The Emperor's Knives: Empire VII (Empire 7)

by Riches, Anthony

  ‘He’s yours!’

  Striding up the corridor he felt the familiar burn of rage wash through him with the knowledge that one of his family’s murderers was close at hand. Pulling his knife from the stricken swordsman’s throat he tugged the unused gladius from the scabbard at the dying man’s side and stood to face the last door in the corridor’s short run. It opened easily, revealing a pair of hard-faced bodyguards with a squat, muscular man standing behind them.

  ‘Get him!’

  Both of the men were armed with swords, and at Brutus’s command they advanced with the blades raised, ready to strike. Marcus threw his knife at the closer man’s feet, the blade sticking into the floorboard between them and distracting his attention for an instant in which Marcus lunged forwards and stabbed the sword’s point deep into his thigh, wrenching the blade free in a gush of arterial blood. The bodyguard staggered backwards, his breath whooping with shock as his life spurted from the torn limb, and the other man hesitated momentarily in the face of their attacker’s bloodied blade. He turned to flee but the Roman was faster, raising his stolen gladius two-handed and ramming the long blade through the terrified guard’s neck, snapping his spine and dropping him flopping to the floor. Marcus looked up to see Brutus climbing through the window with a look of abject terror as he stared back at his nemesis, and went after him with narrow-eyed purpose, snatching his knife from the floorboards.

  The wooden scaffolding swayed gently as he climbed through the window and stepped out onto it, looking to his right to see the gang leader’s head vanish as he climbed down through a hole in the boards with a frantic haste that shook the flimsy platform. Two big steps took his pursuer to the opening in the scaffold’s rough planks, and he slid down the ladder with his feet braced against its legs to land with a thump. Brutus was in the act of climbing onto the next ladder down, squealing in terror as he realised that Marcus was gaining on him, but he was no better than halfway down the rungs when his grip on the ladder’s sides was brutally broken by the impact of the younger man’s booted feet. Scrabbling up from the floor, he drew a knife, but Marcus slapped it from his hand with casual ease and punched him once, a swift jab between the eyes that sent him reeling back against the building’s side, momentarily helpless. When his senses returned he found himself standing with his back to the open air beyond the scaffold, held erect by a powerful hand in his hair.

  ‘I can pay you! Whatever they’ve promised you, I can double it! Name your price!’

  Marcus dragged his head close until the two men were eye-to-eye, his lip curling in disgust.

  ‘This has nothing to do with the Dog Eaters, Brutus! This is personal. My name is Marcus Valerius Aquila!’

  He held the terrified man out at arm’s length for a moment, waiting while the realisation of who it was that had hunted him down sank into the gang leader’s battered consciousness.

  ‘Aquila? The senator’s boy?’

  Marcus smiled cruelly, jerking the hand that was holding Brutus upright.

  ‘The same. I swore to find and kill you all. And now it’s your turn.’

  Brutus’s eyes widened as he realised what was about to happen.

  ‘No! I—’

  Marcus released his hair, put the hand into his face and pushed, sending the gang leader staggering backwards until his back foot found only empty space. He toppled into thin air with a screech of terror, but only fell as far as the end of a broken scaffold pole that protruded invisibly up into the night air twenty feet below. With a horrible crunch of bone, the two-inch thick pole’s jagged wooden end punched through Brutus’s body, suspending him ten feet above the ground and protruding up through his back. Terribly wounded, he groaned in shocked agony as the depth of his predicament became clear, slipping down a foot as his blood lubricated the pole’s wooden shaft. Marcus turned back to the ladder without a backwards glance as Cotta came down it one-handed, his other arm black with blood.

  ‘We need to get that cut bandaged—’

  ‘There’s no time. They’re breaking the door down!’

