Now he stood upright in the main tunnel of the Cloaca. In his hand he held an oil lamp he’d taken from her house. Its flickering light cast a shallow circle around him beyond which there was only total darkness. The smell in the tunnel was not as bad as he had expected but what really surprised him was the size of the sewer, the tunnel was huge. He lifted his lamp above his head and grunted in disbelieve. Not only could he walk upright, a man could sail a boat down here he thought. He glanced at the huge blocks of stone and the vaulted ceiling that faded away into the darkness. When he’d last been in Rome, twenty four years before, the Cloaca had been an open ditch. Now, at least in this section, it had been covered over for the ceiling looked new. He reached out a hand to touch the walls and noticed that in places the stone work had been repaired. Whoever had constructed the Cloaca had done it with special care and pride and the sewers looked well maintained. It was a remarkable piece of engineering.
He stooped and fastened the end of the ball of string he’d taken from Marcella’s house to a large stone at the base of the steps leading up to the doorway. It was a precaution. He had no idea how many tunnels there were or how complex the sewer system was. If his lamp died on him he would at least be able to find his way back. Idly he wondered about the old Athenian story of Theseus and the Minotaur. Better to die bravely than live forever in shame he thought.
He began to wade down the tunnel. The dirty water came up to his knees and he could feel a current pushing him along. The angle of the tunnel was fairly steep. Somewhere up ahead he knew that the Cloaca would find its way into the Tiber. He knew the rough outline. The sewer started somewhere along the Argiletum in the neighbourhood of the Subura and then made its way past the Senate house, cutting across the forum in the shadow of the temple of Jupiter on the Capitoline hill before following the street that led to the cattle market and the Tiber beyond. Marcella had told him that he would find a door in the wall where the Cloaca passed along side the Palatine. He was lucky that it was summer he thought as he waded along. During the months when the Tiber had normally flooded the valleys between the hills of Rome it was known that the river water often forced the sewage back up its ducts until the whole city was clogged in a tremendous stink.
The only noise was that of his legs wading through the water and the incessant, high pitched squeaking of the rats who unseen, scurried away before the approaching light. He moved slowly casting his lamp from side to side as he inspected the tunnel walls and as he moved he slowly unwound the ball of string. To his surprise the tunnel duct was not in a straight line but turned and twisted its way through the earth. Here and there he could see terracotta pipes lined with lead poking out of the walls and at one point he came across a side tunnel that seemed to have been blocked up on purpose with huge stone slabs.
Suddenly from out of the darkness a round metal door appeared in the wall.
He stared at it for a moment, struck by its very oddness. The round hole was not very wide, perhaps a yard across and it looked illegitimate. A pile of broken bricks had formed on the sewer floor just below the entrance and he guessed they had been left behind from when the door way had been constructed. He stepped forwards and wound the string around the broken bricks, wedging it so that it was secure and would not slip away. Then he straightened up and stared at the door. It had a handle. Gently he tugged at it and to his surprise the door swung open with only a slight creak from its hinges.
Adonibaal drew Centurion from its hiding place beneath his clothes and thrust the lamp into the doorway. He could feel his heart pounding away with excitement. A room, he was in a room. He stooped and pushed his way through the doorway and crouched on one knee, listening but he could hear nothing. Carefully he swung the lamp around him. The room was not very large and in one corner were a pile of old rugs. He swung the lamp back and saw what he had missed the first time. There in the corner was the narrow staircase disappearing upwards just as Marcella had described it.
Slowly and taking his time he began to ascend the stairs. They rose at a sharp angle and he had to bend his head to prevent himself from hitting the ceiling. Now and then he paused to listen but there was no sound apart from his own breathing and the gentle hiss of the oil lamp. It was getting late and people would be preparing for bed. He’d forced Marcella to tell him what she knew about the layout of Fabius’ house. According to her it was a normal Roman house with an atrium at the centre, a garden at the back and the usual rooms radiating from the atrium. Adonibaal ran through his plan one final time. The tunnel emerged in one of the rooms off the atrium. That’s what she had told him. His attack would rely on speed and sheer violence. He would emerge, locate Fabius and cut his throat and kill anyone who got in his way. Then he would escape back down the stairs and into the sewers. He was improvising he knew and would have liked to have had more time but he didn’t have that luxury and this was the best plan he could think of. He pondered about the soldiers he’d seen at the front door but it couldn’t be helped. He glanced at Centurion. He would rely on speed, surprise and if possible, silence.
He sensed the end of the staircase before he could see it and quickly extinguished his lamp and placed in on the stone steps. Then half crawling he slithered up the remaining steps until his hands came to rest on a wooden trap door. The square door was about a yard from the last step and as he crouched below it he paused to listen but all was quiet. Raising his hands his fingers traced the outline of the trap door and found the hinges. It opened upwards.
