Armenia Capta

by William Kelso

  “What’s the meaning of this?” the man cried out in an outraged voice, as he turned to look at the intruders with a mixture of horror and outrage.

  “We mean no harm Sir,” Fergus answered raising his hand, palm facing outwards. “Where is he?”

  “Where is who? Who are you? What are you doing here? This is private property.” the man retorted.

  “Hadrian, where is Hadrian?” Fergus hissed as he glanced around the hallway of the Roman-style house.

  The man abruptly fell silent and for a moment Fergus thought he looked a tad embarrassed. Then silently the servant turned to look up the stairs.

  “The master of the house will be home soon,” the servant said in a changed voice. “You had better get Hadrian out of here before he returns. I did warn Lord Hadrian that my master would be back soon, but he took no notice of me. I think he is drunk. Please, hurry. My master is a man with a violent temper.”

  Fergus did not reply as he sped up the stairs. Arriving on a small landing with several rooms leading from it, he turned to face a closed door. The noise of groaning and moaning coming from the room was unmistakeable. Flinging open the door, Fergus was met with the sight of Hadrian, semi-naked lying on the bed with a plump woman, also semi-naked sitting on top, riding him. Both turned to stare at Fergus in surprise and shock and then the woman screamed and promptly fell sideways off the bed and onto the floor. Lying on the bed, Hadrian burst out laughing and Fergus immediately saw that he was completely and utterly pissed.

  “Shit,” Fergus swore, as he marched into the room and grabbed hold of Hadrian’s clothing and flung them onto the bed. “Time to get dressed Sir,” he growled. “We’re taking you back home. You are not safe here.”

  “But you are here, Fergus,” Hadrian said heavily slurring his words before breaking out into a giggling fit. Lifting his arm Hadrian pointed a finger at Fergus and began to speak in a deep voice, “I am safe because you are here now. I love you Fergus man. You are my man. You always look after me. You Sir, are a good man.”

  On the floor, the woman had gathered a blanket around herself and was staring at the intruders in horror and panic.

  “Get up Sir, I don’t have time to play games,” Fergus said impatiently.

  In the doorway both Arlyn and Saadi had appeared and, as they caught sight of their drunken boss lying semi-naked on the bed, they had to look away and suppress a laugh and a giggle of their own.

  “I refuse to leave, Fergus,” Hadrian burped and turned to gaze at the woman with a lazy, happy smile, “I refuse to leave until I have been satisfied.”

  Something seemed to snap inside Fergus and furiously he caught hold of Hadrian’s arm and yanked him off the bed and onto his feet.

  “Get dressed Sir,” Fergus roared and the fury in his voice was unmistakeable, “Do you think I enjoy coming to look for you at this hour. Do you think I enjoy finding you here and in such a state? You look ridiculous. You are drunk. You are making a fool of yourself and you are ruining your reputation. You are going to be the next emperor of Rome for fuck’s sake. So, start acting like an emperor. All this shit, this fornication, this drunkenness, this indifference, it must stop and it is going to stop right now. For if it doesn’t I will end you myself. You are a disgrace. Take some fucking responsibility for your actions, Sir!”

  And as his furious tirade ended the room went very quiet. In the doorway both Arlyn and Saadi were staring at Fergus in awe. They had never seen him so angry before. Hadrian swayed lightly on his feet as he grinned foolishly at Fergus. For a moment, he didn’t speak. Then reverently he reached out and laid a hand on Fergus’s shoulder.

  “I love you man,” Hadrian croaked with a crazy drunken grin. Then abruptly he turned towards the bed and threw up, spewing a red mess all over the bed covers.

  “Arlyn, cover him up with this,” Fergus hissed darkly as he pushed the swaying, unsteady and semi-naked Hadrian towards Saadi and Arlyn before undoing his cloak and chucking it at the tall Hibernian. “Get him out of here.”

  As Arlyn hastily led Hadrian out of the room, Fergus turned to look at the nervous and frightened woman, who was still kneeling on the ground covering herself with a blanket. Fishing around in his pocket Fergus found a small bag and dropped it on the floor in front of the woman.

