Chapter 22
The rider waved to the three men he had brought to the foot of the pass. His instincts were alive and his eyes dashed around the clearing as he nudged his horse into the space, his heart pounded with fear for his life as he tried in vain to calm his stretched nerves. After this job he was going to retire he promised himself, life working for these rich clients was getting too dangerous and no amount of money would be good enough to cover the fear of the past two days ride. He had employed every trick in his vast repertoire to get these men here and now that he had reached his destination a panic that he had been double-crossed had set in. He had never liked that soldier with the scar on his chin. His shifty eyes and inability to do anything more than speak at him, rather than to him, meant he had taken an instant dislike to him. Arrogance, that’s what it was. His mind was racing as every movement in the forest around the clearing seemed to bode death. He watched as the movement of a branch remained just that, a branch, and he exhaled, suddenly feeling stupid for his mis-trust. Certainly, he had been well-paid, this job could buy him an apartment, maybe two, he mused as he waved again to the three men behind him, each riding sturdy cobs, faces and clothes hidden under long riding cloaks. The men edged forwards into the clearing, the biggest of the three leaping from his horse and causing his horse to whinny as he did so. The rider looked at the idiot and almost called to him, but decided he better keep his mouth shut. The man stepped up to the rider and tapped his foot, “Is this the place?” he asked in broken Latin.
After nodding the rider stepped slowly from his horse and tied its reins to a low branch. “We are a few hours early” he said, pulling water, bread and some salted pork from his pack and handing it to the man. The remaining riders dismounted and sat on the firm ground, devouring the rider’s supplies as if it was their last meal. The ride had been hard and he had made them skirt every city and watering hole on the way to this destination. He had seen a great cloud of dust the day before which had made him take an even bigger diversion, but his uncanny ability to see his way in the dark meant he had led these three men here via a long night march. They were impressed, and he knew it. Their leader, the big brute with the strange accent, had certainly been impressed when they spoke in the dark hours of the night. The rider stopped chewing, something had caught his ear. The noise was so quiet that none of the others had heard it.
“Quiet” he whispered, waving at the three men and stepping towards his horse. He opened the pack and took from it a small green flag, just as he had been ordered when he took this job. The brute took this from him and stood in the middle of the clearing with the flag raised. Within seconds the call of a cuckoo could be heard away to the left, at which all four of the men in the clearing smiled, their rendezvous was complete. It took another minute for twenty riders to emerge from the trees into the clearing, cautiously approaching despite the green flag and lack of weapons shown by the men within.
The brute walked to one of the horses and the rider saw him greet a tall man, elegantly dressed in elaborate plate metal with embossed brass. His hair was dark brown and his beard closely cut, his eyes searching the clearing. The rider felt a sudden cold chill and he licked his lips as he took a step closer to his horse. He had been clever enough to put his horse close to the only decent path out of the clearing and to have the reins tied very loosely just in case he needed to attempt a quick exit. He had skirted this clearing three times in the past hour without any of his followers realising he had done so, he knew exactly which way he would go if he needed a quick escape. His bowels felt loose as he edged closer to the horse, his mind a whirl as he went over the options and watched the men around him relax and dismount. The brute pointed to the rider, who involuntarily placed a hand on his small dagger, then released it just as quickly in case they saw this as an aggressive act. The tall leader of the group, because that is clearly what he was, walked his horse across the clearing towards him with the brute striding beside him.
“You are a useful man” he said quietly, his deep melodic voice commanding attention. “My man says you can see in the dark” he said, a smile curving across the corners of his mouth, “I would like to see that some day” he added, reaching across to the pack on a small mule tied to his mount. “This is the full payment, in gold and bronze ingots as your master requested” he said, “tell your master” he spat these last words “that I hope to get my money back some day from him and these Roman scum” and he tossed it across to the rider, who struggled to catch it, fumbling with the heavy weight as it crashed into his chest and nearly knocked him to the floor. A number of the men in the clearing laughed but the leader held up his hand and they stopped instantly.
