Marcus looked to his brother, his face and body language showing his own indecision. Iulius turned to Marcus with questions written in his eyes, and Marcus felt every face begin to turn to him. yet again, his role as leading citizen seemed to bring the ultimate decision to himself. He clenched his teeth in thought, his mind racing with solutions, some dismissed as others were created in the blink of an eye. Heads began to turn to each other, whispering beginning as the group awaited someone of strong will to make the decision that they might all agree upon.
“Quirinus” said Marcus, his voice low and humbled. “The accusation that Capitolinus is looking to be a King is a serious one. It demands action. Have you openly heard him speak these words yourself, or are they the words brought to you by others?”
Quirinus chewed the inside of his lip, his eyes moving to his family members who stood silently watching. “I have heard him state that the senate must be removed and that he will lead Rome to a better future for all plebeians. If that is not the words of a man who would take the throne, then I do not know what else he could have said to be clearer.”
“My best man says the same” added Fussus. “He’s heard him speak of being a new King for the people.”
Silence followed these words as Marcus cogitated. Just as he was about to speak the door behind opened and a familiar figure entered the room, followed by senator Cincinnatus.
“Our apologies, gentlemen” said Javenoli, his expression grim. “There is a commotion in the forum and we took some time to cross. Please, do continue, we will attempt to catch up as you go along. Please Marcus” he said with a wave as he and Cincinnatus took seats.
“We have been discussing two issues, gentlemen. The issue of the riots and fights in the streets which appear to be escalating, and the issue of Capitolinus and his potential role in not only the street violence but in accusations that he has kingly designs.”
“You were his friend, Javenoli” interrupted Fussus, his eyes half-closed in suspicion. “What do you make of these accusations that he’s plotting to install himself as King?”
Javenoli looked slightly confused by the sudden question and stood to survey the room, nodding to various men as they turned to him. “Capitolinus is a great man” he said slowly. “There is no doubt that various factions of the people look to him with admiration” he said guardedly. “I assume” at which he turned to Quirinus, “that you have spoken of the ongoing issues related to these meetings in his home and the trouble that appears to have emanated from his speeches in the streets?” He received affirmation from various sources in the room, so continued. “Marcus Manlius Capitolinus is a strong-willed individual who has many great qualities. One of those qualities, I am afraid, is that he believes the sound of his own voice above that of others.” He turned an eye to Cincinnatus who nodded sagely. “In all my dealings with the man I’ve found that he is hot-headed and impetuous. More recently, as you will have noticed I’ve asked some of my men to infiltrate his group” at which several heads nodded and Marcus wondered how many of Capitolinus’ house guests were spies from the patrician clans. He drew a slow breath through his nose, the silence in the room accentuating the feeling of exasperation which came with the words which followed it. “It’s my view that Capitolinus is the architect of the problems the city faces, gentlemen. I have collected various pieces of evidence, and Cincinnatus is my witness, that Capitolinus and his gang are planning to set fire to the Horatius olive groves tonight. I have this on good authority…” the room was now in uproar as men began to rise and voice anger at Javenoli’s words, Quirinus amongst the most vocal as he called for the senate to arrest Capitolinus immediately.
Javenoli waved his arm for silence, his smile towards Cincinnatus not missed by Marcus, who looked to Lucius with a frown. “Gentlemen, gentlemen” soothed Javenoli as the group began to calm. “I am unsure what you have spoken of prior to our arrival, but my evidence is un-deniable. I have two sworn testimonies from men who are allied to Capitolinus. He is directing them towards violence to place himself as King of Rome.”
“Exactly as I said” called Quirinus. “We should arrest him immediately and throw him in gaol.”
Marcus got to his feet as Iulius, too, rose and asked for silence. “We must beware acting with too much speed and not enough thought” Marcus said as he looked to Javenoli. “Remember, we have a dictator, bound to serve us all and make the final decision, who is not here with us today. I say that we re-call Cossus back to the city and hold an urgent senate meeting to discuss this matter. Without it we will fall foul not only of the law, but of the will of the gods.”
