“Can’t you see I am busy,” Marcus growled.
“There are two senators at the door,” Indus replied, in his native language. “They say that they wish to speak to you Sir.”
“Senators,” Marcus frowned.
“Yes Sir,” Indus replied dutifully.
Laying down his speech notes on the bed, Marcus strode out of the bedroom and headed in the direction of the hallway. It was around noon and, out on the terrace he caught a brief glimpse of Aledus, flirting with one of the slave girls. With Indus following closely behind, Marcus swept across the central living space of his villa and as he approached the hallway, he spotted and recognised the two men. They were standing in the hallway still wearing their cloaks and waiting patiently for him. Underneath their cloaks the pair were wearing their fine, white senatorial toga’s. The senators belonged to his own faction, the War Party. Stiffly Marcus extended his hand in greeting but neither man inclined to take it. They looked stern and unfriendly.
“Well gentlemen, what can I do for you” Marcus said as he slowly lowered his hand.
“We’re not here on a social call Marcus,” one of the senators said in a grave voice. “We are here because Nigrinus asked us to pay you a visit.”
“I see,” Marcus nodded as he looked down at the floor.
For a moment the two senators remained silent. Then quickly they glanced at each other and from the folds of his toga, one of the men produced a sheathed gladius, and with a bang he placed it on a nearby table.
Quietly Marcus stared at the sheathed sword lying on the table and, as he did the silence in the hallway started to grow ugly.
“What is that?” Marcus asked in a quiet voice, gesturing at the sword.
“We are here on Nigrinus’s orders,” one of the senators said sharply. “A meeting took place yesterday of the inner council and a decision has been made regarding your fate. You have betrayed us for the last time. Nigrinus has found you guilty of treason. The punishment is death. Nigrinus commands you to kill yourself, Marcus. We are here to see that you carry out his orders.”
Marcus stared at the two senators. Then slowly he turned to gaze at the sheathed sword lying on the table.
“And what will happen to my family, if I obey,” Marcus said quietly.
“Nigrinus is an honourable man,” one of the senators replied, raising his chin. “He has offered you this death as an honourable way out. Obey his command and he shall see to it that no harm will come to your family and that your name shall continue to be honoured. Your family will be allowed to keep their estates, jobs, position and place in society. But refuse, and every member of your family will be rooted out and executed; your estates will be taken from them and your very name will be erased from history. The choice is yours Marcus. Nigrinus has been generous. He has been merciful. It could have been a lot worse.”
Marcus’s face had grown ashen and for a long moment he said nothing, as he gazed at the sheathed sword.
“Have you somewhere quiet where we can go and do this,” one of the senators snapped, craning his neck to get a better look at the house. “It’s so much easier when the family do not need to witness it.”
Marcus nodded. Then slowly he walked across the hall and grasped hold of the sheathed sword. Sliding the gladius from its sheath, he gazed at the cold hard steel.
“A soldier’s death,” he muttered, as he gazed at the blade. “An honourable way out. That’s what we used to talk about in the army. Nigrinus is indeed an honourable man to grant me a way out like this.”
Then Marcus looked up. “Indus,” he said in a calm voice, pointing at one of the smartly dressed senators. “Kill that man.”
“What! No!” The senator cried out in horror. But it was already too late for him. Swiftly and silently Indus crossed the hall and as he did, a knife appeared in his hand and before the startled senator could raise his hand to protect himself, the Batavian had sliced open his throat. As the dying man collapsed to the floor, a fountain of blood went spraying across the fine mosaic floor-tiles. Raising the blade of the sword, Marcus calmly pointed it at the remaining senator and advanced towards him, and as he did the man stumbled back in terror.
“No, no, no,” the senator cried out, his face draining of all colour.
On the floor his colleague was writhing in agony, as he choked to death with Indus standing over him.
“On your knees now,” Marcus cried out, as he forced the senator down onto the floor with his sword.
“If I don’t report back in a few hours,” the senator wailed, holding up his hand to try and shield himself. “Nigrinus has thirty armed men ready to come to this house. They will kill anyone they find inside. You are a dead man walking Marcus. You and your whole family are already dead.”
