‘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 father out on the street. Have you no heart?’
Varus gave him an offended look. ‘It wasn’t as if he had no money for rent or food. At the time, he was working for a local merchant.’
‘And that made it acceptable, I suppose?’
‘How dare you take that tone with me, you impudent pup!’ snapped Varus. ‘Where were you when your family needed you? I was the one who took them in, who gave them a roof over their heads and put food in their bellies, who listened to their tragic tale over and over. I — not you.’
A wave of shame subsumed Carbo. ‘I was trying to earn the money to help with Father’s debts,’ he muttered. At least that’s how it started out. Once they had broken out of the ludus, there had been no opportunities — other than theft — to make any money, and Carbo wasn’t a thief. Spartacus had also banned the use of gold and silver in his army. The only metals of use, he said, were iron and bronze, for making weapons. I was going to do so much. Yet I have done none of it, and now my parents are dead. Tears pricked his eyes.
Varus was oblivious. ‘Clearly, you haven’t met with much success. Look at you, dressed like the poorest kind of pleb.’ His lip curled. ‘I wonder how you even managed to save the money to buy a slave.’
The sheer level of his uncle’s contempt helped Carbo to swallow his grief. He would deal with it later. What mattered right now was securing a safe place to hide until the next day. Where could be better than here? he thought with black amusement. ‘He’s not a slave.’
‘Eh?’ Varus’ pudgy forehead creased into a frown. ‘Who is he, then?’
‘He’s a friend.’ Carbo took the few steps that separated him from his uncle at speed. Picking up the glass by its stem, he smashed it off the edge of the table. As Varus gaped, he swept around to the rear of his chair. A great shove sent the slave with the palm leaf stumbling backwards. Carbo threw his left arm around Varus’ neck in a choke hold. Gripping the jagged stump of the glass like a knife, he touched it to his uncle’s throat. ‘Up.’