“Camillus is right” said Javenoli, his voice now strong and vibrant. “Re-call Cossus and arrange a meeting of the senate. Without the proper laws being obeyed we cannot hope to resolve this issue.”
“I will go” said Quirinus, looking to Fussus, who nodded a response to the younger man. Without waiting he turned to leave the room, three of his clan rushing to his side.
“It seems we have a plan” said Javenoli, his wry smile not missed by Marcus. Almost immediately the groups of men broke into conversation, the noise growing in the room as Iulius and Fussus began debating next steps and points of law.
“Marcus, I must speak to you” whispered Javenoli as he touched Marcus’ arm and led him away from the group. Lucius looked quizzically to his brother as he turned and walked away. Cincinnatus joined the two of them as they stood in a corner near an open window, a light breeze cooling Marcus’ left shoulder as he turned to Javenoli.
“I’ve had some information” he said with a conspiratorial glance to Cincinnatus, who handed him a small pouch. Putting his hand into the pouch he took out a few grains of what appeared to be red-coloured grain. “This morning a boy was found with his throat cut at the temple. Very sad” he added. “And in his possession, was a bag of this. It’s poison” he said to Marcus’ confused look. “One of the priests saw the man who murdered the boy leaving the temple, though he didn’t know he had killed the boy. He swears that this man is one of Capitolinus’ servants. I’ve checked this” he nodded towards the grain which Marcus’ was holding, and I’m told that it has enough poison to turn the intestines and liver into pulp without giving the appearance of illness to the external eye” he said with raised eyebrows.
Marcus understood immediately. “The readings?”
“Yes. Capitolinus was clearly trying to manipulate our thoughts and use that” he nodded to the grain again “against us by poisoning the animals.”
“Clever bastard” whispered Cincinnatus’ deep voice.
“I, I cannot believe it” said Marcus, flabbergasted.
“There’s more” said Cincinnatus. “Gaius’ man has found several plots across the city which have all been led by Capitolinus. He has eyes in every corner of every household, paying slaves to eavesdrop on their masters and collect knowledge of business deals, dates” he shrugged. “These attacks have all been cleverly planned to deal a blow against the patricians. He’s angry at being snubbed for the role of dictator, for leading roles in the city. You know he has a particular anger against yourself, Camillus” said Cincinnatus as he lowered his eyes. “In his speeches against the senate he’s accusing you of embezzling the gold from the temples. He’s spreading fear into the people that the legions are loyal to you and not to Rome and that you have taken too much power in the city. He sees you as a direct threat to his own desires to be king.”
Marcus glanced to his brother with such a look of concern that Lucius’ chin rose quickly in a questioning movement. Marcus shook his head slightly in response before turning to Javenoli. “So, this” he lifted his hand “caused all the problems we had with the readings? They were all false?”
“Yes” said Javenoli, placing a hand on Marcus’ shoulder.
“That’s why my own sacrifices and the results of the legions have been favourable. It was Capitolinus trying to fool us. Fool the gods” he said incredulously. Javenoli nodded, elbowing Cincinnatus
surreptitiously as the man looked as if he was going to speak.
“There’s something else I must tell you” Javenoli said slowly and quietly, his eyes looking around the room to check nobody was listening. He seemed to be held in a moment of indecision before he spoke. “I’ve also heard that” his lips twitched, again as if he didn’t know how to say the words.
“Go on”
“I heard that on the night before you arrived to free the Capitol and destroy the Gauls” he sucked in a slow breath, his eyes darting up and down as if what he was going to say was causing him some discomfort. “I heard that Capitolinus was at the Rock, looking out at the stars for a sign from the gods. He heard a noise and looked over the cliff edge to see a man climbing the stone wall some way below. The man called to him to say Camillus is coming, Camillus is coming. My source tells me that Capitolinus grabbed the man’s hand to check who it was, and to ask if his story was true. That man was your friend Mella, Camillus. And as Mella lifted his face in joy at climbing to the top of the Rock and bringing your message of hope to all those held captive, Capitolinus pushed him to his death.”
