Rob from the Rich and Give to the Poor

Who am I talking about? Wrong. Yes, Robin Hood is one of the most famous bandits, but he’s far from the only romanticised thief. Bulla Felix is the name of one I want to talk about today. He operated around 205–207 AD in Italy. When the contrast between rich and poor becomes too sharp, the common people will side with who the elite may see as a pest. When the thief in question is a sympathetic, even debonair character, a hero is born. Let’s have a look at one of Bulla Felix’s daring adventures, shall we?

“They’ve taken Quintus and Aulus!” The man dashed in without knocking, sweating and clearly upset.

Bulla lowered the piece of meat he’d been looking forward to. “Quintus and Au⁠-Hang on, which Quintus and Aulus?”

“Aulus Flakkus,”⁠-the man held his fingers behind his ears in demonstration⁠-”and Quintus Cincinnatus. They’re going to throw them ad bestias, to the animals!”

Bulla gave a short nod, and the man retreated. Blond Quintus and big-eared Aulus. They were good men. Now if it had been blond Aulus and big-eared Quintus… Bulla sighed. Who was he kidding? Even for those two, he’d leave his meat. If only to uphold his reputation. Without that, and the consequent support of the common people, he’d be nowhere.

Scratching his beard, Bulla called in his servant. In order for this plan to work, he’d need a good disguise. Even then, it wouldn’t be easy, but they didn’t call him Felix, the lucky one, for nothing. While his servant went to look for the appropriate clothing, Bulla dug into his meat. After all, he’d need the energy, and why waste a perfectly good meal?

-oOo-

Visiting prisons always gave Bulla a thrill. On the outside, he knew he’d adopted the bored and slightly annoyed expression his role required, but on the inside, his heartbeat was out of control. Legally, he should be in one of these cells along with the men he’d come to rescue. Though he stopped short of killing, and his reputation had freed him of hurting, the robberies alone would be enough for a damnatio ad bestias. The emperor Septimius Severus himself had sworn to put a stop to him. The thought almost brought a smile to Bulla’s lips, but he caught it when the head of the prison guards approached.

“Sir?”

“My name is Caius Larcius Pulcher. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?”

The man shook his head.

“How unfortunate. Suffice it to say, I am the regional governor, and I’m here on business. My idiot partner was supposed to have provided me with labourers today, which he forgot. I’ve already…” He stopped, throwing up his hand in an irritated gesture. The man’s unimpressed face had prevented him from going into too much detail. One of Bulla’s weaknesses was enjoying his own tales too much. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll need two of your prisoners. Good, strong men. Romans, none of your weakling foreigners. One must be a good listener, the other touched by the sun.”

The guard pulled up an eyebrow. “That’s… specific. Why-”

“Would you question the Emperor?”

His eyes widened in shock. “No! No, sir.” He went off in search of the required labour.

“And no idiots!” Bulla called after him. “I can’t stand idiots.” He winked at his servant before the guard returned with-lo and behold-Aulus Flakkus and Quintus Cincinnatus. Pleased to note his disguise was good enough to fool even his own bedraggled and grumpy men, Bulla looked them over, checking their teeth and muscles before mumbling to the guard,

“I’m glad you’re no idiot. These will do. Payment!”

The servant rushed forward with a little chest, and opened it for inspection, showing the guard a wealth of gold coins. He closed it again before the man could reach out, and placed it on the table in the corner. Bulla was already halfway out the door, leaving the servant to drag out the two new slaves.

Outside the prison, Bulla Felix swiftly cut the prisoners’ bonds. “Quintus. Aulus. You’d better make yourselves worth all this trouble. Now get on these horses before the guard finds out the rest of that chest is filled with denarii and asses.” Sheathing the knife, he looked up. “Also, close your mouths. This is not an intelligent look on you.”

Now, the only source we have for this defender of the innocent, protector of the weak, and all around good guy (yes, I stole that from George of the Jungle), is the account of one Cassius Dio (155–229 AD). He was a senator, and therefore probably had one or two ulterior motives, so, you know, grains of salt and all that. But since I studied Classical Archaeology, and I lived in Nottingham for a while, I couldn’t let this one go without putting it into my own words. Hope you enjoyed my take on it!

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Originally published at http://cmbakkerwrites.wordpress.com on September 5, 2021.