I smiled and turned away.
He called out, “Do you understand, that if you wish to hurt Rome, freeing Armin’s son is likely the worst thing you can do to them?”
I smiled.
No, it was not. Mad Tiberius and Caligula were.
I rode away from the war. I had to find Agamemnon, the Pig, and Red.
And I had to see if they had succeeded.
For if Gaius would be Sejanus’s little spy, he would need to know things Sejanus would appreciate. He would know much already. I’d throttle that source of information.
But only if Red had succeeded.
And he had.
CHAPTER 14 (Rome, A.D. 23, September 1st)
I sat in a tavern, near the Forum of Augustus. Moneylenders and tradesmen were overwhelmed with customers, and the colorful fabrics sold by a virtual army of foreign traders attracted a particularly brisk trade.
I was looking at the table, where a red cloth was draped to hang to the ground.
Every first day of each week, Claudius would come, or not, if Gaius failed to find the bravery to follow through with what we had agreed on.
We waited and sweated.
“There,” said Red. He sounded mildly disappointed, for he, like all the others who knew about my plans, was terrified of them.
I lifted my head and saw the figure of the idiot Claudius, walking amid the crowds, wearing a tunic. He looked like a drooling fool, a man with the appearance of one twice his age—wrinkled, a cripple indeed, and his ears were huge like an elephant’s.
It was not his fault. And still, he was odd and made you want to leave to the other direction, when he approached. I had known many ugly men, or crippled ones, and Claudius was different.
Nervous. That’s it.
He had no companions, and nobody knew him there. He had no offices, no position. He was rarely with his family, anywhere.
Indeed, even the moneylenders avoided him, thinking him a beggar.
“Gaius has trained him well,” I said. “He is dressed like a peasant.”
“I wonder,” Red told me. “Hurry up, for we have our own business to attend to.”
I nodded and got up. I pulled my hood low over my face and walked for the table.
Red had found Pompeia. Or, at least, he thought he had.
Agamemnon was preparing to get in there. Pig was out already. Our house, hidden in the Subura, in an old temple, was prepared.
We would have to hurry.
I sat down on the table. I waited there and watched Claudius. The man was fingering some grapes, and fondling an orange, and seemed to be having a discussion with himself, or the orange. I cursed him and looked around the area.
There was nothing.
Nothing out of ordinary. People.
“I see nothing odd,” Red said. “But we must check every time.”
I looked around.
Then I was startled by a shadow of the man, and Claudius sat down. He looked as nervous as a rat in a cat’s mouth and seemed to shake out of his wrinkled skin. Red got up, and walked away, tugging at his cowl.
I hummed. I tried to think of a way to open the discussion. “Are you married?”
He stammered, and then nodded. “Sort of.”
I laughed, and he relaxed visibly. “Sort of. So, you are in the middle of wives.”
He murmured. “I suppose I am. But I am…a nobody.”
“Well,” I said, “you are someone now. A friend to a god.”
He was scratching his neck. “Yes. The young, cruel master, Caligula—”
“He hates that word,” I reminded him.
“But fools get to use such words,” Claudius said sadly. “I am grateful to him. In a way, I am. Not even Antonia can stomach me, my own mother. Livilla hates me. And Tiberius will not let me into the Senate, not even to gape…gape.” He nearly choked on his words and then got control of himself, panting. “So, I suppose even a child’s friendship is important.”
“How much do you know of the child?” I asked.
He scratched his nose. “Only that he is divine. He told me.”
His face did not so much as twitch.
I could not read it.
“I am trying to help the boy,” I said. “Do you know who I am?”
He stared at my lower face. He saw a beard, my powerful jaw, and then, a bit of scar. He shook his head. “I know not. Should I be worried?”
“As long as you are allowed here without guards,” I told him. “You should be safe.”
“Safe,” he said sadly. “I doubt I shall ever know the word’s meaning.”
“It is how the world has been built, eh?” I said and pushed to him a vial of something dangerous.
He took it and eyed it carefully. He smiled gently. “I suppose I must not taste this?”
“Let Caligula have it,” I told him. “And then, keep close to him.”
He nodded and leaned back. He looked around and took a deep breath. “It is a relief to be out of there.”
“It is,” I said. “No doubt.”
“He likes to meet with Sejanus these days,” Claudius said. “I do not…like…like him.”
He made me nervous too. “Every week, the first day of week, here. This time. If there is no red cloth, we have nothing to speak about. But make sure you listen to your young master and let me know his thoughts and needs.”
He smiled and got up. He looked at the vial. “You know, he already has something like this.”
“What does he have, Claudius?” I asked him.
He looked extremely nervous now. His face was like wax. “This is…it is…spices.”
“Good,” I said. “Don’t talk about these spices with anyone.”
I got up and left.
Later, I leaned on a wall, not far, and watched, as the man finally left for Palatine.
Nobody was following him.
I grinned. Then I turned and followed Red.
We would steal something precious from Sejanus, if we were lucky.
