The wagons had completed half of their journey when a hooded figure stopped to speak to one of the front guards. The guard nodded and approached Cassian.
‘My lord, the man says he knows you and wishes to give you a message.’ The hood prevented a clear view of the stranger but from his movements it was clear that he too was nervous.
‘Check him for weapons and bring him forward,’ Cassian said cautiously and was relieved to see Spartacus draw his weapon and move in close at his side. The check was completed and the figure brought close. Cassian recognised the walk but just could not put a name to it. The figure was obviously concerned about being seen in the convoy's presence, but having a conversation whilst marching through hostile ground was not going to be easy. The figure stopped and began to speak in a hushed voice.
‘Forgive the secrecy young Cassian, I would liked to have spoken more freely but it seems you are already drawing unwanted attention.’ Beneath the hood a faint smile appeared. Recognition finally dawned showing itself on Cassian's face,
‘Old friend it has been too long, what news have you?’
‘You visit Caralis in troubled times my friend. Crime is at every corner, the old merchants have all but left with a new order controlling all.’
‘This I can see for myself. Is my warehouse still standing?’ Cassian quizzed.
‘Standing it is, but a most unwanted set of lodgers are currently residing there and have been for some time.’
‘Then they owe a good deal of back rent. I shall endeavour to collect and promptly evict them.’ Cassian eyed the stranger with determination.
‘I see the boy I once knew has become a brave man, but has he grown intelligent as well as brave?’
‘Only time will show that. Tell me do I have your support?’ Cassian asked, fearing the answer to be no.
‘Your father once saved my life. I promised myself that one day I would repay that debt. Besides, I grow weary of the scum that now make a mockery of this once fine port.’ The stranger spoke with clear venom, and reached up and removed his hood.
‘Trabus, my old dear friend it has been far too long.’ Cassian's face broke into a broad smile, momentarily forgetting the danger of the moment.
‘Cassian, my dear man. Your family, are they well and why on earth would you risk that happiness to venture to this piss hole?’ The sadness of what Caralis had become shown too clearly upon his face.
‘Needs must. I will tell you all the finer detail later but, for now, we must reach the warehouse and tomorrow on to the villa of Albus. Tell me friend, would you join us?’ Trabus smiled.
‘It seems I have shown my enemies where my allegiance belongs. They will not forgive it and I do not ask their forgiveness. They deserve neither respect or loyalty. I guessed where you would be headed, my men are waiting there now ready for orders.’
‘How many do you command?’ Cassian spoke hopefully, hoping that Trabus would have a small army at his command.
‘I have only fourteen men. The numbers have dwindled over the years, better wages and loose women soon pull men to other quarters, but these men are loyal and are good to have near when the blades are in use.’
The convoy trundled on, each of the men watchful for any disturbance. Cassian was amazed at the change which had taken place in Caralis. The last time he had visited it was a bustling, wealthy port dealing with merchandise from all over the known world. Now signs of squalor and degradation were everywhere. Filth ran in the streets, flies buzzed overhead feeding on the filth. The people too had changed, gone were the eager buyers and sellers to be replaced by drunks and whores. The empire had failed here, law and order needed to be restored, not that squalor did not have its place in a properly run Roman province. Indeed poverty was around every corner even in Rome itself, but here it was the overriding normality. These people had lost their self respect and it showed on their faces. They attempted to wash it away with the sour wine they consumed, but the shame was etched on each of them which could not be washed away with all the wine in the world.
Every other building seemed to be a whore shop, women blatantly flaunting themselves and showing their wares to any passer-by whether interested or not. Cassian heard Spartacus chastise Plinius to ‘Keep his fucking eyes on the street.’ Cassian smiled for it must be difficult for a young man not to be distracted by such thoughts, but in times like this distraction could lead to death.
