“Obulco gagged Rix while Budar and I tied his hands and feet,” Crispus said. “But the stinking pimp continued to struggle, until Budar put a dagger to his throat and threatened to run him through unless he stopped resisting.” Crispus continued, saying that Rix gave up. They carried the Gaul to a horse, placed him face down across the saddle, and traveled about ten miles up the River Axe to where it entered a black cave, the freezing water running chest high on their mounts.
Inside, their torches revealed a wide, pebbled shore along the slow-swirling water’s edge, but failed to illuminate the high ceiling. As the group spurred their animals up the bank onto dry land, they startled a swarm of bats that streamed out the cavern.
“Obulco was eager to torture Rix,” Crispus said, “but Budar said to wait. He had his own way to handle Rix.”
“Aye, he would,” I said. “What torment did he devise for the butcher?”
“Your uncle ordered the Germans to tie Rix’s arms and legs to four separate horses,” Crispus said.
The mounts slowly stretched him in opposite directions until he screamed for mercy, the agonizing sounds echoing off the shadowy walls. Budar threatened to tear him apart unless he spilled the truth about Kyar. Rix refused. The horses continued stretching his limbs. The Gaul screamed louder, filling the cave with the wails of pain and horror. Budar warned he wouldn’t halt unless Rix cooperated.
A horse whinnied at the far end of the stable interrupting Crispus’s tale. We both turned in that direction. No one.
“Rix confessed, Marcellus,” Crispus continued. “It happened just as Sigrid described, but worse.”
“What could be worse?”
“After he had beaten and kicked her, Kyar miscarried and bled to death, right in front of Sigrid and Rix in her cubicle. They couldn’t stop the bleeding.” Crispus hesitated.
“Go on, don’t stop now,” I ordered, even as my mind reeled at the sickening revelation.
“After Kyar died, Rix forced Sigrid to wrap her blood-spattered body in a blanket and weight it down with large stones,” Crispus continued.
Late that evening he and his cronies carried Kyar’s body down to the river where they had camped for the night. Rix swore he couldn’t remember its exact location. They led the horse, carrying her body out into the current, and released her corpse into its murky depths. Upon returning to camp, Rix threatened to kill Sigrid and the other slaves if they said anything.
“Then what did you do with him?” I asked.
Crispus snorted. A smile, one that seemed to be of satisfaction, crossed the lips of his narrow face. “Budar told Rix his soul would suffer Kyar’s fate. He screamed for mercy.” Crispus went on to describe that Rix offered Budar his entire fortune, but his uncle said he didn’t deserve mercy and wouldn’t touch his filthy money. He ran the murdering Gaul through the testicles with his sword. Rix howled. Crispus, Obulco, and the Germans untied him from the horses and dropped him roughly to the hard-packed ground. Tying stones to his mangy hide, they dragged him deeper into the cave’s recesses. As Rix screamed for mercy, Obulco jammed a stinging centipede down his throat. They threw him into the deep-running stream, the splashing resounded through the cavern. He sank straight to the bottom.
“Rix has paid for Kyar’s murder,” Crispus concluded. “She’s with the gods, and these accursed spirits will let her rest in peace.” He placed a hand to his chest and blessed himself.
“For her sake, I hope they exist.” A sense of relief flowed through my mind now that Rix was dead. Although she had been avenged by my family, I had been cheated out of vengeance that was rightfully mine. Was she truly at rest? The doubts still lingered. Nothing seemed to matter. Everything appeared unreal. How could she be gone? Our love was too genuine to ever die. And I still had to repay Gallus.
*
About midmorning, Budar appeared at the stables just as I was saddling Argento for patrol. My headache was finally fading away.
“I heard about Rix, Uncle,” I said. “Thanks for taking care of him.”
He halted before me, and with a hand reached out and briefly touched my shoulder. “Aye. Now it’s done, and I’m leaving.”
“Good idea, Gallus is bound to become suspicious about his disappearance.”
Budar scanned the area. “That’s why I’m here. Crispus didn’t tell you everything.”
For a couple of heartbeats I studied his craggy face. “He said Rix was dead, that’s enough. Kyar’s dead. What more could there be?”
