The Furies of Rome

by Robert Fabbri

  In the dim light of the latrine Vespasian could see that the sewer ran off at the ninety degree junction of the two trenches; it was just tall enough to be able to crawl along. Magnus eased his way past him. ‘I’ll go first with the lads; it’ll be easier to get them through if they follow me and you three block the way back.’ With that he knelt down and disappeared into the pipe; after a bit of persuasion the dogs followed him in. Caenis went next; her stomach heaved but she managed not to vomit. Vespasian followed her with Sabinus taking up the rear, dragging Paelignus’ strongbox behind him.

  They had not gone ten paces when the shouts of the searchers became louder and clearer; they had entered the room above, the flicker of their torches illuminating the dozen circles. Laughter and ribaldry followed their discovery of what the place was used for and before long all twelve points of dim light were closed as the men of the Iceni decided to try out this novel Roman invention. Loud and prolonged were the sounds of their easing themselves, producing much mirth, as they sent turd after turd down onto the corpse of the man who had cost Vespasian two years of his life.

  Vespasian did not give Paelignus another thought.

  On they crawled through the blackness, their knees and hands squishing lodged waste, releasing stenches that Vespasian had not experienced since crawling up the sewage outlet to gain entrance to the Getic fortress of Sagadava in Moesia, all those years ago; he had been a military tribune and ordered by the Lady Antonia to retrieve the Thracian chief priest Rhoteces to be a witness to Sejanus’ treachery. This time, however, the system was not three hundred years old and crusted with the excrement of thousands of Getic arses and, although there was no way that the experience could be called pleasant, it was far less overpowering. But what the sewage pipe may have lacked in aroma it made up for in length. On it went, past various junctions with smaller conduits flushing faeces away from the houses of the rich who could afford to be connected to the system.

  The blood ran down Vespasian’s chest from his wound as he could not clamp it with a hand; both were needed for crawling. He gritted his teeth against the pain and tried to consider himself lucky compared to the Roman citizens suffering above him. Still they crawled and slid on, keeping silent, not out of any need for stealth but, rather, because the conditions precluded conversation; even Castor and Pollux evidently felt the same and not a growl passed their flaccid lips as they too grimly pressed on.

  Then the air started to freshen and their speed seemed to increase as the end of their ordeal neared and after a few more paces Magnus halted. ‘I can see the exit. Stay here and I’ll go take a look.’ He crawled forward, his dogs following him.

  Vespasian waited in the dark as, in front of him, Caenis lost her battle with her stomach and heaved copiously.

  ‘Great!’ Sabinus muttered behind him.

  ‘It’s clear,’ Magnus called back to them.

  ‘Sorry, my love,’ Caenis said as she moved forward through her vomit.

  Vespasian tried to think of a comforting rejoinder but nothing came to mind as the sour stink of what had been the contents of Caenis’ stomach combined with the faecal reek of the sewer to make him gag. Caenis moved quickly and Vespasian kept pace; behind, Sabinus could be heard cursing as he too spewed as a result of the combined stenches.

  A splash ahead of him alerted Vespasian to the reality of where the pipe came out and he braced himself for a cold dip that, when it came, was a relief; even though the water in this part of the river was polluted it seemed as pure as a spring after what they had just crawled through. He slipped beneath the surface and enjoyed for a few moments the absence of scent. When Vespasian surfaced, Magnus was helping Sabinus, who was now also in the river, with the strongbox; Castor and Pollux swam around near them as Caenis was treading water a few paces away from the outlet.

  ‘It’s no good,’ Magnus hissed as they tried to lift the box out from the end of the pipe that was set into the concrete of the quay, ‘the river’s too deep to be able to carry it and we’ll never manage to swim with it.’

  ‘We’ll leave it here then,’ Sabinus said. ‘We might get a chance to come back for it.’

  ‘As if any of us will be wanting ever to come back here.’

  Looking around, as Sabinus pushed the strongbox as far as he could back up the sewer, Vespasian could see no sign of a boat moored anywhere in the river port. He reached up and, kicking with his legs, managed to get his good hand on the lip of the quay; he pulled himself up and, with caution, peered over to see if there was one out of the water on the quay.

