Veterans of Rome (Book 9 of the Veteran of Rome Series)

by William Kelso

  Menacingly Flaccus raised his vine staff in the air. “If you are fucking wasting my time citizen I will beat the shit out of you. This is no joking matter.”

  In response Marcus raised the three remaining fingers on his left hand in the air.

  “Did your superiors not tell you that the man you were looking for has only three fingers on his left hand. Well here they are,” Marcus retorted.

  “Shit,” Flaccus swore softly and a little colour shot into his cheeks as he caught sight of Marcus’s mutilated left hand.

  “I heard that you and your men were coming to pay me and my farm a visit,” Marcus said sternly, his eyes fixed on the centurion. “So, I thought I would head you off. Save you getting your boots wet crossing over to Vectis.”

  “That’s kind of you,” Flaccus retorted in a sarcastic voice and, flashing Marcus a quick fake smile.

  “Listen,” Marcus continued. “I have no argument with you or your superiors. I don’t know what lies they have told you about me or what they have promised you. I am here because I think you and I can make a deal.”

  “A deal,” Flaccus blurted out as he raised his eyebrows in surprise. “My orders are to find you and bring you back to Isca dead or alive. That’s the deal. You have got a hell of a nerve standing there telling me what I should be doing. What is stopping me from ordering my men to seize you right now?”

  Quickly Flaccus turned to look at the forest on either side of the road. “Or are you going to convince me that you have a hundred armed-men hiding amongst the trees just waiting to fall on us. I don’t think so.”

  “You are not listening,” Marcus snapped, as his face darkened. “Sure, your soldiers can overpower me. You have the numbers. You have your orders. But you, you are not going to be one that takes me. See those two men of mine over there at the edge of the forest.” Marcus paused, without taking his eyes from Flaccus. “The one pointing his bow at you right now. I have seen him kill a man with a single shot from twice that distance. So, if you are feeling confident go ahead and order your men to seize me, but I can assure you that you won’t be around to witness all the fun afterwards.”

  Carefully and coolly Flaccus turned to gaze in Indus’s and Cunomoltus’s direction. Standing near the trees away from the road, Indus had notched an arrow to his bow and was crouching and carefully aiming the weapon directly at the centurion.

  “Fuck you,” the officer hissed.

  “You and I are going to make a deal,” Marcus growled. “It’s either that or both of us are going to die right here on this road. The choice is yours. Tell me what your superiors promised you as a reward for my capture?”

  Slowly Flaccus turned to gaze at Marcus, his face calm and devoid of emotion and for a long moment the officer said nothing.

  “Ten gold coins,” Flaccus snapped.

  “I will give you twenty gold coins to turn your men around and fuck off back to where you came from.”

  “I want fifty gold coins,” Flaccus retorted quietly, as he took a step towards Marcus. “And I am going to need another twenty gold for my superior, plus another fifty to keep my men from talking. You got that kind of gold, arsehole?”

  “Done,” Marcus snapped. “I have the gold. And when you return to Isca you will tell your superiors that you could not find me or my family. You will tell them that we have vanished. And I want you to remember something. I have eyes and ears in Isca. They will be watching you. If I learn that you have reneged on our deal, I will cut your balls off. Is that clear enough for you dick-head?”

  Across from him, Flaccus gave Marcus a contemptuous look. Then idly his eyes settled on Cunomoltus and Indus.

  “If you have the gold,” Flaccus muttered. “Then you must be keeping it nearby. Maybe I will just take it from you and get paid twice.”

  “It’s buried in the ground,” Marcus replied. “Only I know where and I am not going to tell anyone. You see I have been tortured before in Caledonia by druids. Trust me, they know how to inflict pain on a man. But here’s the rub,” Marcus snapped, as he took a step towards Flaccus, his eyes flashing dangerously. “I don’t think I really care anymore whether I live or die. Maybe I am just tired of life. When a man reaches my age and has seen what I have seen, sometimes he just really doesn’t give a shit anymore. Have you ever had that feeling centurion?”

  Flaccus turned to stare at Marcus in silence. Then slowly he shook his head.

  “You are fucking crazy old man,” the centurion hissed. “Just get the gold and we will be on our way.”

