Eleutheria

By Arty Scott

What is it like to be poor in ancient Rome? How valuable is the life of a slave? Meet prostitutes who have to sleep with dogs to keep alive at night. Meet a wealthy rat-catcher in his favourite bar. And follow the adventures of Eleutheria, a temple prostitute, brutalised and scared by a vicious client. What does an aging, one-eyed woman do to keep alive? How does it feel to have no choices, no rights, no possessions?

In the Roman Republic, hope is still available. Furius 'the Greek', arrives to find that he is expected and welcome.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Mar 17, 2014
• ISBN: 9781493141616

Arty Scott

This is Arty Scott's second published novel. Since retiring, he has taken writing more seriously; seeing things through to a conclusion has not been his strongest trait in the past (sic). But with experience comes wisdom, if we pay attention to the clues. A book – any book – can be the building or the foundation. It's up to us whether we dig or not. But there's only one way to find out if there are spuds under the earth – dig! Dig and be satisfied, my dears, he said.

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Copyright © 2014 by Arty Scott.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

Rev. date: 02/25/2014

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

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Contents

List of characters

The Legend of Marsyas

Eleutheria

BOOK ONE

The Potter’s Field, Outside Roma

Syspasia’s Temple

One Side of the Roman Forum

An Apartment in the Subura, Roma

A School Lesson Outdoors in a Roman Colonnade

The Flora Olitorium, Roma

A Newly Opened Office in the Poor Subura Area of Roma

The School

The Foundry Owned by the Cousins Marcius

The Home of Furius in the Subura District

A Secret Rendezvous in Roma

The Forum

The Home of Furius, Roma

Some Waste Land Beside the Circus Maximus

The Foundry Beside the River Tiber

The Slave Market, Roma

Outside The Home of Gaius Julius Stolo

A Mule Farm Near the Tiber

The Campus Martius, Roma

A Report to the Martii Cousins

The Office of Furius in the Subura

The Temple of Jupiter Maximus on the Capitoline Hill

An Assembly of the Senate in the Curia

Gathering Gossip in the Market

After the Battle of the Salt Flats

The Home of Quintus Ahala

The Trial of Quintus Marcius Ahala

Bellica’s Gossip

Political Thoughts Vocalised

The Home of Philistius and his Sister

The Home of Gaius Julius Stolo

The Blue Boar

Legal Procedures

The Home of Furius, Roma

The First Plebeian Censor

The Blue Boar

The Home of Bellica

The Home of Quintus Servilius Fidenas on the Palatine

The Future of Bellica

Syspasia’s Temple

The Blue Boar

The Office Building

Gloriana

Ostia

BOOK TWO

BOOK THREE

An appendix by Didius Flavius (Secretary to the Marcius family)

Historical Timeline (all dates are BC)

The Government of the Republic

The Magistrates

Colonies

List of characters

The Legend of Marsyas

One day the hairy-legged satyr, Marsyas, found a flute which had been discarded by the goddess Athena. He recognised that his playing was extraordinary, so decided he could challenge the god Apollo to a competition; Who was the best player, Apollo with his lyre or Marsyas with the twin flutes, the aulos? Marsyas thought he had won but after each had played, Apollo turned his lyre upside down and played it again. With the flute this was impossible and so, by this trick, Apollo won the competition. He had Marsyas flayed alive as punishment for having the audacity to challenge the gods. The moral of his tale is, if you have the freedom to challenge the gods, be careful how you use it.

Eleutheria

The pages that follow are the collected memories of Furius Marcius Rutilius Censorius, as dictated to myself Didius Flavius, his loyal and affectionate servant in Brundisium before the days of the tyrant Sulla brought a temporary end to the power of the People’s Party in Roma. These collected (and to a small degree, selected and dramatised) memoires, were penned by me in faithfulness, in memory of all the individuals who shared in the designs of Gaius Marcius Rutilius before his death at the hands of his brutal enemies in our glorious city. His adopted son, Furius, took the name Censorius because his father was the first plebeian to be appointed censor in the history of Roma.

