A TALL TALE, A SHORT STORY AND A FAT FISH
Now let me tell you a thing or two about reputable wine bars. Firstly, as their name suggests, they should sell wine – giving away is better if you can get the Barkeep drunk. Secondly, for somewhere to lean, stumble, collapse or be sick, there should be a bar. After this everything else plays an ancillary role.
Stools are good for sitting or smashing over heads. Tables are also good for sitting around or smashing over heads as well – but only if you want a hernia. Low lights, so your Debt Collector, Landlord, Life Partner or Mother can't easily spot you – likewise helpful – and especially if you're too zotted to find the Latrine.
I can say that Claudius' fulfilled all of these requirements and much, much more.
My eyes lit up with chance and opportunity as I took in everything I saw. Which was nothing. It was so dark inside that one could easily think themselves in a damp-dripping cave surrounded by dozens of very nasty-smelling glow-worms. Glow-worms that grunted what sounded like unjust presumptions in Etrurian.
Being a man of the world, Gavius gave this newfound day's entertainment a once over, which didn't take long with his eyes, and announced he was ready for fun.
“I'm going.”
“What? We haven't even had a drink?” I countered.
“We're skimp Calvus…There's no back window…They'll nail us to the walls in here.”
This wasn't the first time I'd led Gavius down the path of discovery, so I knew exactly how to answer, “Once again your pessimism…Trust me…Just remember who we are.”
Gaining strength from those kind words, my friend began backing out the door until I caught him. Then he limply asked, “Who are we?”
“Follow my lead,” I winked.
With that we stepped up to the bar, or where we thought it might be. After discovering three stone steps, a tricky fall, some suspicious smelling lost underwear and what might have been a cross-dressing Armenian, we were there. Picking ourselves up, my head collided with some smoothed-down timberwork whose feel of bashed-in splinters I recognised immediately.
“Good sir,” I demanded of the ghostly face behind the counter, “your finest for two tired travellers.”
Naturally, being a tougher place than most, the surly barkeep was slow to answer. In fact the imbecile didn't.
So thumping my fist in unresolved irritation, I shouted again, “Wine, sir…And much of it.”
“Perhaps we should go,” Gavius spluttered into my ear.
“Nonsense,” I whispered hoarsely, “I know what I'm doing.”
“But you're trying to order wine from two cabbages and an oddly shaped turnip.”
After a quick squint I saw he was right. Not one to miss much our Gavius. Pitch darkness and he could still spy the Armenian's vegetables – damn market gardeners.
And then I heard those magic words from the shadows to the right, “Down here, pillock.”
“Ah, yes,” I said grandly, turning to better direct my words, “As I was saying…My associate and I have had a long journey and would enjoy your finest amphora.”
“Now we're done for,” Gavius almost bawled.
“Well, I never. Another connoisseur from Rome,” the barkeep leapt, his sarcasm sadly mocking as he loped along the counter, rubbing a dirty dishcloth over unexplainable stains.
“In this establishment Claudius' finest is a top notch for the traveller,” he went on, “It has the nose of horse piss and the body of pig swill and will cost you a Sestercii a cup.”
“A cup, my sir? A jug and nothing less,” I answered – I wasn't about to let this swine get the better of me.
Gavius tugged at my tunic, opening up that threatening tear near the seam. This boy was like a lost puppy. What were we risking? Come in with nothing and run out with a jug of wine – now that was what I like to call profit.
And then our unamused wine-tote appeared clearly – above me. He was a monster. A good six feet and then some. I have to say, I'm no slouch in the height stakes, but his view over my head could be measured by at least a foot. In the absence of good light, I could still see the nose-hairs protruding from a vast proboscis spread across his face. There were sword-slash scars the length of each cheek.
I swallowed.
Then I swallowed again.
Maybe good Gavius had been right – but there was no going back.
“Show me a Denarius and I'll show you the jug,” he growled, having probably dealt with my type before.
“My good man, I'm a gentleman of refinement,” I said, gulping at that recalcitrant bile as my knees began to knock, “Who would not demand a taste of the product before a transaction is discussed?”
“Of refinement are we?” He caught a goodly part of my shoulder in a dinner-plate sized paw and leant me closer into his stale breath, “How refined are you with broken legs?”
Not wishing to comment about the possible benefits of mint leaves I bravely responded, “Clearly my good man, you don't recognise me?”
“Should I?” came a snarl – and slight dribble down his chin.
“You should…My work, if nothing else, is famous,” I did my best cocksure smile, though there was nothing sure about it.
“Oh?”
“Why yes…Surely you've heard the rumours,” I stood on tiptoes and spoke into his cauliflower ear, “The Phantom they call me sometimes.”
Once before I had used the same line.
Of course that had been to get more than just drinks from a pleasant young lady – and it hadn't worked then come to think of it – that's when I'd tried my old toad trick again. Yet, this one word could elicit the most unusual responses from the lowly or depraved. It was a name from the underworld, outside of care by magistrate or god.
The Phantom – or so I'd heard – was Rome's most feared assassin, known only for his penchant for disguise and fast wit.
I felt the man's fingers tremble just a little, his grasp of my shoulder eased to a friendly pat and a complete change came about him.
“The Phantom?” he whispered in return, “Why didn't you say? We've been waiting for you.”
“You have?” I answered with a squeak, then quickly catching myself I intoned in my deepest villain's voice, “Of course…You have.”
“The time is close,” the big man nodded knowingly.
“It is?” I cast a glance to Gavius who once again was backing for the door. I snatched a grip of his belt before he had a chance to run.
