Furies (50 page)

Xanthias leaped in, holding him back. “No, Master! Stop!”

Pesach merely laughed. “Why not? Let him come! I don’t care anymore. You can’t do anything to me I haven’t endured a dozen times or more these past few wretched months.”

“Corvinus was my dearest friend and an honourable man!” Aculeo cried.

“He was a thief and a coward!”

“He can hardly speak for himself now, can he?”

“No, but these can,” Pesach said, shoving the scorched remains of Flavianus’ tablets across the table towards him.

“What are you talking about?”

“I read what was on the tablets.”

“How? The wax was completely melted.”

“Yes, but the wax inscriptions left impressions in the back wooden panel. I was able to reveal them with powdered charcoal pressed on papyrus. I admit I wasn’t able to read all of it mind you, but still …” Pesach started giggling like a child.

“And what did you find?” Aculeo demanded.

“There were details of the company’s financial obligations to Marcellus Flavianus dated the 14
^th
Day of Augustus last year.”

“So what? I have records of the company’s obligations already, not to mention what I have from the documents Corvinus left behind.”

“I know, I know,” Pesach said dismissively. “I’ve already been through those in great detail. The problem is the numbers don’t match those recorded on the tablets. According to my calculations, the actual assets of the company could never have been more than two million sesterces, and that was at its peak over four years ago. As of the 14
^th
Day of Augustus, the company’s debts were close to seven million sesterces.”

Aculeo looked at the man in disbelief. “You must be wrong. The first shipwrecks didn’t occur until the month of October, two months later. The company’s finances had been fine until then.”

“A fair point,” Pesach said, waggling his index finger in the air. “And so Gellius and I followed up with the Harbour Master’s logs this morning. There was no record of any ship belonging to or chartered by the company shipping so much as a turnip past last Maius, and that was a single freighter called the Winged Bull headed to Puteoli, bearing 2,000 amphorae of ordinary wine, 1,500 amphorae of oil and 2,300 modii of barley. It was barely half-full, the records said. The company’s only recorded shipment prior to that last year was two months before, the month of Martius, involving a similar load.”

“But that makes no sense at all,” Aculeo said. “We lost ten ships enroute to Puteoli in October, a dozen more in December.”

“You lost the money you provided Corvinus certainly, but my bet is the company’s ships didn’t exist outside of whatever papers he showed you. He stole it from you.”

Aculeo felt a chill stretch its talons out from the pit of his stomach. “But I saw them with my own eyes,” he said. “I watched them being loaded in the harbour.”

“I’ve no doubt you saw some ships being loaded. You can see that any day you wander down to the harbour. Their provenance, however, is another question entirely. Remember what I said before? There were too many ships in your records by far. There aren’t enough ships or grain in the world to hold what they said. Flavianus’ records confirm the lie. The company’s ships never sank enroute to Puteoli. There never were any ships to sink. Iovinus didn’t survive a shipwreck – he simply fled the city with the only thing of any value that remained in the company – the tablets linking Flavianus to this scheme.”

Aculeo felt the room spinning around. Could it be true? he wondered. How could it be? I lost everything over this, my family, my fortune. “It’s not possible,” he whispered hoarsely. “Corvinus was my dearest friend, he was like a second father. He couldn’t have lied to me all along, knowing full well it would ruin me. I don’t believe it.”

“You were already ruined, Aculeo,” Pesach scoffed. “You simply didn’t realize it yet.”

“But he convinced me to invest everything I had left in the final weeks to support … what?”

“To keep the lies afloat a little longer. Perhaps he truly did think there was a way to still keep things going.” Pesach narrowed his eyes as he looked at Aculeo. “You don’t look well. Xanthias, fetch him some wine.”

“You and Gellius already drank it all,” the slave said sourly.

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

Aculeo stood up abruptly and headed towards the door. “Master? Where are you going?” Xanthias asked.

“To find Calisto.”

“Ah yes, don’t forget your whore,” Pesach said.

“Fuck you Pesach – she’s not a whore,” Aculeo growled. “She’s a hetaira.”

“It’s as a chariot to a wagon, isn’t it?” Pesach said. “It may look prettier and cost you more but it’s used for much the same purpose.”

Aculeo lunged across the table, turning it over, striking the man across the face once, and again. Pesach didn’t even bother to defend himself, he just gave his maddening laugh.

Xanthias seized his master around the chest, pulling him off. “Stop it, you’ll kill him!”

“Let him, what do I care?” Pesach cackled and coughed, blood dripping onto his tunic from his nose and mouth.