“It was Gallus who ordered Kyar’s death.”
At first, a sense of disbelief numbed my consciousness. The bridle I placed over Argento’s head slipped off. I grabbed the leather straps, but he nearly choked on the snaffle bit as it wrenched free from his mouth into my hands. Slowly, my mind cleared, and I understood Gallus’s part in Kyar’s death. Rage surged to the forefront of my thoughts. The muscles in my chest and limbs tightened like the cords on a catapult. “The son-of-a-whore!”
“Careful, Nephew!” Budar warned. “Others not as sympathetic might hear.”
I turned away, fighting back the hate in my soul, the urge to commit murder. Facing him once more, I asked, “Why? What was she to him?”
“Nothing, and that’s the object. The whoremaster told me everything.” Budar related it was Gallus who had a buyer for the buckle. The tribune learned Rix had received the buckle from me and knew its true value. He could sell it for enough money to buy my family’s property without involving a loan from his father.
“Gallus made a deal with Rix,” Budar added, “giving him twenty percent of the profits. Rix had no choice if he wanted to stay in business, but he’d still make a small fortune.”
Budar continued. Gallus had learned the buckle was missing, and Kyar was the suspected thief. He ordered that she was to be tortured until she confessed, and then to kill her after revealing the hiding place. Unfortunately, Rix took it upon himself to viciously beat a confession out of Kyar before receiving his instructions. She died, telling him nothing.”
A roar like a stormy sea breaking against the cliff rushed into my ears. My chest tightened, and I balled my fists at my side, but I kept my mouth shut while Budar spoke.
“Gallus was confident you couldn’t touch him,” Budar said, “because you’d need proof of his involvement. An Iberian’s word against a senator’s son is worthless in court, Roman citizen notwithstanding.”
“That dirty shit eater.” I wanted revenge, but dared not lift a hand against an officer. So long as I remained under Gallus’s command, I had to pretend ignorance. But I swore one day to take vengeance.
“I hate telling you,” Budar continued, “but you had to know. You must be strong, the family mustn’t be disgraced.”
I threw the jumbled bridle to the ground. “Always the damn family! What about me? What about Kyar?”
“Easy, Marcellus . . . Son,” Budar said quietly, as he placed a hand on my shoulder. “Your loss is painful, I know, but don’t try anything foolish. Killing Gallus would mean your execution and confiscation of the latifundia. Your mother would lose everything your father worked for. Remember, legally you’re head of the family, not her. That isn’t what you want. It won’t bring Kyar back.”
“I know . . . I know,” I answered slowly, as my sanity returned.
“I figured you’d see the reasoning. The family fortune would have been washed out to sea, forever.”
“Did Gallus know Kyar was pregnant?” I asked.
“It’s doubtful. It wouldn’t have mattered to him, but when Rix discovered she was, he got angry. He planned to resell Kyar, and knew her value would drop on the auction block. That’s why he forced your woman to abort by kicking her, and you know the rest.”
Budar eyed me for a few minutes before continuing. “Your body looks awfully tight, can I trust you not to do anything stupid?”
“Yes, Uncle.” I exhaled. “I promise not to wring Gallus’s fucking neck.”
He touched my shoulder again. “Good ma
n, there’ll be another time and another way. Be patient, the stars aren’t right for vengeance.”
My uncle turned to leave but stopped. “I almost forgot, there’s one other matter.”
“What’s left?”
“Sigrid, she gave me the buckle.” Budar’s eyes searched the stable, and then he pulled out the object from inside his tunic. “I’m returning it to your mother for safekeeping.”
I started to object, but realized the wisdom of his decision. “Under the circumstances, it’s for the best.”
“Good thinking, Nephew, I agree.”
“Where did Sigrid find Father’s buckle?”
A thin smile crossed Budar’s lips. He snorted. “In Kyar’s monthly women’s cloths. Rix didn’t search there.”
“What about Sigrid? Won’t she be in danger?” I looked around—only horses in the adjacent stalls and the two of us.
