The Shield of Rome

by William Kelso

  “You mentioned a name?” Adonibaal said.

  “Yes,” she said triumphantly, “and do you know who owns that house now. Quintus Fabius Maximus. If only that old puritan knew what had gone on under his bed,” she laughed again and gulped down the last of her wine.

  Adonibaal was fully alert now.

  “Could you show me how to get into that tunnel?” he asked.

  She looked at him with a big smile, “Of course, but there are no parties there anymore, my darling Centurion.”

  Adonibaal smiled and placed another glass of wine in her hand.

  “You can take me home if you like,” he whispered in her ear, “I will be there just for you, no one else. Do with me what you like.”

  At the same time his hand wondered down to her naked thighs.

  She giggled and he could see she was worn out and drunk. “Well that sounds like a nice idea”, she murmured, “but my husband…”

  “He won’t return for a week”, he said finishing the sentence for her.

  She rolled her eyes and sighed as his fingers entered her. “Take me home, you big brute”, she gasped.

  ***

  Milo’s thugs were drunk as Adonibaal stopped in the doorway of the guard room. He glanced casually at their leader.

  “Where is Milo?” he asked him.

  The man shrugged but said nothing. Around the boisterous table most of the men were too pissed to notice him. One the men tucked away in a corner bent down to undo his sandals. Adonibaal turned away. Fuck them he thought. He didn’t need them anymore. Marcella had given him another way in. It was time to leave but he wasn’t leaving without Centurion. He’d already found out where the weapons were stored. The weapons room was on the second floor. He reached it with a few strides. Someone was having a sex in a room next door. He could hear the banging of a bed post against the wall. The thug on duty in the weapons room never saw him coming. Adonibaal smashed his fist into the man’s face sending him flying backwards onto the floor. With another blow the man was unconscious. It was over in less than a couple of seconds.

  Adonibaal glanced at the array of weapons on the shelves. Then he snatched Centurion from the pile and examined the blade. The sword was undamaged and he smiled as if he’d been reunited with an old friend. He always felt naked without Centurion.

  He tucked Centurion under his tunic and went back down stairs and found Marcella where he had left her. A drunken naked man was slobbering over her trying to get her to wake up. Adonibaal lifted him off her and flung him into a corner as if he was a sack of flour. Then he slipped his arm under Marcella’s armpits and got her up upon her feet. Quickly he closed her toga and slipped on her shoes. The naked man in the corner was groaning, his hand holding his head from which blood was oozing onto the wall.

  Marcella could walk but she was very drunk and he had to support her most of the way. He’d noticed that the main doors had been bolted, so he took her back upstairs to the first floor. The thug who guarded the weapons was still out cold on the floor but the banging of the bedpost had subsided. Adonibaal steered them towards the first floor window, flung open the shutters and poked his head outside. It was pitch black and he could see nothing. Behind him he could hear a door opening. Quickly he lifted her up in his arms. She weighed nothing and then he jumped. They hit the alley with a thud and he heard her gasp but he managed to get his body to soften the blow and she didn’t seem to wake from her stupor. He grimaced as he rose to his feet. He could hear the dull noise of the party coming from behind the closed door, then a shout of alarm. They must have found the thug on the floor.

  Quickly he vanished down the dark alley carrying Marcella. She had flung her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder, babbling incoherently to herself. There was no moon tonight and he had trouble trying to orientate but eventually he found his way out of the maze of alleys. There was no sound of pursuit.

  She had told him that she lived in a house on the Caelian. He had to waken her in order to get her to show her which house was hers. Eventually she managed to find it. By this time Adonibaal was covered in sweat and his arms felt limp and heavy. She giggled as he laid her down on a couch. The house was a modest affair which reflected the woman’s status in society; just a few rooms clustered around a tiny atrium and no garden or slaves. They weren’t rich enough to afford slaves she muttered. For a while he stayed with her until he was certain she was asleep. Then quietly he rose and examined his surroundings with the aid of a small oil lamp. The house was perfect and so was his cover he thought turning to glance at the woman.

  ***

  She slept until the sun was already well established in the sky. Adonibaal dozed in a chair at her side. He was still clad in the old army tunic that Milo had given him for the party. When she did finally wake he could see that her mood had changed. She glanced at him uncertainly and then blushed with sudden embarrassment.

  “How did I get home,” she muttered.

  “I brought you home,” Adonibaal replied. “Don’t you remember?”

  “Yes I remember.” As she rolled out of bed she refused to look at him. She fumbled nervously with her clothes. Adonibaal watched in silence.

  “You may leave,” she said when she was dressed.

  “Last night,” Adonibaal said ignoring her, “you mentioned something about a tunnel leading from the sewers into a house that is now owned by Quintus Fabius Maximus. Can you show me how to find the entrance?”

  “Did you not hear me, I said you may leave,” she said angrily.