“Very,” looking about to make sure no one else could see in the gloom the barkeep kept his voice low, “All is arranged.”
He paused and checked the crowd again.
“An acting troupe arrived in town just this morning, I've sent them to meet the dog in his Villa…The old trollop's never one to let some actors go past you know,” at which he winked knowingly – knowingly of something well over my head.
What might have been a smile began to stretch across his face.
“All you have to do is arrange an accident to join them.”
“Of course…Of course,” I agreed to whatever he was gabbling about.
It seemed our visit to Arretium was going to be very brief, but not being one to step out of character I offered casually, “But a deal's a deal, we should seal it with a drink.”
“Yes…Yes…Where are my manners?” the monster reached under the counter and instead of producing a jug of wine with easy-to-grip handles and a cork to keep the contents in whilst sprinting down a cobbled laneway, he unlatched a hinged door.
“A drink,” he said, gesturing both of us through the gap – entering us into the sacred place where wine could be more easily pinched – and towards another closed portal just beyond, “And introductions.”
This second door, it turned out, led to the kitchen, well appointed with many different knives and large cleavers, a mincer and several flat flounders – just on the turn – all hanging above a blood-smeared chopping board. That we were about to become the soup of the day did cross my mind.
I turned to look at Gavius who was breaking into a sweat and nasty rash.
A great pile of last night's dishes took up a sizeable part of bench end, while a small red and white terrier sat in a woven straw basket guarding the whole assemblage. It growled menacingly at the exposed toes poking from my sandals.
It was an ugly mutt, in and out. I hated it already.
Fixing the heavy oak door firmly behind him, obviously for some degree of secrecy, the barkeep thrust an open palm at mine and announced, once taking the grip of a limpid, “I'm Claudius…It is such a pleasure…I'm so sorry about before…You're not quite what I expected.”
“Ah, yes, perfectly understandable old man…That's the whole idea,” I declared, noticing in the better light the sheer amount of hair poking from the neckline of the barkeep's tunic.
Together with his darker Asian skin, Claudius had all the airs of a large African ape. Hopefully he was as slow as one too.
“And your slave?” the hairy giant said, eyeing Gavius suspiciously, who in turn was staring blankly at the pair of cleavers dangling from hooks above his head.
“Well, yes, Gavius…He's my watchman and dogsbody – and your contact throughout the course of this endeavour.”
All the colour that had drained from Gavius' face in the last few minutes was now dwelling about his feet. But he played his part. He raised a hand to his mouth and held in his last meal bravely.
And then if things weren't odd enough, Claudius reached up and unhooked a rather slimy looking flounder. As the fish was brought closer and passed underneath Gavius' nose, my friend's eyes bulged from his head to the point of certain injury. Though not a religious man by any means, I made a silent prayer for Gavius to hold everything in.
The barkeep presented me the glittering fishy prize.
“Is this suitable for the task?” the Etrurian asked as if handing me a pot of gold.
My best confident smile returned and I nosed the greasy body to feign some sort of misplaced satisfaction. It was the best meal ticket I'd seen for weeks.
Almost sensing I didn't have the faintest, Claudius eyed me carefully and shook his head. Then he worked his fingers into the flounder's mouth and withdrew a small scroll of leather, which he then proffered in my direction.
“Ah, yes, of course,” I answered, playing along with this bizarre game of what to hide in the fish.
After carefully undoing the small tie, the gooey bundle unrolled easily. It was in fact a small satchel, and protected inside the stitching I could see the top of a paper Banker's Bond. Pulling the pocket open just a little more, my expression of quiet confidence may have suffered a little.
Suddenly my own stomach heaved and I felt my knees clacking. It seemed that Claudius and the Phantom had a sizeable deal to conclude. If I ran away right now and opened a bank account with 'Shiloh, Shiloh and Shiloh' my destitution was over.
“Half now,” I heard Claudius' distant voice, as thoughts of naked slave girls feeding me grapes came to mind, “the other three hundred thousand sestercii when you make it to Florentia.”
“Yes of course…” I mumbled – as I pictured my posing for a solid gold bust.
“Best not waste any more time, eh? Every pimp, madam, shyster and Populist in Rome is waiting for their investment to pay-off…Understand?” the barkeep remarked, gesturing to the other fish with a wry smile. Then he reached over, to snatch the Bond back from me. My instinct told me to resist, but leaning backwards to see the top of his head my body said, “sod off instincts.”
Tugging the satchel from my slippery fingers, my pining puppy eyes were teary as they watched him roll up the leather again and shoved it into the fishy mouth. I had just allowed a behemoth to take from me the most amount of money I had ever imagined I might souvenir – and I did have a vivid imagination.
Perhaps I should have also felt sorry for the poor sap worth this much to be done away, but no finder's fee was going to get me this bundle of fish guts.
“Now you know where to find me,” Claudius began as he hung the fish back with the other six, “You'll know where to come with the good news.”
Staring up at the swinging flounder, I knew he wasn't thinking what I was thinking.
“So how about that drink?” my tongue interrupted all sorts of privately funded sexual debauchery and antisocial behaviour circling about in my head.
Beside me Gavius' constitution reached the end of its endurance with that pressing question, and he slumped face first into the stack of dirty dishes on the bench. His descent to the floor brought the crockery after him, and the tumbling and smashing racket of porcelain upon his head went on for twenty plates or so. Being a professional, his shrieks of agony and bleeding certainly had an extra edge.
And with that the terrier latched on to his nose. Once again Claudius considered the mess over the floor and then me – all with a degree of uncertainty. I had to ease his mind with the wit and bravado an infamous assassin should possess.
“Fish allergies,” I sniffed.