  “For your trouble,” Fergus said sternly, making eye contact with the woman.

  Then hastily he strode from the room and down the stairs with Saadi following.

  “Why did you do that? Why did you leave her that money?” Saadi exclaimed, as they caught up with Arlyn, who was leading an unsteady and swaying Hadrian out onto the street.

  “To prevent her or her husband from taking Hadrian to court for adultery,” Fergus said, as he caught hold of one of Hadrian’s arms and steadied him. “Now Hadrian can argue that the woman was paid for her services. Adultery is a crime but there is nothing illegal about paying a prostitute for sex.”

  Chapter Eight – Omens of ill fate

  The dark storm clouds and the static in the air had been building all day and now the torrential rain had come, lashing the city of Athens. Fergus stood beside the window staring up at the storm clouds. At his side, Briana, his eldest was holding his hand and bravely looking out of the window. The Gods were unsettled, the aging Greek astronomer had warned Hadrian that morning without giving any further detail. In the dark skies lightning forked through the air, followed moments later by deep, rolling and shattering claps of thunder. The ferocity of the summer storm was frightening and in his quarters behind him, the younger of his daughters huddled together on the bed, shaking and holding onto each other, their faces pale with fear. At their side, Galena was softly singing to her daughters, doing her best to calm them down, her beautiful Celtic voice overshadowed by the violence of nature outside. It was noon and a whole day had passed since Fergus had rescued Hadrian from a potential ugly confrontation with an enraged husband. After he’d sobered up, Hadrian had kept himself to himself and Fergus suspected that he was feeling embarrassed. The only conversation he’d had with his boss was when Hadrian had called him into his study. He had formally apologised to Fergus for his behaviour and, in the same breath, had threatened to have him flogged if he, Fergus, ever dared to speak to him like that again. Fergus had taken the rebuke in stoic silence. It was his job to keep Hadrian alive and out of trouble and if that meant getting told off now and then, he was happy to take that on the chin. The short private audience with Hadrian had also been an opportunity to discuss something that had been gnawing on his mind for some time now. An old and deeply-rooted desire was once more beginning to make itself heard. A desire which he knew he could not ignore forever. But he’d decided against raising it with Hadrian. The timing was not right.

  At the window, Fergus turned to look at Galena and she gave him a sad little smile. Galena was not happy to be leaving Athens for Antioch. She was leaving behind her tutors and her children’s excellent school and swapping it for a city she didn’t know and a life, where she would not be seeing much of her husband. But none of them had a choice in the matter and Galena had resigned herself to it, like a good wife.

  “Will they cancel the procession if the storm continues?” Briana asked, looking up at her father. Her long, red hair had been neatly tied into a ponytail and she was still wearing the flower Fergus had given her in Piraeus.

  “I don’t know,” Fergus replied. “The procession is tomorrow. Maybe the storm will have died down by then.”

  “It is an important procession, isn’t it?” Briana continued, as another fork of lighting lit up the skies, “Hadrian is going to make a sacrifice to Athena. She is the greatest of the Greek gods. I like Athena,” Briana added in her childish voice.

  Fergus nodded but did not answer his daughter. The lesser Panathenaea, the ancient festival in honour of Athena, occurred every year and involved athletic games and competitions that rivalled the Olympic games. It also included poetry recital and music contests, horse racing and dancing competitions.
The finale was a solemn procession through the streets of the city and up to the Acropolis, where offerings would be made to Athena, the divine protector of Athens. The procession was followed by a huge banquet and feasting and partying throughout the city. It was a joyous time and many people came to Athens to take part. But it was a security nightmare, for thousands upon thousands of pedestrians would be thronging the streets and taking part in the festival.

  “I have to go,” Fergus said, picking up Briana and giving her a kiss on her forehead. “Look after your sisters and your mother for me, brave one,” he added with a grin, as he dropped her onto the bed. In response Briana shrieked in delight which caused one of her sisters to start crying. Hastily Fergus left his quarters, leaving Galena to sort out the noisy commotion. In the large room where his close protection team stored their weapons and gear, he found his team already waiting for him. They saluted smartly as he entered.

