by Nhys Glover
He was at least two days ahead of me. I wondered what would attract the least amount of notice. I could run all day with a heavy load on my back if I had to. Not as fast as a galloping horse, by any means, but the Master was not travelling that quickly. He would be taking his time and stopping overnight along the way. If I ran through the night, I had a better chance of catching up to him.
How long could I keep it up without food or sleep? Two days, maybe a little more. I needed a weapon, though, if I was going to travel at night. A running man would attract predators.
I might also be able to cut some time down by going overland when the road curved. Roman roads were famous for their straight lines, but in mountainous areas they could not always go straight. And if the river had to be factored in too, the road might not be the straightest path between A and B.
Wandering the short distance to the edge of the make-shift town, I found a busy hostelry that would meet my needs. I immediately spied my target, a man sitting drinking alone, his back against the building, seemingly enjoying the late afternoon sun. In fact, he was already so deep in his cups he likely wasn’t aware of the sunshine. I took note of the sword at his side. I needed that sword and the scabbard that went with it.
On the ground nearby was a fallen tankard. As inconspicuously as I could, I picked it up and sat myself down next to the man. While I sipped my make-believe ale as if I too had already been too long in the taproom inside, I sized him up.
I could steal his money pouch with ease, I realised. But I didn’t want to risk the chance of him discovering it missing and calling for help. I was a slave on the run. I couldn’t afford to be investigated for a possible crime when I had no means of identification. No, I needed to win what I needed by trickery.
“You see that fight the other day?” I asked, slurring my words just a little.
I could have talked about the weather, but the fight was an even better means of starting up a conversation. People were still discussing it. No one would think twice about me bringing up the exciting gladiatorial contest from a few days ago.
“Sure I did. Won big too. You?” the man said, eyeing me with bleary eyes. I could tell he was keen to talk to someone, especially as he had something to brag about. It seemed a fair exchange, winning gold betting on my master’s man and then losing his sword, betting with another. The gold he’d won was likely more than the sword was worth.
“No, wasn’t here. Just got into town. Nice river. Plenty of fish, I bet.”
And so the conversation went on for a while, as I slid coins out of his money pouch and prepared to deliver my spiel.
“I can make silver out of thin air,” I said in a lull caused by us both sipping lazily from our tankards.
The man smirked blearily at me, not believing a word of it. “You an alc... alchemist are you?”
“Not coal into gold like the alchemists say they can do. Silver into more silver. I can turn a single denarii into two. As many times as I like. It’s how I fund my travels around the empire. I don’t need to work.”
I fingered the coins I’d lifted from his pouch. I could tell by the feel of them that I had four silver denarii now. More than enough for my trick.
“Don’t believe you,” he argued a little belligerently, his bleary eyes trying to focus on me. I wasn’t just an amiable drinking buddy now, I was a madman or a fool.
“Gents,” I called to a couple of men standing nearby. “This fellow thinks I can’t turn a silver denarii into two. I’m insulted. Wouldn’t you be, too, if you knew without a doubt you could do it?”
The men sauntered over to watch the new entertainment. Just what I wanted. An audience. Witnesses that I had won, if not fairly at least squarely.
“I’ll bet you... let’s see.” I tipped my head from side to side as if I was determining what he could wager. “How about that fine sword and scabbard at your waist? I’ll bet you that I can make silver out of thin air. If I can, I win that sword. What’d’ya say? Huh?”
The man grumbled. “Can’t be done. What do you wager if I’m wagering my sword?”
I held up a silver denarii. “I’ll give you this piece of silver if I can’t turn it into two before your very eyes. Worth a day’s wage it is. Easiest money you ever made, ‘cept maybe for that fight the other day.”
“It’s a trick. Has to be,” said one of the men I invited over as a witness. I needed witnesses, so I wouldn’t cause a fight when I tried to collect my winnings.
I shrugged. “If it’s a trick and you can show me how I did it, I’ll give you a piece of silver too!”
My pack and I had practised this sleight-of-hand for hours when we were young. Our tutor had told us that mastering it would teach our fingers dexterity. We would need such dexterity when we were men grown. And we’d enjoyed tricking the younger boys and our mothers with our newly honed skills.
“Fair enough,” said the witness amiably, a big blonde giant of a man whose common Latin was as difficult to understand as the stall-holder’s had been. But he seemed a jovial enough sort, and they were always up for some fun, especially if it didn’t cost them anything.
My mark looked from one man to the other. “You think he can do it?”
The two men shook their heads. Which was all the support he needed.
“All right, stranger. If you want to lose your silver to me, I‘ll take it. I’m on a winning streak this visit to town anyway, so why not keep it going.”
“You’ll wager that sword and scabbard then?” I checked so all could hear the bet being made. “And if I can’t turn this one silver denarius into two, or if this eagle-eyed man can see a trick, then I’ll gladly hand you each a silver coin.”
They exchanged confident grins and I made much of flashing the silver denarius before them in the palm of my hand. I let my mark take the silver and test it with his teeth to determine it was real. Then I closed my palm and turned it down while waving my other hand dramatically over the one with the silver in it. I had already slipped the extra coin into my palm before I started waving over it. But the men would be watching the closest when the ‘magic’ was supposed to be happening.