“Maybe it’s already too late for me and for you,” Marcus hissed. “But if Nigrinus thinks that I am going to kill myself for him, to fall on my sword for that dick, then he has badly underestimated me. No one threatens my family in my own fucking house.”
“Do you want me to kill him Sir?” Indus said as he glared at the kneeling, terrified senator.
With a swift practised movement Marcus drove his sword straight into the kneeling senator’s neck, killing him instantly. As he pulled his sword free and watched the corpse flop sideways onto the floor, Marcus felt his breath coming in ragged gasps. Stumbling backwards he dropped the sword and it clattered noisily onto the stone floor. At the sound, Kyna, Aledus and one of the female slaves appeared in the doorway. As she caught sight of the two corpses and the bloody mess strewn across the hall, Kyna cried out and quickly raised her hand to her mouth. Marcus steadied himself against the wall, as he too gazed down at the pools of blood that were merging and spreading out across the floor.
“They came here,” he said, breathing heavily; “these fine senators came into my house to demand that I kill myself. Nigrinus has ordered me to fall on my sword but fuck that. The prick is not worth it. He was never worth it. So, I quit.”
“Marcus,” Kyna cried out in alarm, as she stumbled across the hall and caught hold of him with both hands, forcing him to look at her. “You killed them. These are Nigrinus’s men. We can’t stay here. Not now Marcus. They will kill us all. Think about Dylis’s children, think about Ahern. They are all innocent.”
Slowly Marcus turned to gaze at Kyna. Then at last he nodded, and his features seemed to soften, and fondly he reached up to touch her cheek.
“Yes, you are right,” he said quietly. “We must leave Rome. We must leave everything behind. There is no choice now. We shall go back to Dylis, Cunomoltus, Petrus and Jowan and the farm on Vectis, but we don’t have much time. Once Nigrinus discovers what has happened, he will send his men to our house and kill all of us. We are fugitives now. We must flee.”
Kyna nodded vigorously and as she clasped hold of him and stared at him, tears started to appear in her eyes. Gently Marcus ran his fingers across her cheek. Then firmly he removed her hands from around his face and quickly turned to Indus.
“We must hurry,” Marcus snapped. “You heard what that senator said. We only have a few hours before Nigrinus’s men arrive to find out what is going on. Get the horses ready to ride. We will pack only those things we can carry on the horses. Everything else will have to be left behind. You,” Marcus cried jabbing his finger at one of his slaves. “Go to Lady Claudia’s school and bring Ahern back with you. If he asks you why, tell him that we are leaving Rome urgently, and that his life may be in danger. Bring him back here. Now go. Hurry.”
As the slave vanished out through the door, Indus cleared his throat.
“Sir, if you are planning to escape on horseback then I hope you have a plan. Once he discovers what has happened, Nigrinus will scour all the roads leading away from Rome. He is likely to place a bounty on our heads. No offence Sir, but I don’t think we are going to be able to outride him and his men. Not with a woman, a boy and baggage.”
“We’re not going to be travelling to Vectis on h
orseback,” Marcus said quickly, as he glanced at Aledus. “We’ll only need the horses to get us to Portus. From there we are going to be taking a ship all the way home.”
“A ship,” Indus exclaimed with a frown.
“Yes,” Marcus nodded. “Yesterday I sent Aledus here to check on the repair work for the Hermes. It was just a precaution, but I am glad I did. Alexandros assures us that the Hermes is seaworthy. We’re damned lucky that he is still in port. Now get those horses ready.”
Chapter Eighteen – “We Leave Everything Behind”
The villa was in chaos as the slaves rushed around packing valuables into the few saddle bags and in the middle of it all stood Kyna, her hands in her hair, her lips trembling, as she tried to direct the frantic activity. But there was little that she could really do. Marcus could see that she was close to bursting into tears. The realisation of what was happening was gutting his wife. They were not going to be able to pack more than the horses would be able to carry and there was no time. They were going to have to abandon the house, the veteran’s charity and the vast bulk of their possessions. There would not even be time to say goodbye to good friends.
“We leave everything behind,” Marcus cried out savagely. “Pack only the most valued possessions and those that we can carry on the horses. Hurry.”
