Armenia Capta

by William Kelso

  “This is the column of Trajan,” he said quietly. “The emperor honours the memory of his soldiers who fought in the Dacian wars. I fought in the first Dacian war and Fergus participated in the second of Trajan’s rule. Maybe somewhere up there at the top they have carved a likeness of us.”

  “It is magnificent, uncle,” Ahern replied dutifully, as he looked up towards the top.

  Marcus nodded. “Yes, it is,” he said. Then carefully he cleared his throat. “If fortune goes against us,” he continued quietly, “and Hadrian becomes the next emperor and decides to eliminate his opponents, then this is the spot where I wish to have my ashes scattered. For here I will be closest to my old comrades. Will you make sure that my final wish is carried out?”

  For a long moment, Ahern did not reply as with a sombre face he looked up at Trajan’s column. Then slowly he nodded.

  “I will uncle,” he muttered.

  * * *

  The beggars and rough sleepers were more numerous around the Trigemina gate just as Marcus had expected, for this was one of the spots where much traffic entered the city. As he and Ahern approached the gateway in the old city walls, with its triple passageways leading in and out, he paused to survey the scene. In the failing light beyond the gateway he could just about make out the Tiber and the Janiculum hill on the western bank. A squad of bored-looking urban guards were sitting on the floor gambling, whilst one of the policemen kept watch on the traffic coming into the city. The beggars, men, women and children, were grouped together beside the gates and outside the walls, lining the street that led down to the wharves, warehouses and docks of the river port. They looked miserable and filthy as they held up their hands imploring the few commuters and pedestrians still about for a little bit of charity. With an expert-eye Marcus studied them. Then he grunted as he caught sight of an old man sitting on his own.

  “He looks like he could be a veteran. Come on, let’s have a word with him,” Marcus said as he strode towards the beggar.

  With Ahern following closely Marcus approached the man. The beggar was clothed in torn and stinking clothes and a swarm of flies were buzzing around him. He seemed to be asleep and his beard was soiled with food remains. Carefully Marcus crouched beside the man and poked him with his hand.

  “Friend, wake up, friend,” Marcus said as he poked the man again.

  “What,” the beggar cried out in a startled voice as he woke and turned to stare up at Marcus with an angry look. “Who are you? Why did you wake me? What do you want?”

  “Did you serve in the army?” Marcus asked studying the beggar.

  On the ground, the man paused as he glared at Marcus. Then quickly he looked away. “I was given an honourable discharge. I am no deserter and I am no thief. Twenty-five years with the 3 rd Cohort of Gaul’s. That’s me.”

  “I believe you,” Marcus said, with a little nod. “But there is no need to sleep on the streets tonight. I run a hospice for veterans where you can get warm food, get cleaned up and have a bed to sleep in tonight.”

  Nervously the old man licked his lips. Then carefully he turned to look at Marcus.

  “That is a kind offer,” he replied, “But I am just fine where I am.”

  “Are you sure?” Marcus asked.

  “Quite sure. I do not need anyone’s help. I can look after myself. Now if you don’t mind I would like to sleep.”

  Wearily Marcus rose to his feet, turned to Ahern and shrugged.

  “If you are looking to help veterans,” the beggar exclaimed, turning to point at the gates, “I know some old boys who could do with some help. They sleep down near the river amongst the warehouses of the port. You will find them near the tavern called the Fat Pig.”

  “Thank you,” Marcus nodded as he turned and began to walk away.

  “Let’s go and check it out,” Ahern said suddenly in an enthusiastic voice, as he hastily appeared at Marcus’s side. “Come on, or else we won’t have found anyone today. We must find at least one veteran. We always do.”

  Marcus hesitated. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “It’s getting late and the port area is not safe. Gangs operate near those taverns. I think maybe we should just go back home. Kyna will be expecting us soon anyway.”

  “Please uncle,” Ahern pleaded, “I am not ready to go home just yet. Let’s explore the city a little bit more. We could save someone’s life tonight.”

  Marcus sighed and turned to glance at Indus. The Batavian bodyguard was looking about him in his usual suspicious manner, clutching his sturdy stick in one hand.

  “All right,” he muttered, “we will go down to the port but if we don’t find those men then we go straight home. I have another busy day tomorrow as do you.”

  * * *

  It was getting dark as Marcus finally spotted the Fat Pig. The seedy-looking tavern was sandwiched between two huge grain warehouses and a gaily painted sign of a fat pig hung above the doorway. Cautiously Marcus turned to look around them but the street was deserted. He was just about to say something to Ahern when a sharp confident voice cut him off and from the gloom, where they had been lurking, three young men appeared, striding towards him.

  “Having a pleasant walk along the Tiber, are we senator?” one of the men with a black eye called out in a mocking voice. Then before Marcus could react the three men pulled knives from their belts.

  “I like the look of those rings on your fingers,” the young man with the bruised eye called out, as a malicious grin appeared on his lips, “And the boy looks just old enough for Galienus’s liking. Tell you what senator, give me your rings and the boy and we will let you go.”

  “Go fuck yourselves,” Marcus growled as he stepped out in front of Ahern. “You really don’t want to do this. Ahern stay where you are.”