After saying some silly magical words, I turned my palm back up, opening my hand and showing them all the two silver coins there. They gasped in amazement.
“You saw the trick. Right? You saw the trick,” my mark demanded angrily.
My witnesses shook their heads in wonder.
“Do it again!”
“But I won, fair and square,” I declared in annoyance.
“My sword is worth way more than a denarius, and I want to see how you cheated,” he demanded belligerently.
I looked at my audience, which had grown in size by a few additional stragglers.
“I won fair and square. But you’re right. That sword is worth more. So, I’ll give you another chance to see if it’s a trick. I’ll double these two silvers into four. If I do that, then let it be the end of it. I will have won!”
The witnesses agreed this was more than fair, and they settled in to watch me work my magic again. I went through the same routine again, this time with the two silvers. I brought the hand holding the new coins up at the same moment I flipped my fist closed and over. By the time I had four coins clasped in my down-turned fist I was waving my open hand over the top and saying magic words.
A sober man might have spotted the sleight. But these men weren’t sober. And their eyes weren’t accustomed to seeing fast movements of this kind. They saw what they expected to see. And again, they were focused on watching the closed hand once the open palm started to work its so-called magic over it.
When I opened my hand again, showing all four coins, the crowd let out an awed sigh.
I looked to my witness, who nodded energetically. “He won, fair and square. Twice. You owe him your sword, Davkin.”
My mark was about to argue but noticed how many men were now watching him intently. A man was only as good as his word. And he had made the bet. Everyone had he
ard him make the bet. He had to pay up or lose his reputation in this town.
Grumbling loudly, the drunken man stood to remove his sword. His money pouch dropped to the ground and he hastily dived to pick it up. I could probably have claimed a few more coins, but I didn’t want to risk it. I had four already, which was enough to buy me food for my journey. It would do to get me to my master.
As I strode away, I heard the men chattering like magpies about the magic I’d done. There were ways I could have tricked them they knew, but most leaned in the direction of magic. These tribesmen were a superstitious lot, and magic was commonplace. I had proven to have magic. That was the end of it.
I bought a cooked side of meat in a sack and a leather flask of watered wine. I then prepared to set off down the road I’d travelled no more than an hour before. I had two days and more of running ahead of me to catch up with my master. And darkness would not be too far away.
After swallowing down a couple of mouthfuls of meat I began my journey. Men ran and walked more often than they rode, so I would not be an unusual sight. But I would be unusual jogging through the night while others slept. My new sword would make a noise as it slapped against my side, but there was little I could do about it. I had to move fast if I was to catch up with my master as soon as possible.
I ran until my legs began to seize up, slept lightly for a few hours, and then ran on into the night. I passed Brigetio a few hours before dawn and took the opportunity to take another short break. Then, as the sun began to rise, I continued along the dusty road.
Not far out of Brigetio, I had to cross the river. It cost me a copper to make the trip, but it gave me a few minutes to rest and eat again.
There were only a few opportunities to cut corners, because, for the most part, the road stayed straight. So I settled into a steady gait and turned my mind off. It was how we had been trained to do a long-distant run: focus on your body and try not to think.
We had grown up on tales of the Olympic runners who carried a lighted torch from one city state in Greece to the next, before finally arriving at the site of the games.
We also heard about an Athenian runner called Phidippides who ran 140 miles from Athens to Sparta in thirty-six hours to ask for Sparta’s help to fight off the Persians. When they refused his request, he ran all the way back with the news and then fought with his countrymen in the Battle of Marathon.
If an Athenian could do it, I could. And I was not even covering that kind of distance.
With those stories to encourage me, I ran on through the day. By late afternoon, my sandals were wearing thin and the leather had rubbed my feet so raw that it was less painful to continue on barefoot. The heat of the day had sapped my energy, and I was forced to stop and refill my flask from the river too often. But I would not stop for long.
Soldiers on the river boats shouted encouragement when they saw me. I waved back, not wanting to look like the escaped slave I was. On and on I went, my bare feet eating up the dusty miles as I prayed to the gods it wouldn’t be much further.
I ran on through the night, while my body screamed its protest. My rests became longer, though I shouldn’t have let them. Gods, had I ever been this tired in my life? If I had I couldn’t remember it. But right now, I didn’t have enough energy to remember my own name, no less when I might have been this exhausted before. But still I put one foot in front of the other, focusing on the dark road ahead.
At least I had come across no predators. It was something. I would focus on that. Because if I did come across predators now I would be done for. All I could do was pray to the gods that I would stay unchallenged until I reached my master.
It was almost dawn when I came upon a campsite about the size I expected my master’s to be. I had to be careful approaching it, though, because guards would take my head at the first sign of a threat.
I slowed to a walk, panting hard, and made my way into the camp, my hands held up to show I was unarmed.
Immediately, I recognised faces I knew. I’d done it! I’d reached my goal! Relief drained the last of my energy away and I began staggering.
