by R. W. Peake
All three of my companions tied to my family reacted in the same manner as I did, with a little gasp, but before they could say anything, I held up a hand to stop them.
“Do you remember this Primus Pilus’ name?” I asked, trying to seem as if I was asking out of mild curiosity.
He gave me what I thought was a strange look, but it was quickly explained when he scoffed, “Of course! Anyone who’s served in the last fifty years knows about Prefect Pullus.” Somewhat perversely, I did not respond, choosing instead to simply look at him as he worked it out for himself; I was beginning to think I would have to ruin it by telling him, when, with a gasp, he exclaimed, “Juno’s cunnus! You’re his…what? Grandson?”
“Great-grandson,” I corrected, but then jerked a thumb at Septimus. “He’s the grandson.”
“What are you going to do to us?”
This came from the second man, who was to Flaccus’ left, and since he was missing the tip of his nose and half of an ear, I made an educated guess.
“You must be Pulcher,” and he gave a nod. “What about you?” I asked. “Which Legion?”
“The 22nd,” he answered, but in a sullen manner that gave me an idea that, unlike Flaccus, he was not carrying an identity disc. I was right, but the reason for it was partially revealed when he said bitterly, “If I wasn’t tied up, I’d show you why.”
“Pulcher lost two fingers of his right hand,” Flaccus explained. “He was cashed out.”
“With two fucking years left on my enlistment,” Pulcher burst out bitterly.
“That’s a tough thing,” I told him, and I was being sincere, although I was not going to spend time commiserating, and I returned my attention to Flaccus. “Now that you know who I am, I’m going to ask you, as one comrade to another; how many men did Aviola bring here?”
“Aviola?” Flaccus looked confused, but only for a heartbeat, giving a humorless laugh, “You mean Norbanus?”
This was a new name, but to forestall another delay, I pointed back over my shoulder.
“I don’t care what you know him by, I’m talking about the cunnus tied to a chair.”
“We know him as Marcus Valerius Norbanus,” Flaccus said. “But as far as your question, there were five of us.” I could not stifle a groan, but Flaccus shook his head, assuring us, “You don’t need to be worried, Centurion. Yes, there were five of us that Norbanus hired, but Glabius wasn’t sent anywhere by Norbanus. He just got bored and left.”
“You mean he’d gone too long without his wine,” Pulcher interjected, and Flaccus chuckled as he admitted this was the real cause, assuring me, “He left just after it got dark, and I highly doubt he was planning on coming back. And even if he was, he’d be too drunk to remember the way.”
I stood up, fighting the urge to sigh with relief by admonishing myself that, while it was certainly good that Aviola had been lying about reinforcements, there was still the issue of Demeter and his crew.
“Centurion Pullus,” Flaccus spoke up. “Is there any chance that you could cut our bonds?” he asked hopefully. “I can’t feel my hands.”
While I saw no harm in it, I also made it conditional, telling them, “I’ll only free your hands on the condition that you stay right where you are until we’re finished and ready to leave, and keep your mouths shut.” I was not surprised they both agreed, although I did add, “And if either of you do anything,” I drew my gladius, having to crouch a bit to draw it from its spot strapped to my back, “I’ll use the Prefect’s gladius to gut the both of you.” Suddenly, I remembered the presence of the third man, and pointed at him, “What about him?”
“That,” Flaccus said scornfully, “is Tymnes. His brother Timon was outside, supposedly hidden away in a spot where he could warn us if anyone came. This one,” he jerked his head at the unconscious man, “is even more useless than Timon, and Timon was next to worthless. That bastard obviously ran off.”
I cannot say why I felt it necessary, but I shook my head as I said, “No, he didn’t run. He’s dead.”
This startled both Romans, and they exchanged a glance, but it was Pulcher’s shrug of indifference that told the tale, although Flaccus was the one who said, “Then it’s probably better if this bastard doesn’t wake up, Centurion. They may have been useless, but they were as close as Castor and Pollux.”