  Glancing all around, he saw no boats on either side of the river. The clamour of terror still filled the night air and flames now flared all about; groups of warriors were silhouetted everywhere, chasing down victims, despatching them or participating in gang rape. As Vespasian watched he noticed that the flames were not always stationary and with a shock he realised that the Iceni had now taken to setting fire to their captives and then laughing at their antics as they tried to extinguish themselves. No mercy was being shown as was witnessed by the figure of a child of no more than five or six rolling along the ground, screeching as flames sprang out from his body, feeding upon the pitch in which he had been daubed. On the child rolled, straight towards Vespasian as its four tormentors, the swirling patterns on their torsos sheened with sweat, followed it, kicking it along if it slowed.

  ‘Down!’ Vespasian hissed, letting go of the lip. As he fell back towards the river’s surface the screeching human torch received a mighty kick and flew over his head. Vespasian pulled himself close to the quay, along with Magnus and Sabinus, and turned to see Caenis staring in horror at the burning child heading towards her, her face illumined by the flames for an instant before she realised the danger and ducked beneath the surface.

  But that instant was all that was needed for the danger to see her.

  With whoops of triumph, the four tribesmen launched themselves into the river to land where Caenis had disappeared and the child’s carcass sizzled, sinking slowly. Vespasian hurled himself forward, out from under the lee of the quay, to land on the shoulders of the nearest Briton, pulling him back with one hand on his throat as water sprayed into his mouth and nostrils. Magnus and Sabinus splashed to either side of him, lunging at two more of the attackers; water roiled with thrashing bodies as Castor and Pollux growled and barked, circling, unable to make out friend from foe.

  With prodigious effort, half-choking and his wound burning, Vespasian forced his writhing victim under as, just two paces in front of him, Caenis burst through the surface, her eyes wide and her mouth agape, gasping for breath.

  ‘Caenis!’ Vespasian yelled, grappling and straining to keep the warrior submerged.

  As Caenis sucked in the second breath she was yanked back beneath the river, her hand stretched towards Vespasian; reaching out for it, on impulse, he felt the warrior gain momentum in the struggle. He forced himself to abandon his lover to the depths as he continued his fight; Caenis’ opponent surfaced, pushing down, gasping once, before plunging under.

  Cursing, Vespasian renewed his efforts in the churning water.

  Magnus and Sabinus wrestled their adversaries, each struggling to get secure holds on slick skin as the Britons squirmed in their grip, attempting to turn and face the threat tackling them from behind. Vespasian forced his man down, squeezing his hold around the Briton’s throat, as the legs kicked without aim and the arms struggled to free him from the deathly embrace. He felt the struggling begin to ease and then slacken; letting go of his victim he surged forward to where he had last seen Caenis. Beneath his feet he felt the current swirl with the exertions of underwater combat; he dived down and hauled on the first thing he could find: hair. Lungs bursting, he kicked for the surface, pulling the struggling pair behind him, their battle not letting up. Breaking out into air he gasped a ragged breath as the body he heaved jerked with the spasm of death. Pulling it up in terror he came face to face with the dead eyes of a warrior in his teens; Caenis broke
the surface, a wild look on her face as she filled her lungs again and again until she calmed enough to look in triumph at her lover and raise her right hand. ‘I almost forgot I had it.’

  Vespasian gasped in relief and let the dead warrior go as he saw the knife. ‘Paelignus finally did something good.’

  Caenis nodded, her chest still heaving. ‘Without it I would have been lost.’ She looked at the young warrior as he floated away; she started to shake.

  Vespasian said nothing and pulled her to him as she contemplated taking life for the first time and coming so close within the reach of death herself.

  ‘I don’t suppose we get hugs for killing our bastards,’ Magnus hissed as he released his drowned victim to be taken off by the soft current.

  ‘You probably enjoyed it.’

  Sabinus peered back over the lip, pushing himself up on the corpse of his opponent. ‘They were all too busy having fun to notice,’ he observed flopping back down into the water.