  The two men hurried down the remaining ladders while voices shouted and cursed distantly above them. When they reached the ground, Marcus took a moment to look up at Brutus’s body. As the two men stared upwards, he slid further down the pole’s length, dropping to their eye level with another deathly moan of terror and pain, his hand ineffectually gripping at the gore-slathered wood in a vain attempt to arrest his descent. Cotta looked at the long, blood-smeared shaft rising out of the gang leader’s back with a soldier’s expertise, pulling a face at the monstrous wound.

  ‘That thing’s clean through his liver. Leave him. If he’s not already dead, he’ll soon wish he was.’

  The Roman shook his head, staring dispassionately at Brutus’s contorted and blood-flecked face.

  ‘We can’t risk him telling anyone else who killed him before he gives up his life.’

  Cotta hefted his knife.

  ‘Is that all that’s worrying you? Here, I’ll just have his tongue out then.’

  He took a firm grip of the dying man’s chin, but Brutus summoned his last reserve of strength and pulled his jaw from the veteran soldier’s grip. His voice was no more than a ragged, choking whisper, but the hatred in his voice was unmistakable.

  ‘Death … Bringer … will … slaughter … you … all.’

  He coughed up a gout of blood, his entire body shaking with the horrendous pain, and Marcus took his chin in one hand, pulling the gang leader’s contorted face round to look at him.

  ‘When you reach the other side of the river, if you can fool the ferryman into taking you across, you’d best start running. Because if Mortiferum does kill me, I’ll be coming after you to do this all over again.’

  Brutus stared at him glassy-eyed. The young Roman realised that the man had lost his grip on life, and released his hold on the corpse’s jaw, allowing its head to hang loosely. He stood and stared at the corpse for a moment, feeling the same numbness that had overtaken him when he’d realised that Dorso was dead. He shook his head slowly at the absence of the elation he’d still hoped to feel in his moment of triumph.

  ‘Come on, there’s no time for that!’ Cotta dragged him away from the macabre scene, shouting back up at the gang members clattering down the scaffold’s ladders above them.

  ‘Victory to the Dog Eaters!’

  The two men hurried away into the darkness pursued by the shouts of the dead gang leader’s bodyguards.

  5

  ‘Fuck me, look at that lot! Word must have got around!’

  An older soldier among the volunteer barbers snorted at his comrade’s observation.

  ‘Of course word got a-fucking round, you daft bastard, that cock Morban’s only offered another day of cheap haircuts.’

  A queue of men had already formed outside the shop, and as Morban unlocked the door he had to put out a beefy arm to hold back the throng as his men filed inside.

  ‘Just a moment, gentlemen, the lads’ll be ready to get cutting shortly!’ Holding up a hand to indicate that the man at the head of the queue should stay where he was, he ducked back into the shop, grinning at his men as they readied themselves for work. ‘Now can you see why I set the price low? There’s barbers all over the Aventine standing wondering where all their customers have gone, while we’ve got as much work as we can cope with and more. You boys are going to make a decent purse today, just as long as you can keep up with the demand, so no fucking about with the finer points, just get the punters neat and tidy, get them out of the door and put the next arse on your seat.’

  He turned back to the door, gesturing to the first customer with a beaming smile.

  ‘Come along in, sir, come and get your hair barbered in the latest style for next to nothing!’

  Once his men were hard at work, he wandered off to buy a small pie from the baker two doors down, but before he’d made half a dozen paces he found himself in the middle of a small knot of traders, all eager to make his acqu
aintance. The baker himself took the surprised soldier by the arm, clapping him on the back with a beaming smile of welcome.

  ‘It’s wonderful to have you here! My business has been excellent this morning, with all these men waiting for a haircut and fancying a bite to eat with the money they’re saving by coming to your shop!’

  The other shopkeepers agreed noisily, and Morban enjoyed the unfamiliar feeling of basking in their approbation until, one by one, they drifted away with promises of friendship and offers to provide any help he might need in the future. At length only one man was left, the barbers shop’s next-door neighbour, a quiet man who introduced himself as Albanus and who sold pots made, he told Morban, by his wife and son in the back room. The potter fixed him with a knowing look.