He took a deep breath and slowly began to exert pressure on the door. If it was locked his plan was doomed but to his relief the wood started to move. Ever so gently he pushed it upwards until a crack appeared and he could see into the room above. The room was in darkness but lamps were burning in the atrium beyond flooding it with light. He could see no one. Again he paused to listen but there was not a sound. Too quiet he thought suddenly. It’s too quiet. A warning screamed in his head but he didn’t move. He was close now, close to finishing his job once and for all. This was not the time for cold feet. He peered through the darkened room into the atrium beyond familiarising himself with the house’ layout. In a rich house like this the owners would normally sleep in the most secure rooms, the ones closest to the centre. Gently he raised the trap door another inch. There was something pushing down on it preventing it from lifting more easily. A carpet, it was a carpet. He bit his lower lip feeling his heart pounding away. This was the moment.
With a firm push he lifted the trap door above his head and using his elbows forced himself upwards and onto the floor of the room. He crouched on his haunches Centurion in his hand. The room he was in was a bedroom and it was empty. He slithered towards the doorway leading into the atrium and hid alongside the wall. When he dared risk a glance into the atrium he saw that although brightly lit it was empty. The house was silent. He rose to his feet and stepped boldly into the atrium, striding straight for the two rooms where he presumed Fabius would be sleeping. The first bedroom was empty and he felt the odd warning signal return but he had no time to think. He stepped through the doorway into the second room. A solitary oil lamp burned in a corner. There was a bed along the wall and in it lay a figure asleep covered by a blanket. A senator’s toga lay draped across a chair. Adonibaal stared at the sleeping figure.
***
Numerius rushed into the atrium. His lungs were bursting and his breath came in ragged gasps. There was a man standing in the doorway to Fabius’ room. He was holding a sword. Too late his mind screamed. After all this he was too late. There was nothing he could do to stop the assassin. The man just had to take a few more steps and Fabius would be dead. He had failed.
“Caeso,” he panted.
The assassins head had turned at the sound of the intrusion. Alarm gave way to a look of shock as he recognised Numerius. His brother looked older than he had imagined, Numerius thought, but it was definitely him, the eyes were unmistakable.
“Caeso,” he cried summoning up the last breath in h
is lungs, “You have a daughter.”
His brother seemed to hesitate for a precious second. Then with a speed that took Numerius by surprise he sprang away across the atrium. Numerius was aware of the soldiers behind him, yelling and shouting as they poured into the atrium. He watched, unable to find the strength to move, as his brother vanished through the doorway into the darkened side room with the horde of guards close on his heels. He heard a thump and a groan of dismay and a voice shouted out.
“He’s in the tunnel, the bastard got into the tunnel.”
Numerius felt the strength return to his body.
“Fabius, where is Fabius,” he cried struggling towards the old senators bedroom.
“I am here,” a stern voice growled.
Numerius turned to see the old man standing in the doorway to one of the room’s normally used by the household slaves. He was clad in simple white night clothes. A couple slaves stood at his side holding knives in shaking hands.
“I don’t understand,” Numerius blurted.
“I decided to take some precautions,” Fabius snapped. “One of them was not to sleep in my own bed. The body in there is a decoy. It’s made of straw.”
“So you weren’t in your room after all...”
“No,” Fabius shook his head, “And if you had let your brother enter my room he would have been trapped.”
Numerius swayed and placed a hand on the wall to steady himself.
“But then you would be dead and I would have failed,” he muttered quietly.
Fabius ignored him.
“So it’s young Caeso who has been trying to kill me,” Fabius said with a hint of bitterness. “How long have you known?”
“I was trying to save you,” Numerius muttered without replying to the question.
Fabius grunted something unintelligible.
“We will discuss this later, now is not the time,” Fabius said turning away, “Find Caeso and bring him to me when you do.”
Numerius became conscious of Titus at his side.
“Sir, he got into the tunnel before we could stop him,” the young man said excitedly, “but the men don’t dare to go after him. He can hold up a whole army down there in that confined space. What shall we do?”
Numerius took a moment to collect his thoughts.
“Have the men seal all the inspection shafts in the city. We will trap him down in the sewers.”
“Sir,” Titus frowned, “all the inspection shafts? How many are there?”
“Just do it,” Numerius snapped.
***
Dawn found Numerius resting in Fabius’ house. Titus and Nicomedes had done as he’d ordered. They’d posted guards and had found the door where Caeso had entered the Cloaca. Several parties of armed men had entered the tunnel but after hours of searching they had found nothing. Caeso had vanished once again. Exhausted and disappointed, he’d allowed his men a well deserved rest and they now lay fast asleep on the floor beside his chair.
The house was quiet now and only the hushed movement of the slaves preparing for the new day seemed to disturb the early morning.
Numerius sat in his chair, still in his clothes, staring into the room into which he’d watched his brother disappear. A heavy bench had been placed over the trap door and a soldier lay upon it asleep snoring gently. Numerius was exhausted. He stroked his chin with trembling fingers feeling the grey stubble of two days growth. His eyes looked feverish and dark bags had formed below them.
