This reaction to his scarred appearance was second nature to Carbo. Once, it would have cowed him. Now he took a step forward. ‘I think you’ll find that that’s not the case. I’m his nephew.’
The shutter stopped. ‘You’re who?’
‘Paullus Carbo, his nephew.’
‘The son of Julia, Alfenus’ sister?’
‘Yes.’
‘Wait here.’
Carbo was about to ask if his parents were still living in the house, but the shutter had already slammed home. There was a faint sound of footsteps receding, and then silence.
‘That wasn’t exactly the warmest of welcomes,’ muttered Spartacus.
‘Alfenus thinks that Mother married below her station. He has always looked down on us. He’s a good man really.’ Carbo’s protest was automatic, and echoed his father’s words. For the first time in his life, however, the sentiment felt false. The few times he had met Varus, the man had been nothing but patronising and arrogant. It was as well that he’d left the family home, Carbo decided. Otherwise, his father would have sent him to live here under Varus’ supervision, to train as a lawyer.
A moment later, he heard someone returning down the hall. There was a metallic snick as the bolt was drawn back, and the door opened. A shrew-faced man with grey hair looked out. ‘You’re to come in.’ His eyes moved distastefully from Spartacus to Tulla. ‘Your slave, and your…?’
‘Guide.’ Good, thought Carbo. I didn’t even need to lie to him.
‘I see. They can remain outside.’
Carbo gave what he hoped was a reassuring glance to Spartacus, and crossed the threshold. The door was shut with an air of finality, making him uneasy, but he squared his shoulders. This was no time for weakness.
‘Leave the knife here.’ The slave indicated a recess to one side of the entrance. Inside it, a massive man sat on a stool with a club between his knees. He seemed dull-witted, but fully capable of braining someone if he was ordered to. Carbo handed over his dagger without protest.
‘Follow me.’ The slave walked off without looking to see if he obeyed.
They went straight into the tablinum, where a garish, painted statue of a dolphin decorated the impluvium. The scenes from classical myth that adorned the walls were portrayed in similarly gaudy fashion, and not to Carbo’s taste. He studied the death masks of Varus’ ancestors as he passed by the lararium. They had the same self- satisfied expression as he remembered his uncle wearing, a sort of ‘I’m superior to you’ look. He realised he’d been intimidated by it as a child. Now, he loathed it.
The large colonnaded garden beyond was just as grand as Carbo could have imagined. It was overdone: all coy nymphs peeping from behind ornamental bushes and grandiose mosaic patterns on the floor. Everything shouted wealth but not class. Varus was sitting in a chair that was shaded by a large lemon tree. A fine blue glass full of wine sat before him, on a table inlaid with gilt. Behind him, a slave used a palm leaf to fan the air. His uncle had once been handsome, thought Carbo, but years of good living had weighed down his big frame with rolls of fat, and given him a jowl worthy of a prize boar. His straight nose was the only feature in which Carbo could see a resemblance to his mother. Varus was studying a half-unrolled parchment, pursing his plump lips as he read. Although he must have heard them approach, he gave no immediate acknowledgement.
The slave waited. Carbo waited too, a well of anger bubbling within him. With an effort, he controlled his temper. Stay polite. We need his help.
After a little while, Varus lifted his gaze.
‘Your nephew, master.’ The slave took a few steps back.
A well-feigned expression of surprise crossed Varus’ fleshy features. ‘Can it be true? Are you really Paullus Carbo?’
‘Yes, Uncle. It is I,’ said Carbo in as humble a tone as he could manage.
‘There is a certain resemblance to your mother, I suppose.’ Varus’ tone was dubious. ‘The severe scarring from the pox makes it hard to see, however. Not the most good-looking of men, are you?’
It took a great effort for Carbo not to leap forward on to Varus, fists pummelling. ‘I am honoured to meet you at last, Uncle,’ he said, ignoring the question.
The jowls rose and fell in response. ‘You have long since been given up for dead. After a year without so much as a word as to your whereabouts, your parents concluded that you had died, or been killed. And now you return, unannounced? What kind of son does that make you?’
‘I was going to send a letter-’
‘A letter? When?’
‘About three months ago.’
‘It never arrived.’
‘I decided not to send it.’
‘You don’t have much of a conscience, eh? Nothing changes,’ thundered Varus. ‘Did you know that after you abandoned your parents without a word, they delayed leaving Capua for two weeks? They lived in a garret as they searched everywhere for you. But you had vanished, as if you had gone down to Hades itself.’ He glared at Carbo.
Guilt hammered at Carbo’s temples. They didn’t check the ludus. They didn’t think I’d stoop so low. ‘I left the city, went to the coast. Took service with a merchant who was sailing for Asia Minor and Judaea.’
Varus’ eyes bulged. ‘ That, when you could have been learning to become a lawyer?’
‘I did not wish to enter that profession,’ replied Carbo stiffly. I didn’t want to live here, with you ordering me about like a slave.
Varus made a contemptuous gesture. ‘You should have obeyed your father’s wishes and my recommendation! There would have been none of the heartache.’
It’s all Crassus’ fault. But for him, I wouldn’t have had to run away from home, or to come here. Their failure to assassinate the politician hit Carbo even harder.
‘As for your poor mother, well, she did nothing but grieve for you. I’m sure that’s half the reason the fever took her so easily.’ He adopted a grieving expression that screamed its falsity. ‘Oh yes, she’s dead.’
His uncle’s face swam in and out of focus. ‘W-when?’
‘Let me see,’ mused Varus. ‘About three months ago, I think it was.’
Even if his letter had arrived, it would have been too late. Carbo’s grief tore at him with renewed savagery. ‘It was a fever, you say?’
‘Yes, yes. Even though they have drained the swamps, the bad airs linger over the city at various times. No one is immune. I myself was lucky to survive a bout several years ago.’
You self-centred pig! thought Carbo furiously.
‘Her death quite took away your father’s will to live. If he had known that his only child was living, perhaps he would have taken better care of himself. As it was, well…’
No, Carbo screamed silently, Great Jupiter, do not let this be happening! ‘Father is dead too?’
‘Yes. Not a week since.’
‘A week,’ repeated Carbo like a fool. Seven days.
‘That’s right. If you had thought to make amends just a little sooner, he might have seen you.’
Carbo closed his eyes. ‘Did an illness take him as well?’
‘No. I had my major domo make some enquiries afterwards. It seems that he was attacked one night outside the cenacula where he lived. According to those who saw it happen, it was a case of simple robbery. The scum who killed him didn’t know that he had little more than two asses to rub together, nor did they care. He was drunk and alone. They stabbed him, rifled him for any valuables and then left his body in the gutter like so much rubbish.’
His mother’s death would have hit his father very hard, thought Carbo. Jovian would have thought himself abandoned in the world once she had gone. It was easy to see how he might have turned to drink in solace. ‘You said he was living in a cenacula. I thought that my parents were staying here with you.’
‘After my sister’s death, tragic though it was, all obligations I had towards Jovian disappeared. He left the day after Julia’s funeral.’
‘He left, or you asked him to go?’
‘I asked him. It was better for everyone concerned.’ Varus’ smile was as practised as a whore’s.
Carbo could scarcely believe what he was hearing. ‘So my mother was barely in her tomb when you put my
