Emperor: The Death of Kings

by Conn Iggulden

  Pravitas raised his eyebrows. “A long time to be held prisoner. It is just after the Kalends of October.”

  Gaditicus worked it out quickly. “We were held for six, but it has taken three months to reach this port.”

  “You must have been dropped far away,” Pravitas said with interest.

  Gaditicus realized that he didn’t want to explain how long they had spent training new soldiers to fight and respond to orders, so he just shrugged. “Some of us were injured. We had to take it slowly.”

  “The swords and armor, though? I am surprised the pirates didn’t take those,” Pravitas pressed.

  Gaditicus thought of lying, but the quaestor could easily have had the five men locked up if he thought they were hiding something. He appeared to be suspicious already, despite his light tone, so Gaditicus tried to stay close to the truth.

  “We picked these up at a Roman settlement, from an old armory. They made us work for them, but we needed to regain fitness, so it worked out well for us.”

  “Very generous. The swords alone must be worth a fair amount. Which settlement was it, do you know?”

  “Look, sir. The old soldier who let us have them was helping Romans who had fallen on hard times. You should leave it at that.”

  Pravitas leaned back, his face still curious. It was a difficult situation and the five officers watched him closely. Although in theory all Roman citizens in the province were under his authority, he had limited power over soldiers. If he chose to have them arrested without evidence, the local legion commander would be furious.

  “Very well. I will leave you your mystery. Perhaps I should make you prove your right to equipment worth a year’s pay, but I imagine you will not be staying here long enough to make me investigate thoroughly?”

  “We intend to take the first ship out,” Gaditicus replied.

  “Make sure you do, gentlemen. Do you need me to arrange passage, or did this ‘old soldier’ also give you money for the trip?”

  “We will make our own arrangements, thank you,” Gaditicus said tensely, barely managing to hide his irritation any longer.

  “Then I will take your names for the report to Rome and leave you in peace,” Pravitas replied. They gave them quickly and he repeated each one to fix them in his memory. He stood and inclined his head stiffly.

  “Good luck on the return journey, gentlemen,” he said, before making his way out through the busy inn onto the streets.

  “Suspicious sod,” Pelitas muttered when he had gone. The others murmured agreement.

  “We have to move quickly now. I don’t doubt the quaestor will have someone watching us until we are out of his province. It will be a little harder to make the plan work.”

  “Well, it was too easy before,” Prax said. “We needed another challenge.”

  Julius smiled with the others. No matter what happened, they had developed a friendship that would never have come about if they were still on Accipiter.

  “Go quickly back to the men, Peli. If you are followed, I expect you to lose them well before you get close. If you can’t get clear, then have the men catch and tie the watchers until the night is over. It won’t matter if they are missed tomorrow when we’re gone.”

  Pelitas stood and drained his cup, belching softly. He left without another word and Julius looked around at the three men who were left.

  “Now, gentlemen,” he said, mimicking the quaestor’s tone. “We have to get ourselves a merchant ship.”

  * * *

  Captain Durus of the Ventulus was a contented man. He had a hold full of skins and exotic wood that would bring a small fortune back in Italy. The pride of the cargo were ten ivory tusks, each as long as a man. He had never seen the animals that died to provide them, but had bought them from a trader in the port, who in turn had bartered with hunters deeper inland. Durus knew he would triple his price on them at least and congratulated himself silently on the round of strong bargaining. Nearly two hours, it had taken, and he had been forced to take some worthless bolts of cloth as part of the sale. Even they would fetch a few bronze coins for slave clothing, he supposed, so he couldn’t complain. It had been a successful trip, and even with the expenses of port fees and provisions for the crew and slaves, he should clear enough to buy his wife the pearls she wanted and perhaps a new horse for himself. A good stallion that would breed with his wife’s mare, if he could get one for the right price.

  His thoughts were interrupted by four soldiers walking along the dock to where Ventulus was tied up. He assumed they were from the meddling quaestor who controlled the port and sighed to himself, careful to smile as they drew close to him.

