Tiberius Cavernus was the owner and bar-tender, a tall, big-built Rhinelander who said he’d been a duplicarius in the legions in the days of Claudius and had saved his pension just for this.
He had straw-bright hair cut level with the lobes of his ears and he trimmed his nails once a week as he had done in the legions. His whores were clean and went about their work cheerfully and no thieves hung around the tables, not for long. I had always been surprised that he didn’t serve a better class of client: real military men instead of the bitter has-beens who drank to forget.
That day, I discovered the reason.
I was tending to the beer stock when this little Berber trudged in and dumped his sack of dates on to the low pine table that served as a bar at the back. Cavernus was swiftly at his side.
‘Leave, stranger. We have no need of-’
Cavernus’ expression didn’t change; I was watching him and I saw nothing, except that he had stopped speaking.
After a short, stunned pause, he jerked his head to the small door that led to the latrines, and beyond them to the kitchens. Only his voice was strained as he said, ‘Dates, are they? Out the back with you, then.’
He ushered the little man through ahead of him. I was a slave, I had to go out anyway; they barely noticed me following them as they passed the latrine trenches and went through another door to a small room where the food is prepared.
The women took one look at Cavernus’ face and backed out. I remained at the door, peering through the gap at the hinge. My mother always said I was overly curious, but when you’re a slave you either learn things or you learn nothing; there’s no in-between place.
Cavernus was looking worried. His gaze roamed the small room with an air of regret. ‘That’s some disguise,’ he said. ‘I barely knew it was you. Have you come to claim what is yours?’
The little Berber date-man shook his head. ‘This is your inn; it has never been mine. I gave it to you and I will never take back a gift freely given. But I have a favour to ask.’ He spoke like a Roman, not at all like a Berber.
‘Of course.’ Cavernus wasn’t as relieved or cheerful as I’d have thought. He still looked wary. ‘What can I do?’
‘Tell me, has anyone been here asking for me by name?’
‘Who hasn’t?’ Cavernus laughed, shortly. ‘Before this morning, nobody spoke your name in my hearing in the past fifteen years. This morning, more men than I can count have asked for you and each with his blade sharp and ready.’ My master’s hands worked at the cloth at his belt. He looked ashamed. ‘I haven’t had time to send word to you.’
‘You couldn’t have done that; you didn’t know where I was. I’m not blaming you. I bring my misfortunes on my own head. I just needed to know if there was anyone asking here in particular. If they knew that I knew you. It seems not. In which case…’ Pantera opened his sack. ‘Since I’m here, you’d better look at these.’
Cavernus chose one of the dates from the second layer, bit it, rolled it round his mouth before he swallowed.
‘Good enough for the White Hare.’ He sounded more like his usual self.
Pantera said, ‘You can have half. The rest I need to take on.’
Sticky-fingered, they began to scoop the fruit out into a wooden barrel at the side.
‘There must be something else,’ Cavernus said as they worked. ‘You didn’t come here in the day’s heat only to ask if anyone knows I am your man.’
‘Ever wise, Cavernus.’ Pantera flashed him a smile that was all yellowing teeth with gaps at the side. ‘I want you to listen. To find a man, or men, who were officers, but left the legions in poor regard. Someone bitter enough to take silver to betray the current emperor. They don’t have to be overly discreet; just willing.’
I began to understand, then, that this was why Cavernus had chosen to ply his trade to the has-beens when he could have aimed so much higher: because once, a long time ago, this little Berber had thought it might one day be useful. And now it was.
Cavernus said, ‘There are two or three who fit that bill; the trouble will be finding one who doesn’t drink from dawn to dusk. When I have the right man, do I use the old ways of sending a message?’
‘Not yet. I’m not sure they’re all safe. For now, send one of your men to the market to buy dates. He’s to ask for the big Syrian ones he got last week. Ask all the date-sellers. I’ll hear it.’
Pantera picked up his sack. He paused at the doorway, half hunched, lame again.
‘Do you still own Borros?’ he asked. The hairs stood up on my neck then, I can tell you. I didn’t know whether to keep looking or to press my ear to the hinge to make sure I heard every word. In the event, I didn’t need to do that. I could hear it easily and still see.
‘That mad fuck of a Briton?’ Cavernus pulled a wry face. ‘He died in the fire, trying to save his wife and three of his children.’ A flash passed between them of shared sorrow and memories best forgotten. We are all like that, who knew the fire.
Cavernus brightened. ‘Young Borros lived, though; the son. He’s grown well.’
‘Is he reliable?’
‘If you can call it that. He’s twice the size of his father, and twice as mad. He hasn’t actually killed any of us in our beds yet, but I wouldn’t put it past him, if he- You’re not serious?’
Three gold coins had just materialized on Pantera’s palm. They jumped and spun and when they fell they were one atop the other.
Cavernus’ laugh billowed out into the bar room. ‘You’re as mad as he is. I’d be lucky to get half a silver for him at auction, even if I spent a month polishing him up.’
‘Will you sell him to me?’
Something passed between them, some remembering I couldn’t know, for nothing was said, but Cavernus rolled his eyes, wildly, the way men do to show madness. ‘You’re crazy. He’ll cut your throat and get on the next boat home.’
But the gold was gone, the deal sealed. Cavernus shrugged, wiped his hands clean, slid the gold into the pouch he kept round his neck, sucked in a breath and bellowed out my name. ‘ Borros! ’
I couldn’t believe it. In that moment, all I could think of was my mother, my father, the brother and sisters I’d lost in the fire — and that the White Hare was my home. I had been born there, on a bed Cavernus had provided. I’d eaten from his table, drunk his ale, been beaten by him and learned not to weep. I never thought he’d sell me. But what could I do? I waited long enough for it not to look as if I was standing just outside the door, then pulled it open and went in.
I saw Pantera properly for the first time, then; he had set down the dates and wasn’t stooping any more and had run his hands through his hair so it looked less like a crow’s nest and he had that look in his eye…
I don’t know how to describe it, but I felt safe in his company. You know when a pack of hounds meets a strange dog and he just walks in and eats their food and lies in their sleeping places and they let him, because they know he’ll find them food? Pantera was like that, so I didn’t feel quite so broken, and then he opened his mouth and said, ‘Warrior, from today you are a free man. But if you want to hunt with me, I pledge my life for yours and ask only the same oath in return.’
Only he didn’t say it in Latin, or even in Greek, which was what we all spoke except on formal days, he said it in the tongue of western Britain, with the accent of the Ordovices, my mother’s tribe.
A child could have pushed me over then, with one fat little hand. I gaped at Pantera like an idiot and couldn’t speak. Cavernus, trying not to smile, pushed a stool up behind me and I collapsed down to sit on it and only then, seated, did I find the words to answer in kind. ‘My life for yours, of course.’
It’s the old oath that warriors give one to another, and while I might have been born into slavery my mother taught me the ways of our gods, the honouring of oak and stream and the north wind and the sun, and how warriors pledged to each other before battle.
Pantera took my arm, hand to elbow, and I read an honesty in his eyes that I was not used to in men. ‘You are surprised now. I won’t hold you to it. But if you wish to come with me, perhaps I can make it sound more attractive. If not, you may leave, a free man. I will sign your manumission papers in any case.’