Then, avoiding Kyna’s gaze, he turned to Aledus who was standing around looking helpless. Hastily Marcus tapped him on his chest.
“Take one of the horses,” he said in an urgent voice. “Ride to Portus. Warn Alexandros and tell him that I need the Hermes ready to sail within a few hours. Tell him that we are coming. Wait for us in the harbour. All right. Go.”
“Yes Sir,” Aledus replied, as a little colour shot into his cheeks. Then the young man was off, limping out through the doorway. In the hall the two corpses of the slain senators still lay where they’d fallen. Pools of blood had formed around their bodies. There had been no time to move them. Marcus did not watch Aledus leave. Instead he hurried into his bedroom and, reaching under the bed, he pulled out a metal strong box. Inserting a key into the lock, he opened the box, rummaged inside and took out several small wooden writing tablets. Dumping them onto the bed, he fumbled for a stylus pen, opened one of the tablets and began to furiously write onto the thin plywood. The letters were to Paulinus and Lady Claudia, transferring the ownership of his villa and the charity into their joint possession, whether they wanted the buildings or not. The letters would have some legal status, but on their own they would not stop Nigrinus from seizing his property for himself, if he was determined to do so. In Rome he had learned, the law was only obeyed by the ordinary citizens. The rich and powerful more or less did what they liked.
As he signed the final letter, Marcus took a deep breath and gazed down at the documents. It was done. But this was no time for regrets. Slipping the letters into his tunic pocket, he reached out to the remaining wooden writing tablets and hastened back into the atrium of his home. The slaves had nearly finished packing, and the pitiful looking collection of saddle bags sat in the middle of the atrium.
“Come here, all of you,” Marcus cried out to his slaves. “Form a line. I wish to speak to you all. Quick.”
Hastily the four slaves dropped what they were doing, and half ran up to Marcus and obediently formed a line in front of him. At Marcus’s side, Kyna gasped as she realised what he was about to do.
“All of you,” Marcus said sternly, as his eyes quickly moved from one slave to the next. “Kyna and I can no longer stay in Rome and we are not going to force you to come with us. I know some of you have loved-ones in Rome.” Marcus paused and looked down at the floor. “You have served us loyally and faithfully,” he said in a grave voice. “I would like to thank you for this. As gratitude I am making you all freedmen and women. Here are your official letters of manumission. They are official legal documents stating that you are now free men and women.”
Silently Marcus went down the line of two men and two women, handing each one of the small wooden tablets. The letters had been written years before and he’d been keeping them for the suitable moment when he would free his slaves and now that moment had come. The slaves said nothing as they took possession of the documents and gazed down at them.
“You are free now,” Marcus said in a quieter voice. “Now go. Leave us and get as far away from this house as possible. The men who will be coming here shortly are going to kill everyone they find. It is no longer safe for you to stay here. So, go. All of you. Go.”
For a moment the slaves did not move. Then the two men and one of the women quickly and silently acknowledged Marcus and, giving Kyna a swift farewell hug, they slipped out through the door. Marcus watched them disappear. Then he turned and frowned. One of the women was still standing before him. It was the same slave who Aledus had been flirting with.
“Sir,” the young woman stammered nervously. “I am on my own. I have no family here in Rome and my mistress seems distressed. She will need me on the journey ahead. So, I shall stay at her side and come with you. This is my decision as a free woman.”
Marcus stared at the woman in surprise. Then before he could do anything, Kyna came up to her and gave her a silent hug.
“Sir,” Indus suddenly called out from the open doorway. “The horses are ready and prepared. We can go.”
“Good,” Marcus snapped, as leaving the two women, he quickly grasped hold of the heavily-laden saddle bags and began to drag them across the floor towards Indus. “Pack the bags onto the horses but we don’t leave until Ahern gets here.”
“Sir, Nigrinus and his men may show up at any time,” Indus said quickly.
“No. We wait until Ahern gets here,” Marcus said, as he kicked aside one of the corpses that was blocking his path.