***
The house was inside Rome’s limits, but only barely. Near Forum Bovarium again, it was a half abandoned insulae in the valley. Painted pale blue and with formerly white window shutters, it looked sinister. The portico was a mass of shadows.
Agamemnon was standing near me, and Red close by. The Pig was behind the house.
They had spent many a night seeking the praetorians they had seen with Sejanus, and they had had to break down many men before they found a house Sejanus liked to visit when he was feeling particularly cruel.
It was clear Pompeia was spared to be questioned. They would do it there.
But sometimes, Sejanus wanted to do it himself.
“I saw him once. The bastard goes in there, and someone screams,” Agamemnon said. “That’s where he holds the people he should execute but doesn’t want to. It is a hole of Hades.”
I closed my eyes and broached a topic Red had warned me about.
“It is possible, friend—”
“We are not friends,” he said. “Maybe in the afterlife.”
“It is possible she is—”
He pushed me to wall and gazed up to my eyes. He shook his head.
I nodded. He let go of me.
Then he went ahead to wait. “The vigiles passed just before we came. None will be here for hours.”
“I know,” I said. He had told me many times. So had Red, who was not far with a bow, hissing in shadows.
The Greek was unhappy and fidgeting.
He was unlike himself.
Impatient.
His curved, small sword was under his cloak, and he was staring up to the windows. He snorted. “This Pompeia is there. I am sure of it. What is left of her. He has held her a prisoner to find all he can about her past, and if you have spoken true of her, I doubt she is the type to break down and spill her news easily. Months and months of torture. If she is dead, we only must kill Sejanus to be even. And you take care of Tiberius. And your mad plans that will leave
everyone in tears.”
He spoke of such murders as if they were commonplace.
“What I don’t understand,” called out Red, “is this. What if he has already found out all this woman has to tell him? What would Gaius give him?”
“We’ll invent things, if we must,” I said darkly.
“And if,” Red went on, “Gaius tells him secrets from this woman, and even if the woman tells you some of them, how will Gaius explain where he got them from?”
“Agrippina,” I said. “He shall tell Sejanus Agrippina hides scrolls and scrolls of them. That he was right all along. That there was a connection with Agrippina and Pompeia after all.”
“You are one terrible bastard,” he said.
I ignored him. “We’ll take her alive,” I reminded him. “And then we shall speak with her. When we are done, you may punish her for the honor of the house. Not today, but later.”
Red sneered. “You are no better than Sejanus is.”
“Except I won’t torture her, no matter what she has done, and deserves,” I said. “We will simply remove her from Sejanus’s claws. And then, we will give Sejanus plenty to think about. Or, Gaius will. He will love Gaius after that. And when Drusus dies?” I smiled. “He will be bolder than ever.”
Agamemnon spat in disgust.
Red muttered curses.
It was a wicked plan indeed.
Agamemnon grunted. “Fine. We will guard her. And later, she perishes. Varro is gone, the evil shit, and most of the others. But it will be a comfort to catch this fish.”
And Julia, if she was there.
She was likely dead.
Or sold as a slave.
“What’s in there?” I asked. “Anything you know?”
He shrugged. “Someone lives on the bottom floor. They open the shades, and someone stands there. But I guess that is something we shall find out soon enough. There is only the front door. And someone might escape from the windows. Red will be here to deal with that.”
Then he walked forward.
The wide, terrifying monster walked across the street with short, fast steps, and seemed to move fast enough to avoid the raindrops that were pummeling the roofs of Rome.
He went for the doorway, and hefting a small amphora of wine, he pushed to it.
It was open.
I was following him. I saw him wave a hand at someone. “Good man! May I take shelter in the stairway? It is raining like Hera’s tears out here. I would share the wine!”
He showed the amphora to the man.
Normally, any door guard would say, ‘no,’ and lift a cudgel to rid the house from such vermin. That was their job. That, and emptying the piss buckets in the stairways.
This one stared at the bottle of wine.
Then he grinned and stepped forward, gesturing with his hand.
I saw Agamemnon move. The sword was out and slashed up so hard, the man seemed to die instantly. First, his face was alive, and then, devoid of life, a look of puzzlement on his face. He fell over the blade, and Agamemnon pushed him to the floor, cringing as the cudgel dropped.
We went inside.
We listened to the sound of dripping water and then looked at the ground.
There was trash all over, and the insula was filthy from floor to ceiling. Then we heard something rolling on a table. It was the distinct sound of dice on a board.
He nodded at me and crept along like a shadow.
The man hated, or at least disliked me. But he was my ally in that dark place, and I thanked him for it silently. His head was swiveling left and right, and then he was carefully observing the corner of the first level.
He looked back at me and lifted a finger to his mouth. He nodded inside.
I peeked from behind his back.
Inside, there were three men. One was asleep on a bed near the windows.
Two were throwing dice on their boards, and playing the game, mumbling softly. They were brutes, not soldiers, and hired hands for Sejanus. Such criminals were plentiful in Rome, and these were no exception.
I shrugged at him.
He nodded and gave way. “Your turn,” he mouthed.
I grinned, took a long breath, and went in first.
