by R. W. Peake
His body sagged as he realized his error, pulling my arm down a bit, which reminded me that it was getting tired from holding him up.
“Did you find a chair in this cachole?” I asked, and Alex nodded, then pointed at the doorway into the next room.
I half-dragged Aviola into the room. He was not actively resisting but had instead decided to just go limp. The room was smaller than I imagined it would be, barely larger than the cabin we had used on the Persephone, but I took no notice in the moment, dropping Aviola onto the chair. Before he could react, I grabbed both of his arms, yanked them behind the back of the chair, and pulled out one of the leather thongs we had all carried with us, securely binding his hands. He submitted to this, and now that someone had found a second lamp and lit it, the room was illuminated enough for me to see the beads of sweat on his forehead.
“Gnaeus, can I speak to you?” Alex called to me from the main room, and while there was no window in this room, nor another exit, I still called for Marcellus to watch him before I joined Alex and the others save Demeter, who had taken up a post at the rear door, opening it a crack to watch outside. Without waiting, Alex asked, “Are you sure this is wise? Trying to get the information from him here? Because,” his voice turned grim, “I think he’s going to be making a fair amount of noise.”
This was true, and I had thought about it.
“I know, but I think trying to get him out of here and back to the ship is riskier because we’re going to be out in the open on the street, and if he’s telling the truth, we might run right into these men he’s talking about. At least here,” I indicated both doors and the two shuttered windows, “we can defend ourselves better. And,” I added, “I think I have a way to make him talk that won’t cause him to make a sound.”
Gaius was performing the same duty as Demeter, watching out the front door, but he spoke up now, “Gnaeus, I don’t think he was telling the truth.” By this time, I had learned not to ignore or dismiss Gaius, so I asked him why. In answer, he pointed to the three men, two of whom were conscious and rolling about in an attempt to get comfortable. “There’s three men here, and Marcellus told me what happened to the man across the street. That makes four, which is what Alex counted earlier today.”
“That’s true,” Alex allowed, but he was dubious. “But I think Demeter was right that Aviola would have a man inside with him.”
“Let me go ask him,” I turned and went back into the room, grimly pleased to see how Aviola was eyeing me and making no attempt to hide his fear. Marcellus stepped aside to allow me to stand in front of Aviola, and I spoke in a conversational tone, “I’m assuming you heard what my cousin said.”
He nodded, then licked his lips before he answered, “Yes, I did. But he’s wrong, and the other man was right. Flaccus and Pulcher were standing watch in the front, Tymnes and Timon were guarding the back. And,” since his hands were bound, he had to nod in the general direction of the other room, “Glabius was with me. That,” he finished with satisfaction, “makes five. And you only have four men here.”
“So which one went for help?”
“Glabius, of course,” he answered.
Honestly, I did not think that I could have tripped him up that easily. And, I had to acknowledge, there had only been one man in the back, the newly deceased Timon, so it was possible that he was speaking the truth. He did not see the slap coming, and as I intended, it snapped his head to the side, stunning him as I put a foot against his chest and pushed him backward. Within the span of a heartbeat, Aviola had been slapped and then fallen heavily onto his back, his arms pinned under his weight. I am certain he would have cried out, but the wind was driven from his lungs, and before he could draw in a breath, I straddled him, bent over, and clamped my hand over his mouth and nose. This was a technique I had only heard about; rather than running the risk of Aviola’s screams drawing attention from the surrounding homes, I was going to make him fight for his breath, and I waited until his face had turned almost purple before I released my grasp. He immediately drew in as much air as he could in a great, wheezing inhalation as I stared down at him, bent over at the waist so that my hand was still next to his mouth.
“Where,” I asked politely, “is the money that you stole from Gaius Pullus?”
“What mon…?”
My hand moved immediately, except this time, he tried to bite me, but I had anticipated that and exerted even more power to keep his jaws clenched together. I sensed more than saw that the others had joined Marcellus, but I ignored them, watching Aviola’s face as it once again darkened. Because we had secured his legs by binding each ankle to the chair leg, Aviola was essentially powerless to resist, although his torso bucked and heaved violently. This time, I waited until his eyes rolled back in his head before I released my grip. And, for a couple of heartbeats, I was afraid that I had gone too far, as initially, he did not respond, his mouth hanging slackly in a manner I have seen often on the battlefield. Fortunately, just as I was about to attempt to revive him, his lungs resumed working. This time, I let him have a few breaths before I said anything.
“Now do you really want to go through that again?” I asked him, still using the same conversational tone, and Aviola shook his head wildly. “Good. So,” I repeated, “where is the money that you stole from Gaius Pullus?”
“I don’t…” He must have seen my expression alter, because he changed to, “It’s…gone.” When I did not immediately respond, he continued, “It’s been spent already.”
“You spent almost a half-million sesterces in less than three years?” I shook my head, and replied flatly, “You’re lying.”
