The Beggar Boy

A small boy sat on the edge of the road with his hand out. He tried to make eye contact with as many people as possible with his big blue eyes; hoping one might just throw him a coin. He sat through the trading day, with nothing to show for it. Hard times had fallen on the city, the wars in Gaul were not going well and the Carthaginians were growing restless again; hundreds of young men had been levied into the legions of late and the city was stripped out, old men and children were all that were left to tend the fields that fed the city, physically and economically. Winter was coming soon and the sky had turned grey and cold with chill winds blowing in from the north.

The market was busy though, as women and children bustled for the cheapest and best items. Servants ran errands, darting through the throng of legs and baskets. Merchants competed in shouting matches, trying to attract customers to their wares and the occasional guard sauntered along. There was even the occasional legionary about but they were few and far between these days.

The boy's legs were getting stiff from the cold, cobbled streets. He stretched them out and rubbed his calves but that only gave small relief. No-one was paying him much attention so he clambered awkwardly to his feet so he could walk it off. He thought about the old quarter where the noble's shopped, he loved the sweet fragrances of the perfume shops and he imagined himself wearing the togas on display in the tailors, but instead decided to have a look through the food markets; sometimes there were scraps tossed onto the street. It felt good to walk among the people, the energy filled him up like a hot meal, not that he really knew what that felt like.

The stalls filled the entire square, offering all sorts of wondrous foods: pies, bread, pastries, buns, all smelling freshly cooked. One in particular smelled especially good and he headed straight for it. The man behind the stall had his back turned and the boy looked shiftily about but decided against pocketing something, too many watching eyes. The man turned around and saw him.

"You again! Get away from my stall! You scare away the decent folk who want to BUY food, you little rat. Go. Shoo. Be gone."

The boy pulled a hurt face and turned away, arms folded across his chest.

When the boy didn't seem to move fast enough for his liking the man picked up a stone from the street and threw it at the boy's back, shouting at him like one might a dog. He stumbled under the blow, his weak legs almost giving way from under him. He looked back at the man and glared. The defiance didn't last long; as the man reached for another stone he turned tail and ran. The man gave a satisfied humph and went back to selling at the top of his voice.

The boy rounded a corner and came onto the edge of the noble corner. He would not be allowed to beg there, he knew, but occasionally a noble did stray from their section and this was as good a street as any. The boy sat down and rubbed his back where the stone had hit him. He hated that baker more than any of the other street vendors, they all treated him with disdain but that one was the worst. The boy sighed and shook his head. He settled down again to beg.

The God's must have been watching his misfortune with pity because it wasn't long before a man in a toga came walking down the street from the direction of the Old Quarter. He was tall and lean with neatly cut, white hair. He was followed by a lengthy entourage, flanked on either side by giants of men carrying hefty war axes slung across their backs. They must have been twins because they were identical in every way, even down to a scar that ran from their left eyes to almost touching their lips.

The man walked with authority and grace, he would occasionally say something and those closest to him would theatrically display the appropriate emotion for his narrative. When he saw the boy he stopped and gestured, the men behind him nodded gravely and exchanged a few words. The boy looked back at them with curiosity as the man pulled out a coin purse and wondered over to him, signalling for his guards to stay, which caused them to take on identical, concerned expressions. The man knelt in front of the boy and held out a silver coin. The boy let his mouth drop at the generosity; the coin could feed him for a week.

"Thank you sir," the boy said, taking the coin and smiling. He placed it in a special sewn pouch inside his shirt. The man smiled, nodded kindly and went on his way, talking grandiosely to his followers again.

The boy turned his nose up at their backs and dashed off to the market. The nobles loved to be seen as generous and kind hearted but they never really dealt with the core problems of war and poverty. However his condescension didn't extend so far as to reject their money. He headed straight for Baker's street, remembering the smell and setting his stomach growling. He almost skipped around the corner and went up to one of the stalls. He reached out a hand to pick up a loaf but the stall tender slapped it away.

"Get out of it you dirty thief! I won't stand for it, go now before I call the guards!" the man shouted. He had a grizzled beard and angry eyes with flour all down his apron.

"But I have..."

"I bet you do, now get lost."

"But..."

"Now!"

