Whom Gods Destroy: A Novel of Ancient Rome (The Sertorius Scrolls Book 4)

by Vincent B Davis II

  Spurius said, “Four contubernia have been sent out in each cardinal direction. They’ve been given landmarks to designate their sectors of watch.” He was beginning to look every part the officer and talked like it too.

  “And our messengers?” Lucius asked.

  “Two have been sent to Epirus,” I said. “Didius should receive word soon.”

  Lucius nodded. “I guess that’s all we can do for now. Except wait.”

  “I’m not sure waiting is the best idea,” Spurius said, growing into his position of authority. Lucius cocked an eyebrow but also smirked with pride.

  “What would you suggest?” Lucius asked, but Spurius looked to me, assuming I felt the same.

  “The surviving rebels… we need to question them further. We need to know everything,” I said. “We’ll need hot irons and whips. They’ll need to be tortured.” I looked over my shoulder to ensure Castor hadn’t joined us as he usually did. Fortunately this time he hadn’t.

  “I suppose you’re right.” Lucius exhaled.

  I pointed to the two guards at the entrance of the tent. “You two. Go and retrieve a few rebels. Bring them shackled.”

  “How many do we have?” Aulus asked. The lump in his throat bob up and down as he struggled to swallow.

  “Only a few. A man called Parmenion who is inclined to speak with us, and a few of the treacherous gate guards were captured as well,” I said.

  “And I suppose you mean to torture them right here?” Aulus asked, trying to smile as he often did, but for once it was not infectious. “Seems beneath a man of your stature.”

  “I’ll give them a chance to talk first,” I said. “We’ll treat them like civilized free men until we have no other choice. Then they’ll suffer whatever is necessary to get them to talk. This has happened because our enemies perceive Rome as fat, lazy, and weak. We must quash the notion immediately.” No one objected.

  The two guards entered the praetorium and tossed two rebels to the ground between us.

  I pointed to a single wooden post holding up the center of the tent. “Chain them.”

  Parmenion looked up at me as if I were Hades himself.

  The guards hoisted the rebels’ shackled wrists and chained them on either side of the post.

  “I’m sorry you’ve decided to waste your freedom,” I said. “In another life we might have protected you from threats abroad. We might have celebrated festivals with you and drunk wine together.” I crouched and looked into the eyes of the captured gate guard.

  Parmenion needed no further intimidation, though I doubted he knew much else.

  “This is the path you have chosen,” I said. “Now the path will lead to its inevitable conclusion. The Fates have prepared two threads for you. Either you die, or you cooperate. And the choice is yours.”

  The gate guard met my eye and swallowed. He was afraid. I could see that by his rapid blinking. But he was also brave.

  “What is your name?” I asked.

  He bowed his head. “Craterous.”

  “How long have you served as gate guard to this city?” Lucius asked behind me.

  “Four years.” I could hear his breath, controlled and deliberate.

  “And how long have you been cooperating with Cerberus?” Lucius asked. “How long have you conspired to betray your people?”

  I turned to him and shook my head as softly as I could. He exhaled and stepped back.

  “Not long. Not but a few months, perhaps.”

  “And will you tell us all you know, Craterous?” I asked, still measuring him up.

  He hung his head. “I’m afraid to do that, sir.”

  “You should be afraid of us, Craterous. You are in shackles before me,” I said. “Your life is forfeit with the flick of my wrist. But if you tell us all you know, I’ll guarantee your life.”

  Parmenion shouted from the other side of the column. “I’ll tell you everything!”

  I lifted a hand and Spurius silenced him.

  “I’m not afraid for myself, lord,” Craterous said, “but my family.”

  “You’re afraid for your family?”

  “Yes, sire.”

  I stretched out my arm and the legionary tossed me the shackle key. I held it before Craterous, close enough to smell the iron.

  “If you tell me everything you know, I will free you and I will guarantee the safety of your family.”

  His eyes stared through me as he weighed out his options. What was to second guess? How could they have so much power over this man that he fears them more than someone with a knife at his throat?

