Over the weeks they heard more of the events in Rome from travellers passing through the nearby village. Melissa knew what was happening, of course, but had chosen to have no more visions in order to stop Vitruvius from asking too many questions about their futures. Antony first made, and then retracted, a deal with the conspirators, leaving Brutus and Cassius exposed and forced to go into voluntary exile. Caesar had cut Antony out of his will in favour of his nephew, Octavian, who tried to execute the provisions Caesar had made to give money to the ordinary people, only to be blocked by Antony at every opportunity. Each new piece of information made Melissa smile. It seemed history had not been affected by her presence in the least. Antony, it appeared, also intended to keep his promise: no one came looking for them and Melissa felt safer in her new home every day.
As May began and the days became warmer, Melissa spent more and more time at the river with Antonius. She was becoming obsessed with the idea of going home and took ever greater risks wandering its banks, searching for a way back and paying little attention to her surroundings. It was on one such day that she was spotted by two riders. They made no attempt to approach her, but watched carefully from the tree line as she played with Antonius on the river bank. When the heat of the day became too great, they followed her back to the farm at a safe distance. These men had been in the region for a few days, searching for a family from the south. They were looking for a man, a woman and a child of about four years of age. It appeared they had found their quarry.
Melissa and Antonius walked along the track from the river, over a small rise and down towards the gate that led into the yard. As Melissa undid the latch, Antonius charged on ahead into the kitchen and then came running out again with a huge piece of bread in his hands. Renna followed, shouting at him in mock annoyance. As Melissa came closer, Renna turned to speak to her, raising her hand to shield her eyes from the sun. As she did so, the former slave spotted the two riders appearing over the brow of the hill. Renna did not at all like the look of them. Both men were wearing riding cloaks that were too heavy for such a warm day, and both seemed far too interested in their surroundings for her liking. She could tell they were looking for something, or someone. She pointed over Melissa’s shoulder. “Who are they?” she asked.
Melissa turned and looked “I do not know. I have never seen them before.”
A flash from under one of the men’s cloaks caught Renna’s eye. Sunlight was glinting off of something metal he had hidden beneath it. It had to be a sword. She was alarmed at the thought of two armed strangers being so close to the house when Vitruvius was working in the fields. She put her hand on Melissa’s shoulder. “Go and find Antonius and take him away from the house. If I go, he may think I am chasing him because he took the bread, and run further away. I will find out what they want here.”
Despite her attempts to remain calm, Renna’s voice shook and Melissa picked up on the fear her friend felt. She gripped Renna’s hand. “I should face them, Renna, not you,” she replied.
Renna’s eyes never left the men. “You think I would leave you alone with their sort in your condition? You may be a clever woman, but you have no talent for self-defence and words will not help you today. Anyway, Vitruvius would kill me for even thinking of it. Find Antonius and take him to Vitruvius. I will be fine until your return.”
“I will go. Where is Vitruvius?” Melissa asked.
“In the fields beyond the paddock,” Renna’s eyes still followed the strangers who were coming very close. “Go around behind the house and do not run.” Melissa nodded and walked away towards the building as Renna crossed the yard to meet the men who were dismounting at the wall. Renna knew they were soldiers by trade. Both were stocky in stature, with muscular arms, and one had a nasty scar down the side of his face.
“Greetings to you,” she said calmly. “It is a warm day for travelling. You must be tired. Have you come far?”
“Far enough,” said the first man. “Will you let us water our horses at your trough before we go on?”
“Of course,” Renna said airily in the hope of appearing friendly and not suspicious. She had the distinct feeling they were coming in whether she agreed or not, so she decided to try to buy Melissa as much time as she could to find Vitruvius. “Can I offer you some refreshment? We have bread and cheese. It is not much, but I would willingly share it with you. Please come into the shade, my husband will be returning for lunch very soon.”
The men looked at each other and nodded. “That is most kind of you,” the first man replied. He opened the gate and led the horses through, tethering them to the post on the inside by the water trough. They followed Renna into the kitchen where she felt a little safer. Although she could not run far inside the house, she had plenty of weapons with which to defend herself.
The table was already laden with bread, cheese, olives and a jug of water. Renna put a flask of wine and two cups on the table and motioned for the men to sit. Neither man removed his cloak, making Renna even more certain that their intentions were not good. She backed up against the side table where a large kitchen knife was lying. Her body hid it from the men’s view. She put her hands on the table top, feeling for the handle and gripped it, ready to use it if necessary.
The first man took the flask of wine and poured some into a cup. He did not dilute it, but drank it straight down. “Not joining us?” he said, eying her carefully.
“I will wait for my husband. It would not be proper for a Roman matron to drink with two strangers unless he is present.” As soon as the words left her lips she cursed herself. Why did she say Roman? She knew they had not missed it.
“Been here long?” the man asked.
“Only a few months,” she replied. There was no point in her lying, not after her slip.
“Who was your friend?” Renna pretended she did not know who he meant, so he rephrased the question. “Outside – you sent her after the brat.”
