Ironroot tote-2

by S. J. A. Turney

  Sabian growled.

  “It might just be that misguided foolishness is as bad as open treachery, Corda!”

  The sergeant raised his eyes and locked a defiant gaze on the marshal.

  “Is that truly always the case, sir? I seem to remember that even you made bad judgement calls once upon a time?”

  Salonius stared at the sergeant in shock. Marshal Sabian was known for his sharp mind, his quick wit and his code of ethics. He growled. His hatred of Corda was growing with every comment. Sabian, however, seemed to take the comment in his stride and captain Iasus, by his side, never even blinked.

  “But Varro? And Petrus?”

  Corda shook his head.

  “I realise it sounds like a feeble excuse sir, but I had nothing to do with either. I wasn’t aware of the captain’s poisoning until he told me himself, and if I had known I’d have done something about it. Likewise I wasn’t aware that the men with me had been sent here as assassins, though I should have guessed. It doesn’t surprise me. I have seven men with me that came from Cristus’ personal guard, including the sergeant you already have. I will gladly give you their names.”

  He sighed.

  “There was supposed to be no harm done. No harm,” he muttered, largely to himself.

  Sabian swept a hinged wax tablet and stylus from the table and held them out for Corda.

  “Start writing and we might rule against death as a penalty.”

  The sergeant grasped the writing implement and began to mark down the names of the conspirators on the tablet.

  “That won’t be necessary, sir. I have no wish to go on with this.”

  As he concentrated on his writing, Sabian glanced across at Iasus and Salonius. Both men wore hard, unforgiving expressions as they glared at Corda. Sabian sighed inwardly. Somehow, despite everything, there was a tinge of sympathy in him for the sergeant. Twenty five years ago, he might have made the same decision. Finishing scribbling, Corda folded the tablet shut and passed it back with the pen to the marshal.

  “I realise that I’m in no position to ask for favours, marshal, and yet I’d still beg two…”

  Sabian quickly glanced at the contents of the wax tablet and then passed it on to the captain to deal with. Corda took a deep breath.

  “I would ask, sir, that I be allowed to take my own life without the humiliation of a public execution…”

  Sabian frowned. He concentrated on the prisoner, aware of what the other two men in the room were thinking. After all, it was standard practice for a traitor to be broken in front of his peers. This decision wasn’t going to sit well with Salonius or Iasus.

  “Very well.”

  Corda nodded curtly. “And I’d ask that I be allowed to do it before Varro finds out.”

  Sabian’s piercing stare stayed on Corda. He could almost feel the two men behind him seething.

  “Once I confirm these names, I’ll make the arrangements.”

  Sabian turned and nodded to captain Iasus. The captain, an unreadable expression on his face, went to the office door and, opening it, admitted the guard detail once more. The marshal cleared his throat.

  “For now, you’ll go with these men to be detained.”

  Corda nodded and gave a final salute.

  Chapter Twelve

  Varro awoke slowly, like a man climbing from a deep, dark tunnel out into a sunlit world. His head once more felt as though it were full of cotton, much as it had when he was first suffering over a week ago. He groaned and slowly moved his head left and right, almost vomiting with the sudden unpleasant sensations that came with the activity. Slowly he focused and became aware of the two figures in the window seat. Salonius and Catilina. Yes, that figured. He tried to sit up and his head filled with what felt like white-hot lead. He collapsed back with a yelp.

  “Rest for a moment.”

  Varro gritted his teeth against the pain.

  Salonius was next to him now.

  “I talked to Scortius. He’s adamant that you’d either already taken something just before the strong medication, or you’d had a drink. Either way, whatever you had reacted with the medicine and put you right out. You’ll be fine in about a half hour. Just wait for your head to clear and your strength’ll be back.”

  Varro tried to nod, but the sensation was too unpleasant. Somewhere back towards the window, Catilina’s voice said: “Tell him now. While he’s still too fuddled to explode.”

  Salonius gave her a sharp look.