  “Will the procession be going ahead Sir,” Flavius, the German boxer asked, cracking and stretching his fingers. “Is there a chance that they will postpone it due to this storm?”

  “Possible but unlikely,” Fergus replied, as he turned to pour over a large-scale map of the procession route, that lay on the table. “We need to assume that it will go ahead so let’s review our security measures.”

  Fergus paused to study the map, as his team silently gathered around the table.

  “The route that the procession will take starts here,” Fergus said, tapping the map with his finger, “just outside the Dipylom gate and the city walls. From there it will enter the city along the Panathenaic Way, passing through the potter’s neighbourhood, continuing through the heart of the old city agora until it reaches the Eleusinion, the Temple of Demeter, here. After that the procession will ascend the slope of the Acropolis until it reaches the Propylaia, the monumental entrance gate onto the Acropolis itself. At this point the priests will make a public sacrifice of a cow to Athena. The priests will have knives, so do not be alarmed if you see them. Now the Athenians,” Fergus exclaimed, looking up at his team, “forbid all non-Athenian citizens from entering the Acropolis but Hadrian has managed to get them to make an exception for us barbarians.”

  Fergus paused again and glanced around at his team to check if they were paying attention. “Once we are on top of the Acropolis,” he said, “Hadrian will conduct another sacrifice, a personal sacrifice, this time of a bull. Hadrian will be doing the killing with a sacred knife handed to him by the priests. Afterwards the high priest will smear the bull’s blood over Hadrian’s face. The boss will then spend a few moments in prayer and he will also witness the changing of Athena’s peplos dress by the chosen women. Expect Hadrian to pause to thank the priests and chat to them for a while. After that he will depart from the Acropolis via the same way as we came in and return home along the Panathenaic Way. The day will end with a feast, here in this mansion, given to honour Athena. There is a guest list which we will need to keep a careful eye on. Right, any questions?”

  Around the table none of his close protection team spoke out and, as the silence lengthened, Fergus turned back to study the map.

  “Good,” Fergus nodded at last. “All right listen up all of you,” he said, straightening up. “You know the drill but I am going to say it anyway. During the procession towards the Acropolis, Hadrian will be walking directly behind the ship, from whose mast Athena’s new peplos dress will be displayed. He will be accompanied by a few local dignitaries and close friends. There will also be a few armed temple-guards but don’t rely on them. Their main concern will be to protect Athena’s dress and not the boss. Now here are your positions. Do not leave your position. Do not let yourself be distracted by pretty women or men. Do not fall behind. Do not forget to have a piss before we leave. Stay alert. Keep your eyes on the spectators and, if you see anything unusual or suspicious, then warn me right away. There are going to be thousands of spectators watching the procession. Hadrian may be loved by the Greeks but not by all of them. Right. Flavius, you will take point, at the front. Arlyn, I want you bringing up the rear, carrying one of the legionary shields and the medical kit. The brothers will be on the right flank. Alexander and Korbis will guard the left. Saadi, I want you to do your usual under cover role. Mingle with the crowds ahead of us and if you see or hear anything suspicious, you warn me right away. Myself and Skula will be positioned right behind Hadrian. Now if there is an emergency and we need to get Hadrian out of there fast, the contingency plan is that we close ranks around him, and lead the boss away down the nearest escape route. And team,” Fergus growled as he turned to look at each one of them in turn, “it’s important that you always listen to my voice. I don’t care what Hadrian tells you. He is not in charge of security. You listen to my voice and my instructions. My voice is the only one that matters. Got that? Right, any questions?”

  Once more his team remained silent as they stared down at the map on the table. All of them had done the drill a hundred times before and each one of them knew their position and responsibilities intimately, but Fergus still insisted on going over the preparations in detail.

  “One last thing,” Fergus said with a sigh, “one of us has to go out to the Acropolis today and check on the priests. I need someone to memorise what each priest looks like, so that we can be sure that no imposters have sneaked into the proceedings when we see them again tomorrow. I know there is a storm outside but does anyone wish to volunteer?”