  Vespasian let go of Caenis. ‘Quick, let’s go. We might be lucky finding a boat further downriver.’ He kicked out with his feet and hauled himself along the wall, praying all the time that one of the human torches would not jump into the water bringing more of the macabre spectators with it. Only the dogs seemed to enjoy the river, swimming on ahead and then back as their four human companions edged their way slowly along in the lee of the quay.

  The concrete ended after fifty paces or so giving way to natural riverbank and an un-dredged riverbed that they could, with the exception of Caenis, just reach on tiptoe. With Caenis clinging onto Sabinus they speeded up and soon the sound of misery was fading and the light from the human torches was just a glow in the distance. After a mile they were in near complete silence and darkness as the moon was covered by a thick and heavy layer of cloud.

  ‘That’s enough river,’ Vespasian said, scrambling up the bank.

  ‘At least we don’t stink like a tannery any more,’ Caenis pointed out as Sabinus heaved her out. ‘I’m sorry that you had to crawl through my sick.’

  ‘Just don’t ever talk about it, my love, and I’m sure the memory will fade with time.’

  Caenis laughed and tore off a strip from the bottom of her stola and gave it to Vespasian. ‘Use that as a pad for your wound; how is it?’

  ‘It stings but it isn’t bleeding so much; I think the water was good for it.’

  Magnus joined them on the bank pointing downstream. ‘There’s a light on the river.’

  Vespasian squinted into the dark and, sure enough, there was a thin prick of light, some way off, but definitely either on or just next to the river. ‘Let’s go and see what it is; hopefully it’s someone with a boat. Whoever it is I doubt they’re part of the rebellion, otherwise they would be in the town; but you never know.’ He drew his sword and moved off towards the light.

  Closer to, Vespasian could see that the light was a fire that had burnt low; in its faint glow a couple of bodies could be seen wrapped in blankets, evidently asleep. A boat was tied to a tree just nearby.

  ‘We’re in luck,’ Sabinus said, creeping forward with Magnus; as they neared the men one stirred in his sleep. Sabinus and Magnus froze and then once the breathing became more regular crept forward again. Standing over the nearer one, Sabinus put his blade to the man’s throat. ‘Wakey, wakey.’

  The eyes slowly opened and then the body jerked with shock as the man registered what he saw. Magnus restrained the second man as he awoke.

  ‘We need your boat.’

  Vespasian stepped forward into the light. ‘Let him go, Sabinus; I know him.’ He looked down at the man. ‘Did you find Hormus, my freedman?’

  ‘I did, sir. I was on my way back to Camulodunum with a reply but then saw the smoke and flames as I approached so thought it best to wait until morning to see what was occurring.’

  ‘Take my word, you don’t want to go back there at the moment. What did Hormus say?’

  The fisherman sat up now that Sabinus had withdrawn the blade from his throat. ‘I don’t know.’ He rummaged about in a sack next to him and brought out a scroll; he handed it to Vespasian.

  Squatting down next to the fire he broke the seal and unrolled it and began to read.

  ‘Well?’ Sabinus asked, impatiently.

  ‘Well, things aren’t looking good.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Vespasian looked at the fisherman. ‘When did Hormus write this?’

  ‘Midday yesterday. He told me to come straight back with it; we was lucky with the tides there and back again.’

  Vespasian looked at his brother. ‘That’s not good at all. Hormus says he’s heard that a messenger from Paulinus has told the garrison commander and the procurator that he won’t arrive in Londinium for two days.’

  ‘So that’s tomorrow, the day we had hoped that he’d be arriving here; what kept him?’

  ‘I don’t know but he’s not going to get here for at least three days.’

  ‘Cerialis!’

  ‘I know; he’s got to withdraw tonight. You take Caenis and get back to Londinium in that boat. Tell Paulinus when he arrives tomorrow what’s happened here but don’t get into recriminations about Decianus; that won’t help.’

  Sabinus bridled. ‘Don’t patronise me, you little shit.’

  ‘Sorry, but I know what you’re like.’

  ‘What do you mean, “what I’m like”?’