“My apologies” he snarled, “it is not your fault I am angry. Go now” he said as he leant forwards on his horse to stare down at the rider, his eyes burning into him “and if I need you to do a job for me, how would I find the man who can see in the dark?” he asked, his perfect white teeth showing behind the dark mass of his trimmed beard.
After explaining how he could be found the rider had mounted and left as quickly as he could, setting off into the deep forest on the route he had planned in the hours before. As he left the clearing he heard one of the three men he had brought there say “Father” and the leader had returned his words with a deep growl as he replied “My son”.
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Fasculus couldn’t breathe well with the cloth bag over his head. His rasping, deep breathes rang in his ears as they climbed the hill. He wasn’t sure which hill he was climbing as he had been forcibly marched around the foothills of the city for over twenty minutes before they started this steep climb. He tried to keep his wits about him. Whoever wanted to speak to him wanted him alive so there was still a chance he would get out of this in one piece. He swore a silent oath to Averruncus, counting to eight for extra luck, a trick he had been taught by his first Centurion, a man who survived thirty years of constant wars without a scar. Averruncus would need to be on his side tonight he thought as he was pushed to the floor and kicked against the wall. “Stay still” the voice whispered as his head flicked from side to side trying to hear any familiar sounds so he could get his bearings.
A trio of voices came laughing past the group, their drunken jests and high pitched laughter suggesting to Fasculus that they were young nobles out drinking and whoreing. The fact that they felt secure enough to travel without apparent fear told Fasculus that they were probably on the Palatine, the playground of the rich. He wondered just who he was being taken to see and was jolted back to his feet and dragged along at an increased pace. Soon he was ushered into a doorway, banging his elbow on the doorframe as he was nudged through with the butt of a cudgel. He was dragged along a corridor and thrown to the floor, the bag pulled from his head, leaving his ears stinging as they resisted the coarse material for a second before his face came free of its darkness.
“Bastards” he cursed, spitting at the retreating man and staring around the room. His hands were still tied behind his back so there was little he could do other than to sit upright and shuffle backwards to have his back against a supporting pillar. The room he was in was dark, a small window high in the wall and a number of jars and boxes lay around the room. He sniffed, he could smell spices. “Expensive” he thought as he screwed his eyes and then opened them, trying to adjust his eyes to the light quickly before anyone else came into the room. After a few minutes he stood and walked around the room looking for weapons, a way out or anything that could help him escape if the need came. There was nothing. He contemplated breaking one of the large storage vases to create a sharp edge on which to cut or release his bonds, but dismissed it. The noise would bring the guards and he wouldn’t have time to saw through the thick rope. He was just thinking how futile his position was when the door opened and a man who stood head and shoulders above him blocked the frame of the door.
“Fasculus?” said the voice, a strong smell of garlic emanating from his breath. Fasculus knew that some of the gan
gs of the highways and even some of the soldiers ate raw garlic as they believed it gave them strength, but this man had clearly eaten more than his fair share as the rancid smell overwhelmed his senses.
“Come” said the voice and stepped aside “and keep your manners with the boss and you’ll be fine” he added as Fasculus stepped into a narrow red walled corridor. The words “fine” resonated with Fasculus as his mind whirled, he knew this house. Yes, that statue was the one he had seen looted from a battle at Caisra years before. His mind raced, it couldn’t be who he thought it was, so who was in his house? The giant steered him towards the back of the house, passing elaborate niches containing statues of Greek gods and paintings of scenes from the Odyssey. The large garlic smelling man cut him free of his bonds and pushed him into the triclinium, a number of dining couches spread around the room, with its deep black and red marble columns. Sat upright on the central couch was Octavius Mamillus, wiping grease from his grubby hands from the meal laid out in front of him.