  “Tell me what?” Varro reached out a hand and gripped Salonius’ tunic just below the neck. “See… my strength’s already coming back…”

  Salonius gently detached Varro’s fingers and folded his arm back across his chest.

  “I want you to do your very best to remain calm. If your blood pounds too fast, you’ll pass out all over again. Just listen calmly, and try not to react.”

  “About what?” growled Varro

  “We located the assassins.”

  “Good. I personally want to tear pieces off them.”

  Salonius shook his head. “The marshal has them in custody. There’s seven of them. Cristus’ men that infiltrated the Second Cohort. He won’t let you near them, Varro. He’s dealing with it in strict military fashion. They’re to go on trial tomorrow. Of course, the verdict will be guilty, and they’ll be executed, but the marshal wants it all done above board. All correct.”

  Varro ground his teeth.

  “Our own cohort! That bastard Cristus stops at nothing. How did the piece of shit get his men in our unit?”

  Salonius glanced round at Catilina and swallowed nervously.

  “They were transferred in at Corda’s request.”

  Varro stared at him as though he’d changed colour or grown wings, his mouth opening and closing.

  Salonius sighed. “Corda’s been involved with Cristus for some time, though he claimed not to have known about or been involved in what happened to you or Petrus…”

  “Not known?” Varro growled and slowly sat upright, fighting the nausea, his anger giving him greater fortitude now. “Not bloody known? Corda?”

  “Please sit back, Varro. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

  Varro’s growl continued to deepen. He sounded like some sort of great predatory cat stalking its prey among the rocks of the southern lands.

  “Corda?” His voice rose an octave. “Corda! Are you absolutely positive? Really sure?”

  Salonius nodded sadly.

  Slowly, menacingly, and with great care, Varro turned his body and slid until his legs bent at the knees and his feet his the floor next to the low couch.

  “I am going to go find Corda and beat the living shit out of him.”

  “Sir…” Salonius said urgently.

  “Get out of my way lad, or I’ll tear something off you too.”

  Salonius reached out and gently but firmly restrained the captain. Now Catilina was next to him.

  “Varro, you can’t punish Corda” she said quietly.

  “Care to put a wager on that? I don’t care if he’s in a cell guarded by your father himself. Corda’s one of my oldest friends. We’ve watched each other’s back for thirty years, even through the civil war, and then he does this? I will tear him a new arsehole!”

  “No you won’t.” There was something about Salonius’ expression that stopped Varro in his tracks.

  “What is it?”

  Salonius cleared his throat anxiously.

  “Sergeant Corda fell on his sword about an hour ago. He’s lying in the cellars at the moment and this afternoon he’s being taken out somewhere unknown and being buried somewhere with no marker.”

  Varro blinked.

  “Sabian let him keep his sword?”

  Catilina leaned towards him and placed her hand gently on his chest, lowering him back to the couch.

  “My father let him take the soldier’s way out. There were reasons.” She and Salonius shared a look. “Not necessarily a decision we shared, I might add.”
r />   “Take me to the marshal.”

  “You’re too weak…” Salonius tried as gently as possible to prevent him from sitting up.

  “Weak, bollocks. I can walk. Take me to Sabian.”

  Again Salonius shared a look with Catilina.

  “Alright, but slowly and carefully.”

  The three of them arrived at Sabian’s office ten minutes later, Varro staggering along in the middle like a drunkard, his arms draped over Catilina and Salonius’ shoulders. The lady glared at the guard by the door; her best haughty glare.

  “Announce us to my father.”

  “Ma’am…”

  “You know who we are. Announce us.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The guard turned and knocked gently at the door before opening it a crack.

  “Marshal, I have your daughter, Captain Varro and his guard here to see you, sir.”

  Sabian’s tired voice issued from within.

  “Let them in.”

  The three entered the room, where Salonius and Catilina took Varro across to one side of the room and allowed him to slowly sink to the chair. Varro fixed Sabian with a defiant glare while Catilina took the seat next to him and Salonius stood by his shoulder. The marshal narrowed his eyes and cradled his hands as he sized the captain up.

