Insurgent of Rome

by Ken Farmer

  Back down the alley they strode at a goodly pace, until they reached the Forum-like square, then along the wide street to the compound of their patron, one Barsus, a man of prosperity in the city. This was not the first commission of the Petrel for the merchant - months before they had removed his family, entire, except for the man himself, to a holding in the domain of Athens. Even then, it was obvious that the revolt of the Delmatae was doomed - Rome could bring more soldiers in their Legions than the entire man-population of the land.

  At the gate of the high-walled compound, they did not even pause to hammer on the iron ring, to announce their arrival. The household was deserted of any but the Master and a few slaves - no Steward existed to greet and give inquiry of visitors. The gate was not barred and creaked open with a push. The door to the house was given the same respect, and both entered the hall, walking along it into the atrium. Here, in the usual center of the being of a prosperous family, the decay of the household was evident. Dust lay thick on the benches and statuary, and dead greenery surrounding the stagnant pool gave notice of the departure of the family months in the past.

  The house was silent, echoing the call of the Captain for the patron. A pause, and another hail and again without result, then came the sound expected by all - the ringing of the gongs on the watchtowers. The Roman assault had begun.

  "Where can that fool be? We cannot tarry while he..." The Roman stopped in mid-sentence, his hand reaching for the hilt of his gladius even as he spun to face the faint noise to the side of the atrium. His black companion gave the same start, even drawing his blade between one heartbeat and another.

  The startlement was for the appearance of a man - larger than the Captain, and even Ngozi himself, and no mere servant. This was a fighting man, it was apparent, accoutered as such and with sinews to give even more credence to the fact. Both relaxed their tautness as they gave notice that the man was not come to fight, or assault. Rather, he stopped at a goodly distance, with no hand on his weapons, nodding to the pair as they stared. "Barsa gives that he will return shortly and bade me to ask your patience."

  "Who might you be?" asked the Roman.

  The man bowed slightly, saying, "Melglos of Sparatokos. The good merchant gave employ to me after realizing that the city was becoming... unsettled." A pause, then "I guard his vault while he is conducting his activities in preparation to depart."

  "One hopes that he has heard the ringing of the iron. The Romans will be in the city before darkfall, and unlikely to give favor to any left in the city."

  The man shrugged, then replied, "Alas, I am not privy to his doings, but know that he had a transaction to conclude before departing." Melglos, as he gave his nomen, spoke Greek with no accent. That, and his slight beard in the Grecian style, gave that he was a native of this land, and possibly of a strata that was higher than the usual rabble of a city. "Might we wait for our patron in the afteryard? The slaves of the house are locked in a storeroom and only with a tied rope. Such could be chewed through with ease without observance."

  Now the Captain said, with some emphasis. "We have not long to wait, unless our need is to take ship over the river Styx." But, he nodded, and they followed the man down the hallways and into the compound at the rear of the house. There, the man waved to a table and bench, inviting them to wait in rest.

  Before giving seat, the Roman looked around, then up at the heights of the main structure. Finally, he said to his black companion, "Find your way to yon pinnacle." He pointed to what might be a rooftop terrace above. "It may be that you can view the walls from there." Ngozi nodded, disappearing into the back entrance of the house.

  Now, seated, he waited until the guard had taken a place on the opposite bench. Then, "You seem unconcerned that a host that will probably burn and level this city is even now attempting to scale the walls."

  The man shrugged. "This is not my first encounter with Roman soldiers. My treating with such began in my youth."

  The Greek, if such he actually was, could not be more of age than the Captain. Certainly not to the sum of forty years and probably a double handful less, even. Thus, the time of his youth could scarcely be further back than the Roman. "And your treating, as you say, was without much liking, I assume." It was a question, even if not posed as such.

  Without apparent rancor, the man replied. "Aye. My village of Sparatokos, in Thrace, was ingested into the realm of the magnificent Roman kingdom with words of honey and promises of prosperity. And, under the benevolent rule of the appointed kyvernítis, our women were soon seeking their sustenance as trulls in Roman brothels, while their men sold themselves into labor that they might gain a fistful of bread for their meal."

  The Captain did not correct the statement of kingdom - Rome had forcibly ejected their monarchy hundreds of years ago. The unfamiliar word for the appointed magistrate he did not recognize, but was aware that the man was referring to the governor of the area. But, he knew something of the complaint from the man. "Aye. I have long known that any far distance of the ruling magistrates from the Senate-House allows for much malfeasance in office." Now he hesitated before saying, "But, know you that I myself am of Rome."