The boy reached inside his pocket for the coin but the stall tender reached for his broom, swinging it at the boy. The boy ducked away and scampered off.

He skipped a couple of stalls until he came to one tended by a large woman wearing an apron far too small for her girth.

"Oh, don't think you'll get anything from me! Scram!" she snapped before he could open his mouth.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the coin.

"Oh no, I don't want any of your stolen money, get away from here before I get a bad reputation!"

The boy sighed, seeing the futility of the situation and slinked away.

He worked his way down the road but at every turn he was met by shouting and the occasional threat of being hit with a stick or broom.

When he reached the bottom of the street again he slumped back on the paving and sighed. The vendors around these parts wouldn't sell to him; he had stolen too often from them. He let his head fall into his hand with another sigh.

A cold wind blew through the streets, whistling around the stalls and flapping the cloth covers.

I can't stay here, I'll freeze... he thought as he shivered.

He sat considering his options until a servant boy ran up to the vendor who had thrown the stone at him. The two talked for a moment and then they hurried off together.

He looked about excitedly as he watched them go and ran over to the stall, grabbed a loaf of bread and ran. He turned away, head down, legs pounding. He twisted sharply into a side-street, and collided head on with the guard coming the other way. The boy looked up in fear and scrambled backwards, but the guard grabbed hold of him by his shirt. He laughed as the boy struggled in his grip.

"Oh dear, what have we got here? A beggar boy... with a large loaf of bread? I smell a thief."

The guard marched him out of the alley and looked down the street.

"Well, Mr Iventes isn't at his stall, and that's his bread you're holding, judging by the marking. So it seems you've been caught red handed this time!" the guard laughed again.

The boy curled his lip and glared up at the guard defiantly.

"Ha, glaring won't get you anywhere. The merchants have been complaining about you for months now, and some of them have powerful friends, they'll most likely lash the skin off your back for all the trouble you've caused and I'll get a nice little bonus..."

The boy looked up in horror at the guard. He struggled desperately but the grip would not loosen.

"Stop it, you can't get away. This is it for you, boy."

The boy gave another violent shake and stopped struggling. He glared even more fiercely, then grabbed the guards hand and sunk his teeth into the thumb.

The guard cried out in pain and his grip loosened just long enough for the boy to take flight. The guard cursed and set off in pursuit, shouting for someone to grab that boy.

The boy was small and agile and weaved through the crowd easily while the guard had to barge his way through. Nevertheless, the guard managed to keep up, his longer legs carrying him along in great strides.

The boy darted down an alley, away from the main market, where the crowd was thinner. He took another turn, his breath becoming more ragged with every step, and found himself in the temple quarter.

There were still stalls here too but they were selling incenses and little statues of gods rather than everyday essentials. The boy looked fervently about for a place to escape as he ran. The guard was still right behind him and still shouting. Another few feet and he could hear the footfalls behind him.

A stall caught his eye. It was brightly coloured but more importantly it was blocking a small alley.

The boy darted to the side so quickly the legionary staggered and lost his balance. The boy headed straight for the stall, making eye contact with the tender who shouted at him to stop and waved his hands in-front of him in protest.

The boy dived under the table, rolling on his side.

However he misjudged his height and position, rolling at full speed, his head smashed into one of the legs of the stall with a loud crack.

The stall tender gave a yelp of shock and grabbed as many of the statues he was selling as he could while the boy came to stop, clutching his head and rolling on the ground, head spinning and seeing lights.

A few seconds later he regained enough of his senses to hear a man laughing vigorously over him. Then it was joined by another.

The boy felt himself being picked up, the blood ran from his head and he felt like throwing up.

He opened his eyes a little, just enough to see that he was being picked up by another guard, with the first one stood just beside him.

"Careful, he bites," the first guard said, "I think we best search him, see if he's got anything else on him."

The guard holding him patted him down thoroughly then put him down, satisfied. The guard passed him over to the one who had been chasing him.

The boy was too groggy to complain and he was almost glad of the supporting grip on the back of his shirt.

"Well that was stupid, funny though, if you survive the whipping you'll get you could have a real career in the circus," he laughed.

The boy just groaned and held his head.

"So, what is your name then, boy? If you can remember it!"

"Iatus," said the boy in a small, groggy voice. "Just Iatus."