  Adonibaal rose slowly to his feet.

  “I am sorry. I can’t leave without knowing how to get to that tunnel.”

  She stared at him with growing fury. “I shall tell Milo about your behaviour,” she hissed, “He will have your balls cut off. Now get out, slave.”

  But Adonibaal shook his head and when she made for the doorway he moved to block her. She stared at him in disbelief.

  “I have to know how to get to that tunnel,” he said sharply.

  She backed away from him and suddenly she looked afraid.

  “What are you going to do to me?” her lower lip quivered. “My husband, he will be back soon, he will be here shortly.”

  “He won’t be back for a week,” Adonibaal folded his arms across his chest. “Just tell me how to get to this tunnel and I will leave.”

  She continued to back away from him, desperately glancing around the room for an escape route but there was none.

  “I...I remember we exited the sewers not far from the house. There was an inspection shaft with a ladder,” she stared at him confused. “Why do you want to know? It happened years ago.”

  “Is that all that you can remember?” Adonibaal sounded disappointed.

  She nodded. Adonibaal stared at her for a long moment. Then he turned towards the main house door.

  “Gods, you are that assassin who tried to kill Fabius,” Marcella suddenly gasped raising a hand to her mouth. “That’s why you want to know about the tunnel.”

  Adonibaal froze in his tracks. He had his back turned to her and she did not see the sudden coldness in his eyes.

  ***

  Titus heard the shout of alarm from the floor above. A few moments later a red faced Milo came running down the stairs. The makeup around his eyes was smudged and his usual cool had gone. He looked agitated.

  “Get up. He’s done a runner.” Milo yelled at the startled thugs in the guard room. “Quintus is out cold on the floor. The bastard must have returned for his sword! Get out and find him!”

  For a moment none of the thugs were able to react but when Milo lashed out at one of them with his foot and sent him tumbling to the ground, the room erupted into a frenzy of activity.

  “What’s going on?” Titus cried as most of the thugs dashed up the stairs to collect their weapons.

  “The Carthaginian has escaped,” one of the guards replied carelessly. “Fuck knows how he did it. The main door is still bolted.”

  “
What does he look like?”

  “Big, tall bastard with a scar across his arm, you will know him when you see him,” the thug yelled over his shoulder.

  Titus was left standing in the guard room together with those men who were too drunk to walk or those that could not be woken.

  He stared at the men running around in the corridor and suddenly he began to understand and as the realisation grew Titus felt his chest constrict with growing excitement until he could hardly breathe. He had found a way out. He had something on Milo that even the feared boss of the Subura would be unable to explain away.

  They didn’t find the Carthaginian as Titus knew they wouldn’t. He’d gone out with the rest of the search parties because that was expected of him, but his mind was already thinking about what to do next. At dawn the dispirited men returned to Milo’s home. The boss of the Subura had looked flustered. How can he have just vanished he yelled. He’s got to be somewhere, tear down the whole city if you have to, but find him!

  They had all gone out again at dawn but this time Titus had peeled away from the gang. He’d made his way towards the forum. On a white washed wall along the Sacred Way he found what he was looking for. He stared at the public notice feeling a little foolish.

  “What does it say?” he called to a passer-by gesturing at the poster. The man glanced up at the notice.

  “All persons who have any information regarding the brutal and unprovoked attack on Quintus Fabius Maximus report to the HQ of the Triumviri Nocturni beside the Capena Gate. A reward will be given.”

  The man glanced at Titus, “Do you know who did it boy?”

  “Yes,” Titus replied staring at the notice.

  Chapter Twentyone – Allies

  Titus stood waiting for the man at the base of a statue of Mercury in the forum. He was alone and it was around noon. The forum seemed subdued and many of the traders who would normally pack the open spaces had once again decided to stay away. Rumours had been swirling around the city all day that Carthaginian horsemen had been sighted riding north on the Appian Way. There had been a small riot at one of the city’s gates as a mob had been prevented from leaving. The soldiers had used their swords and the riot had left three people dead.

  Titus glanced at the few market stalls which had opened and were doing a brisk trade. There was no sign of the man. A few yards away a lawyer was touting for business in a loud irritating voice. Titus glanced anxiously down the Sacred Way and wondered for the umpteenth time whether the man would come.

  He was shaking the dust from his sandals when he sensed the movement.

  It took them less than a second to surround him and as they did so he caught a flash of sunlight reflecting from a knife. Startled he looked up and stared straight into Milo’s face.

  “Well, well,” Milo muttered, “waiting for someone were we? You didn’t think I was foolish enough to let you go.”

  “Have you found the spy you were protecting?” Titus retorted.

  Milo’s face had lost some of its usual colour and he was in a bad mood.