I was moving my hand as I said this, and now he practically screeched, “No! Don’t! Please don’t!” I let my hand hover right next to his mouth. “I misspoke,” he continued. “I shouldn’t have said it’s all gone. But I have spent a great deal of it, I swear…”
“I know,” I cut him off, “on Jupiter’s Stone.” For perhaps a half-dozen heartbeats, I said nothing as I stared down at him, while his eyes seemed incapable of staying fixed on me, darting about as if he hoped some numen would materialize from the walls. I clamped down again as I said, “And I still don’t believe you.”
“Gnaeus?”
I did not want to divert my attention because I sensed that Aviola was not going to last as long this time, but neither did I want to release him as he thrashed uselessly about, trying to break my grip by wildly shaking his head.
“What is it?” I snapped, not taking my eyes off him.
“I think I know where it is,” Gaius said calmly. “I mean,” he corrected, “where the money is.”
Chapter Twelve
“Something about that room bothered me,” Gaius explained once I released my grip on Aviola and left the room. Before he said anything, he had walked to the front door, where he opened it a crack to survey the street before opening it and beckoning to me. Now we were standing just outside the door, which was making me nervous, but I was listening attentively as he explained, “It just didn’t seem to be the right size. So I came out here and paced off the distance to the edge of the building.” Before I could reply, he turned and pushed past me back into the house. “Then I counted the paces from this wall that makes this second room. And,” he said simply, “the numbers don’t add up. That room,” he pointed at the doorway, “is much smaller than it should be.”
I was already moving back into the room, my heart beating with the excitement and anticipation that my young cousin was correct.
“Put his chair back up,” I ordered Marcellus. “I want him to see this.”
I waited only long enough for Aviola to be set upright, and I also had Marcellus turn him about so that he was facing the wall opposite from the doorway. Using my foot, I kicked the wall, and whereas a bit earlier when I had collided with the opposite wall in the main room, I had felt it give way a bit, this time, my foot went immediately through the thin layer of plaster. In fact, my foot went through so easily tha
t I lost my balance, falling forward hard enough that I reflexively put my hands out to stop from colliding through the wall, instantly creating two more holes.
“Come help me,” I called over my shoulder, and I was instantly joined by the others as we alternately punched holes then pulled the pieces of the false wall out of the way.
I first spotted the dull gleam of the iron bands that reinforce the kind of chest we use to transport heavy items in, like money. Within a hundred heartbeats, the remnants of the false wall were in a pile behind us, and sitting on the floor in the space created by it were six chests, all the same size. This was certainly good news, but while I was happy, I also understood what it meant, because they were significantly smaller than the chests that had transported my ransom.
“That’s not four hundred thousand sesterces’ worth,” Alex spoke quietly, but once more, it was the youngest member of the party who reminded us, “That’s just that wall.” Gaius pointed to the wall to the left of the doorway, reminding us, “Remember, I paced off in that direction as well.”
Another few moments of frenzied activity, and there before us were eight more chests.
Alex observed hoarsely, “That’s more than four hundred thousand sesterces.”
“It’s six hundred thousand,” Aviola said dully, his head hanging, and it was easy to hear the defeat in his voice.
Frankly, I had forgotten he was there, and I walked to stand in front of him.
“Is this all of it? Or do you have more hidden away?” I demanded coldly.
“What does it matter?” he replied indifferently, but I also noticed that he would not meet my gaze. “There’s more than enough here for you to replace what I took from your brother.”
“First, he’s not my brother; he’s my uncle. I’m his Legionary brother’s son.” I mimicked the manner in which he had said it. And, if I had to do it all over again, I would have not added, “And Gaius Pullus is dead because of what you did. He,” I pointed to Septimus, “was also Gaius’ brother, and he’s the one who killed him because of Gaius’ foolishness in trusting you.”
Even as the words were leaving my lips, I knew this was not only gratuitous, it was cruel, not to Aviola, but to Septimus, who I refused to look at as I glared at the trickster. The truth was that I was angry; more importantly, I was angry enough to want to hurt Aviola in a way that went beyond the physical. So, still ignoring the others, I crouched down so that I was looking him in the eye.
“You know,” I used the same conversational tone, “you haven’t even asked how we found you, Aviola.”
“What does it matter now?” he asked, seemingly indifferent, but I did not reply, nor did the others speak. Finally, he sighed and said, “I suppose it’s better to know.”
“Your son,” I told him, smiling at him as I spoke. “He told us everything we needed to know to run you down, you mentula.”
His reaction was supremely satisfying as he gasped, his eyes filling with tears, but then he shook his head and said stubbornly, “I don’t believe you. Lucius would never betray me like that!”
Rather than respond, I twisted around to look at Alex, pointing to his satchel.
“Do you have either of those tablets?”
He nodded, withdrawing one of them, which he handed to me. Telling Gaius to bring one of the lamps closer, I opened the tablet towards Aviola so that he could see what was inscribed.
“How do you think we got all of this information on you? Who else would have known this much?”
Because the tablet was between me and Aviola, I could not see his face, but the sudden sob was reward enough, and I smiled as I snapped it shut, feeling not a shred of pity or sympathy for him. However, while we had gotten what we came for, our problems were far from over.
“How are we going to carry all this back to the Persephone before daylight?” Septimus wondered, and it was a valid question; worse, none of us had a ready answer.
