of those?’

‘Famous people, you know?’

‘People who get rich for doing nothing,’ added Sal. ‘Mostly.’

‘He’s a hero to the people in this building,’ said Maddy, ‘aren’t you, Bob?’

He nodded. ‘I appear to have earned their approval.’

Maddy looked around the simple furnishings of the room: straw mat on the floor, a small low table between them, almost completely filled with food. They’d had a steady stream of offerings all evening. Gentle, polite knocks on their door, shy smiles through the grilled covered greeting hatch, whispers of gratitude and wooden platters of fruit, bread and amphoras of watered-down wine left behind. Food many of these people could ill afford to surrender so willingly.

The landlord, still wearing his blood-spattered leather apron, had even offered this room to them for nothing, although he’d not made clear how long that gesture of goodwill was intended for.

‘Bob humiliated those thugs,’ said Liam.

‘They run this district of Rome. The people do not like them,’ said Bob.

Liam frowned and spat out another stone. ‘They’re vicious crooks. Extortionists, so they are.’

Maddy sipped at her cup of diluted, sour-tasting wine. ‘These people are looking at Bob as some sort of champion now, aren’t they? Their champion.’

‘That could be of some tactical use to us,’ said Bob.

‘On the other hand…’ She swilled the wine round her mouth and made a face. ‘Ugh! On the other hand it could attract unwanted attention. We do need to be discreet.’

Sal was fiddling around with one of the babel-buds. ‘Tactical use? Jahulla! We don’t even really have a plan!’ She looked up. ‘Do we?’

‘Visitors came by not so long ago,’ said Maddy. ‘Within living memory of some of the people in Rome. Perhaps some of the people in this very building saw them? We need to ask around, carefully of course. We need to figure out when they came back. Precisely when. And why? What was their game plan?’

‘More to the point,’ added Liam, ‘where the devil are they now?’

‘Who knows? They might be here still. They might have gone native. Blended in.’

They sat in silence. Outside, in the courtyard below, they could hear a dog snapping and yowling. Through the thin walls of clay brick they could faintly hear the muted exchanges of other families: somewhere a woman cried; somewhere angry voices snapped at each other; somewhere pots clattered on a brazier.

Liam made a face again. ‘Gah! So bitter.’ He spat out another stone on to the side of the plate of stale fruit, curling his lips in disgust. ‘These grapes are rubbish, so they are.’

Maddy looked at him, then at the olive stone. ‘God, you can be such a moron, Liam.’

It was a tap as gentle and as light as a feather’s touch. Quiet enough that neither Sal nor Liam stirred. Or Bob. He’d gone into one of his occasional ‘standby’ modes, sorting his memories into more efficient storage compartments. ‘De-cluttering’ was the term Sal used for it. Not quite what he was doing inside his head, but close enough.

Maddy sat up and listened carefully. The city, or at least this district of it, had finally quietened down for the night. Even the feral dogs had stopped their yapping.

Tap-tap.

Someone at their door. Maddy softly called, ‘Who’s there?’ before she realized, even if she knew how to ask that in Latin, she wouldn’t have a hope of making sense of the answer. She fumbled in the dark for the babel-bud and found it where Sal had left it on the table. She eased it into her ear, and then quietly — whispering to herself — asked the same question. The bud soothingly translated for her.

She stood beside the oak door. She could see the faint, flickering amber of candlelight coming through the door’s grated hatch and round the loose-fitting doorframe. She could see the shadows of somebody’s feet shuffling impatiently outside. She looked out into the passageway.

It was their landlord. ‘Yes? Can I help?’

‘I’ve got someone here,’ he grunted, ‘who’d like to meet your friend.’

She noticed a man beside him; tall and lean, his dark curls emerged from beneath a hood pulled up to hide as much of his face as possible. By the flickering glow of the candle, she thought at first he looked quite young, but then saw flecks of grey in his dark hair, the traces of lines around his eyes; his was a face that looked like it had seen the better part of thirty or forty years, but he was still very lean and fit.

A soldier perhaps.

Maddy tried the phrase of Latin the bud had whispered in her ear. ‘Who is that?’

The landlord replied in a soft growl, a ragged voice that sounded like it had spent a lifetime being abused. ‘He’s an old friend of mine from my army days. A good man.’

The younger man stepped forward. ‘May I speak to the one who got the better of Varelius’s men?’

‘He’s asleep.’ Which was kind of true.

‘I wish to discuss a matter with him. An important matter as it happens.’

Maddy narrowed her eyes — the only part of her they could see through the door slot. She hoped this expression of suspicion was universal and timeless enough that they’d understand she wasn’t opening this door for them, not on the strength of that.

‘We’re alone out here,’ he added. ‘I just wish to talk. That’s all.’

She peered through the slit both ways. The passage did appear to be empty as far as she could see.

‘About what?’

The tall man looked uncomfortable uttering his business aloud. ‘It would be better discussed inside… in private. Please?’

She looked at them both, wondering how much of a threat they posed. The tall one was athletic for a middle-aged man, but nowhere near as muscular as the thugs Bob had effortlessly despatched earlier. And although his older friend the landlord was thickset and squat with brawn that looked decades old beneath his tanned, wrinkled skin, she doubted Bob would even break into a sweat dealing with him.

‘All right… just a moment.’

She turned round. ‘Bob! You two! Wake up!’

Liam and Sal stirred, sat up groggily. Bob was instantly alert.

‘We’ve got guests!’ said Maddy, gently sliding the door’s bolt aside.

They entered, the landlord’s guttering candle filling the small room with dancing amber light. Bob was on his feet with a sword in his hand, alert, ready for trouble, warily watching as both men came in, closed the door behind them and settled down on wooden stools.

Maddy looked at the tall one. ‘Who are you?’

The men looked at each other, silently communicating. ‘It doesn’t matter if they know my name, does it?’ shrugged the landlord. He turned back to her. ‘I’m Macro. Lucius Cornelius Macro.’

The younger man nodded. ‘And as a gesture of trust, of goodwill, I’ll tell you my name. It’s Cato. Quintus Licinius Cato.’ He lowered his hood so that she could see his face more clearly. ‘I’m a tribune of the Praetorian Guard.’

‘What do you want?’

Both men looked at Bob. ‘We wish to discuss a proposition.’