“I’ll let you decide what to do with him then,” I said, then turned my attention to other matters.
The others had been listening, but while it was awkward to do so, and I was concerned how Demeter would take it, I saw no other way, so I gestured to Septimus and Alex to follow me into the room now littered with the remains of the false wall, ignoring Aviola, who had had a gag stuffed back in his mouth.
Keeping my voice to a whisper, I asked them both bluntly, “What do you two think? About Demeter?”
“I assumed that’s who you were talking about.” I cannot say how he does it, but Alex has perfected the art of sounding sarcastic even when it is at a whisper. Ignoring my irritation, he went on, “I don’t trust him.”
“Neither do I,” Septimus put in, shaking his head emphatically to reinforce his point, I suppose.
“I do.” I was not sure who was more surprised, the other two or me, because I had just said the first thing that popped into my head.
“Based on what?” Alex countered.
It was, I understood, a good question, perhaps the most important question of our lives to that point, and yet when I tried to articulate why I felt this way, I ended up hissing in frustration, then admitted, “I wish I could tell you, I really do.”
Neither of them replied, the silence stretching out so that only Aviola’s harsh and rapid breathing was the predominant sound.
Finally, Septimus sighed and said, “I suppose we’ll know who’s right and who’s wrong soon enough.”
It was about two parts of a watch before dawn when Gaius, who had resumed taking up his post at the front door, suddenly called out, “I hear something!”
Of course, this got all of us moving, even Demeter, and while I thought about telling him to return to the back, I decided against it, and we all crowded around the door, which Gaius had opened a crack as we strained to listen. It was only a matter of heartbeats when we heard what I suppose could be called a pattering sound, similar to rain on a roof, except that it was of a quality that explained itself, the sound of a large group of people walking on paving stones, although not in step. Shortly after that, we heard a voice, and while we could not make out the words, the tone was that of a command of some sort.
“That has to be them.” Alex’s voice was calm enough. “If it was men from the 22nd, they’d be marching.”
This was certainly the case, but there was a part of me that thought that it was actually in the realm of possibility that we would have preferred to see Roman Legionaries turning the corner. Yes, it would mean losing the money we had come for, and would probably see me flogged, at best, but we would be alive, or at least, Gaius, Alex, Septimus, and Marcellus would live. Consequently, when the first figure appeared from around the corner, I did not know whether to be relieved or not, because not only was it clearly not a Roman, within a matter of a couple of paces, I recognized him, as did the others.
“That’s Theodotus.” I believe it was Septimus who identified him, but I was already turning away to call to Demeter.
He came readily enough, and I stared at him as he approached, looking for any sign of nerves or some other telltale of duplicity, but he did not hesitate, nor did he seem nervous. By the time he reached us, the rest of the crew had appeared, joining Theodotus, who had paused in the middle of the street about twenty paces away. I opened the door wide and gestured to Demeter, who again did not hesitate, stepping through it and taking a couple steps out into the street, where he was clearly recognized by Theodotus. We could only watch as the Rhodian approached his men, and the fact that they talked in whispers, while understandable, did nothing to quell our anxiety. And, when Demeter turn
ed to lead his men towards us, I heard the hissing sound of a blade being withdrawn.
Reaching out, I put my hand on Alex’s arm, him being the one who had unsheathed his gladius. “Put it back, Alex.”
“Are you mad?” Septimus gasped, his hand on the hilt of his weapon, telling me that he had just not drawn it as quickly.
“I may be,” I acknowledged, “but that’s my order. In fact,” I started backing away from the door, “come here and stand next to me. And,” I hardened my voice, “keep your hands free.”
Even Gaius was not eager to obey, but they did, just in time for them to stand with me as the door opened widely, and Demeter walked in, followed by Theodotus. His eyes went to us, and while there was a flicker of a smile there, he said nothing, pointing instead into the room where Marcellus was standing next to Aviola still tied to the chair. Who, I suddenly remembered, I had not addressed, and very well may have had different ideas about how to respond when Demeter’s men showed up.