  The man smiled. "Aye. Well I know it and would do so from both your tongue and garb, even had Barsa not given that he had hired a Roman ship for his flight." He shrugged. "I have no enmity for a man despite his origin - only for the domain from which he comes."

  "Yo, Capitaneus!" Both looked up to see the black man standing at the peak of the house and looking down at them. "The walls have much activity, but no fighting."

  "Aye. Keep watch. Report when you see the heights reached by any Romans." Ngozi just waved in reply, moving back to continue his sentry.

  The Captain looked around the back of the compound, seeing the movement through the loose boards of an outbuilding - the slaves that were spoken of. Or some of them, at least. The structure was too small to hold the number needed for a household of this size, unless they were stacked as stovewood. "The love of the good Barsa, for his gold, may cause his being to become undone. I will wait only until the first red is seen on the walls."

  "I have much wonder that you have even come to a city that is doomed. Many other ports on the sea must have need of lading, and without the sound of battle outside the walls."

  The Roman shrugged. "The merchant has paid goodly, before now, to remove his family from Salona. He gives payment in full and without contention."

  "And he has said the same for yourself - that there are few other ship-masters on the sea who would fail to succumb to the temptation of slitting the throat of some hapless traveler for his chest of gold."

  "Aye, and profitable it would be, but such enrichment would become known at the first taburna that his crew made visit, then any commissions would be gained only by piracy. I have long..."

  From above came another hail. Both looked up again to see the black man leaning over the edge of the roof and pointing with an extended arm. "Soldiers on the top of the walls, yon ways! Past the Atmos temple."

  He meant the temple of Artemis, but both the pointing direction and broken name gave good indication of the first breech. "About two stadia. It is time for our departure." Standing, the Captain stopped to give thought. "Mayhap we should carry the chests to the ship. Barsa cannot fail to hasten there should he return and find both ourselves and his gold departed."

  The Greek nodded. "Aye. And if he should not make appearance, then there will be no doubt that he has changed his destination for Hades. I will gather the slaves for porting."

  The Captain looked up, then called, "Do you see any further breaches?"

  "Nay," replied Ngozi, "but I cannot see the entire limit of the walls." The low hill and the towering structure of the palace would mask sight to the south.

  Now with a wave, the Roman shouted, "Come down. We are leaving and now."

  The Greek did not bother to untie the rope that held the door to the slave holding closed, merely slicing it in twain with his dagg
er. With harsh words, and brandishing of his blade, he gave commands to be followed to the strongroom of the household. "Wait for me at gate. I will gather the chests..." He looked past the shoulder of his companion, then exclaimed, "Here is our patron, back from the dead."

  The Roman turned to see the portly merchant hurrying around the side of the house, carrying both a long staff and a bag of some weight, it appeared. Stopping before them, he stood to gain his air again, then said, "Well met again, Kapetánios Clavius. I give apology for my lateness, but the factor of the vats seemed to think that the proximity of Romans to the city undid the need for servicing one's debts."

  With a wry frown, the Captain replied, "Your need of closure for past vending will soon be done in Hades if we are not on my ship within the hour. The Romans are already in possession of the northern wall."

  "Then let us depart, and with haste."

  With Ngozi now on the ground, the Captain walked back to stand at the gate, looking up and down the street. Mostly empty it was, but he knew that the area around the port would not be such. Indeed, his wonder was at the desperation of the citizenry to find some exit from the city, and how it might be expressed.

  Barsa appeared, leading four men, two in front and the others in the back, between the two poles that suspended the chest. The container itself was small, although obviously very heavy - a mass of gold only the size of a man's head can easily have the weight of four or five men. Behind them came another chest, with four slaves in carry. Following, was the Greek.

  With no further words, the Roman turned and strode down the street at the head of his little caravan.

  Chapter 2

  As expected, they could see the area of the wharves ahead and the chaos of the mobs standing and pleading for berths. Up and down the port were several merchant ships of all types, larger and smaller than the Petrel, pushed away and anchored many strides away from the shore. With the irons sounding the alarm of battle, the Captains began to accept bids in a desperate auction of life. Only a small portion of the clamoring men could be accommodated and they would ground in some foreign land as penurious waifs, without a copper to purchase a bit of bread.

  And in fact, knowing the character of some ship-masters, the Roman would have given good wager that some would tip their passengers overboard at the dip of the horizon, then return to accept desperate coin from yet another loading of doomed men.

  Giving halt to the others behind a deserted merchantry, he strode to the water's edge to give hail to his ship. Immediately, he saw Kaeso, the First Mate, wave in acknowledgment, then shout orders to Flavius, still waiting in the little vessel. The crewman nodded and began to pole the flatboat to shore. Measuring the progress of their little berth, the Captain pulled his gladius, holding it high over his head as signal to the others.