  ‘I don’t sleep too well, and I sometimes sit in the window up there and watch the street.’ He pointed up at the room above the shop. ‘It’s not as if I have anything else to do. I saw your lads with the spades carrying in what looked suspiciously like weapons last night, when they were finished digging out that new cellar of yours. None of my business, mind you, and I won’t go blabbing, but you know there’s a death penalty for being caught in possession of anything longer than a kitchen knife in the city?’

  Morban shrugged, warming to the man but unwilling to trust him just yet, and the potter laughed dryly.

  ‘Don’t blame you for keeping silent. No matter, you’re good for business and I ain’t the squealing kind. One more thing though, have you had a visit from One Eyed Maximus yet?’

  He laughed at Morban’s mystified look.

  ‘You will soon enough then, now that you’ve got so many customers making so much noise. He’ll be along for his share right enough.’

  ‘His share?’

  ‘Aye, ten per cent if he likes you, more if not. I always give him a smile and make out how pleased I am to have someone watching over my business, even though I doubt he’d lift a finger if I was being robbed, and that way he just taxes me at the standard rate.’

  Morban mused for a moment, rubbing his chin.

  ‘Best not to call him a thieving bastard then?’

  Albanus laughed again, and winked at him.

  ‘Best not. Not unless you want to be bringing those swords up out of the cellar.’

  ‘You’ll have to make out that you’re Pilinius’s guests, and avoid going anywhere near the man himself for fear of being exposed. No doubt he’ll have other things on his mind …’

  With predictable punctuality, Excingus had made his way to the Tungrian barracks on the Ostian road the next morning, arriving soon after the troops had been sent to their usual training session. He’d been less interested in the details of the gang leader’s demise, however, than in alerting them to the prospect of an opportunity to bring retribution to the third man on their death list. Reminding them of the senator’s grisly reputation for playing bloody and repulsive games with the survivors of the households destroyed by the Knives, he’d started to lay out the details only to find himself interrupted by Scaurus.

  ‘You told us before that it was going to be nigh on impossible for us to get into one of Pilinius’s parties, and now you’re talking about it as if we’re going to stroll in?’

  The former grain officer smiled tightly, holding up a small leather pouch which Julius took from him and emptied onto a spade-like palm. A pair of square metal tokens fell from the bag, unremarkable silver plaques ornamented with a design too intricate to be discerned at first glance.

  ‘What are they?’

  ‘They are your tickets, Tribune, to enter the grounds and house of Senator Tiberius Asinius Pilinius. Tonight, for one night only, you have the opportunity to witness the sort of games that the senator and his friends like to get up to in private and, if you’re lucky, to deal out whatever justice to him you think fitting.’ He raised a warning finger. ‘Although you’ll have to be very good indeed to achieve that laudable aim and get out unharmed. The senator takes no risks with his safety, especially when his closest and most powerful friends come out to play, so you’ll be searched most comprehensively before being allowed to enter the grounds. Any weaponry you use will therefore have to be taken from the guards.’

  ‘I see.’

  Scaurus took one of the tokens from Julius, initially frowning at it as he tried to work out exactly what the design that adorned the silver surface represented, then recoiling with a grimace as he worked it out. He tossed it to Marcus, who looked down and momentarily closed his eyes as he made the same realisation.

  ‘So exactly how did you come by these tickets to enter the senator’s night of debauchery?’

  Excingus’s face took on the same obdurate look he’d assumed the last time they’d asked him to reveal his sources, but before he could speak, Scaurus unleashed Marcus with a twitch of his head towards the informant, and the young Roman was across the room and at his throat, pushing him back against the building’s wooden wall with a strength that Excingus had not suspected until it was too late. Scaurus and Julius stepped in close behind him, each of them regarding him dispassionately.

