by Nick Brown
Ideally, he would have used another sword – the eagle-head hilt was something of a giveaway. But he had been caught without a proper weapon and armour too many times. The precious copper-alloy mail shirt was on over the padded shirt and his tunic. It gave him a little confidence, as did the heavy blade. With his hand on the hilt, he followed the others through the forest.
Simo’s mission was not going well. He had spoken to five sailors in the Great Harbour but none of them knew of anyone with a boat of the right size who was available for hire at such short notice. In desperation, he left the handcart outside a noisy tavern and went inside. The barman couldn’t think of a name either but directed him to a bearded fellow playing a board game. Annoyed by the interruption, the man nonetheless pointed him in the direction of a curly haired fellow who was drinking with another curly haired fellow. Simo only realised they were twins when he got close. Suntanned and muscular, they frowned at him until they realised a financial opportunity was available.
The men finished their drinks, then took him outside to negotiate.
‘What’s that you said?’ asked one. ‘A boat with space for six?’
‘Yes, though it may be as many as nine. And this gear.’ Simo pulled out the handcart, which he had secreted in the shadows. The trio were illuminated by the grainy glow of the lantern hanging beside the tavern door.
‘From where to where?’ said the same twin, as his brother eyed Simo.
‘First to Philo’s Point. We will wait there for the others – it may be some time. Then we would like to cross to Chalcedon.’
Both twins let out a long breath. ‘Wind’s got right up and that’s five miles all told, most of it with a full boat. This is a night’s work.’
‘Can you do it?’
‘We can do it.’
‘The question is, can you afford it?’ said the second twin.
‘Name your price.’
‘Twelve denarii.’ It seemed the second brother took the lead when it came to money.
Simo didn’t have the full amount with him. ‘I can give you eight now, the remainder when we reach Chalcedon.’
Simo suddenly realised that his cross was showing after he had bent down to move the cart. He pulled up his tunic.
‘You are fortunate,’ said the first twin. ‘Not all Byzantines would deal with one of your people.’
‘Some of our people included,’ said the other. ‘We are Jews. But fortunately for you, we do not let such matters interfere with business.’
‘Good,’ said Simo. ‘Do we have a deal?’
‘We do.’
As was customary, he shook hands with them and counted out the coins, which the financially-minded twin pocketed.
‘My name is Simo. We will be collecting my master and his friends.’
‘Bion the Younger.’
‘Bion the Elder,’ said the man with the money.
‘Ah.’
‘Only by an hour,’ said his brother.
XXIX
The House of Screams was an unremarkable building and seemed at first sight to be deserted. It was a large villa of the type found in every corner of the Empire; a sprawling one-storey structure divided into several blocks, each with a sloping, tiled roof. There were no colonnades to mark the front door, which faced a dormant fountain and the long drive that led to the gate. Not a single light nor guard was visible there. But while skirting the treeline – which ran within forty feet of the villa – they observed a pair of sentries walking the building’s perimeter, one equipped with a lantern.
And as they approached the rear, all doubts vanished. They saw lights and heard the voices of men and women. But only when they were directly behind the villa did they realise the true extent of the activity. There were at least six occupied rooms; all well lit, some with shutters open. Inside, people were moving around: drinking, talking, and occasionally laughing. There was also a terrace illuminated by braziers where two well-dressed men holding goblets were deep in conversation.
Shrouded by the trees, Cassius and the Syrians continued moving until they were close to a small outhouse.
‘We’ll get a better view from there,’ he said to Kabir. ‘Just the two of us for now.’
Waiting until they were sure the patrolling guards hadn’t reappeared, Cassius and Kabir darted forward into the safety of the outhouse’s shadows. They moved up to the right-hand corner, now only ten feet from the edge of the terrace. One of the men was talking, gesticulating theatrically. The other was listening. But Cassius did not watch this scene for long. Just yards from the men was a well-lit room with open shutters. A cheer had just gone up.
Inside was a bed, upon it a young, blonde woman on all fours. She was naked other than the metal collar around her neck, which was attached to a chain. Behind her, hands on her waist and thrusting into her with considerable force was a powerfully built African man. He too had a collar around his neck.
Suddenly, another man came into view. He was tall, fair and wearing an opulent cloak striped with red. Standing at the side of the bed, he cradled the woman’s face in his hand then took her chain and gave it to the African man. Smirking, the tall man ran his hand along the woman’s back and between her buttocks. Others – three men and a woman– closed in around the bed, all watching intently, all with drinks in their hands.
Cassius looked at the second room along to the right. He could see movement but the shutters had been left only slightly ajar. In the third room were three young women standing with a very large bearded man. The women were wearing silken robes and the metal collars. One was very pale with red hair, the other two were dark.
‘That’s Marte,’ whispered Kabir. ‘I think that’s Marte.’
Cassius gripped his arm. ‘You think? Or you know?’
While Kabir peered into the darkness, another cheer went up from the first room. One of the women was caressing the African while the tall man laughed, encouraging the others forward. He applauded when one of his compatriots lifted up his tunic and offered his cock to the girl. She obediently took it in her mouth.