“Maybe you’re right – maybe I am a fool,” Aculeo said, trembling with anger. “What does it matter in the end? Whatever happened to Corvinus and Iovinus and the company is over and done. I’ve lost Titiana and Atellus, my fortune, my honour and everything else I held dear. It’s all gone. There’s nothing I can do to get it back. But I’ve got something worth living for again, and I won’t lose it as well. I can’t. So I’ll get Calisto and the girls to safety. And I’ll finish what I’ve fucking started.”

Aculeo was still shaking when he went to the Baths of Sabinus four blocks over. He couldn’t go to Calisto like this, still filthy from the journey to the wretched farm. He entered the showers, stood gratefully beneath a funnel of cold water which doused him head to foot, wincing at the stinging sensation where the water washed across his face and scalp. The water swirled pink with blood and red clay around his bare feet, trickling down the drain.

He headed into the vapour baths and found a bench well away from the braziers of hot coals, the steam enveloping him like a thick cocoon. His head was ringing with insane thoughts. Could Corvinus have actually been a thief all these years? Building an empty empire on lies? How could he have allowed me to do the same? How could I have been such a fool to follow him blindly, sacrificing everything … Fuck!

Enough! he thought, I can’t let it distract me now. I have to get Calisto and the girls away from this damned city, tonight if possible before Ralla has a chance to respond. Capito will have the documents he needs to make the arrest as long as he can get the advocates on our side as well. No matter how powerful Ralla might be, he’s still just a man, isn’t he? Still, he’ll be no less dangerous once he’s arrested. He’ll be like a cornered animal, and prison walls will likely do little to hinder him.

Aculeo closed his eyes for a moment, but found rest elusive. He couldn’t get the nightmarish images of the farm out of his head, the cries of the pigs as they’d been slaughtered, the sensation of the scorching, oily heat of the fire on his face, Corvinus’ smiling, liar’s face and Pesach’s maddening laugh …

Slaves stood outside Calisto’s villa. Ralla’s men, Aculeo realized. He waited until dark, hiding in the shadows, but the guards gave no indication they’d be leaving anytime soon. The lamps in the villa finally dimmed for the night. It devoured him, the thought of Ralla being there with Calisto and the children now like a viper in the nest. They couldn’t wait any longer. He decided to return home, gather his things then return for them.

He made his way along the dark winding streets to his flat. He realized before he even set foot across the doorstep that something was amiss. The door hung limply from its hinges. Inside, the furniture had been overturned, the chairs smashed and broken against the plastered mud-brick walls. Did Pesach throw another tantrum, he wondered. There was no sign of him or Xanthias though. What then? Ralla? Theopompus? He could only hope Xanthias, Gellius and Pesach had managed to escape in time.

The door to his cubiculum was open. His storage chests had been dumped out on the floor, the funeral masks of his ancestors lay scattered, the waxen faces staring at him accusingly with their empty eyes. A few of them had been stepped on, destroyed. It was a senseless, sickening loss. He searched frantically through the flat but Posdippus’ documents were all gone. Shit. Shit! That’s what they were after. How could they have even … ah, someone at the Titles Office must have told them, he realized wretchedly. Which means the records there have likely been stolen as well. Capito will be left with no evidence to go on. Fuck!

Something sounded in the street outside, the sound of many pairs of boots marching against the paving stones. They’re back. Aculeo slipped down the stairs, his back against the wall, heart pounding in his chest. He could hear them outside the door now. He slipped out the posticum into the tiny courtyard, his heart pulsing in his chest. As he clambered over the wall then slipped into the alley, he wondered desperately whether it wasn’t already too late.

Aculeo slumped on a hard bench in the backroom of the healer’s shop and gazed out the window, the early morning sky stained the colour of an old, forgotten bruise. He closed his eyes, leaning his head against the wall, but his mind still raced in circles. After escaping his house he’d tried calling on Capito but the Magistrate’s slaves claimed their master had never returned home from the trip to the farm, nor was there any sign of him at his offices in Beta. Meanwhile Ralla’s slaves maintained their post outside Calisto’s villa. Aculeo had waited out the night in a back alley tavern before making his way to Rhakotis when the Night Guard finished their rounds.

He’d finally drifted off into a sort of sleep when Sekhet appeared. “You’ve had me running about so much of late my patients are quite distraught,” she announced as she dropped wearily into a chair, her eyes underscored with dark circles. “Fortunately they save up all their illnesses for me to take care of upon my return.”