Spartacus did not like the cramped streets, it made for poor movement when fighting and he wouldn't be surprised if a fight was looming. The air was filled with tension. A number of times he had noticed someone in the crowd rush off, as if reporting upon the convoy's every movement. He wondered if this new member of the convoy could be trusted because if he couldn't, then this small band to which he was a member was in real trouble. In the time he had spent at the head of his army he had grown accustomed to being well informed but now he lived off scraps Cassian threw his way and he did not like it. If danger was going to strike he would like to at least be able to make an educated guess as to when and how, but that was a luxury which was gone and, like the men, he hoped that Cassian knew what he was doing. Spartacus moved in close to Plinius again.
‘Listen Plinius, those whores bring only misery, besides we have more pressing matters than what's between your legs.’ This time Spartacus spoke gently as he regretted the harsh words to Plinius earlier and he succeeded in making the young man blush with embarrassment.
‘Sorry sir, it's just I have never…’ Plinius again blushed crimson, eyes fixed firmly down at the road.
‘I know, but it will happen soon enough and hopefully with a girl with more to give in the heart department and less in the disease department. Besides, probably best to stay alive and to do what we need to stay alert.’ Spartacus spoke the words but as he did he realised just how young Plinius was and wished he could transport the boy to safety, where he could grow to an old age preferably shagging some local girl to his heart's content. But he could not so he decided to keep the boy alive, so that one day maybe he could enjoy such a life. He patted Plinius on the shoulder and the young man brightened, a new determination came across his face to do his duty. His back straightened and his eyes once again scanned the crowd not dawdling on the whores but searched for intended mischief of another kind.
Spartacus moved back into position only to see a drunk sidle towards him. Spartacus eyed the drunk and observed that, despite his ungainly walk and nonsense talking, the man's eyes were alive and observing all. He saw the man was also holding his right arm close to his waist as if concealing something.
The drunk moved closer to the convoy, moving towards the second wagon, Spartacus prevented Plinius going to meet the drunk with an arm across the boy's chest.
‘Back in line Plinius, I will deal with this.’ Spartacus spoke not with gentility but with the authoritative voice that leaves its recipient under no illusions that the order must be obeyed. Spartacus moved to the drunk and arranged a smile upon his face.
‘Right dear friend, what is it I can do for you?’ All the time his eyes watched for movement from that right arm and the possibility of danger.
The drunk had done this many times. His master on a number of occasions had asked him to judge the metal of the men who he would liberate of certain possessions. The ruse had worked so often the drunk had lost count. He would amble up to the intended victim and, at a certain point, would crouch low, pretending to be suffering from cramps. The victim would offer help and the drunk would slit his throat and disappear into the crowd. Pursuit was not possible, for the rest of the men would need to tend to the victim and guard the convoy. It was all too easy. The act would spread fear amongst the rest of the guards and, before long, his master would have more treasures to add to his wealth and the fear of his name would be elevated even more. Ah thought the drunk, the big bastard had stopped the boy, very well your throat will cut as easily as the boy's and hopefully there will be a bigger reward for doing it.
Spart
acus saw the man crouch and heard the man squeal his discomfort. He leaned forward and asked if he could be of assistance. Quick as a flash of lightening the drunk drew his dagger, it glinted in the sunshine. He swept the blade upwards, a smile upon his face, expecting soon to feel the familiarity of flesh being torn by his dagger's edge. The drunk's eyes widened in disbelief, his arm was being held firm by the powerfully built man, whose eyes mocked the pitiful attempt. He felt himself lifted by the throat a clear foot from the floor.
‘I take it you want to send a message to your master – well by all means let this be the message, and it's one that we should not be prevented from carrying out our business.’ Spartacus spoke aloud, all around eyes were glued to such a show of strength. The drunk was carried to a nearby door. He let out a terrible scream as he saw his own dagger move quickly and powerfully towards him, a scream which was cut short as the dagger pinned him through the mouth to the heavy wooden door. Spartacus walked away, the twitching body of the drunk left suspended on the door. Cassian approached Spartacus again his face filled with awe.
