The Praetor clad in the military uniform of a Tribune swallowed nervously. He glanced towards the high priest for support and guidance but the supreme religious authority chose to look away.
“Very well then,” the magistrate shouted. “Lay down your arms Numerius. Spilling blood here today will do no one any good. You are under arrest for the murder of a fellow citizen. Seize him,” he ordered.
As the Praetor’s men stepped forwards to take their prisoner a solitary trumpet cut across the forum.
“Make way for the dictator Marcus Junius Pera,” a deep voice commanded.
The crowd parted abruptly and twelve Lictors, clad in white togas and holding the symbols of their office marched into view. They were followed by the dictator on foot and then another twelve Lictors. Bringing up the rear was a full company of heavily armoured soldiers led by a Centurion. The crowd backed away as the heavy synchronised tramp of the soldier’s boots reverberated through the forum.
No one moved as the dictator’s men slowly filed into the open space and took up defensive positions around Numerius, Titus and Pompeia. The men sent to arrest Numerius glanced at their leader but the poor magistrate had gone red in the face and could not speak. The two camps faced each other across the forum. On one side the priests and the Patrician nobles gathered around Metellus whilst facing them were the governments stony faced and disciplined soldiers. The stand off lengthened without a word being spoken and as it did so the tension in the forum started to mount. At the fringes of the crowd people began to move away as they sensed the coming violence. It was a trickle at first but soon the crowds were in full flight, scattering in every direction as fast as they could. The fear of violence had proved too much even for those who had begun to relish the contest of power. The two parties however stayed put, confronting each other as all around them the crowd fled.
Pompeia was suddenly acutely aware that one false move could lead to a blood bath. She glanced at the Praetor, the man’s whose responsibility it was to maintain public order and saw that he didn’t know what to do. Behind the bands of priests and Patricians the high priests chair stood abandoned. There was no sign of the Pontifex Maximus. The coward had fled she thought with sudden disgust. As she stared at the empty chair she noticed that Metellus’ party were being reinforced by a steady flow of armed men coming out of the side streets. It was as if the whole city was being sucked into the confrontation.
Before anyone could stop her she boldly stepped beyond the front line of soldiers.
“Men of Rome,” she cried looking across at the opposing party, “Will you really strike against your elected magistrate? I do not think you will. Go home in peace and put away your weapons. Go home.”
She stared at the closed ranks of her opponents and saw amongst them the faces of hard, tough and spiteful men but she didn’t flinch. Instead she walked up to their front rank and as she approached the men parted to let her pass. She walked on into their midst and stopped, turning in a circle as all around men turned to look at her.
“Go home, the business for the day is finished,” she said calmly.
The priests and patricians seemed unable to speak. Whether it was her courage or her status as a Vestal, whom no man was allowed to touch that persuaded them she didn’t know but slowly the men started to disperse across the forum. Pompeia watched them go until she heard a noise behind her. Turning she saw the whole company of soldiers had begun to rhythmically bang their spears onto their shields.
“They are honouring you,” the young man whom her father had called Titus said stepping up to her with a look of awe.
“Why would they do that?” she muttered.
“They are soldier’s lady and they don’t like killing their own people. Your words prevented bloodshed,” the young man said.
Chapter Twentyeight - Endgame
Some of the crowd had returned as Pompeia was escorted back to the house of the Vestals. They stood along the edge of the Sacred Way trying to get a glimpse of her. Some threw flowers onto the pavement ahead of where she was walking but most just watched with curiosity. She had reached the closed gates of the Regia when a hand from the crowd suddenly grabbed her arm. The action nearly jolted her off her feet. The hand’s grip was tight and powerful and did not let go. She looked up into the dark eyes of a man. He was tall and well built with a white scar across his arm but as she made eye contact the strangest sensation seemed to come over her. It tingled all the way down her spine and made her shiver. There was something infinitely tragic about the way the man looked at her. As if he had known her all her life but that was impossible, she had never seen him before.
“Meet me by the Temple of Diane at midnight tomorrow,” the man gasped.
She stared at him in confusion.
One of her escorts angrily advanced to her aid.
“I am your father,” the man said. Then before she could reply he had vanished into the crowd.
***
Adonibaal stood on his brother’s terrace looking down on the city of Rome. The city shimmered in the late afternoon heat. It was a fine view he had to admit. His brother would have bought the house for this view. He could imagine Numerius relaxing and enjoying his retirement here. On this terrace he would have entertained his guests, held parties and given advice to his clients. Yes he could see how his brother would have enjoyed life up here.
He’d built himself a happy home, a modest, comfortable but useless and insignificant existence. The man who lived in this house had done nothing of any greatness. His brother had brought no glory to the family. He seemed to have hidden away behind obscurity and led a quiet simple life. What a waste, Adonibaal thought. Who would remember his brother after he had gone? If he Adonibaal had remained in Rome he would not have hidden away like this.
He would have made his ancestors proud. Glory, fame and greatness ran in the family. He would have made a far better heir to that tradition than his brother. But once Fabius was dead he mused everything would be as it should have been all those years ago. Hannibal would advance on the city and Adonibaal would collect his reward.