  ‘You’re not under Senator Sigilis’s protection now, Informant, and I’m closer than you might suspect to turning you over to the delicate mercies of this rather frustrated centurion. You’ll recall that he has a strong motivation to treat you with an equal lack of compassion to that you displayed towards his pregnant wife? So I suggest that you unlock that head full of secrets just a little, and be as frank as you can possibly be about what we’ll be walking into tonight, if we take up this last-minute invitation to put our heads into the lion’s mouth. It’s either that or …’

  Marcus reached down to his belt and pulled a knife from its sheath, raising the curiously patterned iron so that Excingus could see it. His voice was cold, that of a man barely holding on to his temper.

  ‘This dagger has a curious history. It was originally part of a larger weapon, a sword made with an exotic iron from the east and forged under the hammer of a smith with incomparable skill. That sword would cut through armour like cleaving smoke, and when I took it from the man who was using it for evil purposes, I had it melted down and reformed as a series of knives, of which this is one. Do you see the parallel with yourself perhaps?’

  Excingus snorted his disdain.

  ‘I tell you everything, or you’ll use it to cut me to pieces?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The informant looked into his eyes, and realised with a start that, if anything, the centurion would probably rather he remained silent. He sighed.

  ‘Very well. You know all too well that I’m a pragmatist, especially with a blade at my throat. My man inside Pilinius’s domus is his secretary.’

  Scaurus raised an eyebrow at the informer.

  ‘You’ve suborned the man who has every tiny detail of the senator’s dirty little games in his head? That really is quite impressive, Excingus. I may not like you, but I’m forced to admit that as informants go you’re straight out of the top drawer. What did you do, pay him or threaten him?’

  ‘That’s not rel—’

  Marcus leaned forward and glared at Excingus, his hard-eyed stare speaking volumes as to his desire to take his knife to the man, and Scaurus smiled grimly at the informant’s involuntary twitch of fear.

  ‘Oh, it is relevant, I’m afraid. What are we to do should your man’s resolve weaken at a critical moment, if he realises the inevitable consequences of his betrayal if we fail? It’ll be too late to ask questions once we’re at Pilinius’s mercy, won’t it? So I need to know what your leverage was, Informant, in order that I can use it to put him back in line if he shows any sign of turning on us. Without that we’ll have no choice but to turn down this opportunity, and with that your usefulness to us will be at an end.’

  The informant looked at him, then back at Marcus.

  ‘I have no choice, I see. Very well.’ He sighed, raising his eyes to the room’s ceiling at being forced to disclose his secrets. ‘I discovered, by me
ans of tailing the man when he left the senator’s estate on the private business that Pilinius allows him, that he has children by a slave in another senatorial household. It seems that their owner gave him to Pilinius in repayment of a debt when the senator decided that he needed a rather more capable secretary. They live with their mother, whose owner is a relatively soft man and has not yet sold them on. It seemed likely to me that this man would want to purchase not only his own freedom, but that of his woman and the children, and so I realised that I had two means of controlling him.’

  ‘Money and the risk of betrayal?’

  Excingus smiled at Marcus, nodding his head.

  ‘You know, Centurion, I think you’d make a very capable grain officer. Yes, money to swell the funds with which he hopes to buy their freedom, and the threat that Pilinius might come by the information that his secretary has children. The senator’s more than clever enough to realise that his man is compromised by their existence, were he ever to discover them, and quite sadistic enough to claim them from his colleague as the secretary’s blood and therefore his property as the man’s master. And what he might do with them once he had power over them … well, that’s enough to give any man pause for thought.’

  The tribune thought for a moment.

  ‘So these tokens …’ He shot a look of disgust at the metal square resting on his palm. ‘Will gain us entry to Pilinius’s villa?’

  Excingus nodded.

  ‘Not just into the house, there’ll be plenty of people there who are only invited to attend the party that’s the front for the real event. After all, there are only a very few men who gain access to the senator’s real entertainment, the rest are just invited to provide the cover of an innocent night of debauchery for those select few.’