Marcus reeled backwards, several faces turning to him as he caught a small table and knocked it aside as he stumbled in shock. Javenoli and Cincinnatus looked around quickly as Lucius rushed across asking what it was.
“Is this true?” Marcus asked, his voice deep with anger.
Javenoli looked him straight in the eye. “I trust my source with my life” he replied.
*******
Chapter 33
Istros didn’t know why the goat-boy had to die, but he guessed that throwing the bag of poisoned grain to the floor meant that whatever scheme Javenoli had begun with this ruse had finally come to an end. The boy’s life was just another step in Javenoli’s schemes. It was a shame to have to kill the boy, but he’d made it as quick and painless as any death could be. He’d slept, fitfully, for a while, afterwards and then taken himself to the port to watch the ships bringing in wine and wool. He enjoyed being by the river and watching the men work as they unloaded the ships. Boys ran to and fro and collected scraps of wool which he knew their mothers would make into tunics for them, or to sell in the market. It was the sort of day to day scene that cleared his mind of the unpleasant activities he’d had to complete that morning, and it also reminded him of his own childhood. As he sat remembering, he heard the distinct rumbling of angry voices coming from the street along the lower dock. Rising and checking his knives he skirted a group of dockers who’d also heard the noise and walked across to see what was happening. The street was already full of people and so Istros climbed into a short tree, one of several which grew along the side of the road. Ahead were two groups of men, clubs, knives and other weapons drawn. Several men were already bleeding and the doorway to the house beyond one group had been battered to splinters by a large wooden pole which was now lying discarded to the side of the force which stood at the doorway demanding entrance.
“My brothers’ wife is in there. Bring her out you bastards or we’ll kill the lot of you” yelled the voice of a man who looked like he’d just crawled out of a grave. His head was smothered in crusted blood, which still seemed to ooze from his skull despite the bandages wrapped around his head. His right arm was covered in scars from the elbow to his fingers and his legs looked as unsteady as a new-born colt, another man holding him upright, lest he simply keeled over.
“Bring her out or move aside” screamed the lead attacker, his centurions voice causing flinches amongst the men who guarded the brothel.
“Go away, Brevo” said the calm voice of one the guards, his skull dripping blood from a head wound. “You owed money, you agreed to pay it back and you didn’t. The boss only took what was legally his.”
“Not my brother’s wife” snarled Brevo as he stepped forwards, two of his own men blocking his unsteady path. “You can’t collect a debt when a mans away at war” he screamed, others agreeing loudly. “It’s not the way it works. A man has the right to pay his debts when he returns” he said, his voice now calming but still tinged with anger. “I can pay the debt now, bring her out.”
The thug by the door shook his head and half-laughed. “Too late, Brevo. The debts been paid. She’s ours now. Popular with the lads as well” he added as three of his own group laughed.
This was the last straw for Brevo as he charged into the taller brute, thrashing his head with a heavy wooden club with such speed and ferocity that the guard didn’t even have time to raise his arm higher than his hip. The club landed with a dull, wet, thud and caved in the side of the man’s head, his eyes turning sideways and his nose bursting with a spray of bright red blood which soaked the already deathly looking face of the centurion. The sudden deadly blow was so fast that every other man stood in silence for a full heartbeat before screams and shouts turned to thumps and cracks. Istros crossed his arms over his chest and watched, fascinated, as the men who had come with Brevo ran into the house, followed by further screams and shouts. Women screamed, and men yelled in reply. Brevo and one other man remained outside, the centurion who’d started the attack looking as if he was so exhausted from the single attack on the leader of the brothel gang that he would collapse to the floor and die from his efforts. Istros liked him immediately, a smile creeping across his face. He jumped to the floor and walked slowly across just in case he was needed. The crowd had surged backwards at the sudden movement of the attackers, and then begun to creep back, eyeing up anything of value that was thrown from the brothel. A few children darted into the house, appearing moments later to hand items stolen opportunistically to their waiting parents, who secreted them into pockets immediately.