“Oh her. She is just our slave. She can read and so teaches the child his letters, which is a good use for her, since she is useless at most other things.” Renna’s hand tightened on the knife she was holding behind her back.
“So there’s you, your husband, a boy and one slave? All moved here from Rome. When? About the same time as Caesar’s death?
“Yes,” Renna whispered the answer, her terror suddenly rising.
“Well then, that is good news for us.” The first man looked at his companion. “Looks like we found them,” he muttered, before returning his attentions to Renna. “And if you are the wife, we have a special message for you. Our mistress Servilia sends heartfelt wishes for your slow and painful death. She wants revenge for the betrayal of her son that you and your pet, Mark Antony, arranged. Good job that husband is not here as I would rather deal with him later.” The man stood, throwing off his cloak and drawing his sword “First I intend to enjoy you. I have never fucked a consul’s whore before. You must be very talented to have kept his interest for so long.” He ran the blade down Renna’s dress from her groin, tearing it in two. He pushed the flat of the blade against one of her thighs, trying to separate her legs. “Going to need to open those a bit, my dear. When I want a tight fit, I will look to the boy!”
Renna obligingly moved her legs apart and the man lowered his sword to raise his own tunic. In the split second he was distracted by his clothing, she pulled the knife round from behind her and drove it hard into his stomach, screaming as loudly as she could. The man stumbled backwards towards the table and Renna bolted for the door.
His colleague rose, drawing his blade. He managed to grab Renna by the hair and pulled her backwards. Throwing her across the table, he gripped her tightly round the throat. He had been completely taken off-guard by the sudden change of this woman from timid victim to wailing banshee. He looked at his associate writhing on the floor. Blood was now pouring from his wound and his mouth. Knowing his comrade was as good as dead, his eyes returned to Renna, who was frantically pulling at the hands roun
d her throat, trying to draw breath. He pushed the tip of his sword against her stomach. He would not waste his time with her, she was too much trouble. He slowly drove the blade upwards under her ribs, piercing her lungs. He took pleasure from watching the expression of excruciating pain on her face as she fought to breathe while her life ebbed away from her. He held Renna’s throat for a few more seconds until her body went limp beneath him.
A thudding noise from outside made him realise he would soon have company. He reached for the water jug and slipped behind the door to wait for the next victim.
Melissa found Antonius sitting at the back of the house, in the shade of the building. She pulled him up, telling him that she had a surprise for Vitruvius and they had to find him. She headed across the paddock towards the fields beyond, Antonius running happily in front of her.
Vitruvius saw them coming and waved. He guessed it was time for lunch and put down his tools. He drew his arm across his brow to wipe away the sweat that was dripping down his face and then crouched down, preparing to grab Antonius. As the little boy ran at him he swept him up, throwing him in the air, then catching him. Antonius squealed with delight.
As Melissa drew nearer he could see from her face that something was wrong. “What is it?” he said, as lightly as he could manage, ruffling Antonius’ hair as he put him down again.
“We have visitors,” Melissa replied with the same false lightness. “Two men. I believe they have brought a personal message from our consul. Renna is at the house with them.”
Vitruvius knew what Melissa meant. If Antony had sent men, the only message they carried was a violent one. His thoughts turned immediately to Renna. She was alone in the house with two of Antony’s thugs, where all manner of horrible things could be happening to her. He reached down and grabbed the shovel he had earlier discarded.
As he stood up, he gripped Melissa’s shoulder. “Take Antonius away from here.” He pulled his hand away and pointed to the far side of the field. “Go down to the river, then double back to the crossing in the woods. On the other side, turn upstream away from where we were camped with Caesar on the day we met. There is another farmhouse one mile over the hill on that side. They are good people, and will hide you. Do not return to this house unless I come for you.”
Melissa and Vitruvius exchanged a final look, but there was no need for words. They had been through so much together that neither needed to voice their fears for the other’s safety. Melissa grabbed Antonius tightly by the hand and watched as Vitruvius ran back across the field.
As Vitruvius entered the paddock, he heard Renna’s scream. It stopped him momentarily, filling him with terror mixed with panic. He shook the feeling off and then redoubled his pace, vaulting the fence at the far side and landing with a heavy thud. He ran straight round to the front of the house, no longer thinking of the danger he was facing. He burst through the door into the kitchen and came to a halt in front of the table where Renna lay, covered in blood, her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, drained of all life. He was too late. He had failed yet another woman he had grown to love.
Vitruvius’ thoughts were interrupted by a searing pain in his head. The room began to spin and he staggered forward and fell to the floor. The last sight he had was of two feet moving beside him.
Chapter 28
Blackness. Total, consuming blackness was all Vitruvius could see. The air was hot and stuffy and made it hard for him to breathe. His limbs were heavy and he was unable to move them, no matter how hard he tried. His head pounded as if it was being used as a drum by some unknown musician. Was he dead? Was this what the afterlife was like? Was he destined to spend eternity without movement or sight, but with conscious thought? He heard a rustling noise to the side of him and turned his head towards it even though he could not see where it was coming from. Fear surged through his body as he strained to listen for the noise again.
