The last five days had been some of the most expensive in the life of Tiberius. As well as paying Portia, he bought wine, expensive food, singers, entertainers, dragonflower, and all manner of things to keep his house lively. He had entertained old drinking mates and soldiers from his century, most of which he couldn't remember. He even brought back the men who helped him take revenge on the slaves. He let Portia invite anyone she liked, later going so far as to pay for extra whores and holding an orgy all for himself. Each morning he woke up more hungover than the last and started the drinking even earlier to compensate. His sense of time had become distorted, and he could scarcely remember how long it had been. His body ached all over from the revelry, his slaves seemed angry with him, and he had taken Portia so many times they had to stop from soreness. On the last night, Dunya had confronted him, begging him to quieten down and let her son get some sleep. Tiberius was so drunk that he shouted at her one moment and tried to kiss her the next.
The memory washed over him as he opened his eyes on a dim afternoon. The sheet tangled between his legs. He felt nausea, a twisted mix of shame, regret, and the pure physical toll of all that he had consumed. He wiped the crust from his eyes and saliva from his cheek. His fingers reached across the crumpled sheets, feeling for Portia’s body, but found only the warmth where she had once laid. He sat up, his bones creaking and popping, and blinked as he looked about the room. He swung his legs over the side and called out.
“Portia? Come back to bed sweetheart!” He bellowed, desperate for some human comfort. He found the curtains drawn in the bathing room at the far end of the bedroom lounge, and Portia leaned out of the tub and gave him a little wave. Tiberius grimaced as he stood up and limped over to the en-suite, rubbing his aching back, naked but for his loincloth. “Why are you in the bath so early?” He asked as he leaned on the doorway.
“Well, first, it’s past noon, and second, I need to get clean since I’m heading back tonight. I doubt Madam Eshel wants me stinking of spirits.” She said as she rubbed soap into her skin, her breasts resting above the water. Tiberius walked over and sat on the wide edge of the bath and gazed over her naked body, up to her face.
“Listen, Portia. I don’t want to impose, but could you to stay a while longer? I won’t have any more parties or anything like that. I can pay you whatever you’d be earning, more if you want.” He said, sadness in his eyes. She stopped washing herself, and as she looked at him, he rubbed his moustache nervously. Portia sat up in the tub and placed her hand over his.
“Darling, we both know you don’t have enough money for that.” She said, a sad smile across her lips. “I was happy to lose a little silver this week to make you feel good, but I have to go back. I’ve had a wonderful time, truly I’ve never had such raucous days, but it does need to end.” She said, squeezing his hand and placing a light kiss on his shoulder. He looked away from her to hide his disappointment, staring down at the moist tiles. Portia got to her feet in the slippery bath, gripping the sides as water dripped off her skin. She loosened the stopper, and watched for a moment as the swirling liquid circled the drain. Tiberius watched her as she stepped out and grabbed the soft towel laid out – by a disgruntled Dunya, no doubt. He took a long look at her body, but not in the lustful way he usually might. Longing ached within him as he stared. Portia dried each part of her body, listening to her quiet breathing, like silk brushing against his ears. She looked elegant, now more than ever. He closed his eyes and tried to capture this image of her in his mind. She turned back after tying the towel in to her wet black hair. “Come on, let’s get some breakfast.” Portia said, offering a hand to him.
They dined together on the small sofas in the upstairs lounge. The cushions were stitched yellow, almost looking golden in a certain light, contrasting the dark silken material of the gown he’d given her. Tiberius thought she looked prettier than usual, her skin seemed to glow and the dark wet hair falling about her shoulders stirred something in him. He was quiet, despite Portia’s attempts to get him into a better humour. His stomach felt as though it had a gaping hole in it, which felt even worse when Dunya brought through their food. After she left, Tiberius spoke.
“I was awful last night. I need to apologize to her.” He said, grimacing at his food, and looking at the floor in shame.
“Oh Tibbs, trust you to shoulder some massive guilt for kissing one of your slaves. A lot of people do far, far worse, and sober too. Don’t worry about it.” Portia told him as she took a mouthful of buttered bread and plucked an olive from the plate. She had started calling him Tibbs after one of her friends called him that a few nights ago, and hadn’t stopped since.
“She’s going to be married to Publius, she calls me Uncle in front of her son. It was very improper of me.” He replied stubbornly. Portia shrugged.