The enormous guard led Fasculus to a couch to the man’s left and sat him down, smiling and stepping back with a hand on the long bone handled dagger he held at his side, his message very clear. Fasculus didn’t have to look to know that several other bodyguards were only a heartbeat away should he try to do anything stupid. He decided to play his cards as best he could, Mamillus clearly wanted something from him.
“Hungry?” asked the ‘boss’ without looking at Fasculus, tearing the leg from a small bird smothered in honey on a platter in front of him. “I try not to eat too much of this” he said patting his stomach, which for a man of his age was distinctly flat. The smell was making Fasculus slaver and he nodded at the guard before reaching forward and taking a small portion of the food.
“Wine for the guest” said Mamillus, sitting back and reclining on the couch as a slave stepped from the half light between two columns, his pale white skin and long red hair making Fasculus gawp at him as if he’d seen a ghost.
“A celt” said Mamillus with a smile as he noticed startled the look on Fasculus’s face. “Not many around, and tricky buggers to train. I got this fellow from Northern Gaul. They said he was a devil from across the sea at the ends of the world” he said waving the slave back once the heavy silver cup was filled with wine. “But once trained they are fiercely loyal” he added with a glance at the Celt. Fasculus ate quickly and gulped down the rich white, sweet wine before speaking.
“You could have just asked me here” he said, with an edge of irritation to his voice. “He must of told you I’d been here before?” he half asked as he motioned to the room in which they sat, his hands now dripping with honey, which he licked from his fingers as Mamillus raised his eyebrows and turned to face him.
“No, he didn’t have time to say so, he’s only just returned to Rome and he doesn’t know I sent for you, better that the three of us speak without your employer knowing you were here” he drawled with a twang of a Greek accent. “He will be here presently and I wanted some time alone with you before he arrives. As the last man in Postumius’s silly ‘inner circle’” he twirled his hand at this comment and leant forward to take more sticky treats from the platter.
“I need to understand what it is that enticed him to join this group. Does he really think this prophecy regarding Postumius is true?” He turned a menacing smile to Fasculus. “It seems unlikely to me” he considered as he watched Fasculus pick at the sweetmeats, “the man is” his face contorted as his mind searched for the right words “vacuous” he said with a slight shrug of his shoulders. “I cannot see what his ridiculous group are aiming to achieve. This prophecy is the key, and I need to understand what it really said” the menace in his voice grew with these words and Fasculus glanced at the bodyguards nervously. “You, Centurion, are the man to explain this to me” he said “as you have been servant to both of them and you know what happened when the prophecy was given.”
Mamillus stood, suddenly, and moved to a small finger bowl to his right, washing his sticky hands in the warm water before turning back to the prone Centurion. “Wash your hands and then come with me” he said as he stood, admiring the marble bust in a niche on the wall. After washing his hands Fasculus followed the bodyguard, who ensured he was between Mamillus and himself all the time, into the Atrium, with its high ceiling open in the middle to night stars outside. The small impluvium, which gathered the rainwater, was intricately mosaiced with dancing nymphs and blue and yellow fish which, in the heavy candlelight, gave the impression that they were dancing.
“Impressive isn’t it” said Mamillus as he watched Fasculus momentarily stare at the dancing fish. Before he could answer Fasculus was steered to a chair by the strong grip of the bodyguard, the overwhelming garlic smell permeating all his pores, and pushed roughly into a small seat with Mamillus sat directly across from him.
“Tell me of this prophecy”. The words made Fasculus’s mind reel. So this was what he wanted, security. To make sure that the prophecy was real, to make sure that Postumius was not just another high-born fool who thought he was above all his peers; that the gods were on his side. That was what Mamillus wanted, he wasn’t prepared to take risk without some form of security, and information was key to this. Fasculus looked at Mamillus and saw a greedy smile on his thin face, but this smile was nothing like the dreamy, power-crazed look of Postumius. This man already had power, this man wanted a level of Imperium, total power, that would take control of life and death over the whole city and people of Rome. This man wanted the power of the old Kings.
