Nemesis

by C. R. May

  Frenzied banging came from the wall at his side and moments later the tips of several spears appeared like the beaks of angry birds as his pursuers began to widen the breach. It was time to go, and Berikos hurried across the burning room and dove through the small hole opposite. The room was already ablaze, and he winced in the heat as burning thatch began to fall in blackened clumps among them. The men were looking to him and he called his last instruction to them. ‘Fire every room and get back to the bulwark. You must hold the gate for the army or the men we have lost here will have died in vain. I will hold them here as long as I can.’ Galba moved to his side but he shook his head. ‘I am the last of my clan. It is time for me to board the boat for the west.’ Berikos held out Solemis’ lancea. ‘Here, return this to your chieftain or lay it at his side on the platform of death.’

  An ominous crack caused them to flinch and duck their heads as the roof beams shifted in the flames. Berikos grabbed at Galba’s shoulder and spun him around, shoving him towards safety as a clump of burning thatch dropped into the room. ‘Go!’

  Galba shot through into the next room and turned back for a last look at his friend. The big Aeduan had hefted his broadsword and stood foursquare, rolling on the balls of his feet as he waited to see which of the attackers would be the first to break through. Arms and feet began to punch their way into the room and Galba reached for his sword hilt as he prepared to return. He had to help, even if it should cost him his life. Suddenly, as Berikos swung, a tortured crack rang out as the tortured roof beam finally gave way and the scene was blotted out in a cascade of fire. Thrown back by the blast, Galba just had time to roll aside as a jet of flames pulsed through from the next room. Laying on his back he exchanged a sad look with his companions before his discipline reasserted itself. ‘Come on, let’s go – we have a gateway to hold.’

  The fire had spread now to engulf the entire terrace and they ran doubled up through a tunnel of flame. Thundering down the final staircase they spilled out into the same courtyard they had left only a short time before. Figures were running all around and the noise was deafening but the barrier remained intact, and they raced across and snatched up their shields. They were just in time, and despite the desperation of their position Galba noticed that the new day had finally arrived to paint the Roman temple on the hill opposite the colour of blood. He gave a snort of irony at the grim humour of the Roman gods. Pushing the thought from his mind he threw himself onto the step and braced his shield to repel the onslaught.

  But the expected attack never materialised, and he slowly realised that nothing was as he had expected to find it. The men before him were moving from right to left. There were war horns among them, their excited wails reverberating around the square. As Galba’s exhausted mind scrabbled to understand the scene before him a man detached himself from the horde and walked across. Unfastening his helm he eased it from his head and held it by the great raven that capped it and grinned.

  ‘Sorry we took so long. The druids were taking the auspices.’

  * * *

  Consciousness was returning slowly, bit by bit, and with it feeling and senses. He found that he was disappointed.

  If this is the Isles of the Dead, they still smell like sweat and muck!

  He forced his lids apart and winced as the light stabbed his brain.

  ‘He’s awake!’

  A face hovered over him, pale and blurred, a line of teeth fixed in a smile.

  ‘Morning genos!’

  Other people moved behind the owner of the face, shadowy and indistinct like trout in a stream. A great fire roared in the background; men swarmed around him. Faces crowded in as he attempted to drag his mind back from the abyss, and he winced again as a burning dagger of pain forced him back under.

  * * *

  He lay on a bed of hay; clean and fresh, not a trace of muck. This was better. His head still ached but not so much, and he grimaced as he raised his hand to touch the back of his head. There was a lump there the size of a duck egg, and he could feel the blood matted in his hair as the memories returned. Snarling faces and darting blades; the dawn. Confused by the grunts and snorts all around him Solemis thought that he must be in a pig sty, and he raised himself on one elbow and grinned despite the pain that it produced. The swine were his clansmen, and they looked as if they had fallen into a deep sleep the moment their heads had touched the hay. A soft chuckle carried to him and a shape detached itself from the shadows and came across. ‘Welcome back, Solemis.’