‘We could have questioned him you know.’
‘I am sick of all this deceit, the next fucker who gets in my way I'm going to gut.’ Spartacus marched away.
Cassian was joined by Trabus who was equally amazed by the show of pure aggression and skill shown by Spartacus, and felt the urge to ensure understanding.
‘Ermmm, by the Gods I hope that man is on our side?’
‘He is,’ Cassian replied.
‘His loyalty, is that beyond question?’ Trabus posed.
‘He is the man I trust above all others – but I am afraid that is as far as this discussion goes.’ Cassian answered curtly and Trabus knew the conversation was over.
A number of thieves and cutthroats were observing the convoy when Spartacus had performed his act of Herculean strength and aggression. The plans they had been making within their minds had evaporated, along with the courage in their hearts. As negative as the effect upon those wishing harm to the convoy, the exact opposite was the case for the men of the convoy who marched at Spartacus’ side, heads held high.
All had come to admire and respect the skills the man had with the weapons he used, but it was more than that, for Spartacus had shown himself as a leader who thought of more than his personal glory and wealth. He was a man who considered the lives of his men. It was something rare in a leader which too few had observed back in the ranks of the legions. They glanced around not only at the crowd checking for danger, but also at the men who marched alongside them, a sense of purpose and solidarity echoed in step. Only Cassian stood apart, he still felt like an outsider and he believed he still had some way to go before these men trusted him. He tried to cast off the feeling, trying to tell himself that was the way of things, but deep down he vowed to change their attitudes.
Chapter 10
The convoy stopped short of the warehouse. The crowds had thinned this far from the centre of the port. Trabus made a signal and his fourteen men emerged from secluded spots to join the main band of men. They briefed Trabus and Cassian on what was happening within the warehouse. So far it seemed that the men inside were unaware of what was approaching. Apparently the men inside belonged to the house of Apelios, a powerful local trader come bandit who tended to take rather than barter for items, and could gather a good deal of men should it be required.
‘Well Trabus, what is this man Apelios like?’ Cassian asked.
‘He gives Greeks a bad name. He is vicious, not the sort of man you want as an enemy Cassian. The trouble is he's not the sort of man you can make a bargain with unless you have a huge advantage.’ As Trabus spoke he shook his head in dismay at the task facing them. Cassian glanced at Spartacus.
‘What do you think?’
Spartacus was still annoyed at how the day had proceeded.
‘How many man do you think this Greek can muster not counting those inside the warehouse?’ He asked of Trabus.
‘I would say at least fifty, that's nearly double our force. Not to mention the timing of the attack would be in their favour,’ he replied bleakly.
‘Then that settles it. We cannot bargain with the man, he will not burn the place down because he will want whatever is in our wagons, so I suggest we just kill the bastard. The time has come to put niceties to one side.’ Cassian just shrugged.
‘Seems like a plan to me.’
Trabus grimaced to himself knowing that there really was only one course of action. Apelios must be stopped and the only way to do that was to stand against him, but Trabus and his family had lived in this port for a long time and any unsuccessful action against Apelios would certainly see that come to an end. He looked at Cassian and wondered if the boy he once knew had it in him to challenge an old war horse like Apelios. He remembered the time he had spent with the boy's father and wished his old friend was here now. He would have known what to do with the likes of Apelios. He looked to the skies and gave a short prayer to the Gods, let out a lengthy sigh and joined Cassian and Spartacus in the planning of the next move.
Spartacus and Cassian entered the warehouse, behind them filed ten men. It was important they showed strength, the rest were left to guard the wagons. They walked as calmly as possible into the dark dusty environment, as casually as their nerves would allow. A group of three men were seated drinking wine and laughing, these were men secure in the fact that nobody dared challenge their authority. Standing to the group's right were another two men who had stopped what they were doing to observe Spartacus and his men. A quick glance up into the second tier and there were another two, and coming from behind some large wooden crates to the rear of the warehouse came another two.