***
Marcus, clad in cloak and dark travelling clothes, stood alone in his garden. For a moment everything around him was quiet and peaceful. Fondly he turned to gaze at the tiles, statues, plants and flowers. He loved this garden. There were many happy memories here. How many countless hours had he spent in this place. He couldn’t remember. He had created his garden from nothing and now he had to say goodbye. He would not be coming back to this house. He would not be coming back to Rome. This was farewell. With a sigh he wrenched his eyes away and turned to gaze out over the sprawling city of Rome, that stretched away below him. It sure was a great view he thought. The mighty and magnificent temples, domes, columns and buildings seemed to gleam in the sunlight and, out on the Tiber the river barges were ploughing up and down. And as he gazed down at the proud and eternal city, Marcus’s expression hardened. For thirty-five years he had served Rome, first in the army and then as a politician. He had done his duty. He had kept his vow. He had given his best and how had Rome repaid his service? They had tried to kill him. They had threatened his family. They had besmirched his reputation. They had mocked him. And now they had run him out of the city, forcing him to abandon everything. As his face darkened, Marcus clenched his right hand into a fist. He was done with politics. Whoever now became the next emperor, Nigrinus or Hadrian, it didn’t matter anymore. With enemies on both sides he was fucked either way.
Giving Rome and his garden a final glance, Marcus turned and headed back into the house. Kyna and her freedwoman, both clad in grey travelling cloaks, their heads covered by hoods, were waiting for him in the doorway, and out on the road Indus was holding the reins of the four horses. The saddlebags strapped across the beast’s backs bulged outwards.
“We’re ready to go Marcus,” Indus cried out in his native language.
“Where is that damned boy?” Marcus growled, as he strode out into the road and turned to look down the hill, but the road was deserted.
Avoiding looking at Kyna, Marcus impatiently started to pace up and down in the road. Indus was right. How long could he wait? Nigrinus’s men may appear at any moment.
“Shit,” he hissed as he glared down the road. Where the hell was Ahern?
At last Kyna cried out and pointed at something down the road, and as he whirled round and peered down the hill, Marcus’s heart sank. The slave he’d sent to fetch Ahern was stumbling back up the hill towards him and he was alone.
“Where is Ahern?” Marcus cried out in alarm, as the panting slave came lurching towards him.
“He says he is not coming Sir,” the slave stammered, as he gasped for breath. “He says he is going to stay in Rome and finish his steam machine. I tried Sir. I really did but he refused to come with me. He said to tell you that he would be all right. He said that you should go.”
Behind him Kyna emitted a strangled shriek, and before anyone could react she was off heading down the street in the direction of the city. Hastily Marcus ran after her and grabbing her by her arm he hauled her back.
“No,” Marcus hissed angrily. “No Kyna. We must leave him. There is no time. We must go now.”
“He is my boy,” Kyna cried out as the tears streamed down her face. “He is my son.”
“He is going to be all right. Claudia will protect him,” Marcus snapped, as he dragged his wife back to the waiting horses. “We have no choice. We must go Kyna.”
Hastily Fergus fumbled for a wooden writing tablet in his pocket and pressed it into the exhausted slave’s hands.
“You are a freeman,” Marcus growled as he fixed a stern eye on the man. “Go. Don’t remain here.”
Then gesturing to Indus to saddle up, Marcus forced Kyna up onto one of the horses. “We ride for Portus,” he cried as he heaved himself onto his horse. “Now ride. Ride. Ride.”
***
As the four of them clattered into the port and headed for the harbour front, Marcus anxiously cast around searching for Aledus. The waterfront was crowded with sailors, slaves, labourers and merchants and around him he could hear a multitude of foreign voices. Out on the water dozens of ships of varying sizes and shapes bobbed up and down within the protective man-made moles that jutted out into the sea. Over his head a bird swooped down on a piece of discarded fish. Twisting on his horse Marcus gazed back at his companions. Kyna looked traumatised and was staring blankly ahead. She had not said a word since they’d fled from their home. Behind Kyna her freedwoman was anxiously clutching the black cat in a sling around her neck. Only Indus bringing up the rear seemed unconcerned.
Rome and the Conquest of Mesopotamia (Book 8 of the Veteran of Rome Series) Page 17