  Caturix smiled and held out a rough wooden cup. Solemis took it gratefully, downed the contents in one and held it out for a refill. Closing one eye against the glare he squinted up at the Crow chieftain. ‘How long?’

  ‘Not too long, the sun has just passed its high point.’ He jerked his head as he returned the cup to the grateful Horsetail. ‘The Romans have blockaded themselves on the hill with the temple on top. Brennus has taken the army to attack them, but I don’t think that he will get far.’

  Solemis gave him a look of surprise and winced again as the skin was pulled tight across his injury. ‘I am surprised that they still had the strength to climb a hill, the speed they ran away from the battle.’

  Caturix snorted and squeezed Solemis’ shoulder. ‘It is good to have you back.’

  Their conversation had awoken the others. All around them men were hauling themselves to their feet, the joy at seeing their chieftain awake – and seemingly none the worse for the crack he had taken to his skull – obvious from their expressions. Solemis scanned the room quickly. ‘I saw Vortrix go down myself – it was a good death. Berikos?’

  Galba came across and shook his head sadly. ‘He covered our retreat. He asked me to give you this.’

  Solemis nodded that he understood, wincing as the pain stabbed again. ‘I know that he would have gone down swinging. I wish that I had witnessed it!’ He took the spear and used it to lever himself up from the ground as he turned back to Caturix. ‘Have you found the Fabii yet?’

  Caturix’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘How hard were you hit? We watched them cross the river and march west, remember? They won’t be in the city.’

  Solemis flashed a cold-hearted smile. His hunter’s instinct had returned, and he realised that the Senone wolf pack was now within the Roman fold. This was the greatest day of his life, and he was determined that he would live it to the fullest. Crack on the head or not, he could sleep later.

  ‘We saw the brothers flee, yes,’ he said. ‘But what about the other members of their clan?’

  * * *

  Rounding the corner Solemis gasped at the scene that met his eyes. A wide circular space was packed with Celts, every man facing the approaches to the hill that he knew the Romans called the Capitoline. A quick glance told him that another assault on the Roman defences had met with failure and the warriors there were tumbling back down the narrow passageway in disarray. Other men had broken into the shops that stood hard on there and were helping themselves to the goods within. A man sauntered by gnawing at a ham, and Solemis was soon on his way to the source. Caturix tore a strip of flesh from a rib as he gazed around the statues and colonnaded temples which encircled the area. ‘Where should we begin?’

  Solemis indicated the hill opposite with a nod of his head. ‘That looks a good place to start. We know that the brothers are tribunes so their people will live in the finest homes.’

  Dark lines of smoke were beginning to rise from urban areas as the army spread through them, but the homes that capped the hill opposite seemed to be untouched for the moment. The high walls that surrounded the wealthier villas could be hiding any number of Roman soldiers, and Solemis could understand the warriors’ reluctance to be drawn onto unfamiliar ground. Hefting their spears and shields, Solemis and Caturix led their clans across to the foot of the Palatine and entered the shadows.

  Climbing away from the mayhem in the forum, they soon left the temples that lined the lower reaches of the hill behind. The roadway channelled
them upwards and soon they were among the homes of the wealthiest citizens of the city. The oppressive heat of the forum lessened as they climbed into the freshening breeze, the air teasing through the branches of the cypress that lined their route, soft and calming despite their murderous intent. The road curved away as it climbed and several warriors ran on ahead, testing the great wooden gateways as they did so. The doors were shut and barred against them and Solemis was about to order one broken down when Ferox, one of Caturix’s Crow, called out in surprise. ‘There are old men here!’

  Solemis and Caturix exchanged a look and walked across. The road widened into a small square, a solitary beech tree at its centre, its ancient gnarled trunk and twisted boughs offering welcome shade to the space. Skirting the square, several of the older citizens had obviously chosen death over flight and had arranged themselves on chairs before their domus. Dressed in their finest robes the men sat and stared impassively ahead as the first of the Celts warily approached them.