  “Permission to come aboard?” one said.

  “Of course,” Durus replied, wondering if the man would try to squeeze yet another tax or bribe out of him. It really was too much.

  “How can I help you?” he asked as they stepped onto the deck. He frowned as two of them ignored him, their eyes taking in every detail of the small merchant ship. Most of the men were enjoying shore leave, of course, so it was practically deserted, with only two others in sight on the deck where they stood.

  “We need to ask you a few questions, in private,” one of the soldiers said.

  Durus struggled to look calm. Did they think he was a smuggler, a pirate? He tried not to look guilty, but there was always something to be found. There were so many regulations these days that it was impossible to remember them all.

  “I have an excellent wine in my cabin. We can talk there,” he said, forcing a smile.

  They followed him without a word.

  CHAPTER 14

  Wait! Something’s wrong,” Suetonius hissed, holding Prax back as he was about to leave the shadow of the dock buildings. The optio shook off the restraining fingers in irritation.

  “I can’t hear anything. We need to get to Julius. Come on.”

  Suetonius shook his head, his gaze sweeping the empty dock. Where was the quaestor? Surely the man wouldn’t have ignored the warning he’d sent? It had been so easy to whisper a message to a legionary as the man emptied his bladder in the dark outhouse of the inn. Before the soldier could finish and turn, Suetonius had vanished back into the press and lights of the crowd inside, his heart hammering with excitement. Had the man been too drunk to pass it on? As Suetonius recalled, he had been swaying slightly as he emptied the night’s wine into the stone gutters.

  The young Roman clenched his fists in frustration. The quaestor would reward a man who foiled piracy in the heart of a Roman port. Julius would be destroyed and Suetonius could return to Rome with his dignity intact, the humiliations he’d suffered behind him at last. Unless the drunken legionary had forgotten the message he’d whispered, or passed out on his way back to the barracks. He realized he should have made sure, but there had only been moments to pick his man before slipping away.

  “What is it?” Prax said. “The ship is there. I’m going to run for it.”

  “It’s a trap,” Suetonius said quickly, stalling desperately. “There’s something wrong, I can feel it.” He dared not say more in case Prax began to suspect. His senses strained for some sign of the port soldiers, but he could hear nothing.

  Prax squinted at the young man in the shadows.

  “Well, I can’t sense anything. If you’ve lost your nerve, then stay here, but I’m going.”

  The burly optio broke into a run toward the dim bulk of the merchant ship, skirting the flickering pools of light as he went. Suetonius watched him go, frowning. Better to be on his own, but if the quaestor didn’t come, he would have to follow. He couldn’t let them leave him behind to beg for a passage.

  * * *

  Tense and nervous as he gripped the railing, Julius peered out at the docks from the side of Ventulus. Where were Prax and Tonius? His eyes swept the open space between the ships and the warehouses, looking for his men, willing them to come quickly. The crescent moon had risen steadily and he was sure dawn could not be more than a few hours away.


  He heard a slithering thump behind him and risked a glance to see another of the swimmers reach the shadows of the deck, lying on his back and blowing with exhaustion. Without lights to guide them, they had swum out into the deep waters along the spit of rock that formed the natural harbor, denied even a handhold on it by spined urchins and razor surfaces that skinned them at the slightest contact. Many had arrived with blood on their legs, the terror of sharks showing in their eyes. It had been hard on them, but Julius worried more for the others who couldn’t swim, the giant Ciro among them. They had to make the run into port in darkness without alerting the quaestor’s guards, and they were late.

  There was only a glimmer of light from the cloud-covered moon, but there were torches at points all along the docks, flickers of dark yellow that moved and jumped in the breeze blowing away from the coast. The wind had changed an hour before and all Julius wanted to do was have the anchors pulled up, cut the holding ropes, and be gone. The captain was tied and bound in his cabin, his crew accepting the presence of a few extra soldiers without comment or alarm. It had gone almost better than Julius had hoped, but as he watched the torches snap and flutter, he felt a sudden fear that the quaestor had captured his men and it was all for nothing.