  “What do you wish to know, sir?” he said. Tears welled in his eyes, probably wondering if he’d just damned his loved ones.

  “Tell me the story. From the beginning. How did you come to work with these rebels they call Cerberus?” I said.

  He tried to speak but struggled, smacking his lips together a few times and trying to moisten them.

  “Bring him some wine.”

  “Can I have some as well, please?” Parmenion asked.

  “Thank you.” Craterous rested his head back against the column after a few gulps.

  “Please continue.” I snapped my fingers, and a chair was brought to me. I sat before him and listened intently.

  “Messengers came to me. Said they’d been watching me. Said I was a faithful son of Greece.” He paused but I waited in the silence for him to continue. “And they said all true sons of Greece were rising up against our oppressors. They said the Republic was decaying. Corrupted, bloated, and gorging on itself. Now was the time to rise up and fight. The envoy said there were tribes and kings from every corner of the earth who vowed by sacred oath to destroy Rome.”

  I didn’t try to process it all now. I turned and nodded toward parchment for someone to take notes. “Go on,”

  “At first I told them to go bugger their mothers. They smiled in reply. Then… then…” Tears streamed down his ashen cheeks. “They began to name each of my children. They knew my house was in the ceramic district, and that my bedroom window faced south. They knew where my wife bought our grain. They didn’t need to say anything else…”

  I considered what to say next, so I gave him a moment to collect himself.

  “I knew if I didn’t help them they would butcher my family… they would end my line,” he said. His tears began afresh and this time his lips quivered and his voice cracked. “My boy is only four months of this life, sire.”

  “So… to save your family you would sacrifice every family in Athens?” Lucius said, and I knew him well enough to notice the rage behind his stoic face.

  Craterous hung his head in shame. He knew he’d done wrong.

  “Thank you, Craterous. I have a family as well. I can imagine nothing I wouldn’t do to protect them.”

  “He’s a coward, Quintus,” Herennius said. “His words mean nothing.”

  I cleared my throat. “So to protect your family you offered to open the gates?”

  He nodded. “Aye. They said I’d be called upon whenever the time was right. They said there’d be a few days’ notice to get my family out of the city. But they came suddenly and said the timeline has changed. I was instructed to mark my door with black paint and they’d be spared.”

  “And were they?” I asked.

  He gulped. “I don’t know, lord.”

  “What else did they tell you?” Spurius asked. “What else were you promised? Are there more impending attacks?”

  “I believe this was the first of many. I was an outsider to them and entrusted with no more information than that. But their goal is to push Rome out of Greece, and to ultimate to topple the grand city itself.”

  “I can’t listen to this much longer,” Herennius said.

  “Is there anything else you can tell us, Craterous?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Sadly I’m of no more use to you.” He breathed a bit easier despite the shackles still round his wrists.

  “I say we torture him to find
out what he’s not inclined to share,” Lucius said.

  “We promised him life, dear tribune,” Aulus said as if he didn’t care.

  I could feel Lucius glaring at my back. “Yes. We promised him life. But the Legate said nothing about torture.”

  “Back in Rome a confession isn’t considered legal unless torture is involved,” Herennius added.

  Craterous said nothing, resigned to fate.

  Light burst into the tent as the flaps opened. An injured man entered, and for a moment I didn’t recognize him.

  “Oh, don’t all of you salute me at once.” If not for the fury in his eyes and the bulging veins of his throat I might not have recognized my commander.

  We all stood and saluted, wide-eyed and stunned silent.

  A scarlet cloth was wrapped around his biceps and dried blood stained his face. He unbuckled his helmet and ripped off his cloak. He looked every part the rank-and-file soldier, save the patrician gait natural to him. He paced to a bowl of water in the back of the room and splashed it on his face. “Who are these?” He pointed to the captives and dried his face.

  I said, “Rebels. We were attacked in the—”

  “Yes, yes, I know all about it.”

  Spurius said, “Sir, how are you—”

  “Attacked on the road,” the commander said. “I knew immediately when I saw those bastards running down the mountain that the city had been attacked.”