I walked as silently as I could, still stepping on rubble, and they both looked up lazily, expecting their guard friend.
“Who was it?” asked one, a thick lipped bald bastard.
“Death,” I said, as I went for them. “Death came calling.” I attacked.
They reacted surprisingly fast. One grasped a pugio from his belt and held it in front of him, backpedaling. The other one pushed the table at me and lifted a cudgel.
I kicked the table over the sleeping man, who sat up, bewildered, thrashing with the table and a blanket.
I went straight for the cudgel wielding man.
The cudgel came for me hard, and I blocked it with my left arm and slashed the blade to the man’s throat. He gurgled and fell back against the wall. I turned and watched Agamemnon trying to get near the thick-lipped bastard, who was stepping back and back. The sleeping man was groping for his weapon amid the folds of his blanket, and I growled and kicked his head to the wall so hard it clearly flattened.
The last man grinned and jumped to the window, pushed open the shutters, and then jumped down.
Agamemnon smiled and turned.
We heard a muffled scream outside, as Red killed the man with a bow.
We walked to the stairway. There, the next level was unusable. The apartments had been closed, both doorways nailed shut, and what lay beyond those doors, was a mystery we did not want to delve into.
On the third level, a man was waiting for us.
It was a wide, tall praetorian, his sword out, and Agamemnon growled. The soldier looked down at us with utter horror.
Especially at me.
He knew my face.
“You!” he gasped. “It is not possible!”
“It is me you should fear, you arse licking dog-kisser,” Agamemnon snarled and attacked. I followed him closely.
I had to be fast, for Agamemnon was not thinking straight. He went up the stairs many at a time, filled with impatience.
From the sides, surged two men, both young.
One had a Pretorian cloak, and the other was naked, his cock wet, and I knew what he had been doing.
Both had swords, though.
Agamemnon’s sword cut right and left, and he blocked the soldier’s sword with his arm, which cut to the leather manica under his tunic. The soldier slammed his fist forward, and Agamemnon’s sword carved to that arm, and then the two fell in a tangle of legs.
The two other soldiers were hovering over the two, and I slipped behind the clothed one and slid the blade to his back, ramming it past the ribs. He fell fast, and the other one roared, and swung.
I hammered my hilt on his face, crumbling him on the corner.
I leaned over him and slid my gladius to his cock, cutting up, all the way over his belly to his chest and watching the bastard die.
I turned around, and around, and then walked for the fighting pair.
The soldier and Agamemnon were struggling mightily. They were trying to free their weapons, desperate for a kill, but it was clear they were both too close and pummeled at each other instead.
Finally, Agamemnon let go of his sword and wrapped his powerful, huge hand around the other man’s throat. They struggled on the floor, and the soldier was clawing and beating Agamemnon ruthlessly, though he was weakening. He was wheezing, making small, desperate sounds, and then he was groping, and I saw a pugio.
I lunged, and my blade cut to the arm, but the blade sunk to Agamemnon’s side, though not deep.
Agamemnon was shuddering with pain, hissing, and then, I heard a nasty snap.
The soldier went silent, and still.
Agamemnon leaned his head on the man’s face and then got up, examining his wound. “Zeus is on my side,” he whispered. “He is a proper god. The bastard failed to stab me w
ell.”
I smiled and squeezed his shoulder. “And I had nothing to do with it. Come. Let us see what they hold here.”
He closed his eyes and took a step forward, shaking with fear.
And in there, were two people.
One was Julia.
In a cell built of iron, she was shivering and dirty. She looked terrified and half dead.
I swallowed my rage, but Agamemnon did not. He stepped outside and, roaring, hacked the rapist to pieces. His rage went on, and on, echoing in the insula.
I went after him and kicked him in the arse.
He whirled, his face a demonic mask of murder. “She needs you,” I hissed. “She thinks you cannot handle it. Can you? Shall I go tell her you are a coward?”
He shook there and closed his eyes.
Then he walked in there, and crawled to the cage, his eyes running with tears.
I watched the other cage.
Then, in a similar cage, was Pompeia.
She was sitting in a corner, amid her droppings and piss, her once fine dress in tatters. Her fingers were broken and her eyes still clever.
“Well,” she whispered. “I suppose I will die at your hands, rather than his. I don’t complain.”
I snarled. “I wouldn’t count my blessings quite yet, you murderous madwoman.”
She shook her head and held her face. She nodded. “I would be out of here. Unless you came to kill me.”
I thumbed at Agamemnon. “I think they will indeed want to kill you one day. But not yet.”
She looked at Agamemnon, whispering to Julia, and shook her head. “There were others. They died. They kept me. And her. She served the soldiers food and cleaned. Some…” she went quiet and had tears in her eyes. She wiped them clear. “We can discuss more elsewhere.”
I nodded. “We have a hideout.”
Agamemnon came to me, his eyes haunted and wild, Julia in his arms, and nodded. “Let us take them, then. I am sorry I…”
“I am too,” I said. “But she needs you.” With that, I took an oil lamp and poured the burning oil on the floors and the beds.
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