  The timing was good. Just as the flatboat skiff touched ground, Ngozi arrived with four slaves and the first chest. Without hesitation, the Captain cut the ropes tying the chest to the poles, then both he and the black man lifted it into the boat, carefully setting it to the bottom planks. Any slip, or lack of care - even a drop of less than a hand-width - would send the massive weight through the boards and to the sea bottom.

  By now, the crowds had seen the little vessel plying between the shore and ship and began to converge on the two waiting men. Quickly, the pair pushed the boat back into the waters with goodly force, then turned to face the oncoming mob. Allowed their way, they would attempt to swarm aboard the craft, sinking it in place.

  The Captain and his black mate could swim the distance to the ship, if necessary, but he had no idea if either Barsa or the Greek had such skills. However, if the skiff was sunk, then the last chest would stay as plunder for the oncoming Romans.

  A glance over a shoulder gave notice that the chest was being heaved aboard with ropes, and the flatboat was returning. Again the wave with the gladius. The crowd was a barrier for sight, but the tallness of Ngozi was enough to give word that the merchant and his train were hurrying toward them.

  This time, both men stood with bared blades, protecting the small boat coming up behind them. The Greek, Melglos, used both his size and the hilt of his sword to plow a course through the crowd. His journey was eased by the fact that the mob was facing the water, and unaware of the men and cargo striding for the boat.

  The clamor - pleas, bribes, clanking purses held high, and even threats, was now filling the air. Both shipmen had to cut several men who would not keep a distance, and more than one received a blow that flung him into the water or back underfoot in the crowd.

  Now, as a ship plowing through thick seaweed, the two men and the slave-carried burden made the water's edge, and the chest quickly cut loose and set in the boat. Now, the Captain shouted, "You, Barsa. Gain aboard, and gently. The freeboard is almost to the water level with the weight." Even as the portly merchant stepped onto the bottom planks, they shoved the boat with all effort, then turned to defend their action. More than one man lunged to grab the sides, that he might be towed to the ship and somehow be given a berth aboard.

  The weight of two men - one of goodly bulk - and a massive chest was almost more than the capacity of the little boat and a single man grabbing the side would swamp it instantly. They were not gentle with any who seemed to be about to make the effort.

  The three were now standing in waist deep water, facing the crowd and fending off frantic gestures of the crowd. The Captain had made decision that the returning boat would tow them out to the ship. Four large men would probably sink it in place, even if they could gain on board without the frantic throng swarming aboard. But, even that was not to be...

  Cries of pain were heard, overriding the clamor of the pleading crowd. Very shortly the reason became plain - a unit of city guardsmen had arrived, two handfuls at least, and were forcing their way through the throng and without hesitation of giving harm to any who hindered their progress.

  Knowing what this had to be, the Captain looked back at the ship. Alas, the flatboat was still not unloaded and even if so, it would not reach them before the unit of soldiers. As the last edge of the crowd was shoved aside with oaths and cries of pain, an officer and... some fancy in a full robe of garb stood to the water's edge.

  "Yon ship is impounded for the use of the noble Dikastís! Pull to shore at once!" The shout was from the ranking guardsman - a Lochías, mayhap he was - in the ranks of Grecian formations, an officer of some importance. As to the nomen given to the overdressed dandy in escort, the Captain did not know if the term referred to his name or his position in the kingdom.

  Their words made no call on the men waiting in waist deep water, but the spears hefted by the double handful of the soldiers did. Had the guardsmen any skill at all, it was doubtful that the three could thrash their way to the ship without receiving a point in the back.

  Now the overgarbed swell pointed and demanded, "Take them. My needs have precedence over any ship in harbor."

  "You!" The officer pointed at the three. "Sheath your weapons." The front line of soldiers stepped into the waters, spears pointing ahead at the ready. The Captain said quietly, "Wait until their closest approach, then take one. We will use them as shields and back into the water." It was a desperate attempt, but one with a chance of survival. Being disarmed in a city that was about to be leveled by an approaching foe was not.

  As none of the three attempted to obey the Lochías, either dropping their weapons or sheathing such, the approaching men were apprehensive in the full, and would lunge as the slightest twitch of their marks. The Roman could now see that the men were not with experience in war - not soldiers who had actually borne arms in battle, but only what would have been called Vigilis in Rome - men who patrolled the streets and alleys, giving form to the laws of the city. Their stances were wrong, even to the holding of their spears and swords. It gave him hope, that even with such uneven numbers, they might...