Adonibaal stirred from his thoughts as the man servant brought him the jug of wine he’d asked for. The slave said nothing and avoided his gaze with a sullen look. Adonibaal ignored him. He’d decided to let the man live. The slave may have his suspicions but he wanted his brother to know he’d been here. He wanted Numerius to know that he’d rifled through his most private of rooms.
Numerius however was not coming home today. He sensed it. Something had kept him in town. He would have to change his plans he thought. He raised the jug to his lips and took a swig. Some of the red wine ran down the sides of his mouth and onto his chin. If Numerius was seeking forgiveness it was a sign of weakness. Adonibaal was not ready to forgive his brother for betraying him all those years ago. If they thought he’d given up trying to kill Fabius then they were fools. He knew where Fabius was going to be thanks to the information that the cook had supplied. He sighed as he pondered the risk. Once, years ago in Utica, he had killed a fugitive and four of the man’s guards in a direct surprise assault. It could be done if one chose the right moment and the right location.
***
The guards at the Trigemina gate were talking to the wagon driver. Adonibaal could hear them from his hiding place deep within the pile of hay which the wagon was carrying. It was night. He’d waited till it was dark before leaving Numerius’ house. Wagon traffic was always heavy during the night for wagons were forbidden from entering Rome during daytime on account of the traffic congestion they caused. He’d spotted the lone driver on the road from Ostia and when the man had stopped to urinate in a field he’d slipped onto the wagon and hidden himself under the hay. Now he held his breath as the driver and guards conversed.
“Got to check your wagon I’m afraid,” a voice said.
A moment later a spear point missed Adonibaal’s head by inches. He could hear a man’s laboured breathing close by and he tensed for the next thru
st but none came.
“Be on your way then,” a voice called out and the wagon started rolling forwards again. Adonibaal slowly relaxed his grip on Centurion and gently breathed out. The clatter of the wagon wheels on the paving stones told him that they had entered the city of Rome. He’d forgotten how noisy Rome could be at night. The clatter of wagon wheels on paving stones, the mewing of oxen and the cries of the drivers filled his ears. Then judging that he was approaching the cattle market, Adonibaal rose from his hiding place sending straw and hay tumbling onto the street. The driver cried out in sudden fright at the sight of the dark figure but before he could do anything else Adonibaal had leapt from the wagon and had vanished into the night.
***
It was starting to grow light when Adonibaal slipped up the steep staircase that led to the crest of the Palatine hill. He halted half way up the stairs as he reached the place which days earlier, when he’d done his initial reconnaissance, he had identified as a potential killing zone. He grunted in satisfaction as he noticed the short, narrow step to the door of the house and the bushes that shielded it. No one could see him from above or below if he waited on the doorstep. If Fabius decided to take this route from his house to the forum then the killing would take place here. He glanced down the stairs which he’d just climbed. The staircase was narrow and would force a party of men to climb it in single file. Fabius would come with bodyguards. He would have to let the first couple pass him, then kill them when they were moving up the stairs and their backs were turned before turning and killing Fabius. If he could do all that then at least he would have the advantage of the high ground against the guards who were bringing up the rear. The plan gave him a chance but it all depended on Fabius and the arrangements he’d made for his security and of those arrangements Adonibaal knew nothing.
He inspected the killing ground for a final time and then started down the stairs. It was time for him to make his way to the forum. Once Fabius showed up he would have a clearer idea of how many men were protecting him and their capabilities.
Dawn had turned into a beautiful morning with a clear blue sky. Adonibaal joined the multitude of people heading towards the forum. In the crowd he would be relatively safe from the watchers he knew would be out there looking for him. In the forum a vast mass of onlookers had gathered and he had to struggle to get a good vantage point of the judges. The crowd was tense and expectant and amongst them he noticed were women many of them dressed in black head scarves and dresses. As he waited for the trial to begin he suddenly felt nervous. What would she look like? What had Numerius told her about him? Did she even know that he was her father? He doubted she knew the truth. They would have lied to her like they had lied to him.
A hush rippled through the crowds as the she was finally brought out. Adonibaal craned his neck to get a glimpse of her. He was too far back to see her properly but noticed how she walked with a dignified step. Then he blushed with sudden emotion. His girl, they were putting his daughter on trial, he should have felt something, he should have wanted to stop the proceedings and rescue her but he felt nothing. With a shock he realised that the girl meant nothing to him. He didn’t know her.
Adonibaal glanced at the judge and the prosecutor. Where was Fabius? The old man had not appeared. He frowned with sudden concern. Had he been misinformed? But he had clearly heard the cook in Numerius’ house saying that he would be at the trial. He glanced at his daughter. Her back was turned to him and he could not see her face. Was she going to defend herself then? He hesitated in confusion.