“You should try not taking things so hard, you didn’t seem to have any trouble this past week. Being hard on yourself isn’t going to make you feel any better.” She sipped at a goblet of water and licked her lips. “I’ll still come and visit you. Once a week, I’ll check up on you, we can drown our sorrows and have a drink. Don’t worry about money, you’re a friend now, not just a customer.” She said smiling. Part of him ached at her calling him a friend. He felt confused, almost in love with her, but he didn’t know if it was real. He wasn’t sure if anything in his mind was real anymore. Like the elf with his spells and vile laughter, even that could have just been some feverish nightmare. Portia looked at him with concern as he stared somewhere distant. “We can still have some fun too Tibbs. I’m not implying otherwise.” She enunciated, chuckling. Tiberius snapped out of it and looked back at her.
“Thank you, I’d like it if you visited me.” He said, trying to smile back, but the loneliness looming ahead made him afraid. He picked at his plate idly, wishing it had some meat, but his stomach turning at the thought of even that.
“So, what have you got planned? You should be keeping busy.” She suggested and Tiberius rubbed his forehead.
“I should check my finances with Publius. I imagine I’ll need to be looking for work soon. Then I need to make sure Dunya and Publius get their brands removed before the law comes and perhaps by then I’ll have some money to give them for their wedding.” He said, and Portia’s eyes shimmered as she looked at him.
“That’s very sweet of you. I’m sure Dunya will be grateful. She’s lucky to have a master like you.” She said with sincerity. Tiberius managed a smile. “How are you going to get it done? I heard the Consul’s stopped people doing it now.” She intoned.
“I suppose I’ll just have to find someone who will. I know the Ironfoots must have people, otherwise, how do they free any slaves in the first place?”
Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
“Ironfoots? The criers said they're a cult, want to string us all up.”
“Just the local resistance. Gang is more like, terrorizing people and stealing slaves in the name of freedom. I suppose they’ll be growing in number now my dear friend has introduced this bloody law.”
“Dear friend? What, the Consul? Don’t tell me you know him.” She said, incredulous. Tiberius nodded as her eyebrows raised.
“We were friends since we fought together, thirty-something years ago. But I won’t speak to the man again. His law is the reason Claudia and her children were murdered.” He said, remembering how their breakfast together had ended. “He came to visit on Werdas. Things got heated, I assaulted him.” He admitted.
“By all the gods Tiberius, he’ll have your head off for that!” Portia exclaimed, shock and fascination on her face. “You’re a dangerous friend to have.” She said, her lips twisting into a smile. Tiberius shrugged wordlessly and set his plate down, unable to stomach more than a few bites. He watched Portia eat in silence for a while, dreading the moment she would stand up to leave.
But the moment arrived. At the door, she gave him a gentle kiss on the lips, which was unusual for her, but welcome. Tiberius sat on the warm stone steps of outside his home, looking up at the sky. There were no omens today, only the endless blue and the burning sun. It was now the last month of spring. The Spire’s weather mages had already announced their prediction, that the coming summer was to be scorching. Tiberius couldn’t stomach the thought. After a while of watching the people of the Aveline passing by, he went back inside. He later found Publius whispering with Dunya in the slave quarters, and asked him to come to the study and look over his finances. When he entered, Dunya gave him a sharp, angry look. Tiberius kept his eyes away from her, overwhelmed with shame, and decided to apologize later.
Finances were as boring as they were disheartening. After a long while of counting, filing through papers and looking for loopholes, Publius concluded that Tiberius was unable to afford his expenses or even taxes at the end of the month.
“I suppose I’ll have to look for work then.” He said, stroking his moustache.
“That would be for the best, sir.” Publius replied, his discomfort after hearing of last night’s incident was clear.
“I don’t suppose Corvinus will be pushing through that bill. ‘Tax exemption for veterans’, what a farce. Publius, I’d like you to try and find anything unnecessary or flashy about the house, sell it for whatever you can.” He commanded, and Publius nodded as he scribbled on parchment.
“What of your horse sir? Expensive to maintain, but it will sell for a good price.”
“Ventus? No, I can’t part with him, besides if I travel at all, I’ll need him.” Tiberius muttered, before his mind became clouded by the memories of what he’d done the previous night. He stood and walked over to the cloudy glass window. “I wanted to say, that I’m sorry for my behaviour last night. It was very inappropriate. And… By way of apology, I want to free you, Dunya and your son as soon as possible.” Tiberius said, turning back to him. Publius stopped writing and looked up with wide eyes.