Kabir was still looking at the other room. ‘It’s her,’ he said, his voice wavering. ‘It’s her.’
‘Come on, let’s check the other side.’
As they moved left along the rear of the outhouse, Cassius glanced at the trees. He could not see a sign of the other three. Not long after he and Kabir reached the corner, the two guards reappeared. Showing a remarkable lack of interest in the goings-on inside, the men continued past the terrace and on with their patrol.
Of the three rooms to the left of the rear door, only the second was illuminated. A woman had been manacled to the rear wall. Gleaming chains adorned her body, running between her legs and around her breasts. She was dark-skinned, very lithe and muscular. Cassius thought there was no one else present there until a man sauntered past the window. Silhouetted against the light within, he was clearly naked and clearly fat.
Kabir dragged Cassius back into the shadows. ‘How do we do this? There must be more guards inside and that’s a lot of people to control.’
Cassius was thinking about the three men known as The Earthly Gods. There was no guarantee that they were all here but he reckoned he might have at least identified Tribune Phaedrus.
‘It is. But we only need one.’
The wait seemed interminable; and it was all Cassius could do to hold the Syrians back. Kammath had confirmed that the girl was indeed Marte and when the large man grabbed her and put his hands between her legs, Kabir’s son had to be physically restrained by his father.
His allies were not Cassius’s only concern. He knew that more people might arrive, that Barba might change his mind and raise the alarm. But if he and the Syrians simply charged in, the least appalling outcome would be a situation he could not hope to control; the most would be a bloodbath.
It was quite clear that The Earthly Gods and their acolytes went far beyond a few decadent sex games. They saw the fat man whip the girl hard enough to tear h
er skin before detaching her from the wall and dragging her down out of view. A male dwarf – who was serving drinks – appeared there briefly before being bellowed at to leave. And once the larger group had seen enough of the blonde woman and the African, they were entertained by the sight of two more girls – these two alarmingly young – who were passed between their tormentors. The men and women did precisely as they pleased with them. At one point, some sort of contraption was brought out – a headpiece with a phallus attached. The tall young man with the striped cloak seemed to relish strapping the device to one of the girls and instructing her how to use it on the other.
To Cassius, the most disturbing element was the lack of resistance from the slaves, who barely made a sound. He stood in the darkness with the Syrians, who would occasionally move to see the latest horror unfold. Unsurprisingly, most of the guests sought the fresh air of the terrace at some point. Cassius was waiting for one in particular to do so.
Kabir’s face emerged from the darkness. ‘They have a snake in the room where Marte is. They put its tail inside one of the other girls. What is wrong with these people?’
‘We will end it. Soon.’
‘I have not seen my daughter.’
‘Neither have we seen Dinora. That does not mean they are not here.’
The two guards completed another circuit. Then several of the guests came out on to the terrace.
Cassius whispered to the others to gather round. ‘Now listen carefully. You must do exactly as I tell you.’
One minute later, he, Kabir and Kammath walked out of the shadows and straight on to the terrace. Cassius had his sword in his hand, the Syrians their long knives.
One of the three men standing there had been talking. He stopped, struck dumb by the sight of the advancing trio. The others ran for the door but were blocked by Yablus, who had crept around from the left, under the windows. Idan also did his job well, sneaking in from the right before grabbing the tall young man around the neck and holding the blade under his chin.
‘You the tribune?’ asked Cassius, his voice slightly muffled by the handkerchief he had tied around the lower half of his face. ‘Phaedrus?’
After a momentary hesitation, ‘Yes.’
Cassius guessed he was only a year or two older than him.
Kabir and Kammath pushed the other two down on to their knees.
‘Call to your guests and the guards. I want every last one of them out on this terrace.’
Phaedrus stayed creditably calm. ‘Who are you? Let us talk rationally.’
Cassius walked up to his fellow officer, who was barefoot. He tapped his sword against the tiles between his feet. ‘Ever tried walking without toes? Call them out. Just the guests and guards for now.’
Phaedrus did so.
The guests emerged in small groups, at first confused, then stunned when they saw what was unfolding. Cassius directed them all on to the ground and before long there were a dozen sitting there, along with two more guards from inside.
‘Sir,’ said Yablus, who had been instructed to use the term. He pointed along the wall, to where the lantern of the sentries had appeared.
‘Them too,’ said Cassius.
Phaedrus was given an added incentive by Idan, who tightened his grip around his neck. The guards obeyed his orders and – like their compatriots and those others with daggers – unsheathed their blades. Kammath swiftly collected them.
‘You four,’ said Cassius to the guards, ‘on your front, hands behind your back.’
Once they’d complied, he turned to Phaedrus. ‘Is that all of them?’
‘Not quite.’ The voice came from the last man out of the villa. Though he was now clothed, his large gut made him easily identifiable as the fellow who liked to employ the whip. His brow and cheeks were clammy, his double chin and flabby neck too. Sweat was already coming through the tunic he had just put on.
‘You are clearly a tenacious and resourceful man. I shall therefore be generous. Fifty gold coins.’ He offered Cassius a heavy-looking money bag. ‘It’s all we have here.’
‘Assistant Magistrate Nereus, I take it?’