  “What,” the young man with the black eye snarled in an aggressive voice, “You and your pal think that you can take us three. I don’t think so old man.”

  In response Indus suddenly moved forwards, yanked his sheathed gladius from his belt and tossed it at Marcus, who caught it neatly in his right hand. Then without saying a word the big Batavian strode towards the three muggers twirling his stout wooden stick in his hand and to Marcus it seemed as if Indus was relishing the coming fight. With a cry one of the muggers lunged at Indus but for a big and old man, Indus was surprisingly fast and the Batavian dodged the blow. A split second later his staff slammed straight into the man’s face, breaking his nose with a horrible cracking noise. The mugger screamed and staggered backwards as blood poured from his nose. The other two now charged but as they did, Indus’s stick slashed through the air with astonishing speed and skill and moments later the second mugger was lying on his back groaning in pain. Seeing the fate of his companions the man with the black eye hesitated. Then, swearing he turned, and fled but as he did, Indus reached into his tunic, produced a knife and flung it at the fleeing man catching him in his leg. With a loud shriek, the mugger went crashing to the ground. Moments later as he tried to get to his feet, Indus loomed over him and with a ferocious movement his stick slammed into the mugger’s head, knocking him unconscious.

  “Get out of here,” Marcus roared at the two remaining muggers who were limping away into the gloom. Then hastily he came towards Indus.

  “Thank you, Indus, that was well done,” Marcus said, giving his bodyguard a grateful look. Then he turned to look down at the unconscious mugger with the black eye who was lying on the ground at his feet. Crouching down, Marcus picked up the knife that the man had dropped and grunted.

  “This is an army knife,” he growled as he examined the Pugio. For a moment, Marcus studied the unconscious man. Then acting on some instinct he carefully reached out and lifted up the short sleeve of the man’s tunic and there tattooed onto the mugger’s shoulder were the letters LEG III.

  “Shit,” Marcus hissed, “Seems our man is a deserter.”

  “What shall we do with him, uncle?” Ahern whispered, as he crouched down beside Marcus and stared at the uncon
scious man in awe.

  For a moment, Marcus did not know what to say. Then he sighed and rose to his feet and glanced at Indus.

  “If he is a deserter I don’t want to leave him here. He needs to face the consequences of his actions. We will take him back to the hospice and lock him up in the secure room. I will decide what to do with him tomorrow,” Marcus growled. “I am too tired to think about it right now.”

  Chapter Four – Marcus faces a terrible dilemma

  “So, what are you going to do?” Kyna asked, as she busied herself with preparing her husband’s porridge and posca breakfast. It was just after dawn and Marcus was reclining on his comfortable couch in the garden of his small villa. For a moment he did not reply, as he gazed absentmindedly at the flowers, breathing in their scents. The sky was a perfect blue and from an open window above him he could hear Ahern singing to himself, as the boy prepared himself for the day.

  “The man attacked us,” Marcus growled at last. “I think he is a deserter and any man who abandons his comrades must be punished. That is the law. I have no time for deserters. Desertion is a serious offence, as is trying to mug me.”

  “If you hand him over to the authorities they will execute him,” Kyna exclaimed as she placed a bowl of porridge in front of her husband. “I thought we were in the business of saving and improving people’s lives, not taking them. Isn’t that why you set up the hospice for veterans?”

  “There is that,” Marcus conceded with an unhappy shrug.

  “Today you carry that man’s life in your hands,” Kyna said wearily. “You have a great responsibility and a terrible choice to make. It is a responsibility which I would not like to have, but I am sure that you will make a wise decision.”

  “I have been responsible for many men’s lives. In Britannia, I used to be the prefect of the 2 nd Batavian auxiliary Cohort. Have you forgotten?” Marcus said sourly.

  “There is that ego of yours again,” Kyna replied with a smile. “But how could I forget. You saved the whole unit and myself and Fergus.”

  Marcus reached out and took a sip of posca and was just about to say something when Ahern appeared, clad in his toga, a leather satchel slung over his shoulder.

  “Indus is waiting for you in the hall,” the boy said, as he picked up Marcus’s bowl of porridge and began to quickly spoon the food into his mouth. “I have to go,” the boy added in between hasty mouthfuls.

  “And I have an appointment with Cassius’s mother and her sister,” Kyna said with a bright, good-natured smile as she rose from the table and followed Ahern back into the villa. “They wish to discuss Elsa’s wedding. So, I won’t be coming down to the hospice today but Elsa should be there. And when you are done,” Kyna called out, as she disappeared into the house, “why don’t you and Indus go for a drink. Maybe that will put you in a better mood.”

  Alone and looking annoyed, Marcus stared at the breakfast table and the spot where his breakfast had vanished before he could touch it. Then slowly he shook his head and sighed. He may be getting older but being surrounded by nagging women and demanding dependents was sometimes too much. Where had all the adventure and excitement in his life gone?

  * * *

  Elsa was the first to greet him as Marcus followed by the ever-present Indus, stepped into his hospice building. Her eyes were sparkling and her cheeks flush with emotion.