Both father and son would have requested, Mighty Jupiter, best and greatest, grant your servant wisdom from knowledge and true direction from my decisions. I have added these words in recognition of the faith manifested by both father and son during their adventures and escapades in favour of their city, Roma, and its extraordinary people.

Furius Marcius Rutilius Censorius mentioned no theme while relating these memories to me but my reading of them left me with the observation that, one never knows what life and the deities will present to you, nor when it will manifest itself.

Didius Flavius (Secretary)

Brundisium,

when the Senators in Roma were :

Lucius Papirius Crassus and Lucius Plautius Venox.

BOOK ONE

Ostia is a busy hustling port, importing and exporting shiploads of stuff from Roma by day and night. I arrived there from Brundisium one evening in late summer. But the commerce of the harbour in no way prepared me for the sight and sounds of Roma two days later. I bought some lunch in a tavern that first evening and was offered a lift early next afternoon, carrying fish to the capital. Curiously, we went by ox-cart rather than up the river Tiber. The outflow made that next to impossible, of course. Much later I learned that mules would have to be used to make the journey upstream.

We arrived below the city of Roma around evening. My companion on the cart wasn’t the fisherman I’d met yesterday but his wife. By the time Roma came into view she had offered me her body twice—for a price. She imagined that her price was too much at first because the second time she wanted less.

I learned that she would not return home until late that night, by which time her husband would be asleep, resting, ready for his next early morning fishing expedition.

I will never forget my first view of the city. In truth, the lower areas were somewhat grey and drab because of the fire and damage inflicted by the Celts some years before. What was really astonishing was to raise my eyes to the Capitoline Hill and the huge, the magnificent, white-stone temple of Jupiter commanding respect and admiration above everything else.

You may think it impossible, but my arrival in Roma from Brundisium had been prophesied.

The Potter’s Field, Outside Roma

Some days the Curia Hostilia, the Senate house in my adopted Roma, is almost deserted—festival days, wars, etcetera—it is quiet and quite dark, footfalls echo ominously. Other times it is near impossible to move or hear yourself think. And the smell! Imagine several hundred sweaty men, half of them gesticulating and swearing, spitting, stamping their feet, the rest cheering, jeering, bellowing ribald insults—tired, excited old men farting furiously. None of them has been to the baths since yesterday afternoon. Quite probably no one has eaten much breakfast. I have even witnessed bully boys armed with staves forcing wealthy speakers down. Outside in the forum there might be another ten thousand plebs, angrier and more smelly than the politicians inside.

Impotence does dreadful things to a man. Impotence of any kind. Thus, some men who have power will do anything—anything—to retain it. Gaius Julius Stolo was such a man. A senator with bad breath and bad money—but lots of it. Gaius Stolo strolled across the senate floor to the great bronze doors and exited into the midday sun. There were several groups of men at the top of the steps, all talking as if they had secrets to hide.

Later, one of Julius Stolo’s acquaintances waited in the cemetery called The Potter’s Field, on the Via Salaria, outside the city wall, where only the meanest of memorials were planted for the departed.

May father Jupiter watch over your immortal soul, Gaius Julius Stolo.

And you, Brutus Felix.

How can I serve you, today?

You know the Genucii brothers?

I do. You want them dead?

Just the elder brother. Do you think I am a man with no feelings?

Their caustic laughter rippled restlessly through the deadly ancient darkness outside the city walls.

Syspasia’s Temple

Gaius Marcius Rutilius, may the Fates be with you. Tell me your dream.