  ***

  “He’s back,” Cunomoltus yelled as Marcus came out of the doorway to his villa and started to hurry across the courtyard. “Indus is back.”

  As Marcus approached the gates of his home in the noon sunshine he frowned as he caught sight of the solitary horseman trotting towards the farm. Several days had passed since he’d successfully managed to bribe Flaccus and his men on the road to Noviomagus Reginorum. But soon after they had started out on their return journey home, Indus had vanished without explanation. There had been no point in trying to look for him and Marcus had resigned himself to the belief that Indus would return when he wanted to.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Marcus roared, as accompanied by Cunomoltus, he opened the gates and strode out onto the rutted track towards the horseman. “Care to explain why you left us without saying a single word?”

  Indus said nothing as he slowed his pace. Then reaching the position where Marcus and Cunomoltus were standing waiting for him, the big Batavian warrior calmly dismounted and grasping the reins of his horse, he led the beast up to Marcus. The Batavian looked his usual stoic, quiet and unexcitable self.

  “Well,” Marcus growled in an annoyed voice as he stared at Indus.

  “Sorry Sir,” Indus muttered. “I couldn’t tell you what I had to do, for I know you would not approve but it had to be done.”

  “What?” Marcus snapped as his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What did you do Indus?”

  “Well it’s like this Sir,” Indus replied in a calm, quiet voice. “After I left you, I went looking for those legionaries and that centurion. Finally caught up with them close to Aquae Sulis. That centurion, Sir. The man called Flaccus. When he went to visit a whorehouse in town one night. I cut his throat and dumped his body in a lake. The man was an arsehole.”

  “You did what?” Marcus exclaimed.

  “I killed him Sir,” Indus replied in a calm voice. “Don’t worry. There were no witnesses and they won’t find his body. Like I said, I didn’t like the look of him and he was threatening you. He was always going to remain a threat. So, now the next man thinking about taking you on will think twice before coming here. I killed Flaccus as a deterrent, Sir. No one knows it was us, but everyone knows it was us, if you understand what I am saying Sir.”

  “Jupiter’s balls,” Marcus groaned as he lowered his head, closed his eyes and rubbed his hand across his face.

  “Yeah and I brought back sixty-five gold coins that he took from you Sir. Couldn’t get the rest from those legionaries,” Indus replied, as fishing inside his tunic he produced a leather bag and stuffed it into Cunomoltus’s startled hand.

  Chapter Twenty-Two – Visitors

  November 115 AD

  Out of the grey, dull, overcast skies the rain came pelting down. It was a cold morning and inside their pens the farm’s cows were mooing as they waited impatiently to be milked. Marcus was in one of the workshops helping Jowan fix a new wheel to one of the farm’s wagons when Petrus appeared at the barn door. His hood and cloak were drenched.

  “Marcus,” Petrus called out in an urgent voice. “The slave on watch reports that there is a man at the gates. He says he’s been sent by one of our neighbours. He wants to speak to you. Says its urgent.”

  For a moment Marcus gazed at Petrus. Then, exchanging a quick glance with Jowan, he got to his feet and reached for his cloak that was draped over the side of the wagon. Without saying a word, Marcus strode out into the
rain, pulling his hood over his head as he did. He was swiftly followed by Petrus. On his belt Marcus was carrying a sheathed gladius and his army pugio. As the two of them squelched through the puddles towards the fence that marked the boundary of his property, Marcus peered at the solitary horseman waiting patiently by the closed wooden gates. Close by, languishing atop the newly erected watchtower, a slave was clutching an old army surplus trumpet and trying to keep himself dry.

  “Fine weather in which to be out riding, friend,” Marcus called out, as he raised his hand in greeting when he recognised his neighbour’s youngest son.

  Atop his horse, the young man nodded. “Marcus,” the boy called out lowering his hood, his face squinting in the rain. “My father sent me to warn you. Strangers have been spotted coming ashore to the north. They are heading your way.”

  “Strangers,” Marcus growled guardedly, his face darkening.

  “That’s right,” the boy nodded. “Nine of them including two women. They have horses, but they didn’t seem to be in a hurry. They will be here within the hour.”

  And with that the boy nodded a quick farewell, turned his horse around and went trotting away through the rain.

  For a long moment Marcus watched the boy ride away. Then thoughtfully he raised his hand to rub his chin.