  “You’re not looking well Varro. You should be resting and getting your strength back.”

  “Pah!”

  Sabian sighed. “I presume this is about Corda and the others?”

  Varro nodded.

  “You know what’s been done to me. You’d no right to take away my revenge. Corda was mine to deal with!”

  “Not by military law, Varro. And no matter how much slack I cut you habitually, I am your senior officer and you will not talk to me like that!” The marshal’s word became quiet and menacing as he finished speaking from between clenched teeth.

  Varro nodded to himself and looked up.

  “My apologies, marshal. No disrespect was meant.”

  “Good.” Sabian smiled but with little or no humour. “That sounds more like you. Neither you nor I can afford you to go vengeance-mad right now. Corda made some stupid decisions, and he’s suffered for them, believe me, but that matter’s now done with. However, I have seven men in custody that I still have to play with. I am using them against each other. Iasus is down with them now. After the noon bell tomorrow they’ll go on trial. None of them will walk away free, I assure you.”

  Varro glared, but nodded.

  Sabian sighed. “I would estimate that, by the time of the trial, at least half of them will have delivered the others to the headsman and given us every ounce of evidence we will need to bring Cristus to justice. They’ll get a custodial sentence, along with loss of all pay and position, with a dishonourable discharge. The others will be a little less lucky. I have men taking the wheels off a cart right now.”

  Varro grimaced.

  “That’s all well and good, marshal, but with all the respect and goodwill in the world, I intend to deal with Cristus myself.”

  Sabian shook his head.

  “That’s not a good idea, Varro. I can understand how you feel. I’ve been in a vaguely similar situation of betrayal myself, remember. But we have rules and regulations now and an army worth upholding them for. And besides, if you got into an arena with Cristus, he’d cut you to ribbons.”

  Varro growled. “I think you underestimate me, marshal. And Cristus is a politician, not a fighter.”

  “Maybe, Varro; maybe. But you are on the verge of falling to pieces without his help. He doesn’t need to fight you. If he breathes too hard at you, you’ll fall apart.”

  He shook his head as Varro opened his mouth to speak once more and cut him off, mid-breath.

  “Varro, that’s an end to it! They will be judged and punished according to military law. And the information they give us will allow us to remove a traitor from power and all his lackeys. It will be done ‘by the book’ and I will do it myself. I would rather you were with me, to give evidence, to sit in judgement and to oversee the whole thing.” He sighed. “But if you’re going to insist on revenge, I’m going to have you locked in your room for the next few days, do you understand me?”

  Varro glared at him and finally slumped, sighing.

  “Alright, sir. By the book. But I want to be there for every part of it.”

  “Oh, you will, captain. I shall make sure of that.” Sabian looked up at Salonius and then turned to his daughter.

  “Get him back to his room and make sure he gets some rest. He’s going to need it.”

  Catilina nodded.

  “Yes father.”

  As she stood and grasped one of Varro’s wrists, she saw Salonius’ face for the first time during this exchange and she nearly recoiled. Salonius looked furious. Trying not to catch his eyes, she helped Varro upright. The burly young man took the other and together they turned him and walked him out of the office. The guards opened and closed the doors for them and stood to attention as they slowly made their way down the corridor. As soon as they’d turned two corners, Varro struggled. They stopped and he pushed them away from him gently. Catilina stared.

  “I thought you were weak as a kitten?”

  Varro gave a horrible smile. “Strength’s coming back in floods now.”

  He turned to Salonius.

  “You know where they’re keeping Petrus and Corda’s bodies?”

  Salonius nodded.

  Varro’s grin widened. He resembled a shark.

  “Find them. Steal them. Get them to the stable and find our horses and a spare to carry the bodies. We’re going prefect hunting!”

  Catilina stared at them.

  “Wait!”

  Varro’s smile softened and he laid a hand gently on her shoulder.