‘Remind me to congratulate Trabus on his men's observation qualities,’ Spartacus smirked as he spoke.
‘Hmm, a little work needed, six have quickly become nine,’ Cassian remarked. ‘Make that ten.’ He nodded towards what seemed to be the feet of a tenth member asleep.
A man, who was in the centre of the three seated, stood and took a long look at the new arrivals. He produced a black toothed smile.
‘Yes gentlemen, what can I do for you? I am afraid if you seek business this is merely a holding area and if it's trade you require you will need to go and see Apelios.’ Emphasis was placed on the name as if to shoot a warning to those who wished to cause trouble.
‘My name is Cassian and I believe, and I am sure it is a harmless mistake, your master seems to have taken over my warehouse. Now I am not one to be unreasonable but if you gentlemen would like to vacate my warehouse I am quite willing to forget any owed rent.’ Cassian smiled serenely and spoke as if passing the time of day with an old friend. The man was thrown for a moment but quickly regained his composure.
"You're kidding right! Maybe you are new here because Apelios does not make mistakes.’
‘Oh, in that case if you and your men would run along and ask him for the monies which are owed I would be most grateful,’ Cassian said, again keeping calm and eloquent in his approach. The man clearly showed his annoyance at being dismissed as a young child would be.
‘I tell you what, how about you and your men here walk away now and maybe I will let you keep your balls? Although when Apelios hears of your attempt to take this warehouse he will probably feed them to you.’
‘Oh what a shame, it seems we are at an impasse. I suppose we shall just have to kill you then.’ Cassian smiled his sickly sweet smile and, as he uttered the words, Spartacus and the men drew their weapons.
‘Oh really, well let's see what you make of Androcles first shall we.’ The man laughed as he spoke.
Spartacus had observed the men in the room but had momentarily forgotten about the feet. He quickly glanced to the area where they had been but now the area was empty. Suddenly a huge figure erupted from behind some crates, brushing them aside and two swipes later, from what looked like a blacksmiths hammer, two men were down. The blows had taken the first on the skull and shattered it on i
mpact. The second had taken the hit in the chest, he lay on the floor blood pouring from his mouth, he would never rise again. Spartacus was amazed to see the rest of the enemies had not bothered to fight. They were happy to see this monstrous human being do his work, work he seemed to be very accomplished in. Another one of Cassian's men fell beneath the hammer and then one of Trabus’. Spartacus yelled for them to stay back and he moved into position to take the man down. The trouble was the man did not obey the simple rules of combat, he just charged, his great power meaning any opponent felt compelled to retreat. He towered above Spartacus and seemed almost as wide as he was tall. The sheer power of the man knocked Spartacus off balanced and it was all he could do to avoid a huge smash with the hammer before he had time to recover. The giant of a man caught him with a kick that sent him sprawling. It felt as though a team of oxen had ploughed into him. Androcles roared in triumph and the rest of his men cheered with him but this, in turn, gave Spartacus the chance to recover. He glanced at Cassian and winked, Cassian though could only stare back with anxiety.
Spartacus stood in front of Androcles and looked as a small child in comparison to the huge mountain of a man who faced him. He smirked and said.
‘My, my, now you're a big bastard. All those muscles, are we compensating for something not so big?’
Androcles roared his annoyance and again lunged at Spartacus who had succeeded in exactly what he had intended. The lunge was ill thought out and over reached itself. Spartacus merely took a step backwards and flicked his blade upwards, taking three fingers from the colossal hand. His opponent screamed in agony and charged in blind fury. Spartacus knew it was coming and half ducking, half rolling to the side, with a deft slash he took the giant behind the knee. His opponent crumpled and, before the man could recover, Spartacus was upon him removing his head with one blow. As he did his other hand went to his belt and pulled a dagger, and a moment later it embedded into the chest of the enemy's spokesman. Shock and disbelief etched on his face as he slipped to the floor, blood already bubbling from the corner of his mouth.
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