  “How many?” Lucius asked.

  “Enough. Half my guard killed instantly… I barely made it out with my life.”

  “What of Phaidra?” I stiffened.

  “Dead,” he replied without pause. My jaw dropped. “She practically threw herself at them. Perhaps she believed they’d take her to Timoxenos. Perhaps she missed a man’s touch. Either way they set upon her with sword and club instantly. Her screams didn’t last long.”

  Herennius asked, “Are you injured badly?”

  Didius looked down and analyzed the cloth concealing his wound. “I’ll live,” he said before turning to me, his eyes cold as ice. “Unfortunately for you.”

  I didn’t take his meaning, but he approached Craterous too quick for me to consider it. He pulled a dagger from its sheath on his calf.

  “We’ve promised him life for cooperation, Proconsul,” I said.

  He lunged at me so quickly I feared for a moment I was his intended victim. “And who gave you the right to make decisions of life and death? Who gave you the right to spare traitors?”

  Everyone looked away. I stared ahead. Satisfied with my silence he turned again to Craterous and jammed the dagger between his ribs. He buried his forehead in Craterous’ and gritted his teeth. “There will be no burial for you, traitor.” Didius spit. “No coins for Cheron. You’ll walk in darkness for all eternity with no one to mourn your name.”

  Parmenion wept on the other side of the post.

  Didius pulled out his dagger and Craterous slumped to the side. Fresh blood dotted the commander’s freshly cleaned face. He pointed to Parmenion. “What of this one? Have you promised him life?” Didius asked me.

  “Not yet,” I said.

  He stepped forward and placed the dagger against Parmenion’s throat. But then stood. “No. Come, Legate. You will carry out his sentence of death.” He extended the dagger.

  “Sir,” I said, “if you might just explain your hostility toward me—”

  “Do it!”

  I took the dagger and knelt before Parmenion. I placed the blade against his throat, as he wept and squirmed. Barely audible he moaned for his mother.

  “Go ahead, Legate,” Didius said over me. “Prove your loyalty to Rome.”

  I pressed the blade further against his skin, but then jumped to my feet.

  “If this is some sort of test, Proconsul, I’ll not play along,” I said. “To do so would be to suggest that I’m not above suspicion. My loyalty to Rome has never been questioned, and I’m uncertain why it is so now.”

  He shrugged and ripped the dagger from my hand. In the same motion he sliced through Parmenion’s throat, silencing his cries. He dried the blade on his stained cape, the praetorium silent save the blood dripping from the captive’s throat.

  “Clean this up. I’ll not have corpses in my praetorium.” Didius grabbed someone else’s cup of wine and drained it. “Do not plan on getting sleep tonight, men. We’ll plan throughout the night, and tomorrow we go to war.”

  Scroll XVII

  We had a few hours to ourselves while Didius bathed and tended to his wounds. Herennius found me sitting with the horses outside the Veterenarium and brought me some porridge.

  I took a few bites and enjoyed the warmth, but otherwise had no appetite.

  “Perhaps we should share a cup of wine before the officer’s meeting?” he said.

  I considered it but shook my head. “I’ll need to think clearly. Didius seems to hold me accountable for everything that’s happened,” I said. “I’ve searched the corners of my mind for a reason why and have come up empty.”

  He knew it was true, so he didn’t reply. He’d seen the outburst. Everyone had.

  Herennius inhaled deeply and released it as a sigh. “The Proconsul believes the gods have cursed him … and they say, ‘whom the gods destroy, they first make mad.’” He didn’t offer to elaborate, and I didn’t ask. “I’m going to ensure everyone knows how bravely you rallied a defense,” he said, patting my arm. “I vow it.”

  “I’d rather everyone forget I was there at all. I’ve tired of achieving glory; it’s meaningless to me now. They called me ‘Hero of the North’, and what has it got me but trouble?” I realized I was sulking and being difficult. Herennius wasn’t responsible for the attack or Didius’ anger. I exhaled and clapped him on the back.