  “You know I’ve got to do this, Cat. I can’t just let this get bureaucratic. I need to look him in the eye as I skewer him. The best thing you can do for me is to keep quiet and not let anyone know I’m gone until we’re well and truly out of the way.”

  Catilina frowned.

  “He’s right,” added Salonius from between gritted teeth. “Cristus needs to pay in a personal way. Even if Varro didn’t want to do it, he’s not got a choice. There’s a higher power involved in all of this. It’s fated. Varro’s going to kill Cristus even if he tries not to. And I’ll be there to help whether I like it or not.”

  Catilina stared at the young man.

  Varro smiled. “It sounds insane, but he’s right, Catilina.”

  The pale, elegant woman lowered her face and scratched her head for a moment. When she looked up there was a sparkle in her eye that made Varro frown nervously.

  “What is it?”

  “I know.” She smiled. “Fate, yes?”

  Varro’s brow lowered further and Catilina laughed.

  “Sorry, my dear, but I won’t be able to keep quiet about your absence.” She unpinned her hair and threw her head back, shaking the black curls out. “Because I’ll be with you.”

  Varro shook his head.

  “Not this time,” Varro stated flatly. “Your father will…”

  “What?” she interrupted. “Kill you? Don’t be naive, Varro. I’m coming with you and the quicker you accept that, the quicker we can be gone.”

  Varro sighed. He looked round at Salonius and was surprised to see the young man’s vicious expression had slid back into its habitual good natured smile. “You too?”

  “The lady has her mind made up, Varro.”

  Another sigh, and Varro smiled at her.

  “Alright. Salonius, you get those corpses; can you manage both of them?”

  Salonius nodded.

  “Catilina: you get your things. I’ll pick a few things, get the horses ready, and meet you in the stable in about fifteen minutes.

  With a last deep breath, the three of them split up in the corridor junction and went their separate ways.

  Salonius wandered along the corridor. His analytical min
d gave him an edge, he thought, that the over-emotional sometimes lacked, particularly when combined with his alertness which led to him needing only five hours sleep a night, give or take, and remaining fully functional. While the others had slept or bathed for the six hours last night before everything went to hell, Salonius had spent time exploring the palace. Combined with his part in the search this morning and further explorations while Varro had slumbered, he had put together a surprisingly complete mental map of the complex.

  He had accompanied captain Iasus to the cellars when the seven traitors had been incarcerated. On the way there he noted that they passed a subterranean chapel to the Goddess of the hearth. Lying on the stone benches in this dark and cool place had been the bodies of Petrus and Corda, safe from wandering folk down here in the cellars beyond locked doors and now black clad guards.

  He smiled at the guard by the heavy oak door. It was the very same guard that had been placed on the door three hours ago when he’d been here with the captain. The guard, not much older than Salonius, saluted. He continued to smile, raised his arm to salute, and at the last moment, brought it round in a hammering blow to the man’s temple.

  The man collapsed in a black heap without a sound. Salonius crouched over him.

  “Sorry about that. You’ll have a hell of a headache, and I suspect you’ll be cleaning latrines for a few weeks, but you’ll live.”

  Carefully, he retrieved the black tunic with its white raven and wolf emblem and slipped it over the top of his own green one. He grunted as the tunic split beneath the arm. Sadly there would be few guardsmen that matched his own large frame. Still, he mused, no one would have time to examine his armpit. With a smile, he threw the black cloak over his back and, scrabbling around, found the man’s helmet. That was no good, No way would that go over his head. Oh well, the thought as he retrieved the key ring from the guard’s belt. He stood, brushing down and straightening his stolen uniform.

  Unlocking the door with the heavy iron key, he pulled it open and stepped through, locking it behind him. He would have to be careful down here. He’d seen some of this massive complex of tunnels, but apart from the chapel and the cellars, there were also the dungeons, some store houses and, presumably at least one guard room somewhere. With a deep breath, he strode off into the dark, dank tunnels, lit only by occasional tiny skylights high in the outer wall.