Lady Syspasia, In my dream I saw the heads of my enemies were getting bigger as I climbed to the top of the Palatine Hill. When I moved down lower to the tenements my own head grew larger and theirs shrank—almost disappearing—but I was popular and I felt stronger there. There was a taste of salt in my mouth all the time. For some reason there was danger in the air but it was up to me to do something about it. And I was expecting someone to appear to help me. He was to arrive by sea and if he didn’t, then all was lost. Change was in the air and I was involved but this man was needed. Oh! And I’m sure he was a Greek, not a Roman at all. The dream was telling me that it was an important time; everything was in my hands and we could get started when the unknown man arrived in Ostia. Among the tenements, I took delivery of a net full of little fishes. They were alive and bellowing loudly. The scales along the sides or the fish were round but became square to help them survive. All the fishes wanted to follow me and I felt I was responsible for them.

And who is this man beside you, my Lord Rutilius?

Lady Syspasia, this is my cousin, Quintus Marcius Ahala. And this you will not believe—he had exactly the same dream on the same night.

We were both totally unnerved, Quintus remembered. So, we came straight to you, for your wisdom. Everyone in Roma knows you are the best interpreter of dreams. And we never heard of two men having the same dream on the same night.

This I can tell you now, Romans; your fates are linked; if one of you fails or falls, so will the other. If there are riches and power ahead of you, then both will prosper. You must retire and allow me to immerse myself in prophesy. Return tomorrow, Gentlemen, if it pleases you.

My cousin and I will return with pork, oil and spiced wine, Madam Syspasia, added Quintus Marcius Ahala.

*     *     *

I have good news for you, Romans. I have interpreted your dreams. We ministers of the goddess thank you for your valuable gifts. Please sit and enjoy some Egyptian beer. A lithe, brown-skinned maiden smelling of frankincense drifted before them with a jug. Marcius waved her away with a shrug.

Your dream is about power, Syspasia straightened her delicate pastel robes. The fishes in the net are the people of the poor areas of Roma. Among them your head grew larger, meaning that you were more influential. And as your power grew the power of the aristocrats lessened. There is tension in the air and a taste of salt. I cannot interpret this exactly, she confessed modestly, but it has something to do with violence toward you or Roma. You must both be ready. You must both make preparations for conflict, using the power that comes from the plebeian society.

Marcius interrupted her. You think we should prepare for a battle, Priestess? The poor are mere slingers, they have no swords or shields or body-armour.

These are not my concerns Marcius Rutilius. Prepare yourselves. I know not when these things will occur—but they will come to pass. Please do not halt my musings. The scales of a fish are for protection of its skin. In your vision, the scales change from round to square. Something round that is protective must become square…

Shields! Quintus almost exploded. The Celts used square shields against us in the battle of Allia when they near destroyed us.

Syspasia jumped to her feet, although standing she was shorter than sitting in her chair. I will not be interrupted, Romans, she bellowed. I pass on to you the words of the goddess. Listen!

Pardon our enthusiasm, Lady; we are in a state of agitation. We cannot sleep, we…

Then, let me finish!

The two Romans bowed their heads a little and shifted uncomfortably as she sat again. There remains the mystery of the Greek from Ostia. You do not know such a man? They shook their heads. He is the key to all the changes you will make in Roma. However, if you do not find him there will be no changes—by you, that is. You must identify this Greek because without him you will be unable to fulfil these prophecies.

Quintus recognised that the interview was over. He gestured for the serving girl to approach. Dipping his hand into his robe he slid out a silver pendant and draped it over her outstretched hands. We are indebted to you once again, Lady Syspasia. May our gifts bring your heart warmth.

Syspasia smiled in toothless satisfaction. If you find this man, bring him to me. I would learn more of this affair myself.

One Side of the Roman Forum

Hey, you! A stranger called out to me.

. . . ?

Yes, you. Can you read?

Yes, some. Can you? I had no desire to be polite.

Come here.

I loved it when strangers treated me like shite. What?

He pointed to the wall. What does that say?

Are you Marcius? He nodded. It says you’re a prick! That’s why there’s a picture of a… It was my turn to point. He spat on the ground noisily and a stall-holder turned wearily to look us over. You’re not a pleb. Why, can’t you read it? I asked bluntly.

I was a soldier. I can recognise my own name. Marcius noticed me, it seemed for the first time. Do you want a job? You look useful.