“I doubt it. I went to Rix’s place this morning, as if I knew nothing about last night. When his henchmen said he’d disappeared, naturally I faked ignorance and disbelief. I said I wanted to buy Sigrid. He’d offered her to me a few days before. They said I’d have to wait for his return.”
“But he won’t.”
“Right, but she’ll be safe—trust me.” Budar exhaled. “Now, I’m leaving. Remember my warning, stay out of trouble.”
Chapter 20
Later, after Budar departed, my squadron mounted up. I led a patrol into charcoal hills to the north, a hostile area not completely under Roman control. An hour had passed when the squadron came upon a grove of half-circled ash trees at the foot of a high gorge. Again, we stumbled upon a deserted place of worship used by the Druids. The nearby spring was dry and weed-filled. A few old and corroded votive ornaments remained on the brown, woody branches. Yet, in its presence, I sensed a feeling of peace—something I needed to experience, if only for a little while. I signaled for a halt and waved Crispus to my side.
“Budar told me about Gallus.”
Crispus’s face tightened, and he stared at his reins. “Sorry, Marcellus, but he made me promise.”
I waved off the apology. “You’re an arsehole for not telling me, but I understand.”
Glancing about, I came to a decision. “Take over the patrol, Crispus, I’m staying here for a while.”
His dark eyes narrowed. “Do you know what you’re doing? You could be charged with desertion.” He turned in the direction of grove. “This place is bewitched.”
“By the condition of this grove I’d say the spirits left long ago.”
He twisted in his saddle toward the other riders. Their eyes seemed to be searching about—for something evil? “What do I tell the men?”
“You don’t,” I snapped. Then in a milder voice I added, “Let them believe Mugain’s witch curse caused me to stop and worship their gods.”
“They might believe you, but I don’t. What’s your true reason for stopping here?”
“It’s something I can’t explain. I saw this grove and knew I had to stop. Don’t ask why, because I don’t have an answer.”
Crispus shrugged. “I think it’s strange, but if anything happens to you, what do I tell Corribilo?”
“Simply tell him you were following orders, but nothing will happen.”
He frowned. “All right, but I say it’s madness. Where should we meet you later?”
“Here. Give me a couple of hours.”
“A couple of hours!” he exclaimed in a loud whisper. “In these hills? It’s too dangerous.” He studied the sky as thick, slate-colored clouds formed overhead and turned back toward me. “There’s a storm brewing.”
“Easy, Crispus, nothing is going to happen, I promise. Now go!”
He shook his head and turned his dappled gray mare away, but glanced back once again as if he were seeing me for the last time. He and the troopers headed up the nearby ravine.
I dismounted Argento, strapped my flat, oval shield beneath the saddle blanket, and tied him to the limb of a tree near the old spring. A longsword hung from my baldric, and I carried a lance in my hand as I trudged from tree to tree searching for what I know not. The clouds darkened, and a light drizzle began. The scar on my face itched as it always does when it rained. Lightning flashed in the distance.
Seconds later, a loud crack of thunder echoed above. The tapping sound of cold rain struck my helmet and ran down both sides of my face and neck, onto my shoulders and down my back. It soaked through my woolen uniform to the skin. I shuddered. Despite my growing misery, I soon found myself lost in thoughts of Kyar, but not for long.
Argento grew restless, nervously pawing the ground, swinging his head from side to side. I returned to the hazel tree and comforted him. In a futile attempt to stay dry, I wrapped the soaking cloak tightly around my shoulders. If Jupiter was kind, the storm would quickly pass.
More than likely the patrol would find shelter in one of the hill’s many caves until it ended. I rammed the iron-pointed butt of my lance into the clay mud and patted Argento’s black mane. I soothed the nervous dark bay with gentle words and considered leading him to cover of a large shrubbery wood. But memories of Kyar rushed into my mind like ocean waves breaking on the rocks. The wind whistled through surrounding trees as the thunder grew more intense.
Sharp blasts of frigid air raked the forest’s naked limbs. And despite the claps of thunder, the wind’s sound grew eerie and haunting. Was it my imagination? The longer the wind blew, the more it sounded like a woman’s voice—Kyar’s. Was I going mad? Had I truly fallen under the spell of the sorceress Mugain? I shook my head, somehow thinking I could erase the curse from my mind. The voice grew louder and clearer, echoing over and over again.