“I can make you tell me” Mamillus whispered into the silence that had engulfed the room, breaking Fasculus’s thoughts and bringing his attention back to his predicament.
“It’s very simple” he said, sitting straight and looking at Mamillus without blinking. “At the fight at the cave entrance where we captured Comus’s son, the Augur Antonicus was seen by the horse guard as he approached Marcus Furius” at which the blank stare from Mamillus made Fasculus continue. “You know, the boy who saved the Ancilia Shield?”
Mamillus was suddenly very alert and he leant forwards “What, the son of the elder Lucius Furius, and nephew of the Pontifex Maximus, Paculus?” he said with incredulity, his eyes bright and large and his mind clearly starting to work through this new information.
“Yes”
“And what is he doing in the army?” he asked, clearly taken aback that a mere boy was in the middle of a siege on enemy troops. As he spoke he sat back on his seat and the look of concentration on his face changed from one of wide eyed wonder to deep scrutiny.
“The boy is a born fighter, sir” Fasculus said, surprising even himself as he did so. “He saved Postumius’s life at the cave in a very smart move with seven or eight of the soldiers. And then the Augur spoke to him after the battle and told him of Postumius’s future. We didn’t know what he said but the horse guard said he had been taken in a trance and had to be carried away afterwards. Well” Fasculus was picking up his pace as he spoke now, drawing Mamillus deeper into the conversation. He took a small sip of wine, “Well, I got two of my men to question Antonicus, but he couldn’t remember anything much about the conversation he had with Marcus Furius, but he did remember something about an Eagle and a King” he finished, watching Mamillus as he sat, his tongue darting from his closed lips to wet them as he watched Fasculus like a hawk. “Many of the men had seen an eagle, the biggest bird they had ever seen some said, flying over the battle field. The bird seems to follow Postumius” he added looking at Mamillus’s cold features.
“Go on” he prodded.
“So, I told Postumius that there was talk of a prophecy which had been spoken and that Marcus Furius had been the only person to hear it. He was dictating a note to his sponsor” at which he waved a hand to the room around him “when Furius came to his tent. I left to send the message and Furius told Postumius that the prophecy concerned the leader of the Roman forces at the cave, which was Postumius. He got him to write it down. Y
ou have seen some of the words, it was in the letter inviting you to Postumius’s meeting. But then the luck changed” he added, his grin growing “we found the boy in the Aequian prisoners” he nodded to check that Mamillus was aware, at which his shake of his head led him to add more details. “In the fight we had taken a number of prisoners. It turns out one of them was the son of the Aequian chief” his grin broadened “and Postumius was convinced that this change of luck was the start of the prophecy.” He took another sip of wine.
“Then his sponsor, you know who?” his wide eyes received a nod from Mamillus and a small wave of the hand to carry on “well they devised a plan to ransom the boy back to his father, so Postumius saw this as a chance to gain enough coin to fund his own campaign to be the King of Rome. The prophecy was coming true again.” The urgency in Fasculus’s voice rang around the room as he continued.
“Since then everything he has done has just” he shrugged “worked” he said with a look of confidence on his face. “The gods favour him” he added after a moment’s silence.
Mamillus watched Fasculus for a long time as the silence engulfed them again. His mind was taking in every detail of what Fasculus said. “Did you hear Furius tell Postumius that the prophecy was about him?” he asked in a slow drawl, his mind working through the questions he needed to consider.
“No” he replied truthfully, “it was just the two of them in the room, but Postumius told me that Furius had told him the prophecy concerned the gens Postumii” he added, his face clearly showing that he believed these were the facts.
“And who has the whole prophecy?”
“Postumius” said Fasculus without thinking. “Oh, and I suppose Marcus Furius still knows it, because he is the one who wrote it down for Postumius”
Dawn of The Eagle Page 15