  Around the table a muttering arose and no one seemed to want to catch Fergus’s eye.

  “All right,” Fergus said with a little shake of his head. “I will do it myself. Lazy bastards,” he added, as a little good-natured smile appeared on his lips.

  * * *

  It had stopped raining when Fergus stepped out through the gates of Hadrian’s fortified house. In the skies the clouds were fast-moving, swept along by a strong fresh wind. A few people were already about in the agora, the old market square. Three shopkeepers were calling out to each other, as they inspected the damage to their properties and re-arranged their stalls, some of which had been blown over by the ferocity of the wind. A street cleaner, with a black tattoo of a lady on his calf and clutching a broom, was trying his best to sweep up the scattered storm-debris. Hurrying towards Fergus were two dark haired women carrying buckets of milk and laughing together at some joke or comment. In a corner of the square a drenched beggar was sitting slumped up against a wall, staring at the gates of Hadrian’s mansion, a large sunhat obscuring most of his face.

  Instead of turning in the direction of the Acropolis however, Fergus took the street that led towards the Dipylom gate and the city walls. He knew the city of Athens well enough, but it would be wise to reconnoitre the whole route that tomorrow’s procession would take just to satisfy himself that he had not missed any obvious threats and weak spots. As he made his way down the street, a group of excited children raced past him, shrieking in delight as they chased a ball. The rawness of the storm was still evident but the charged atmosphere had gone and the air was fresher and calmer. The gutters that ran along the side of the broad street were overflowing with rain-water and here and there, they were blocked with rubbish. Reaching the Dipylom he paused and turned around, letting his eyes take in the buildings around him as he evaluated threats, hidden sniper positions and escape routes. It was just routine work that he had done a hundred times before but it had to be done. Doing the routine stuff saves lives. It was a message he had drummed into every member of his team from the day they had joined him.

  It was less than a mile from the gate to the entrance of the Acropolis but, as Fergus slowly began to make his way back along the broad Panathenaic Way, through the agora and on towards the Acropolis, he had the strangest feeling that he was being followed. Spinning round and preparing to confront his stalker, he saw a stray three- legged dog pause a few yards away. The animal was gazing at him with a hopeful expression. Relaxing as he caught sight of the dog, Fergus tried to shoo the animal awa
y. But, as he started out again the dog once more began to follow him.

  The Acropolis loomed above him and stoically Fergus began to ascend the steep slope of the rocky outcrop. As he reached the Propylaia, the monumental gateway into the Acropolis complex, he came to a halt. A squad of armed, temple-guards were lounging about at the entrance. The men were armed with legionary style shields and spears. Ignoring the guards, Fergus turned to look around him. The steep, rocky slope up from the city below was lined with scattered trees, boulders and bushes. Near to the gateway a few beggars were sitting on the ground, holding up their hands and staring at him in stoic-silence. Crossing the road, he crouched beside the beggars and turned to study the lay of the land. The steps leading up the slope of the Acropolis were fine but he was not happy with the trees and bushes on either side of the steps, for they could well provide cover for an attacker or malcontent. But there was not much he could do about that now. As he rose to his feet, a hand suddenly reached out and clasped hold of his ankle in a cold and surprisingly strong grip. Startled, Fergus turned to look down and saw that one of the beggars, an old man, with strange, light-blue eyes was holding onto him. With a shock, Fergus realised that the man was blind.

  “A storm is coming young man,” the blind man hissed suddenly in Latin. “He and the dark lady wish you ill. Death approaches, it is near. Beware.”

  Fergus groaned and pulled himself free from the man’s grip. He had seen this trick before. A beggar pretending to be a seer, able to foretell the future. It was just another con trick, playing on people’s superstition and used to obtain a coin or a gift for the beggar. The beggars played it on the tourists all the time and Galena too was particularly susceptible to the trick, much to his annoyance. Ignoring the blind beggar Fergus moved away towards the guards around the monumental gateway.