  “Bounty hunters?” Petrus exclaimed in a tense voice.

  “I don’t think so,” Marcus growled. Calmly he turned away from the gates and started back towards the villa. “Alert the others,” he snapped as Petrus hastily caught up with him. “I am not going to take any chances. Have the whole family and the slaves gather together in the house. Everyone is to be armed, including the slaves and tell Indus to fetch his bow and take up a position in the watchtower. I will meet these visitors at the gates and tell Kyna to join me. Hurry.”

  “Who do you think they are?” Petrus said in an anxious voice.

  But Marcus was not listening. His old, weathered face had become hard as flint as he stomped away through the rain.

  ***

  As one by one the nine riders appeared on the muddy, rutted and puddle-strewn track, the slave up on the watchtower quickly raised his trumpet to his lips. The short warning blast from the trumpet rang out across the villa and the sodden fields beyond. Beside the closed gates, Marcus, with the hood of his cloak drawn over his head, stood peering at the visitors. It had finally stopped raining, but the skies were still dull and heavily overcast. At his side Kyna had wrapped a fur cloak and hood around her body and was watching the newcomers with a strange, calm resolve. Up on the platform in the watchtower, Indus slowly notched an arrow to his bow and casually turned to point the weapon at the horsemen. The riders however seemed unconcerned that they had been spotted. Walking their horses down the muddy track, they slowly came on towards the gates. They were led by a small, slim figure wrapped in a long mud-splattered riding cloak and with a hood drawn over their head. And as they drew nearer, Marcus’s hand slowly tightened into a fist.

  Reaching the closed gates, the riders came to a slow halt and for a moment no one spoke or moved. Then calmly, Elsa reached up and lowered her hood from around her head and shook free her long blond hair. From atop her horse, her hard, fearless eyes slowly fixed on Marcus. Across her chest, strapped into a small ingenious leather harness, a small baby was sleeping peacefully. Behind Elsa her companions had spread out into a single line. The seven men and one women were all armed and amongst them, Marcus suddenly thought he recognised some of the men who had chased him and Indus across the Rhine. Across the space that separated them the tense, silent, standoff lengthened.

  “So, you came,” Marcus called out, as he turned his attention back to Elsa. “That was a brave thing to do. I see you have brought your extended family with you. But where is Cassius? Where is your husband? I don’t see him with you.”

  “Cassius chose not to see you,” Elsa replied in a cold voice from atop her horse. “Where is my brother? What have you done to Armin?”

  “He is here,” Marcus growled as he glared at Elsa. “He lives.”

  Marcus paused. At his side Kyna was studying Elsa intently, her face a mask of quiet female resolve.

  “If your husband, my former secretary, does not dare face me then he is a coward,” Marcus bellowed. “You married a coward, Elsa.”

  “I have not come here to argue with you,” Elsa shot back. “I have come here to take Armin back home to where he belongs.”

  “Who says that he is going back with you,” Marcus shouted, his eyes boiling over with sudden anger. “Who says that any of you are leaving this place? From the moment you and your companions set foot on this island you belonged to me. You betrayed me and my family. You tried to ruin me. There is a price to pay for such treachery and you will pay it.”

  On their horses Elsa’s companions stirred and Elsa glanced quickly in the direction of the watchtower from where Indus was aiming his bow at her.

  “What do you want Marcus?” Elsa hissed.

  Behind him, Marcus was suddenly conscious of movement. Glancing over his shoulder he saw Dylis, Jowan, Cunomoltus and the others streaming out of the house and walking across the courtyard towards him. All were armed. As she came up to the wooden gates, Dylis caught Marcus’s eye, her expression utterly merciless.

  “What do I want?” Marcus growled, turning to look at Elsa, his eyes blazing. “What do I want?” Marcus bellowed. “I read your letter. I know now what you think of me. But I kept my word. Long ago I made a promise to Lucius, your father. I said that I would look after his children and that is what I did. That is what I still intend to do. We took you in Elsa. You and your brother, we treated you like family. We did not deserve your betrayal. It was a cowardly thing to do. It is not what your father wanted for you. So, you ask me what I want? Well I don’t want revenge. I summoned you here to make peace. This feud between our families has gone on long enough. It is going to end. It ends today, right now, right here and you are going to end it Elsa. That is the price you are going to pay.”