  He wished he hadn’t sent Prax and Suetonius to the inn. A fight could have started, or they could have raised suspicion with a clumsily told tale of riches on board. It had been too much of a risk, he admitted to himself, his knuckles white against the rail of Ventulus.

  There! He recognized the figure of his old optio rushing toward the ship. Julius froze as he searched for Suetonius, but there was no sign. What had gone wrong?

  Prax clambered on board, panting.

  “Where is he?” Julius snapped at him.

  “Behind me. I think his nerve went. We’re better off leaving him,” Prax replied, looking back to the dark port town.

  In the distance, Julius heard a shout and leaned forward in that direction. Another came, but in the breeze he couldn’t be sure what it was. He turned his head left and right, and then he heard the rhythmic beat of legionaries on the move, their iron-shod sandals making a noise on the cobbles that he would recognize anywhere. Ten, maybe twenty, men. Definitely not his. With Suetonius, there were only six others who were coming to the docks on foot. His mouth went dry. It had to be the quaestor, on his way to arrest them all. He knew the man had been suspicious.

  Julius turned and looked at the narrow plank that shifted with Ventulus, anchoring the merchant ship to the dockside. Only a few damp sandbags held it steady. He could have the thing up in a second and order the ship under way. Gaditicus was guarding the captain. Pelitas would be with the slave master, ready for the signal to go. He felt terribly alone on the deserted deck and wished they were there to share the wait.

  Julius shook his head in irritation. It was his decision and he would wait until he could see who was coming. He squinted at the dock buildings, praying his men would show, but there was nothing and he heard the unseen legionaries break into double time, the crash of their steps coming louder and louder.

  When they came out of the dark alleys onto the torch-lit docks, Julius’s heart sank. The quaestor was there himself and he led what looked like twenty of his men, armed and moving fast, straight for the line of dark ships and Ventulus.

  * * *

  Suetonius sagged in relief as he heard the clatter of soldiers. He would wait until they had captured the others and slip away at dawn. The quaestor would be pleased then to speak to the man who had given the warning. Suetonius smiled to himself. It would be tempting to stay for Julius’s execution, just to catch his eye in the crowd. For a moment, Suetonius felt a pang of regret at the others, but shrugged unconsciously. They were pirates and not one of them had prevented Julius from destroying discipline with his obscene flattery and promises. Gaditicus wasn’t fit to command and Pelitas . . . he would enjoy seeing Pelitas brought down.

  “Suetonius!” A voice shouted behind him, almost stopping his heart in shock. “Run, the quaestor’s brought soldiers—go!”

  Suetonius panicked as he felt his shoulder grabbed by the rush of men out of the shadows. A terrified glance showed him that the giant Ciro was bearing him along without slowing. Yanked out into the open, he could only gape as he saw the grim soldiers of the port streaming toward them, swords bared. He swallowed, staggering onward. There was no time to think. He could be cut down before they knew he had helped them. Swallowing his fear in fury, he ran with the others. There was no chance now for the private meeting between gentlemen he had imagined with the quaestor. He had to get through the chaos alive first. He clenched his jaw as he sprinted, passing Ciro in a few paces.

  Julius almost cried out in relief as he saw the last of them running toward the ship. The quaestor’s men spotted them immediately and bellowed out orders to halt.

  “Come on!” Julius shouted to his men. He flicked his glance from one side of the dock to the other, groaning as he saw how close the quaestor’s legionaries were to his own men. There wasn’t enough time. Even if Ciro and the others made it onto the deck, they would be followed straight on by the first of the port soldiers.

  Julius’s heart hammered, making him feel light-headed as he watched both groups make for him. He held still, forcing himself not to move too soon, then turned and yelled over the decks.

  “Now! Go, Peli! Now!”