The trader behind us bellowed to the shoppers about the quality of his stinking fish. You want me to kill the Jew?

What Jew?

Once again I pointed to the wall decoration. Circumcised. The artist wasn’t a Roman.

Marcius smiled at me for the first time. You’re a thinking man, as well. He paused. You have travelled a lot?

Why do you say that?

I saw that your tunic is tied up at the back of the neck. He smiled again. And your tunic is stained with salt. You are a sailor or a fisherman.

Anything else?

Marcius took a step back and bumped into a passing senator’s guard. The minder growled but a well-manicured hand reached out to calm the man.

Gaius Marcius Rutilius, what are you scheming now? His purple trimmed toga almost gleamed in the sunlight. This older man glanced behind us and noticed the graffiti on the wall. I see your mother has been out with her paints, Marcius.

I was able to grasp the back of his toga to keep him away as the guards closed, stepping in front of the senator. The old politician in his turn moved away a little.

Tell me, senator, why do your bullies need to carry clubs in the forum? Nervous, are you? I don’t see any Gauls out shopping today.

We could almost see the man’s brain searching for a put-down to establish his superiority over the lesser mortal before him. Marcius beat him to it, Come along, Furius, we need some wine. Marcius Rutilius turned on his heel and taking my elbow, strode away with his military shoulders back. He ushered me forward toward a busy booth offering wine and olives to its customers in the shade of the arcade. The bar was not crowded but three men were playing dice noisily. There was a smell of sour wine in the air.

Furius? I asked as we moved out of the dust and dementia of the Roman forum.

That’s your name, isn’t it?

No!

Well you look like a Furius. Sit down.

There was no glassware in sight so I guessed what the wine would taste like. You just insulted a senator, in public. He knows you?

His name is Gaius Julius Stolo. An old fart with the best Sabine ancestors. I’m surprised that he can afford bodyguards.

We sat opposite each other and he waved absently to a plump, sweating girl. Wine, bread, water and olives, girl. Fresh bread. If the bread is old I’m not paying for it. He squeezed her thigh affectionately, then turned to me. She flinched and I decided that perhaps she wasn’t a slave at all. Do you want the job? he repeated.

What job?

Are you a Roman?

Yes.

You’re freeborn?

Yes. He had a lot of questions but…

Are you married?

No. His smile was engaging.

Where do you live?

On my boat.

"Ahhh! Then you are a sailor. I was right."

Indeed. What is the job? I demanded once more.

"You were wrong, Furius, I’m not an honestiori. I’m a pleb like you. All Romans are descended from farmers, whores and thieves, anyway. You should know that. So don’t be taken in by all that aristocratic stuff. Marcius Rutilius became silent while our refreshment was arranged on the table before us. He poured himself a blend of wine and water before dipping his fingers in the mixture and flicking it onto the floor, muttering to himself: Mighty Jupiter, grant your servant wisdom from knowledge and true direction from my decisions." The fingers of his free hand reached to his throat, presumably to press an amulet around his neck.

What is the job? I reminded him.

You don’t sound like a Roman, Furius.

My family is Greek. My father is a manumitted slave. I was born a free Roman in Brundisium. Anything else you need to know?

And you served in the navy?

Why? I said abruptly.

Don’t get peevish, you’re drinking my wine, you know. Am I not allowed to ask a few questions? I shrugged as though I didn’t care and dipped my bread in a beaker of wine and water.

We both ate quietly for a while. My father fought with the Romans against the Celts at the River Allia. Fabius Ambustus granted him citizenship. I confess that I was immensely curious to discover why this ex-soldier was interested in myself.

Hmmm, we lost that one, Marcius said.

My father took his loot home and bought a boat. He and his brothers are free fishermen.

He ‘took his loot home’?

I didn’t say he was a good soldier. I removed my knife from my belt and stabbed it almost violently into the tabletop and flicked the handle to make it vibrate. What is the job?

Marcius was shrewd enough to guess that he had until the knife