When he had first realised that his brother had returned to Rome and had returned to kill it had changed everything. Numerius knew he was partially to blame for what had happened to his father. It was a blame that had clung to him like a shadow ever since the murder. No one had known or noticed the fury he'd felt when Caeso had taken Flavia from him, and simmering with rage and jealousy, he'd sought revenge and had told his father about Caeso' marriage plans. Vainly he had hoped it would lead to Flavia coming back to me. It had been a foolish youthful notion.
But all of this had happened many years ago now. He could not have foreseen the tragic consequences. Painful as they were he was not responsible for Flavia’s death in childbirth, he had not murdered his father and he had not forced his brother to flee. He was not responsible for the feud that had caused his father's death. If he had a share in the blame then Caeso had to burden a far greater share.
Numerius stirred and shifted in his chair. One needed more courage and strength than he had ever imagined in order to forgive he thought but it was the only way. It was the only way in which things could be put right. So he had prayed to the gods of the underworld that they should release him from his pledge of vengeance which he'd made after Publius' murder. His brother had not meant to kill Publius, it had been an accident. He understood that now. He would forgive Caeso for what he had done, however hard it may be but the Gods were greedy and fickle and he wasn't sure they would release him from his oath? Would Caeso want to be forgiven? But these were questions that he could never answer and therefore he would not dwell on them. What mattered, now he had made up his mind, was that he felt stronger and more purposeful, for without forgiveness there was no future, there would be no end to the suffering and death that was wrecking his family. Without forgiveness his father’s and Publius’ deaths would be meaningless. He would do what he could and would continue doing what he could until his strength ran out.
“You are awake,” a voice said behind him.
Numerius turned to look over his shoulder. It was Fabius. The old man however looked at him with cold, unfriendly eyes.
“I had all the entry points into the sewers guarded,” Numerius replied rising slowly to his feet. “We had him trapped but my men have searched every inch of the Cloaca and they found nothing. My best guess is that he managed to get out into the Tiber before we got into the tunnels. He could be miles away by now.”
“Maybe the fact that he is your brother has undermined your judgement,” Fabius’ voice cut through the air like a whip. “Since yesterday I have received nearly a dozen complaints about you. One of the Praetors wants to have you arrested for murder of a citizen in the Subura and the illegal torture of another. He also accuses you of starting a riot in the Subura. Tell me that these accusations are false?”
“I did what I had to do,” Numerius replied.
“Damn you”, Fabius’ face exploded with rage, “I ordered you to find and capture a fugitive, not to send the city into turmoil. Do you know who these people are who are demanding your head? They are powerful men. They are not easily turned away.”
“Then let them come for me,” Numerius retorted.
“Don’t tempt me,” Fabius shouted, “don’t you see what you have done? You know how fragile the mood in the city is right now. Did I not say that we should remain united during this desperate time? Your actions have caused mayhem and you have divided us. You have let me down Numerius. The survival of the Republic is at stake damn it.”
“Fuck the Republic,” Numerius snapped, “I have seen what she has become.” And from the folds of his clothes he took a bundle of scrolls and placed them in Fabius’ hand.
“What’s this?” the old man muttered staring at the documents in surprise.
“Milo’s records of his dealings with the Senate,” Numerius replied as he turned and headed for the door.
***
Alone he made his way back to his house on the Janiculum. He needed some time to think about his next move and Fabius’ house was not the right place to do that. The sun was rising behind him and the morning air felt crisp and fresh on his face. He crossed the Sublicus Bridge and started up the hill. A movement amongst the grave stones that lined the road caught his eye but he saw nothing. He was plodding up the hill when he heard running footsteps behind him. He cursed. He had forgotten to go out armed but when he turned he saw that it was Titus. The boy looked red in the face and his chest heaved as he came to a stop.
“Sir, you shouldn’t be out on your own,” the boy gasped.
Numerius felt a sudden surge of emotion.
“That is kind of you to think about me, but I will be alright.”
“Nevertheless I shall stay with you,” Titus replied.
Numerius raised his eyebrows. “If they want to take me, I don’t think you will be able to do much to stop them Titus,” he said.
“I shall walk with you,” the boy replied.
Numerius studied the young man for a moment. Then he shrugged. “Very well if your mind is made up then follow me. I am going home.”
“The assassin,” Titus said as the two of them started out towards the gate, “they say that he is your brother and that he killed your son.”
“Yes,” Numerius nodded.
Titus was quiet for a while. Then he looked up.
“I would like to serve you Sir, when this is all over, as a free man.”
“You will get what was promised to you,” Numerius said.
But Titus shook his head.
“I shall educate myself,” he said, “but I also wish to work for you Sir”.
Numerius paused.
“And why would you wish to work for another man Titus,” he replied.
“I shall learn from you Sir,” Titus said confidently.
***
The first sign that all was not well came when Numerius saw his man servant sitting outside the front door with his hands clasped to his head. He stopped in his tracks and stared at his house.
The Shield of Rome Page 23