The man did not answer but his eyes betrayed him.
Aiming his sword at Nereus, Cassius took the bag and wedged it behind his belt. ‘Most generous. Now, you’re going to go with my friend here and bring out your slaves. Every one.’
‘What concern are they of yours? You have fifty aureii in your hands.’
‘Slaves are valuable too. And I also want all the collars and chains removed. Go.’
As had been arranged, Kabir came forward to control the assistant magistrate. He lifted the long knife and tapped the blade against his broad chest. ‘Now.’
Nereus glanced briefly at Phaedrus then turned round and led the way back into the villa.
Another man spoke up, clearly an individual of considerable breeding. ‘You are foolish to even try this. These people will—’
‘Shut your mouth.’ Cassius aimed the sword at him. ‘You get on your front too.’
‘I certainly shall not.’
Cassius swung the sword. The tip passed within a couple of inches of the man’s nose. He flung himself down.
The slaves began to appear from the house: first the girls, then the big African and finally the stocky dwarf. The men were clad only in loincloths. The women had all found some clothing, though the poor girl who’d been whipped was whimpering, holding a cloth against her wounds.
‘Over there,’ said Cassius, pointing at the patch of grass between the terrace and the outhouse.
From inside came a shout. It sounded like Kabir. Kammath pushed past two of the slave girls and ran inside.
Cassius scanned the prisoners. ‘Any of you men move and my friend will kill the tribune. You’ll be next.’
He grabbed two swords from the pile and handed them to the African and the dwarf. ‘We’re here to help. Watch these men.’
Cassius sheathed his sword, then ran past the last of the slave girls and into the house. Following the noise of shouting and crying, he soon located Kabir, Kammath and Nereus. They were standing in front of the girl Marte, who was pressed back against the wall, trembling. Kabir was holding her by the shoulders, shaking her. The girl’s mouth was moving but no words were coming.
‘She cannot speak,’ said Kammath, who had one hand on Nereus and his knife held against the Roman’s back.
Marte managed to point along the corridor.
Kabir spun around to face the assistant magistrate. ‘Where are the other girls?’
‘I do not know. I only—’
Kammath dug his blade in – through the tunic and an inch into Nereus’s back.
‘Tell us!’
Nereus tried to pull away but now Kabir grabbed him too and placed his blade between two rolls of his fat neck. ‘Where?’
Nereus was groaning with pain. ‘All right, all right.’ He reached into his tunic and brought out a ring of keys. He held one and handed it to Kabir, then pointed in the same direction as Marte. ‘There. The cellar. But—’
Leaving him and the girl, Kabir and Kammath raced along the corridor, unlocked the door and disappeared down some steps.
‘Outside,’ said Cassius to the girl. ‘Outside with the others.’
Covering her face, she slid down the wall to the ground.
Cassius pushed Nereus’s heavy frame along the corridor. ‘The cellar – go.’
‘Please, mercy, the pain.’
‘Move yourself!’
A prod with the sword was enough to change his mind and Cassius kept at it as they reached the stairs then descended some unsteady steps into a musty cellar, lit only by a single candle.
Kabir was calling his daughter’s name. Kammath grabbed the candle and followed his father to a corner. Hanging from a pair of manacles was a woman in a grimy tunic.
She was too light-skinned to be Syrian.
Kabir moved along the wall. The weak glow of the candle fell across another captive. She was
in a worse state, barely able to lift her head. She murmured as Kabir held her chin and tipped it up. She opened her eyes.
‘Help me, please.’
‘Dinora,’ said Kammath.
Both men fired questions at her in their own language. Cassius pushed Nereus down on to his knees and took the keys from Kabir. Once he’d unlocked the manacles, Dinora fell into her chief’s arms. She managed a few words.
Cassius freed the other girl then lowered her to the floor.
‘Help me.’
‘We will,’ said Cassius. ‘I promise.’ He looked over at the others.
Dinora was shaking her head. Then she spoke again.
Kabir’s eyes closed. Kammath slumped against the wall.
‘What did she say?’ asked Cassius.
Nereus stood then turned and ran up the stairs. After a strange pause, Kabir sprang after him.
By the time Cassius and Kammath caught up, they were halfway along the corridor. Kabir leaped on to the magistrate’s back, knocking him to the floor. Once down, he somehow turned the weighty Nereus over. Pinning him with knees on his chest, he raised the knife.
‘No! Mercy! It wasn’t me. It was Phaedrus. He killed her. It wasn’t me. It wasn’t—’
The knife went in under his chin. The blade disappeared into the pale, quivering flesh then came out glistening red. As the Roman’s head cracked against the tiles, blood gushed from the wound, colouring his tunic.
Kabir stood and marched out towards the terrace, Kammath close behind. Cassius knew he could not stop them and he had little desire to do so; but as he passed Nereus’s lifeless body somewhere at the back of his mind a voice spoke.
You are party to the murder of a magistrate. And they are not finished yet.
Before he could reach the terrace, Kabir and Kammath dragged the terrified Phaedrus back inside.
Idan called after them in Aramaic.
‘Just stay there,’ said Cassius.
