‘He is… boy?’
Ariadne smiled. ‘Yes.’
‘Healthy?’
She shook her head in assent. ‘Maron is his name.’
‘It is… well.’ Atheas’ teeth glinted white in the gloom. ‘The gods must be… thanked. The Great Rider… especially. I… see… it done.’
‘Thank you,’ said Ariadne. Offering her own gratitude to Dionysus could wait until later.
Grinning like a fool, Atheas retreated.
Ariadne closed her eyes. She was more tired than she had ever been.
The midwife prodded her. ‘Drink this. It’s a tonic. There’s a herb in there to help you pass the afterbirth, and others to help you sleep and replenish your energy. And the baby must feed. You can rest when he’s on the breast.’
With the old woman’s help, Ariadne coaxed Maron on to one of her nipples. He sucked at it with gusto, bringing a smile to her lips. ‘He likes his food.’
‘That is good,’ pronounced the midwife, peering at him with satisfaction. ‘He’ll thrive.’
He will do even better when Spartacus returns, thought Ariadne, trying to ignore the pangs of worry that she had been feeling ever since his departure. Nor had she had any messages from the god about her husband. At least there had been no repeat of the dreadful nightmare in which she could not find his body among hundreds of crucified men.
I will see him again. I must, because he has to meet his son.
She glanced down at Maron, and a smile traced its way across her lips. ‘Your father will be so proud when he sees you.’
The baby sucked even harder, as if in reply.
Within a few moments, sleep took her.
When they emerged from the inn, Carbo was surprised to see the urchin lounging against the wall of a building opposite. Irritated, he pretended not to notice her, but that didn’t stop the girl from darting over.
‘Going somewhere?’
‘What’s it to you?’ Carbo snapped.
‘Thought you might need a guide.’
‘Well I don’t. Clear off.’ Carbo headed down the Vicus Patricius, pretending he knew where he was going.
The urchin skipped alongside, whistling tunelessly.
Carbo could sense Spartacus smiling behind him. ‘I thought I told you to beat it!’
‘I’m a free citizen,’ replied the girl. ‘You can’t stop me from goin’ this way too.’
‘Can’t I?’ Carbo’s tone was acid.
‘No,’ came the bold reply.
Carbo increased his pace, leaving the girl trailing in his wake. His speed made little difference. A couple of hundred paces later, the Vicus Patricius was joined from the left by the Via Labicana, and the press grew as just as great as before. Carbo came to an abrupt halt. The junction was packed with carts, litters and people on foot.
‘Get a move on, boys!’ A group of soldiers led by an optio shoved their way out of the crowd, and marched in the direction of the Elysian Fields. Behind them shuffled a file of slaves led by a hard-faced man carrying a whip. Hollow-cheeked, clad in rags, chained to each other by the neck, the slaves were clearly bound for the market. There was a funeral procession, the corpse wrapped in fine linen sheets borne aloft on a couch by male relations. Following ancient tradition, slaves carried burning torches. In front, a party of musicians played a dirge over and over, as if that would part the crowds. Carbo glanced around, helpless and frustrated.
‘Sure you don’t want a guide?’ piped a familiar voice.
Carbo half turned, as if to look at the urchin, but also throwing a silent enquiry at Spartacus. Catching the Thracian’s almost imperceptible nod, he barked, ‘What’s your name?’
‘Tertulla. Tulla for short.’
‘How many summers have you seen?’
‘Seven or eight. I think.’
‘You think?’
‘Don’t know for sure. I’ve been on my own since I can remember.’
‘You’ve got no family?’
Tulla gave him a defiant look. ‘Don’t need no sympathy, mister. I do fine by myself, all right?’
‘I’m sure you do.’ Despite Tulla’s boldness, Carbo felt compassion for her. She was small, dirty and ill fed. ‘Where do you live?’
Again the defiant stare. ‘Clemens the baker lets me sleep by his oven in return for keeping watch on his shop. Look, do you want some help or not?’
‘Got places to go, have you?’ interjected Spartacus.
‘I have, as it happens.’
‘I see,’ said Carbo knowingly. ‘Don’t let me stop you from heading off.’
At once there was a change of demeanour. ‘It can wait.’
Carbo rubbed his chin, letting the girl stew for a moment. ‘How far is the Forum?’
‘About half a mile. Maybe less.’
That was what Carbo had thought. ‘Another as to take us there then.’
‘Three.’
‘Eh?’
‘Look at the crowd!’ Tulla pointed. ‘It’s going to get worse from here on. Everyone wants to hear Crassus speak. Isn’t that what you’re going for?’
‘Crassus? No, I just want to see the place for myself,’ Carbo lied blithely.
Tulla excavated the contents of one nostril and flicked it away. ‘You picked a bad day for sightseeing.’
‘I’ll give you two asses, and no more.’
Tulla’s grubby paw shot out. ‘I want payment up front.’
Carbo rooted in his purse and tossed a coin into the air.
It was expertly caught. ‘That’s only one as!’
‘You’ll have the other when we get there.’
Tulla didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘It will cost the same to get you back to the Elysian Fields. It’s best to do that before dark, believe me.’
‘I tell you what,’ said Carbo on impulse. ‘You can act as our guide for the whole of our visit. I’ll pay you an even denarius for the next three days.’
‘For two days.’
‘Fine.’ That was the figure Carbo had had in his head anyway.
‘Half now,’ Tulla demanded.
‘You’ve got to be joking! You’d vanish the moment we arrive in the Forum.’ Carbo handed over a second as. ‘I’ll give you another one tonight.’
‘All right,’ came the grudging reply. ‘But you can buy me a sausage on the way.’
Reminded of his own grumbling stomach, Carbo grinned. ‘Do you know a good place to buy some?’
Tulla was already ten paces down an alleyway. ‘The best in Rome! Come on!’
Carbo glanced at Spartacus.
‘Well done. She’ll be useful. Especially if we have to get away in a hurry.’
‘That’s what I was thinking.’
‘Watch what you let her hear,’ warned Spartacus. ‘She would sell us out in a heartbeat.’
Carbo nodded grimly.
‘Let’s get some food then. My belly thinks that my throat’s been cut.’
‘Me too.’ Carbo hurried after Tulla, who was nearly out of sight.
The girl was right about the food stall. The garlic and herb sausages that Carbo bought for them were some of the best he’d ever tasted. Shoved into the middle of a freshly baked loaf of flat bread bought from the baker’s next door, they were indescribably delicious.