  Below him, deep in the body of the ship, he heard Pelitas answer with orders of his own. The Ventulus shuddered as the oars were shoved out of their resting blocks and pressed against the stones of the dock, starting the ship moving over the dark water. Julius sawed furiously at the rope that held them, cutting a gash in the rail as it parted. More shouts sounded below as the crew came awake with the movement, no doubt thinking they had come adrift. Julius knew they had expected another few days in the port, and he had only seconds before the deck would be filled with them. He ignored that problem as the plank to the docks shifted with the ship, the sandbags falling away.

  Had he called too soon? The soldiers were less than fifty feet away from his men as the first ones leapt on, turning at bay then and unsheathing their swords. Suetonius moved like a ferret, his legs barely touching the plank as he threw himself onto the ship.

  “Come on, Ciro. We’re moving!” Julius shouted, waving his sword over his head. The big man was too slow. Without thinking, Julius started to move toward the plank, ready to jump onto the docks with him.

  Drawing to a halt, Ciro unsheathed his gladius to meet the charge of the port soldiers.

  “Ciro! There are too many!” Julius bawled at him, caught between his desire to help the last of his men and the knowledge that jumping down meant certain capture. The oars heaved out again and the plank fell.

  Ciro took slow steps to the edge of the dock, not daring to turn his back. The quaestor’s men rushed at him and Ciro lashed out with his fist at the first, a crunching blow that knocked the soldier over the edge and into the water. The legionary’s armor dragged him down in a stream of silver bubbles. Ciro spun round then and gasped as a sword took him in the back. His arms flailed, but he roared and launched himself at the departing ship, catching the rail with one hand. Julius grabbed his wrist, looking down into dark eyes mad with pain and energy.

  “Help me get him up!” Julius called as he struggled to keep his grip on the sweating skin. It took two more of them to heave Ciro up over the rail, and he gasped as his back tore and bled, leaving a dark smear on the wood where he lay.

  “I didn’t mean to kill him,” Ciro said between rasping breaths.

  Julius knelt by him and took his hand. “You had no choice.”

  Ciro’s eyes were closed with the pain and he didn’t see Julius’s grim expression as he stood up and strode back to the rail. It began to swing away from the dock as the slaves found room to drop their oars into the water.

  Not twenty feet away, the legionaries glared back, their hatred clear in their expressions. Despite being so
close, it was a slowly widening gulf that they were powerless to cross, and as Julius watched them in silence, one of them spat on the stones in disgust.

  The quaestor stood with them, his toga exchanged for a dark tunic and kilt of leather. His face was red with fury and exertion as he was forced to watch the ship move out of the harbor and finally be swallowed in the night. A couple of his men swore softly, as they too stared after Ventulus.

  “Orders, sir?” one of them said, looking at the quaestor.

  Pravitas did not reply until his breathing had settled and some of the redness was gone from his face.

  “Run to the captain of the galley that put in yesterday. Tell him my orders are to set sail immediately to hunt the merchant ship Ventulus. I want him moving within the hour, on this tide.”

  The soldier saluted. “Yes, sir,” he replied. “Should I give him an explanation?”

  Pravitas nodded quickly. “Tell him a legionary has been murdered and the ship stolen by pirates.”

  * * *

  Julius gathered his men in the darkness of the moving deck. Only Ciro was absent, left in a cabin to rest after his wound had been bound. The cut was deep under his shoulder blade, but it looked clean and with luck he would live.

  The crew had been locked away below until their new situation could be explained to them. At least his officers could set sail and keep her moving without difficulty. Still, it rankled to have to keep innocent men prisoner. It was too close a reminder of their own captivity, and Julius sensed rather than saw the anger from the men of Accipiter.

  “Things have changed,” he said, trying to order his tumbling thoughts. “For those of you who haven’t heard, one of the quaestor’s soldiers drowned in the struggle to get ours on board. That means he will have every galley in the area looking out for us. We must stay as far from shore as we can and run from every sail for a while, until things settle down. I didn’t plan for this, but there’s no way back now. If we’re caught, we’re dead.”

  “I won’t be a pirate,” Gaditicus interrupted. “We started this to fight them, not to join the bastards.”