  ‘This isn’t helping either,’ Caenis butted in. ‘We’ll just tell Paulinus the facts and then he can decide what to do.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Vespasian said, relieved that Caenis had averted a spate of bickering.

  ‘What about me and the dogs?’ Magnus asked. ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘You’re coming with me.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘We’re off to find Cerialis tonight, alert him to the fact that he’s on his own and advise that he withdraws to Londinium.’

  ‘But he’s on the Lindum road on the other side of Camulodunum with the whole Iceni tribe between him and us.’

  ‘We’ll skirt around to the west and then head north. If we don’t find him by dawn then I very much doubt that his legion will see dusk.’

  CHAPTER XIIII

  ‘CAN YOU HEAR anything?’ Vespasian whispered, standing just beyond the glow of a torched farm, listening to the soft sounds of the night.

  ‘Just the horses,’ Magnus muttered back, restraining Castor and Pollux by the collars, ‘and the crackle of the fire, of course.’

  Vespasian listened again; no human sounds came from the burnt-out farm. Smoke still wafted from smouldering timbers; here and there was the flicker of flaming wood but there was no sign of any Iceni in the firelight. Yet they must have been there because tethered in a small, still-intact orchard, twenty paces away, were half a dozen ponies of the shaggy sort favoured by Britannic horsemen; the saddles on the beasts confirmed the origins of their riders but of them there was no sign. ‘They must be asleep.’

  ‘Tiring work, all this massacring.’

  Vespasian looked at the bodies of the former occupants of the house, nailed by their wrists to the trunk of an oak tree: a man and wife and their three young children. Their heads had been removed and, judging by the wounds to their chests, so had their hearts. ‘I’d like to do the same thing to the savages that did that.’

  ‘Another time, perhaps; let’s just take the horses and get away.’ Magnus moved forward at a crouch with his dogs.

  Vespasian followed, drawing his sword as he did, praying that they would get away unnoticed. They had already been travelling for four hours, skirting around the south of Camulodunum, and had come across nobody in the night; they had begun to believe that the rebels had stayed in the town and that they might get through to Cerialis without incident until they had seen the burning farm. If it had not been for the ponies they would have given it a wide berth; however, the chance of quick transport had outweighed the danger of coming close to a small war band.

&
nbsp; The ponies shifted about nervously in reaction to Castor and Pollux approaching; a couple of wickers and a snort made Magnus stop and let go of the dogs’ collars. ‘Sit!’ he hissed and, to Vespasian’s surprise, the dogs did as they were told. Magnus moved forward.

  Vespasian moved past the sitting dogs and on into the orchard after Magnus; quickly they began to untether the ponies whose nervousness had not been abated by the dogs’ halting. Another couple of snorts, a wicker and then a full whinny as the first beast untethered by Magnus kicked and bolted, its hoofs pounding.

  ‘Juno’s tight arse!’ Magnus swore as he worked on the second tether in the dim light.

  Vespasian tore at his knot with his fingers for a few moments and then shook his head in disbelief at his stupidity, drew his knife and severed the tether.

  Another whinny came from the bolting horse; sharper this time.

  Magnus followed Vespasian’s example and swapped to knife-work.

  A deep growl rumbled out and then both hounds started vicious barking as a shout came from out of the night.

  ‘Shit!’ Vespasian slashed at a second tether, cutting it, and then a third, keeping hold of it and control of the pony as the other two trotted off. Thankful that the beast was not a full-sized horse, he swung his leg over its haunches and hauled himself into the saddle as figures appeared, fifteen paces away, from close to the burning house, by which, presumably, they had been sleeping, warmed by their handiwork. Vespasian kicked his mount into action.

  Slapping the rump of the final pony to be released, Magnus mounted his and urged it after Vespasian as Castor and Pollux, still barking, bounded after him.

  A couple of javelins slammed into the ground to Magnus’ right; furious shouting followed them.

  Leaning forward, close to his mount’s neck, Vespasian accelerated away, outpacing Magnus who had less skill in the saddle, but, due to the darkness of the night, he soon had to slow again as they got further from the burning house. The shouts from behind them continued and, rather than diminish into the distance, they seemed to stay constant and then, gradually, got closer.