  “My patient survived the night,” Elsa exclaimed, “I think I have saved his life. He is still poorly but given proper rest he should recover.”

  “This is good news, you did well Elsa,” Marcus replied with a little relieved nod. “Your patient can stay a little longer until he has recovered but after that he is on his own, just like the others.”

  In reply Elsa stepped forwards and gave Marcus a quick, joyous hug, before quickly slipping away out of the door and into the street. For a moment, Marcus turned to watch her go. It wasn’t often these days that a beautiful young woman would hug him. Blinking and snapping back to reality, he sighed wearily and turned to one of the veterans who helped with security.

  “How is our prisoner?” Marcus asked.

  “Still asleep,” the former soldier replied. “He was a bit loud last night but Indus and I calmed him down. He now has two black eyes instead of one. And he also confessed to being a deserter. Told us that his centurion was making sexual advances but that could be a lie. Seemed to have no regrets about what he did. Do you want me to wake him up Sir?”

  “Not yet,” Marcus replied as he sat down at his desk in his office and tiredly stared at the mass of documents and files. He had a decision to make. Was he going to hand the deserter over to the authorities or was he going to find another more lenient solution? The authorities would most certainly have the man executed but then again, he was a deserter. The law stated that the man should be punished and he was inclined to agree. There could be no excuse for desertion, abandoning one’s comrades. It had to be punished and punished severely.

  It was around noon and Marcus was still sitting in his office agonising over what to do, when Indus appeared in the doorway.

  “Someone here to you see you Sir,” the Batavian said, speaking in his native language. “Says he has an interest in the mugger we’re holding.”

  “An interest?” Marcus frowned. Then he nodded at Indus. “All right show him in.”

  Indus disappeared and after a few moments re-appeared together with another man. As he caught sight of the newcomer Marcus rose sharply to his feet and his face darkened.

  “You,” Marcus exclaimed in surprise. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Cunitius smiled as he casually strolled into the office and turned to look around. The investigator who had once hunted Marcus through the fields of Britannia and the streets of Rome looked relaxed.

  “Good to see you again, Marcus,” Cunitius said, extending his hand. “How long has it been? Seven years?”

  Marcus did not reply as he looked down at the extended hand. Then grudgingly he grasped the proffered hand and shook it.

  “That’s better,” Cunitius grinned. “So, we meet again. I hope you are not still harbouring any ill feelings towards me for what happened all those years ago. I was just doing a job for which I was paid. And don’t worry, I haven’t been looking for that Christian woman, now what was her name?”

  “Esther,” Marcus growled. “And like I told you she is dead.”

  “Yeah whatever,” Cunitius replied smoothly, as without being invited, he pulled a chair towards himself and sat down.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Marcus snapped, as he remained standing, “What are you doing here in my office?”

  Cunitius sighed and glanced around the office again. Then he turned to look up at Marcus and as he did, a cunning gleam appeared in his eyes. “It’s a long story but to cut it short,” Cunitius coughed, “after you led me to Rome all those years ago, I decided that I liked the city so much that I decided to stay. There is plenty of work in Rome for a man with my investigative skills and experience. What with all those rich aristocratic families, those senators wanting people to disappear or to be found. All that intrigue, politics, sex, affairs, murder and just plain robbery which I had to investigate. I have made a fortune out of it all. Business has been good so I guess I must thank you for that Marcus. Without you I would probably have never come to the city, nor would I have grown so damned rich.”

  “You still haven’t answered my question,” Marcus hissed.

  Cunitius paused, and as he did, the smile slowly faded from his lips.

  “You still haven’t gotten a sense of humour, have you, Marcus,” he said in a quieter voice. “The reason I am here is because you have one of my boys and I want him back.”

  “That fucker in my jail is working for you?” Marcus cried out in surprise.

  “That’s right,” Cunitius nodded. “And I need him back, Marcus. That’s why I have come to your office on this fine warm and pleasant day. I could be doing much more profitable and ple
asurable things today but instead I am here with you.”

  “He’s an army deserter and I am handing him over to the authorities,” Marcus retorted. “You cannot have him back.”

  “Ah,” Cunitius said lightly, “Well then we have a problem. You see I really do need you to hand me back my man.”

  “He’s a fucking deserter and he tried to mug me. You are not having him,” Marcus roared, thumping his fist on his office table. In the doorway, Indus tensed but Cunitius, still sitting in his chair, seemed unperturbed.

  “I know he can be a bit stupid, impulsive and violent at times,” the investigator replied with a sigh,” but he is my man and I need him back. So,” Cunitius continued quickly raising his hand to prevent Marcus from interrupting, “I shall make a deal with you Marcus. A fair deal and you will give me my man back.”

  “Why is this man so important to you?” Marcus growled, as he recovered his composure. “Harbouring and helping a deserter is against the law. I could have you put on trial for this. Have you thought about that?”

  In his chair Cunitius chuckled. “No lawyer will go up against me in public,” he said confidently. “I know too much shit about the affairs of the wealthy and powerful for anyone to dare prosecute me. No, Marcus I am being reasonable here. I will offer you a fair deal for my man.”