  Solemis ran his eyes around the doorways lining the square. Any one of them could be hiding an armed force, ready to spring out on them as they were distracted by the elders, and he snapped out an order. ‘Check the gates.’

  Galba nodded and, trotting past one of the elders, aimed a hefty kick at the door to his rear. To their surprise the door swung open and Solemis indicated the others with a movement of his head. ‘Pair up and check them all.’

  As his clansmen did as ordered Caturix formed the men of the Crow into a dense knot across the roadway, and Solemis nodded to himself as he recognised his kinsman’s astuteness. If an enemy did surge out of the buildings they would immediately be faced by a wall of shields and spears. At worst, they should be able to retreat in order back to the forum where the army would overwhelm the attackers in moments.

  Solemis used the time to study the men seated like statues before them. Every man among them wore the broad stripes on his tunic that Solemis had learned signified senatorial rank. Several togas also carried an edging in colour that he guessed must mean they held, or had held, even higher rank. Each man sat straight backed, completely immobile on his chair, and Solemis found the dignity of the men impressive despite the obvious contempt in which they held the barbarians before them.

  Attis reappeared at a doorway and threw his chieftain a smile. ‘Nothing here, Solemis.’

  Soon others began to re-emerge and, satisfied that they were not walking into a trap, Solemis crossed to the first of the senators and addressed the man in Latin. ‘Where is the domus of the Fabii?’

  The man stared impassively ahead, contempt issuing from him in waves. Caturix sneered and drew his sword as he moved behind the Roman. The man attempted to ignore the act, but Solemis saw him swallow as he fought against the desire to look. He took a step back to avoid the blood that he was sure was about to be shed and spoke again. ‘Numerius Fabius Ambustus killed my friend’s chieftain, his paterfamilias. He will take his revenge whether you live to see the sun set this evening or not.’

  Solemis watched as the Roman gripped the folds of his toga at the knees, his knuckles whitening, and knew the answer. Taking another pace back he nodded to his friend. Caturix swung, and the senator’s head spun from his shoulders to land in the dust of the roadway.

  The chieftains moved on to the next man in line. ‘You heard my question.’

  The Roman, an older man sporting a long white beard, gripped his ivory cane a little tighter but remained silent. Solemis’ head began to pulse with pain once again as the sun beat down relentlessly, and tiring of the Roman’s arrogance he reached out and tugged at the senator’s beard to gain his attention. The cane flashed, and a searing pain shot through his head. Solemis staggered back and fell to the ground. Moments later he opened his eyes and recognised the head of his assailant as it rolled to his side. To his great surprise the Roman blinked before the light of life left his eyes, and he kicked it contemptuously away as a further stab of pain forced him to wince. A shocked silence had descended on the square and Solemis barked out an order as he hauled himself back to his feet. ‘Kill them all!’

  Heavy blades flashed in the sunshine. It was over in moments, bloodied heads ringing the hoary tree like macabre spring flowers. Caturix moved to his side. ‘Tough old bastards. What now?’

  Solemis blew out his cheeks and tried to think. Albiomaros came across with a skin of wine and pressed it on him. Solemis drank and felt better almost immediately. ‘We’ll get nothing from the patricians. We need to find a low-class guide, a man with a less developed sense of honour.’

  Doros, the Crow champion, cut in. ‘There were a few of those drinking places in the big square at the bottom of the hill. We could have a look out the back and see what we could find?’

  * * *

  ‘Here, just along here, it’s not far’ The man stumbled along, the collar of his tunic twisted in the grip of the big barbarian. Caturix marched ahead impatiently as the men of the clans hurried in his wake, scanning the grove for signs of danger as they went. Ahead of them was a building, its frontage a series of red brick arches cut into the roadway. At its corner sat a small circular temple of creamy stone, its colonnaded design almost dainty beside its massive neighbour. ‘There!’ The man pointed excitedly. ‘That’s him!’

  Caturix drew up and twisted the man towards Solemis as the Horsetail translated again. ‘You are sure?’ The Roman gulped at Solemis, and he could see the terror in his eyes. He smiled reassuringly. ‘My friend wants to know if you are certain that the man is Marcus Fabius Ambustus, and that he is the father of Numerius Fabius Ambustus.’