  “You should kill the bitch and her brother,” Dylis called out in a harsh voice as she lifted a spear up into the air.

  “No,” Marcus replied sharply. “No. This feud ends right now. Fergus, my son shall not get caught up in this cycle of violence and vengeance.” Quickly Marcus turned to Petrus. “Go and fetch Armin and bring him here,” he snapped. Then turning back to Elsa Marcus glared at her.

  “I am going to give Armin back to you, unharmed and without retribution or conditions,” Marcus called out. “I am going to forgive you and your brother for what you did. You will all be free to ride out of here. You have my word.”

  “You are forgiving her?” Dylis spluttered in surprise as she rounded on Marcus. “After everything she and her brother did to us? No, this is not right.”

  “The sword will not end this feud. It will only prolong it. Only real forgiveness has the power to end this feud,” Marcus shouted, as ignoring his sister he looked across at Elsa. The young woman had lowered her gaze and was silently staring at the muddy ground.

  No one spoke. No one moved. As the tense, silent standoff deepened, Marcus turned to look back at the house. He was just in time to see Petrus emerge from the doorway escorting Armin out into the courtyard. Armin looked miserable and dejected as he came towards the gates, but as he looked up and caught sight of Elsa sitting on top of her horse, his expression abruptly changed to one of outright joy. Leaving his position beside the gate, Marcus strode over to Armin and roughly grabbed him by his neck before turning to look at Elsa.

  “So, are you and I going to bury this feud once and for all?” Marcus bellowed. “We have a chance to stop this now. A real chance.”

  On her horse, Elsa was gazing at Armin. Then slowly and carefully she dismounted and as she did, her companions did the same. Handing the reins of her horse to one of the men, Elsa turned and came towards the gates, her face calm, fearless and composed.

  “Have they treated you well little brother?” she ca
lled out looking across at Armin.

  “Marcus broke my nose,” Armin replied in a trembling voice. “But apart from that and being slapped and spat at, they have pretty much left me alone.”

  Elsa nodded and for the briefest moments a little fond smile appeared on her lips as she gazed at her younger brother. It vanished as she turned to Marcus.

  “Very well,” Elsa snapped as she raised her hand to gently rub her sleeping baby’s head. “Does the memorial stone to Corbulo still stand near the stepping stones across the river? If so I would like to go there and say a prayer to my father Lucius. It is his forgiveness and permission that I must seek.”

  “The stone still stands,” Marcus growled. “You know the way.”

  ***

  On the higher ground away from the stepping stones that provided a bridge across the swampy river and which led towards the wide sandy beach beyond, everyone had silently and sombrely gathered around the old moss-covered stone memorial to Corbulo. In the sodden grass Elsa was kneeling before the stone, her face turned to the ground, her eyes closed, whilst both her hands were outstretched with the palms facing upwards. She was speaking quietly, using Batavian words. Then, when at last she was done, she stiffly rose to her feet and turned to face Marcus.

  “It is done,” she said coldly. “My father’s and uncle’s restless spirits are at peace. They give me permission to end this feud. The quarrel between us is over.”

  “I am glad,” Marcus said with a little nod. “And you will remember that I kept my promise to your father. Now take your brother and get off my land.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three – Westward Bound

  Spring 116 AD

  With an eager, broad and unshakable grin that seemed permanent, Cunomoltus dipped the oars into the water, pulled backwards and propelled the small boat across the inlet. It was morning and a fresh breeze was blowing in from the west. On Vectis’s swampy shoreline and amongst the forests on higher ground, the winter snows had finally melted, revealing a new and fragile layer of greenery. As the small boat ploughed across the gentle waves, a formation of nine geese came gliding over the inlet, flying in formation. After the long winter, spring was at last in the air. Opposite Cunomoltus, sitting at the end of the boat, Marcus was staring across the waters at the Hermes. He looked old, his grey tattered beard was playing in the breeze and his left arm was shaking uncontrollably. In his right hand he was holding a small wicker cage containing a solitary cackling chicken. Out on the water, the little ship looked in fine condition, fully restored with fresh, solid-looking timbers as it lay at anchor with its main sail furled. At the ship’s bow, close to the waterline, a large and freshly painted eye was visible on the hull.