The priests had begun to open the trial when there was a commotion in the crowd close to him. Adonibaal felt the press of bodies around him grow tighter and heard a few raised angry voices. Then the hairs on his neck stood up in sudden sheer horror. Just a few paces away from him, the man who had caused the commotion was forcing his way through the crowd. Adonibaal stared at him unable to look away. It was Numerius. There was fierceness and determination on his brother’s face that he’d never seen before. Numerius however had not noticed him and after a moment Adonibaal started to breath again. His brother wasn’t after him. He had come to be with her.
Recovering his poise he glanced around. There was still no sign of Fabius. If the man was to act for the defence he should have been here by now. He’s not coming Adonibaal thought with sudden insight. For some reason the old man was not coming. A wave of disappointment came crashing over him and his shoulders sagged in defeat. It was perplexing. Why had Fabius decided to stay away? He was the best hope the defence had.
Adonibaal stayed to watch the trial and as he did so he noticed the way in which Pompeia and Numerius acted and supported each other, one calm and composed the other fierce and emotional and slowly it dawned on him that even though they were not related by blood Numerius loved her more than he ever could. Numerius would always be her true father and the knowledge dispirited him even further until he felt utterly low and miserable. Would they leave him nothing which he could call his own?
***
Adonibaal fled from the forum after the judge had delivered his verdict. The only bright spot in the depressing black mood that was enveloping him was his happiness that Pompeia had been acquitted. He hadn’t expected to feel like that about her but he had. Remorselessly however the black mood drove him away, despair mingled with a sense of hopelessness. His plan to kill Fabius was in tatters once again. Something strange was going on. Why had Fabius decided to stay away from the trial? But overshadowing all this and bearing down on him like the full weight of a horse was the knowledge that he’d discovered he had a daughter, only to learn that the girl would never love him like she did Numerius. But he was happy she was acquitted. Flavia would be happy too he thought. But his daughter’s survival had nothing to do with anything he had done. If it had been up to him he would have allowed her to die. What sort of monster did such a thing?
His flight came to an end close to the Aventine. From the forum he could hear the tumult of the crowd. He glanced around him. His heart beat wildly in his chest as if he had been running. Suddenly he felt vulnerable. He had to get off the streets but he had nowhere to go. He was wanted by the authorities not to mention Milo’s underworld thugs who would no doubt be searching for him. He had no friends, no places where he could hide. A sudden thought came to him and he groaned in desperation. Had it really come to this? But he had no choice. He looked up the street that led up the Aventine hill. It was a desperate decision.
He spent some time watching the front of the building. A fat woman was hanging out her washing and a few children were playing on a doorstep. He glanced upwards but saw nothing unusual. The street seemed to be going about its daily business. Mustering himself he stole around in a wide semi circle and found what he had hoped would be there, an alley that backed onto the house. He darted into it and felt his way along until he came to the backdoor. It was a flimsy construction. He pushed his ear to the door and listened. All seemed as it should be. He hesitated and glanced down the alley but he was alone.
With a splintering crash he burst through the door into the back room. A woman squealed in terror and backed away from him. He barely gave her a glance as he stormed on into the front room nearly tripping over a horde of statues. A man had half risen from a workbench where he’d been working. There was a look of alarm on his face which changed to surprise as he saw Adonibaal.
“You.” the man gasped.
“Are you alone, have they been here?” Adonibaal panted.
Demetrius the Macedonian shook his head.
“You are safe friend,” he said hurriedly. For a moment he stared at Centurion in Adonibaal’s hand and then turned to look at his back door.
“I thought you had left the city days ago,” he whispered turning his attention back to Adonibaal. Then he called out in a louder voice to the woman in the back room. “Its alright, he’s a friend.
See if you can fix the door.”
There was an inaudible reply from the backroom. Slowly
Adonibaal lowered Centurion.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, “I need your help.”
Demetrius raised his hands in acknowledgment and began stroking his chin.
“Sit, sit down, please,” he muttered.
From the back room there was another inaudible noise.
Adonibaal remained standing.
“Of course, whatever you want,” Demetrius looked away. The woman had appeared in the doorway and Demetrius moved to shoe her into the other room. She obeyed with ill concealed alarm.
“So what can I do for you?” Demetrius said.
“I need a place where I can stay for a couple of nights.”
“You can stay here,” there was something resolute and confident about Demetrius that surprised Adonibaal. That confidence had been lacking when he had first met the Macedonian. Had he misjudged the spy?
“And I need to know where Quintus Fabius Maximus is.”
Silence descended on the room. Adonibaal watched Demetrius carefully. The Macedonian spy seemed to be thinking. Then he nodded slowly. “I do not want to know what Gisgo has instructed you to do,” he said diplomatically, “I have no interest in your affairs.” Demetrius took a deep breath and sighed. “When do you need to know by?”
“Now,” Adonibaal replied.
Demetrius nodded. “I will speak with my contacts then. Give me a couple of hours and I should have some news for you.”
It was Adonibaal’s turn to nod. “Good,” he said, “Go now then,” he glanced towards the back room, “But know this Demetrius, if you betray me I shall kill your woman and then I will come for you.”
“I will not betray you,” Demetrius shook his head and turned for the front door. “Just give me a couple of hours.”
The Shield of Rome Page 27