  “If you’ve grown bored of glory, I fear you’ll be disappointed. Something tells me you’ll achieve much more.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “Come now, I can see the officer’s rallying. We should arrive early to avoid provoking the gorgon’s wrath.” He stood and offered me a hand.

  We found Didius’ headquarters to be well-lit with fresh torches, and some of his affectations were now stationed throughout. A table was placed in the center with a wine-stained map of Greece and Macedonia atop it.

  The Proconsul was different from the bewildered, blood-soaked man who killed the two prisoners just hours before. In his officer’s regalia and gold-lined black cuirass, he was also free of other men’s blood and his own wounds were stitched tight.

  “Legate Sertorius, a word,” he said, and walked to the back of the tent. All eyes fell to me as I lowered my head and took a deep breath.

  I passed Lucius and the twins as if I were heading to the Tarpeian Rock for execution, eyes forward and resigned to my fate.

  He snatched an amphora from a servant’s hand and poured two cups of wine himself. “Will you drink with me?”

  “Ah, no, sir. That’s quite all right. When I drink wine this late—”

  “I insist.” He held out the cup until I accepted it. He lifted his own and clanked it against mine when I did the same. “To survival.”

  “To survival,” I repeated less enthusiastically.

  He analyzed me for a moment, leaving me wondering what plans he had in store for me. Instead he placed a hand on my shoulder and said. “I would like to retract my words to you this evening. You bore the brunt of aggression that was not your own.” He cleared his throat and tightened his grip. “It takes a lot for a man of my stature to apologize. I insist that you accept.”

  “I do accept, Proconsul,” I said, “though I don’t understand.”

  He tapped my cup of wine to ensure I was drinking at an equal rate.

  “It all seemed to work out a bit too well for you.”

  “I don’t take your meaning, sir,” I said, my stomach churning.

  “I’d barely made it back to Attika before I heard about Sertorius’ glorious defense. You’d have thought Quintus Sert
orius was general of the whole legion by the rumors spread,” he said, swirling his wine. “Then there was the death of a man you obviously detested—and admittedly I did too—leaving you the unquestioned second-in-command of the legion.”

  “Wait? Who? Paullus?”

  “Dead. Confirmed. Found him burnt to a crisp, still nestled in his bed if I understand correctly,” he said with a chuckle and a shrug.

  “I didn’t know…” I imagined what those final moments must have felt like.

  “Well, now that you do, you can understand my suspicions. I was the only man in your way to ultimate power here in Greece, and I nearly died on the road.” His eyes turned menacing for a moment. “And I thought, ‘how smart this Sertorius is.’ He pushed for the war and somehow ensured there was a dagger at the throat of any man who threatens his ascension to power. You were a few inches away from being the most powerful man in Greece.” He lifted his arm and measured the distance between the wound and his heart.

  The tent was silent behind me. I could say nothing and maintained his gaze.

  Then he smiled and pat my face. “But I was hazy from the blood loss and hard riding. I wasn’t thinking clearly.” He wrapped his arm around me and turned to the room. “Quintus Sertorius is a faithful son of the Republic and I’ll kill any man who denies it.”

  His sudden amicability was somehow as concerning as his rage.

  “So,” Didius said, “as our first order of business tonight, I’d like to announce that the entire fourth legion has voted unanimously to give you the Grass Crown for saving your legion.” He clapped and everyone else joined him.

  My mouth hung open like a trout as Herennius and the twins came to embrace me. Lucius stood behind and clapped half-heartedly.

  “This is the highest honor bestowed on a Roman officer. Congratulations, boy,” Didius said.

  “I… do not know what to say, Proconsul. I do not believe I deserve this. I’m not certain I can accept.” I stole a glance at Lucius and I could see the disappointment in his eyes.

  “It’s not yours to accept or deny,” Didius said. “The men have chosen for you.”

  “But there were others who acted with bravery to the salvation of their men,” I said. “Tribune Lucius Hirtuleius led a contingent on a counter-offensive, tracking down several of the retreating rebels.”