After thinking a moment, Alex offered, “We need to go outside and try to find a cart.”
“You mean steal a cart,” I replied, for which Alex shot me a sour look, but I was not trying to make light of it, which I explained, “and stealing it quietly enough that it won’t raise the alarm.”
“True,” he nodded, mollified.
“I’m open to suggestions about how we do that,” I spoke up loudly enough so everyone could hear me, including Demeter.
And, it was Demeter who either solved our problem or was about to betray us, because he said, “If you are willing to wait a bit longer, you will have more than enough help to carry this back to the ship.”
My only consolation in the moment was that none of the others comprehended his meaning, either.
“Help? Who are you talking about?” Thinking I understood, I pointed outside. “You mean the people who live around here? That we’ll bribe them somehow when they come poking around?”
Frankly, I was surprised they had not done so; we had all heard someone shouting, yet to that moment, this had been the only indication that our presence was even suspected.
“No, not them.” Demeter shook his head. “I am talking about my crew.”
“Your crew?” I felt my stomach clenching, my first and really the only thought was that, at last, this Rhodian had betrayed us. “Why would your crew be coming here?”
“Because,” he replied calmly enough, “I told them to wait two parts of a watch after we left, then come here.”
“How would they know how to get here?” Alex interjected, but Demeter answered by pointing to the tablet that I had handed back to him.
“Because you are not the only one who wrote down the directions. As soon as we got back to the ship, I did the same thing, and I gave it to Theodotus.”
I knew that Theodotus had been, up until earlier that day, the third in command of the Persephone, but frankly, I had paid little attention to him, being more suspicious of Lykos than him.
It was Septimus who asked the important question. “And why did you order them to come, Demeter? And,” I heard his voice tighten in anticipation of the answer, “what are they supposed to do when they get here?”
The Rhodian did not answer immediately, seemingly considering what he was going to say, then he gave an almost imperceptible shrug as he answered, “I was going to allow each of them to strip a piece of skin off of that dog in there.”
He did not say it that loudly, but it was enough to elicit a moan of fear from Aviola and a gasp from one of his men, who we had dragged over to the other side of the room, putting them in sitting positions with their backs to the wall.
“One of them is awake,” Alex commented, which I thought was gratuitous, but then he turned to me and suggested, “Maybe he’ll be able to clear up whether there were four or five men here.”
This was a good suggestion, yet I was still more concerned about the disclosure from Demeter that a band of pirates was presumably heading in our direction. Before I thought about it, I walked over to Demeter, looking down at him, and to his credit, he neither flinched nor did he take a step back to open the distance between us.
“Are you telling us the truth, Demeter?” I asked him quietly. “Or did you have something else in mind?”
“I am telling you the truth, Centurion.” His demeanor was serious, but he clearly saw that I was skeptical, and he offered a slight smile and shrug, “Oh, I will confess that the thought crossed my mind that perhaps killing all of you and taking this would be the best course of action. But,” his demeanor returned to its former look, “while I may have done some of the things you suspect me of, I am a man of honor. I gave you my word to carry you here, retrieve what was lost to you, and return you to Arelate, and that is what I am going to do.”
I said nothing to this, choosing instead to look him directly in the eyes, and while I was trying to control my own mien, I was almost frantic in my attempt to silently plumb the depths of this man’s soul to determine if these were mere words meant to lull me into a sense of security for
the period of time we had left to wait until the arrival of his crew, whereupon we would learn his true intentions, in a bloody fashion. And, I will say truly, it was the thought of Bronwen, left on that ship to suffer a fate I did not want to contemplate, that made maintaining my composure all the more difficult.
Finally, I said, “I believe you.”
Then, before he could respond, I spun about and walked over to the three men, noticing that a second one was now watching me approach, blinking his eyes rapidly as he tried to clear his head. The third man’s head was beginning to move a bit, but he remained unconscious, and I squatted down in front of them.
“Which one of you is Flaccus?” The man in the middle was my guess, and I was correct; or, he nodded to indicate that he was, but before I removed the gag, I asked, “You’re not going to do anything stupid like yelling, are you? Because,” I smiled at him, “that would be a foolish thing to do.”
He either correctly interpreted that my smile was nothing but a promise of pain, or he had already reached the correct conclusion, because he shook his head, and I reached out and pulled the rag from his mouth, which made him cough and gag a bit.
“So, Flaccus,” I said, “before I ask you anything, tell me who you are. Or,” I amended, “who you were when you marched.”
In both my father’s and great-grandfather’s accounts, they mentioned how habits that have been drilled into men as raw Tirones still stay with them, sometimes decades later, and this was proven true when he rapped out, “Gregarius Immunes Lucius Flaccus, Fifth Century, Second Cohort, 6th Legion…Centurion.” That he had correctly guessed my rank surprised me, and I asked how he had known. It was not quite a smile, but I detected some humor when he replied, “Because I know one when I see one. Although,” he added, “I’ve never seen one your size.” In what was clearly an afterthought, he allowed, “I’ve heard of one who was our Primus Pilus for a bit, though, but that was long before my time.”