“He is in here, brothers,” Demeter called out in Greek as the large room suddenly became cramped as all but a couple crewmembers entered the house. “As I promised. Here is the man who led Lykos astray.”
While I knew it was not all that loud, the sudden growl from more than two dozen throats, along with muttered epithets in what sounded like at least three different languages, made me worry about being overheard.
“There is something else we must do, brothers,” Demeter had turned to face the others, and I noticed that he was essentially blocking the doorway into the other room, making me wonder if he was worried that his crew would be unable, or unwilling, to restrain themselves. “As you all know, I gave my word to Centurion Pullus and his family to bring him safely here to retrieve the money that this,” his lips curled into a sneer as he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, “dog stole from one of their family members. And,” now, he turned to look directly at us, “that is what we are going to do. But,” he turned back and gave them a wolfish smile, “not before each of you take your revenge.”
To his credit, he looked abashed when a cheer erupted that made my ears ring, and I beckoned to him to join us. He did so without hesitation, though there was no missing the glimmer of amusement when I said with a grin, “I never doubted you.” Then I turned serious, knowing this was going to be potentially awkward at best and dangerous at worst. “But I’m going to…suggest that you don’t spend time on Aviola. Not,” I held up hand as I agreed, “that he doesn’t deserve it. It’s just that…you have a lot of men, and flaying him one strip at a time will not only take a long time, it will be…”
“Loud.” Septimus supplied the word. “He’s going to be screaming, even with a gag in his mouth.”
I did find it a bit surprising that Demeter clearly had not thought about this, judging from the look of embarrassment that flashed across his features, anyway.
“You are right,” he admitted. “But I promised the men.”
“What matters is that he dies, isn’t it?” I asked. “And do we really want the entire Rhakotis descending on us? Because they’re not going to know that it’s a Roman screaming in pain, which means it could be one of their neighbors, and it’s going to attract attention. They,” I indicated area around us, “are going to be coming from every direction by the noise.”
“And they’re not only going to find strangers here,” Alex said quietly as he pointed at the room, “they’re going to find more money than any of them have seen in their lives.”
It was easy to see that it was Alex’s point that carried the day as Demeter gave a frustrated groan, then fell silent as he thought for a moment.
Suddenly, he nodded and said, “This is what we will do. I will give you enough men to carry the chests back to the Persephone, and the rest will stay here with me and have our vengeance. Once we are done,” he promised, “we will return to the ship.”
It was a sensible compromise…and I immediately cut it down, saying flatly, “We’re not splitting up. You won’t have enough men left to stop these Egyptians from tearing you apart when they come to investigate the noise and find you here.” I saw the startled looks from Septimus and Alex out of the corner of my eye, and I saw Alex opening his mouth, which I cut off. “No, you and your men have honored your word, and we’re not going to abandon you. So,” I shrugged, hoping I was convincing, “you do what you need to do, Demeter, and we’ll deal with those cunni when they try to stop us.”
Later, when Septimus and Alex confronted me about this, I swore that I knew what Demeter would do and that it had not been a gamble at all; now, he is glaring at me as he writes my words because he just learned I was lying. In fact, I was fairly certain that the Rhodian would fulfill his promise to his crew. But what mattered was that Demeter, although he spent several heartbeats stroking his beard in thought, suddenly spun around and returned to his men.
“Brothers, the Centurion is correct. As satisfying as it would be, we cannot afford to take proper vengeance now, not without risking our own lives even further.”
To my eyes and ears, the crew did not seem all that disappointed, but without another word, Demeter turned and entered the next room. As we hurried to join everyone else, I heard the scraping sound of something being dragged, and Demeter reappeared, lugging Aviola, still tied to the chair into the larger room. Our prisoner clearly knew what was coming, because he was moaning with fear, thrashing his head about wildly as he tried to evade Demeter’s grasp as the Rhodian reached out to grab a handful of hair. Finally, he was successful, and in one motion, he drew the gladius across Lucius Aviola’s throat, sending a spray of blood that spattered onto the men of the Persephone who were nearest, though none of them seemed to mind at all. Instead, as Aviola went through the death throes that begin in a frenzy and quickly subside into slow twitches of muscles no longer under control, the men spat on Aviola, calling out curses and offering jeers and mocking laughter to send him to the afterlife. Then, there was nothing but a corpse hanging limply from where it was tied to a chair, in a pool of slowly spreading blood.