Brevo turned an eye to Istros as he moved closer, his club rising, to which Istros shook his head and lifted both hands in supplication, moving his eyes to the doorway as if he was simply another bystander waiting a chance to steal something from inside the brothel. Brevo relaxed but kept a wary eye on the crowd. Moments later three men burst out of the door carrying the ragged body of what looked like a young girl only just in her teenage years, her face bruised and blood running down her arms. She screamed with an ear-piercing yell at the body that Brevo had felled with his club and threw herself at it, kicking and screaming with the ferocity of a mountain cat as she pummelled the body. She was pulled away quickly as the group began to circle Brevo and move away. A loud yell from within the house caused the crowd to move backwards again as several more men appeared in the doorway, weapons glinting in the sunlight as they raced into the space outside.
“You won’t get away with this. The boss’ll have your balls Brevo.”
Brevo snarled a swear-ridden response before his men started to drag him and the screaming girl away.
“I’ll keep your bed warm” yelled the newly arrived man. “You’ll be back tonight” he added.
Istros watched as the two groups started to distance themselves, the brothel men moving to pick up fallen gang members and forcibly eject any trophy hunters who’d sneaked into the building during the melee. Smiling, he decided to follow the retreating Brevo, his men watching warily as they withdrew into the streets followed by a small group of onlookers. The girl was crying now, her tears interspersed with anger and sorrow alike as her husband, another teenager by his unshaven looks, attempted to console her.
After a half hour Istros was the only person who continued to trail the group, though by now he’d maintained a distance so that they didn’t see him following. Eventually the group had stopped at a row of low houses with repaired doors and shutters, looking as if they had recently been attacked. He waited a moment before he decided to fetch his bow and a sling of arrows and spend the night looking over this Brevo and his family. He smiled as he considered that this would be a good thing, compared to some of the sad things he had had to do recently. The gods were surely giving him a message that he must look after the man Brevo for some reason.
Returning he set up a position by the corner of the street which
led to the Brevo estate. Behind the buildings were fields which ran all the way to a copse of trees backing to the wall of a neighbours’ yard. Istros guessed that any revenge, if that was the right word, attack on Brevo would come from the street as the fields would be easy to spot anyone attacking and hard work to traverse. As expected, as night began to fall, men appeared with braziers and stood around in groups, clearly as a show of force for the family, roasting meat and vegetables on a flat iron pan which sizzled and crackled, the smell making Istros hungry and sleepy. The family head had appeared at the door and cracked a few jokes with his family on a few occasions, disappearing back into the house like a man in his seventies, bent backed and stiff.
Istros allowed himself to breath slowly and closed his eyes for a second.
“Smells good, doesn’t it?” whispered a voice as a cold blade ran along Istros’ throat sending a tingling feeling along his neck.
Caught by the sudden arrival Istros clenched his teeth expecting the blade to bite.
“Unless you tell me why you’re watching my house I’ll skin you and put your flesh on that pan to feed my pigs” breathed Brevo, his hand shaking, not from fear but from the exertion of having crept around the houses and back to where he’d seen Istros hide earlier that afternoon.
“Ah, Brevo” said Istros calmly. “Indeed, you deserve the praise that I have heard spoken of you in the streets. You are the first man who has ever crept up on me in all my years” he said, shaking his head very slowly as he felt the blade tighten against his neck. “Today was a day in which I did some bad things. Things which I think would not be liked by my gods. So, I must atone for these things by doing some good, that is our way in Thrace” he said as he tried to look behind at Brevo, who nudged him in the ribs with a second knife; ah he’s good, thought Istros to himself, grudgingly. “My gods put me at the road where you appeared to save your kin, and they told me to follow and protect you.” He tried to shrug, but thought better of it as he felt a wet patch of blood drip from his neck where the movement had catch the rough edge of Brevo’s blade. He withheld the feeling he had to reach and wipe at the drip as it ran down to his collarbone. “I saw the incident at the brothel and I thought I would come along and help you. It will please my gods” he added weakly. “I am clearly not as good as I thought I was” he added with a tone of respect in his voice which was not missed by Brevo.
The King of Rome Page 46