There was a sudden rush of air, and then blinding light. The searing pain in his head exploded as the glare filled his eyes. He closed them and turned his head away from the brightness until the pain subsided to its previous dull drumming. Slowly he re-opened his eyes and looked around. He was not dead after all. He was in the main room of the farmhouse.
He looked down at his body, which was tied to Melissa’s chair from the kitchen. The kitchen! The sight of Renna’s lifeless body lying across the table flew into his mind. He closed his eyes again as his body was wracked by a painful new sensation, but this pain was not a physical one. This time it was caused from an overwhelming sensation of grief tinged with guilt. He had promised to protect every member of his adopted family and now one of them was dead. What of the others? Would he see the bodies of Melissa and Antonius lying limply before him when he opened his eyes again? He screwed up his face, closing his eyes tighter as he tried to shut the image of Renna’s body out of his thoughts.
The rustling noise returned, this time behind him, accompanied by a sudden jerking on his arms. Vitruvius realised his bonds were being adjusted. His eyes shot open and he strained to move his arms again, hoping to break free, but it was pointless, since the knots were too tight.
An unfamiliar voice spoke to him. “Awake already? I thought you would be out for much longer. You have a hard head, my friend, but you Thirteenth boys always were tough bastards.” A man Vitruvius had never seen before walked into view. He was holding a thick black sack, which he had used to cover Vitruvius’ head; he was older than Vitruvius, but he had the look of a soldier about him − stocky, with well-defined arms that had once swung a sword for a living. He was most likely a veteran turned assassin, one of many who had been forced to find other ways to survive after their time in the legions had ended.
Vitruvius’ situation was hopeless. The assassin had tied him to the ridiculous chair he had made for Melissa, his arms bound behind him to the bars that formed the back. He cursed himself for ever making the wretched thing. The man had been extremely thorough, binding his ankles to the chair legs as well. This meant that he had lost his best opportunity to extricate himself. He had hoped that when the assassin left, he would be able to stand up, enabling him to smash the accursed chair against the wall. His only option now was to try to tip backwards, but, in doing this, he would land on his arms and might break those instead of the chair. He strained against the ropes holding him, until they burnt into his flesh. He could loosen them eventually, but it would take too much time − time that Antonius and Melissa did not have. Brute force was not going to help him. He had to think his way out of this. He began by asking the obvious question.
“Why have you come here? Antony gave his word he would leave us alone.”
“Did he now?” The assassin began walking around the chair in slow, endless circles with the intention of disorientating his victim. “Well, our consul is not so good at keeping his promises, is he? My employer knew that, but her son was taken in by your slut back there,” the man nodded at the kitchen behind Vitruvius. “Now he is gone and she is the one calling the shots. She cannot take revenge on Antony for his betrayal, but she can get to you. The witch is dead, Vitruvius, and you will join her soon enough. First though, I want to get the boy back here. My instructions were that you were both to feel the pain of his loss, same as the mistress felt the pain of losing her son. That one ...” the man nodded towards the kitchen again “... feels nothing, so now you alone will listen to his squeaking as I cut off his limbs.”
Vitruvius felt oddly relieved that Antony was not to blame and that these were Servilia’s men. Vitruvius knew Antony had spies everywhere and perhaps he already knew of this development. If so, then help could already be on the way to them. He knew the depth of Antony’s feelings for Melissa, and reasoned he might even come himself to rescue her. Of course, there was always the possibility that Antony was letting Servilia do his dirty work for him, thus erasing the only living link between him and Caesar’s conspirators. Whichever was the case, Vitruvius needed to buy more time.
“I have mo
ney.” he blurted out. “Let the boy live, and it is yours.”
He had said enough to rouse the assassin’s interest. The man stopped circling the chair. “How much?” he asked.
Vitruvius started low, expecting to barter. “A thousand denarii.”
The stranger barked a callous laugh. “She will pay more for his head than that!”
“Five thousand. Please! I will show you where it is, just swear you will let the boy go.”
The assassin began his circuit again. “What if I take the money and kill him anyway?”
As the assassin believed Melissa was already dead, Vitruvius decided to use this inaccuracy to his advantage. “Because the slave can get you double the amount back in Rome. The child is worth far more to Antony alive than he is to Servilia dead.”
The assassin stopped in front of Vitruvius and folded his arms. He was definitely interested in the offer. “Go on, I am listening,” he said.
“He is the consul’s son and the woman is his nurse. That is why I thought Antony had sent you. Lissa knew he would betray Brutus, so we stole Antony’s money and the boy, and came here. We wanted him for insurance, to stop Antony coming for us. The slave is the only one the boy trusts. He is a mischievous child, but she can control him. Return them to Antony and receive the reward you truly deserve.” Vitruvius said these words aloud, whilst thinking to himself, and you will, when Antony rips out your throat with his bare hands!
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