  A short while before he had been sleeping off the effects of a day and night drinking free wine in one of the darkest recesses of the taberna. Now, he knew his life hung by a thread. The Roman nodded vigorously and spittle flew in long white tendrils as he blurted out the reply. ‘Yes! Yes! Marcus Fabius Ambustus, the Pontifex Maximus. Paterfamilias of the Fabii. I watched him only yesterday as he performed the ceremony for victory on…’ His voice trailed away, as even in his current hungover state the man realised that he had said too much.

  Solemis completed the sentence for him. ‘The ceremony for victory on the campus martius?’ The man gave a weary shrug and Solemis turned to Caturix. ‘He is sure.’

  The Crow chieftain shoved his captive away and instantly forgot him. As the Roman pelted away Caturix hefted his shield and drew his broadsword. Advancing on the lone figure seated on the steps of the building, he clashed the pommel against the rear of his shield and called to his clansmen. ‘Crow!’

  The men of his clan moved forward and fanned out in his wake until they were a solid wall of bronze, leather and muscle, sweeping down upon the hapless figure of the pontifex. Solemis followed on with his clansmen, and despite the enmity between Roman and Gaul he had to admit that the old man lacked nothing in courage.

  Caturix reached the seated figure and Solemis moved forward to translate for his kinsman as he drew to a halt and pulled himself up proudly. ‘Chieftain of the Fabii, know that my name is Caturix, son of Crixos, son of Catuvalos – chieftain of the Crow clan of the Senone tribe. I come to take vengeance for the unlawful slaying of my father, our chieftain Crixos, by the hand of your son Numerius.’

  Solemis stood to one side, watching with interest as Marcus fought to retain his overdeveloped sense of dignity. Although the old man’s face paled, only the slight flexing and straightening of his fingers betrayed the turmoil within.

  The Crow had formed a circle around his seated form and they began to beat the rear of their shields, glaring at the figure before them with white-hot hatred as their chieftain dropped his shield and grasped his longsword with both hands. Solemis raised his voice against the thunderous clatter as Caturix spoke again. ‘Blood for blood! Bone for bone!’

  As the Crow chieftain drew back his sword for the killing stroke the members of his clan moved in to skewer the Roman with their spears. Solemis watched as Marcus’ eyes went wide and his face contorted into a m
ask of pain. As Caturix’s long blade swept in to take the pontifex’s head, Solemis heard the man gasp out his last agonised words through gritted teeth.

  ‘Nemesis! The scales are balanced!’

  Twenty

  ‘Here he comes! Remember, no laughing.’

  Supported by his clansman the outline of Sedullos appeared in the doorway as he hobbled into view. Moments later the room had descended into a chaotic brew of raucous laughter and mad honking sounds as the chieftain eased himself in. He threw them all a sheepish grin and settled onto one of the long, low Roman chairs. A clansman lifted his leg carefully onto the cushion and Sedullos grimaced with pain, setting the laughter rolling around the confined space once again.

  Brennus shook his head and snorted again as he ran his eyes over the scratches and cuts that covered the clan chieftain’s face and arms. He indicated to Solemis that he follow him outside with a flick of his head, shooting a parting comment over his shoulder as he left. ‘Stay for the food, Sedullos. You’ll like it – roast goose today!’

  The pair strolled out into the sun-washed peristylium as the teasing and laughter redoubled in the room behind them. Brennus shook his head as they sat on the raised lip of the water feature that dominated the space. ‘We have got to get away from this place, Solemis – the men are going mad. Sedullos and his lads saw a Roman leave the river and climb up to the others on the hill. Instead of telling me that he had discovered a route to the top that appeared to be unguarded he went for glory, got chased away by a flock of geese and tumbled down the slope and broke his leg.’ He snorted in disbelief as he launched a pebble at a nearby statue. ‘Can you believe these people? They have bloody guard geese!’