“Sir, please don’t put yourself out. That process will be expensive now. We can’t leave you destitute.” He replied. Tiberius raised a hand to silence him.
“I won’t hear it. The longer I wait the more likely it is that the Consul rounds up everyone still doing it. Even if it leaves me with nothing, I’st find some work outside the city, live off the land for a bit. About time I stretched my legs and got some fresh air.” He said, and left it at that. Publius was shaking, and Tiberius thought he might burst into tears as he thanked him, clutching Tiberius’s hand and bowing his head.
Feeling better, Tiberius hit the streets and decided to head to the local guild hall. All manner of odd-jobs plaster the board there, and he was bound to find work he was suited for. The air was warm and thick, the buzz of a thousand voices around him as he pressed on through city. Today was the day of reckoning, and the question of whether the law was passing or not would be answered. Tiberius didn’t much care what the result was now, what more did he have to lose? The air was thick and stuffy inside the packed hall. Something like a hundred men and women filled every inch of the floor, the chatter echoing off the vaulted ceilings. The narrow windows between each pillar on either side illuminated it well. Tiberius peered up at the carved ceiling, laiden with depictions of all professions. At the far end was a wooden stage. Here, Aediles, the lowest rank of government, spoke with people, made announcements and hired labourers for public construction works. Many other employers were lining the perimeter of the halls, most looking for hard labour, some looking for bodyguards to travel with or apprentices to take on. Behind them all were several boards, covered in job postings, items for sale, trade offers, and the like. Men jostled eachother to get a look, arguments broke out as people claimed they saw a job post first. The unpleasant smell of mingled bodies mixed with the food being offered near the entrance.
Tiberius pushed his way through the crowd, ignoring the calls of employers and searching the job boards with a close eye. One caught his attention, since he was keen to leave the city, and this would require doing so. He pulled the note off the nail it had been impaled on, and read it carefully. The job was from a woman, whose mother was dying. Her brother was a Centurion named Herius Attilius, and the job would involve intercepting the man on his way back to Doros. They had been on the Doran frontlines, but since his century was on the move somewhere in the Hinterlands, they would have no way of sending a bird or regular messenger. It included a letter. It begged him to ride ahead of his men and get back as soon as possible, bringing whatever loot he could to pay for his mother’s treatment, or at least to see her before she goes. The pay was decent, eight gold for a four-week round trip, and he’d likely be able to pick up more jobs as he went. The healer she wanted must be charging a fortune if she was willing to pay eight gold for this, that or the mother’s condition was dire indeed. Tiberuis couldn’t complain, that would about cover his usual monthly outgoings, and any extra money he managed to acquire would get him back to his comfortable lifestyle. He pocketed the note and the attached letter and weaved back out of the crowd.
In the centre of the hall, he looked around for anyone that might need a travelling companion, and it didn’t take long to find one. It was a man, his wife, and their daughter, in their early 30s and the daughter around 10, looking quite nervous as they held up a little sign. They were heading to the city of Neropolis near the edge of the Hinterlands and were offering four gold for a bodyguard and guide. A small sum for such a trip, but Tiberius had gold enough from the first job, and decided to take pity on them.
They were both skittish and spoke in hushed tones to eachother. Their daughter seemed confused, often asking why they were leaving in the first place, but the parents refused to answer. Tiberius spoke with them for a while about horses, food, terrain, and what they should bring. He agreed to meet them at their home in the morning, leaving after giving the husband a firm handshake.
The only thing left on his mind was Dunya, Publius and their son. All I need now is their brands removed. He thought as he stood on the steps of the guild hall. With a sigh, he turned and set off east, towards the Oreni district, where he knew the Ironfoots lurked. It was late afternoon by now, and he’d need to be quick if he wanted it done before tomorrow. He already knew the first place to look, the tavern where the rebels got their namesake. He desperately hoped that he had enough money left to pay for it, even if it would empty his coffers. It occurred to him that he was losing everyone he knew. His sister, his niece and nephew, his wife, the Consul, Dunya, Publius, the boy. A wave of sorrow washed over him as he walked. He had one other slave, Velus, but they never had a particularly friendly relationship, and he was more his wife’s slave than his own. The only friend left to him was Portia. He decided to pay her one last visit, to tell her about the trip, before he attended business.