  “You should have learned to keep your big mouth shut boy. You may think you have something to bargain with but you have nothing. No proof, no witnesses, no spy, no nothing and now you are coming with me,” he said gripping Titus by the arm, “I’m going to keep you safe until I have decided what to do with you.”

  Titus shook off Milo’s hand and took a step backwards. In response Milo’s men jostled him and he saw they were armed.

  “What about my family? What are you going to do them?”

  Milo shook his head and caught Titus by the arm again. “Don’t make me do this the hard way. They will join you when I’ve found out where they are hiding and it won’t take me long to find them. Now start walking.”

  From somewhere within the forum someone blew a whistle in two short sharp bursts. A moment later came the noise of running feet. Milo and his men looked around in alarm. From behind one of the market stalls an old man dressed in a white toga appeared and started walking towards them with long confident strides.

  “Seize those men!” he cried.

  Within seconds the noise of running feet had turned into the shapes of armed soldiers who appeared from every direction.

  The soldiers carrying their large oval shields advanced on the group.

  “Tricked,” Milo gasped. He and his men turned to flee but it was too late. They were surrounded by a wall of shields and spears.

  “Surrender Milo,” Titus cried pulling a sword from where it had been hidden in his clothes. The trap had worked.

  “Never,” Milo hissed, “You won’t get away with this you little shit...,” but his words petered out as a spear point prodded painfully into his back. For a moment Titus expected Milo to fight but it was not to be.

  “Alright, alright,” Milo said in a loud voice raising his hands,

  “Give up your weapons lads, we don’t have a quarrel with the army.”

  The man in the white toga pushed his way through the line of soldiers.

  “Hello Milo,” the old man said cheerfully.

  “You,” Milo’s bulging eyes grew larger as he recognised his captor, “I should have known that you were behind this outrage.”

  “Chain him and have the rest of this scum flogged for public disorder offences,” the old man ordered. Two soldiers stepped forwards, grabbed Milo by his arms and twisted them around his back. The boss of the Subura yelped with the sudden pain. Then his face darkened.

  “Watch your back from now on old man,” he snarled. “You are not going to get away with this; not this time.”

  “Don’t you want to know the charges against you?” the old man replied.

  “I have no interest in listening to your lies.”

  “Treason for a start, aiding an enemy spy during war time, I could think of a few other charges but that one should be sufficient to get you strangled.”

  Milo spat onto the ground before the man’s feet.

  “You had better release me right away,” he sneered. “I have friends in high places. They are going to walk all over you, like flies over shit, when they hear about this.”

  “Oh I don’t think so,” the old man shook his head and took a step towards Milo. “I don’t give a shit about your friends in high places Milo, you and I are going to have a talk today and maybe then I will let you live.” The old man nodded to the soldiers.

  “Have this piece of shit thrown into the Tullianum.”

  ***

  As he followed the prisoner and the soldiers to the city jail Numerius had some time to reflect on an extraordinary development. It had all started a few days back when a young brash man had pushed his way into his office at the Capena gate and demanded to speak to him. The boy had claimed to have been responsible for saving the Tribune Scipio’s life at Cannae but could offer no proof. Then he had made his sensational claim. Scipio had promised to have him educated and had asked Numerius to do it. There had been a letter of introduction but it had been lost. He’d wanted to throw the boy out onto the street there and then, but his years as a lawyer had taught Numerius how to know when someone was lying or telling the truth. What had struck him right away about the youth was his sense of purpose and with growing interest he had realised the boy was speaking the truth. Scipio, the young Patrician had been a client of his, one of the few occasions when he had defended his own class. He must have impressed the young lord more than he had expected if the man was prepared to recommend him. The complement had cheered him up and he’d told the boy he would consider the matter.

  The issue would have rested there if the same boy had not barged into his office again that morning. Nicomedes had tried to stop the brash youth but Titus had just walked straight in and stood at his desk. The boy had looked excited and unaware of the potential offense his impetuous behaviour may have caused.

  If Numerius had considered rebuking the youth the thought died as soon as Titus had opened his mouth.

  “I have seen the man you are
looking for,” Titus blurted out.

  His words had taken Numerius by surprise but he had recovered quickly.

  “What did he look like?” he said.

  Titus had described Adonibaal and as he did so Numerius knew the boy had indeed seen his brother.

  “Where?” the question had shot from his mouth and he had risen to his feet.

  “That’s difficult Sir,” Titus had replied, “But I have an idea.”

  Titus had then told him everything. The boy was doing this to make sure he got his education Numerius thought. He was touched by the youth’s ambition. It was unusual. Most men would have been happy with a few coins as a reward but not this fellow. As a lawyer Numerius had seen the squalor and poverty in which most Romans lived. He’d gained an insight into the lives of the ordinary people and he’d understood the simple things they desired and respected. But this youth was different and as Titus continued to speak Numerius had begun to like him. Yes it would be worth helping this young man he thought.