Marcius
Tribune
It is now. Sorry for the insane delay!
P.S. It's good to be back.
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Whatever the longings of the man on the cross farthest from hers had been, he no longer had any. Perfectly still, his legs in livid patches, he must have ceased breathing some time before sunrise. His fellow sufferer kept groaning quietly. Delia turned her head to look at them.
She took no notice of a well-dressed old man who was ambling towards the crosses from the cemetery, a couple of slaves in tow. He gave Delia a long, squinted look, then motioned for the slaves to stay and began walking slowly towards the awning where Saturninus was resting not far from the guttering fare while the slaves gawped at the dead thief and argued whether the other one was about to die right then.
Saturninus got up and drew himself erect, a baffled look on his face. Pretty much the last thing he expected that morning was a visit from this man.
‘Ave, good soldier. Saturninus, is it? The former proconsul told me your name, but I might be mistaken. Old age plays cruel tricks with one’s memory,’ the visitor’s raspy voice was quiet.
‘Saturninus I am. Ave, good Vitalio. What brings you to this accursed place of death?’ The soldier knew that Titus Flavius Vitalio used to be one of the most famous pantomimes of Flavian Rome. Born a slave of the Corduban Annaei, Vitalio was confiscated by Nero when his master, Seneca the philosopher, was forced to commit suicide. Admired by the emperors from Nero to Nerva, even by the dour Vespasian who granted him his freedom, Vitalio performed on stage until the times of Trajan when he retired and left Rome for his native city with a sizable fortune.
‘I’ve been visiting the tomb of an old friend to offer a libation for his shade, Saturninus, and it’s a short way from there to the crosses here, even for me. That girl on the cross,’ Vitalio nodded towards where Delia was straining to raise herself, ‘I’ve been told that she was an actress in Rome.’
‘Oh, she might’ve been,’ grumbled the Numidian. ‘This Delia is a lot of things, for sure – a diviner, a runaway, a brigand...’
‘But surely she has suffered enough?’ the old man suggested. ‘I know you didn’t spare her at the post, and I’ve heard a lot about what slaves have to go through when they’re questioned. Heard them being questioned too. Just look at her now, Saturninus. Did the gods make her to go through all this?’
‘We put them on the cross to suffer, that we do,’ Saturninus shrugged. ‘But it’s for the gods and not men to decide when it is enough. The way I see it, the men are done with her.’
‘She is almost free now, isn’t she, Saturninus?’ the old pantomime said, quietly and pensively.
‘Huh?’
‘Men can’t do much more to her, soldier. She’s freer than all of us are.’
‘We’re not nailed to the crosses, good Vitalio.’
‘Are we not, soldier? Ours are invisible, but surely you must feel it’s there sometimes.’
‘What do you really want, good Vitalio? I’m a simple soldier, I can’t wield my tongue as well as I do my sword,’ Saturninus grew impatient. There was something to the old man’s visit.
‘Put an end to her torments, good soldier, and I will claim her body for burial as the law allows,’ Vitalio spoke evenly.
‘What? Why do you care about her?’ Saturninus was startled.
‘I saw enough actors crucified in Rome in my day. Never sits well with me, you see,’ the old man rasped. ‘This Delia, she shouldn’t end up as carrion.’
This silk-wearing senex must have grown daft in his old age, Saturninus thought.
‘It must be worth something to you,’ he let the hint dangle.
‘Would one hundred denarii enough to make her end quicker?’
Saturninus choked. It was one-third of a legionary’s yearly salary.
‘I’m not breaking her legs. The body shall be inspected, and Silo will have me beaten for this,’ he whispered.
The old man recoiled.
‘Neither would I suggest that.’ The wrinkly hand slid into the small leather bag Vitalio was carrying. A much smaller bag appeared with a soft jangle.
‘Gratitude,’ Saturninus looked inside, at the silver pieces.
‘Here,’ Vitalio fished out a small vial of opaque glass. ‘Pour this into the water you’re about to give her, and the girl will expire without pain – well, as painlessly as one can in her condition.’
‘Don’t want the other slave dying on me. He’s whacked wide, but I don’t want it to look suspicious. Would it be enough to pour your, er, stuff on the sponge?’
‘Certainly, good soldier. Certainly.’
†††
‘It’s done,’ Vitalio met the gazes of a man and a woman standing in front of him in the empty cupboard where Vitalio was hiding them. ‘We’ll burn her body…’
‘Don’t. Don’t burn Delia,’ the woman said through the tears. The man crashed his fist into the wall, bloodying his knuckles.
‘But, Melitine…’
‘May Set curse this slave-name!’
‘Very well, we’re going to dig a grave and bury her. I think we can spirit Secundus out of Corduba in a couple of days; it’ll take a bit longer for you, Egyptian girls are few and far between here.’
‘There are enough of us in Gades. Let us go together to whatever awaits us,’ the woman pleaded.
‘You’ll have the money to go anywhere,’ Vitalio said. ‘My advice is, take the ship to the Isles of the Blest.’
‘I’ve always wondered why you’re doing this,’ Secundus said through gritted teeth as Melitine cried quietly. ‘You’re rich, you didn’t need to risk your hide and buy our loot of Ambatus for months. Certainly didn’t have to shelter us, and now, paying our passage… Why, old man?’
‘What makes you think that I hate Roman power any less than she does? Or than you do?’ the old actor grunted. ‘I was a slave too. I didn’t have to fight in the arena as you did, wasn’t sold into the brothel as she was, but Nero’s Palatine was an arena and a brothel in one, and it hardly got better. The one who’s Emperor now, he’s very much like Nero,’ Vitalio sighed. ‘I’ve seen enough and learnt enough to know that the Romans won’t stop until they rape every corner of the world, and you, the brigands of Ambatus, at least did something to avenge you.’
‘We won’t stop,’ the Egyptian girl who hated the name of Melitine raised her head. ‘No Isles of the Blessed for us. We’ll wound the Roman beast yet.’ Secundus nodded in assent.
‘Good luck,’ Vitalio whispered. ‘And remember Carfulena Delia.’
FINIS