“Now we have some work to do,” Demeter announced, and without another glance at Lucius Aviola, led the crew into the room.
The sky was beginning to lighten when the last pair of men, each of them holding a handle on the chest, exited the building. Every chest was locked, but as we suspected, the same key unlocked them; finding the key, however, proved to be a bit more difficult, and messy, it being sewn into a secret pocket inside Aviola’s tunic, which was completely soaked with his blood. Before we left, we unlocked every chest, finding that the coins were predominantly silver, although there were items made of gold; some coins, but mostly jewelry and a couple of ingots. The Egyptian Tymnes never regained consciousness, while Flaccus and Pulcher had obeyed my order, sitting against the wall, watching without saying anything, but as we got closer to being done, I could see them growing increasingly nervous. To quell their fears, I opened one of the boxes, then plunged both hands in to grab as many coins as I could, which I dropped into their laps.
“You probably don’t want to be here when the sun comes up,” I told them. “So you’re welcome to come with us when we leave here.”
Not surprisingly, they both enthusiastically agreed this was a splendid idea, and I drew my pugio to slice through the bonds around their ankles. When Flaccus held his hand out in a silent request, I did not understand until he nodded at the still unconscious Tymnes. Thinking that he was going to sever his bonds in the event he awoke, which I found a bit odd given what the pair had said about him, I quickly learned differently when Flaccus bent down and drew the blade across the Egyptian’s throat in one motion.
Hopping out of the way of the spurting blood as, for the last time, the man’s eyes opened wide as his body spasmed then toppled over, the former ranker wiped the blade on the dead man’s tunic before handing it back to me as he said, “As useless as he may have been, I don’t want to spend my days looking over my shoulder for that cunnus because he got it in his
head I had something to do with his brother’s death.”
Then it was time to leave, and I picked up the final two chests, one in each hand, an act of hubris that I started regretting very quickly, although I refused to admit as much. I had ordered no talking, but it was impossible to move quietly, nor did we move as quickly as we could have, and I had sent Septimus and Gaius ahead of us, while Demeter had sent Theodotus and another crewman with them. We would stop at every intersection as the four of them peered cautiously around the corner in both directions, then signaled us to resume. Ever so slowly, our party retraced our steps out of the Rhakotis, and it was now getting dangerously close to dawn, meaning that the last half-mile down the Heptastadion would be in the presence of the early arrivals for their day of work. Thankfully, for our entire party and for my aching arms, I could see just ahead where the buildings of the neighborhood ended, with the open expanse of the Eunostos beyond it, the masts of the hundreds of ships floating at anchor just visible. We’re going to make it; I managed to keep this within my head, and it was a good thing because, when Gaius and the others reached the corner where our street intersected with the street that runs parallel to the harbor, I saw him peer around the corner. It was the manner in which he practically leapt backward, however, that evoked a murmur of alarm from the men of the Persephone, but Gaius did not hesitate, racing back as fast as he could to where I was standing next to Demeter.
“There are men coming!” he gasped, but quickly realized he had to be more specific. “I mean, Romans. Legionaries! They’re marching in this direction on the street we have to take to get to the ship!”
All of the thoughts about what lay in the future if we were stopped by men of the 22nd that I had stuffed away in a cupboard of my mind came bursting out, and for perhaps a heartbeat, I was completely unable to think; even worse, when I looked beseechingly to Alex and Septimus, they looked as if they were in the same condition. As we stood there, I had not noticed that some of our party had sidled up to the corner to peer around it.