“Marcellus,” the voice beckoned, a drawn-out echo. “Marcellus . . . us . . . us.”
Vainly, I stared into the blinding rain, searching the radiant glow of lightning flashes. The voice rang out again, but nothing appeared except the towering, brush-covered limestone cliff across the trail. Again, I heard my name, this time in a haunting, near-whispering tone.
“Marcellus.”
Another bolt of lightning seared the sky, and for an instant I saw an apparition—the outline of Kyar flitting towards me. I closed and opened my eyes. In my heart, I strained to believe Kyar was real.
Her hands beckoned me.
Darkness fell again. Seconds later, another flash, the phantom drew closer.
This is madness, I’m bewitched. But I had to learn if this ghost was real. Releasing my grip on Argento’s mane, I cautiously moved in the direction of the shimmering image.
A thunderclap exploded.
Argento whinnied and violently snapped the scrubby limb he had been tied to and galloped into the darkness. Damn!
Alone. Thunder grew louder and closer with each lightning bolt. Magically, Kyar leapt nearer with each series of blinding flashes. When the image reappeared, she was at arm’s length. The spirit placed the palms of her hands together and rested them against the side of her head. I understood the meaning. Still, I reached out, only to grab emptiness.
“KYAR, don’t go!” I cried aloud. “KYAR, don’t go!” In vain, I grabbed thin air. I clasped my face with both hands. I’m going mad! I shook my head attempting to suppress tears and grief.
The stories are true. The hills and forests are possessed by demons and witches. Have I not been cursed by one? Why else am I seeing Kyar, knowing she is dead?
I stood soaked in the windswept rain, chilled. I didn’t care. Too numb and no longer wanting to contain my grief, I cried aloud, my curse lost in the roaring thunder. “Oh, gods! Why did you take her from me? Why did you take away my Kyar? Why?” I cried over and over, demanding an answer from the heavens until my voice grew hoarse.
I sank to the muddy earth, my head between my knees.
Something hard struck me on the back of the head. A searing pain shot through my body followed by unstoppable, overwhelming darkness.
*
I awoke to a clear, crisp nig
ht. Countless stars filled the sky above the skeletal trees. Then I recalled my vision of Kyar. Had I experienced a bad dream? A stinging pain shot through the left side of my head. I removed my dented helmet and touched the swelling lump with my fingers. The evening breeze soothed me. A large tree limb lay at my side, its broken end seared and blackened by lightning. No dream was this.
Struggling to my feet, I clamped my helmet back on my head, wrung out my rain-soaked cloak, and trudged toward camp. Hungry and freezing, I prayed to stay free of pneumonia, killer of many good soldiers. I found my lance, scorched, split in two, laying on the muddy ground. Picking up the two jagged pieces, obviously struck by lightning, I examined them. The blade on one section was in good shape, dirty but still sharp. The iron-pointed butt on the other piece remained intact as well. I thought about discarding them, but decided against it. There was enough left of the two segments that they could be remade into short but deadly stickers by an enterprising barbarian. I carried them with me as I hiked along the branch-strewn trail.
A brilliant moon bathed the woods in a pale-white glow. By its position overhead, I must have been unconscious for at least a couple of hours. If that were the case, where was the squadron? They should have returned to the grove.
Soft shadows seemed to hush the night sounds, and the soothing calmness of nature fell upon me. No doubt Argento found his way home—he was intelligent for a horse. How would I explain to Corribilo the loss of a patrol—a court-martial offense.
I hadn’t gone far when I discovered Argento peacefully grazing in a nearby meadow. He tossed his head, nickered a greeting, and trotted to my side. The last being unusual for Argento. Usually, horses are more concerned with eating than paying attention to their masters.
I dropped the broken pieces of the lance and stroked the little barb’s mane and patted his soft nose and cheek, speaking kind words. He nudged me and nibbled at the sleeve of my tunic before I gently pushed his head away. For some reason a feeling of relief and inner peace swelled within me. It was as if Argento’s appearance was a reassuring sign from Kyar that everything was well.
The Broken Lance Page 16