After shocked surprise faded, my master’s men greeted me warmly.
“Asterius, this is not the way home. Surely you know north from south,” an aging bear of a man called Kleatus joked, coming up to slap me on the back.
I grinned, still panting, and took the ribbing as it was meant. “I came... to find the Master... I have news.”
Kleatus’ face suddenly turned to stone and he glanced back at his companions. All humour was instantly gone.
“You better come with me, then,” Kleatus said, and he turned on his heel and led the way to the man I’d been desperate to find since leaving home over two weeks ago.
Publius Ennius Corvus was sitting beside a warm fire watching a goose cook over the flames. A cup of something warm was in his hands. When he saw me approaching his eyes opened wide and his shoulders stiffened.
“Asterius. What are you doing here?” he demanded.
“Your daughter sent me,” I gasped out.
I wanted to stand up straight, but I didn’t have the strength to do it. All I could manage was resting my hands on my knees while I tried to draw breath into my lungs. Words were an additional struggle, but I had to find them.
“She is in great danger. Your... new wife is about to marry her off to a... Parthian prince so your gladiators can be used by your enemy. Ennia Corva has been trying to get messages to you, but none have reached you.”
The Master looked as if I’d slapped him across the face. His shock and surprise turned his face as pale as death.
“This cannot be. How do you know this?” he demanded in a hoarse voice.
“Because your daughter told us. The Wolf Pack. She told the Wolf Pack. She said she had been trying to get messages through to you but, from your responses, none have been successful.” I took precious moments to drag more air into my lungs before going on. At least my heartbeat was slowing now, and the pain was receding.
“Camellia Corva has been threatening her with marriage to unsuitable men from the moment you left, and then she said the envoy from the Parthian Prince Arsaces was about to arrive. We offered to get the message through, so she told us where you would be. On the morning of our departure Tallia, the kitchen slave, came down from the villa to tell us your daughter was confined to her rooms until the envoy arrived. Her handmaiden, Minerva, had been sent away. I was the one left close enough to reach you, so the task fell to me to find you.”
Corvus’ eyes were jumping around erratically as he tried to process my words. I could tell he wanted to deny what I told him. He wanted to believe his wife was innocent and his daughter making much out of nothing.
“Your daughter was twelve years old when she alerted you to what the madman Lucullus was doing to the barracks. She is now a woman grown and not prone to exaggeration or unfounded worries. What she says is true. Your new wife wants to make you even wealthier than you already are by selling your gladiators to the Parthians. Your enemies. By marrying Ennia Corva to one of their princes she expects to be able to open the market up for your gladiators.”
“Enough!” Corvus declared in fury, holding his hand up to stop the flow of my words.
I stopped talking. I had begun to babble in my attempt to prove I spoke the truth. All I’d succeeded in doing was making my master angry.
Corvus jumped to his feet and began pacing. His hands were closed in tight fists and he looked like he wanted to punch someone.
“Why would she share her concerns with you? My daughter has nothing to do with the boys from the barracks. Nothing to do with any but the villa slaves,” he finally said, clearly trying to find holes in my story.
“You told her about us many years ago. She sought us out at the time because she was curious about us. Since then we have, on occasion, talked with her. We were keen to help when we discovered her plight.”
The Master scowled. “Sought you out? In the barracks?”
I shook my head. “No. At our campfire.”
His mouth dropped open.
“Ennia Corva told us you knew of our activities. You approved them.”
He nodded dumbly. Then his eyes began flickering again. I wondered if he was about to have a fit of some kind.
“My daughter was alone with the four of you while I was gone?” he clarified.
I sighed heavily, knowing I had signed our death warrants. “Yes. And she brought us food from her kitchens and we talked. It was because of us that she knew about Lucullus. And occasionally we still do talk. But nothing else. We are ever mindful of who she is. What she is.”
He nodded jerkily. “Of course. Of course you would. Your lives would be forfeit if you treated her with anything but respect. And that she turned to you in her hour of need tells me she trusts you.”
I breathed my first deep breath since I started my story.
The Master began pacing again. I watched for a while and took a swallow from a flask one of the guards offered me. I hadn’t realised how thirsty I was until I felt the cool, slightly bitter liquid touch my tongue.
“I cannot get home in time, nor will a missive to Natalinus suffice. You will ride home carrying suitable documentation and get my girl away to safety. I do not care how you do it, but you must keep her safe until I get there to deal with my wife. Use lads from the barracks, I do not care who you get to assist you, but save my girl,” he declared, pounding his fist in the air as if onto a table.
“I will. You have my word.”
Chapter Ten
ASTERIUS
Using the documents my master provided I rode south, changing horses at every relay station on the way. I was so exhausted by the time I reached Salona and boarded a ship for Latium that I slept most of the way across the sea. Gone was my enjoyment of travelling. All I wanted was to get home and find Accalia before it was too late.
I arrived in Rome at dawn, the heat already so bad you could have cooked eggs on the stone streets. The stench was overwhelming, and I had to breathe through my mouth to stop myself from losing my last meal. It didn’t stop my eyes from watering, though.
