“Sadly not. They were going to be too much trouble to subdue. Don’t worry, I’m expecting a good catch soon. Something to keep Zosimus and Durmius happy.”
Menelaus smiled. “I look forward to it.”
“Let’s get going, before someone comes along. Besides, I need to check the message drop location I gave to Carbo’s steward, Theron. I am expecting him to be quite useful.”
Atreus and Menelaus entered the plaza from the east. A bright moon cast shadows from the surrounding buildings. For once the sky was clear. Atreus noted the tough looking men positioned at each corner where the two streets making this crossroads intersected, armed with knives, clubs and bows. There were few people about at this time of night, but Rabidus’ thugs were making sure this meeting, as always, would be undisturbed.
Atreus paused, and Menelaus halted at his right shoulder. He looked around, scanning the rooftops for the possibility of ambush, checking the windows of the buildings facing onto the square were all shuttered for the night. Satisfied, he carried on towards the fountain in the centre of the plaza, where Rabidus sat, flanked by two of his thugs, who stood a discreet distance away, backs turned to the oncoming men.
Atreus stopped a couple of paces before Rabidus, and looked at him from behind his tragedy mask. Rabidus did not stand, and for a moment, both men were silent, as if speaking first was losing some sort of battle of wills.
Rabidus broke first. “You saw my message, then.”
“Indeed,” said Atreus. “We were attending to some business nearby, today, and as we returned through Nola, naturally I checked our message board. You asked to meet, and here I am. I hope it is worth my time.”
“Atreus you are such a prick sometimes. Fearsome with a sword, ruthless, cold-blooded and arrogant as a Parthian prince. Such a shame you don’t work for me.”
Atreus inclined his head.
“I will take all that as a compliment.”
Rabidus smiled. “It was meant that way.”
A moment’s silence. Then, “Well?”
“Well,” said Rabidus. “I have information for you. On the man who killed your brother.”
Atreus said nothing. Rabidus continued, looking a little flustered. “I know your revenge on this Carbo is not complete. That when my men helped you kill his woman, that was just the start.”
No response.
“Well, um, you can’t do anything unless you know where he is. I can tell you.”
“I see,” said Atreus. “And where is he?”
“Here,” said Carbo, spinning from Rabidus’ shoulder where he had been imitating a silent guard. As he turned he drew his sword in one smooth motion, and swung it with fine control so it rested lightly against Atreus’ neck.
Menelaus whipped his sword out with lightning dexterity, but hesitated at the sight of the blade at Atreus’ throat.
Atreus did not so much as blink. He simply let out a sigh.
“Oh, Rabidus, you are a fool.”
“What?” gasped Rabidus, taken aback by the calmly spoken words.
“A big, fat, stupid fool,” said Atreus, saying each word slowly and clearly.
Rabidus rose to his feet now, anger suffusing his features.
“Oh, I am a fool am I? This, from a man who has walked into an ambush, and now has a sword at his throat held by a man who has sworn vengeance on him.”
“Sit down, Rabidus,” growled Carbo. “You’ve done your part now.”
“Oh yes,” said Atreus, “You have done your part, that’s for sure. And why is that? What is it that induced you to betray me?”
“I…they…that’s none of your business,” blustered Rabidus.
Atreus shook his head, as far as the edge biting into the skin of his neck allowed.
“Pan’s Bane, Rabidus? Really?”
Doubt shadowed Rabidus face.
“What are you talking about?”
“Didn’t you think to consult a Greek quack? There is no such thing as Pan’s Bane.”
“But how did you know… wait, what do you mean, no such thing?”
“They made it up. It was just vinegar to give you a sting and a fright.”
Carbo pressed the blade more firmly into Atreus’ neck.
“Shut up,” he hissed.
“Is this true?” yelled Rabidus, his voice becoming high pitched and squeaky.
“Fine, it’s true,” said Vespillo, who had been pretending to be the other guard flanking Rabidus. He pulled a short knife and held it against Rabidus back, briefly hoping the blade was long enough to reach through all the fat rolls to reach the gang leader’s kidney. “I thought I was quite convincing.”
“Not that it matters,” said Carbo. “You are mine now, masked man. Atreus, or whatever your name is. And it’s time to make you pay.”
“Pay? For what? For finishing off that little whore of an ex-slave you liked to play with? Are you telling me you didn’t enjoy it when she begged you to save her? When she screamed, when I slit her throat, and she bled out over the cobbles.”
Carbo pulled his arm back to strike.
“And how are you going to get out of here alive, now?” asked Atreus calmly.
Carbo hesitated.
“Rabidus’ men surround you,” said Atreus. “Menelaus here will gut you as soon as I am dead.”
“He can try,” growled Carbo.
“He can, and will probably succeed, but even if he doesn’t Rabidus’ men are covering you with bow and arrow.”
“They won’t fire on us while we hold Rabidus hostage,” said Vespillo.
“Yes, you are right,” said Atreus. “Febrox,” he called out.
“Yes, master,” came the call back from the far end of the square.
“Kill Rabidus.”
“What?” cried Rabidus in shock.
“Sorry, master,” called Febrox, from where he stood with two bowmen. “Atreus pays better.” He pointed to Rabidus, and said to the men flanking him, “Do it.”
Two arrows flew out, whistling in the quiet night air. It was dark, the bowmen were not skilled, but the distance was not great. One arrow flew low and to one side, grazing Vespillo’s outer thigh, making him cry out. The second buried itself in Rabidus’ chest.
Rabidus gripped the shaft protruding from him, eyes wide, gasping. With a guttural cry, he ripped it free. A dark spurt of blood emanated from the hole it left. He stared at Atreus with hate in his eyes, then pitched forward, and fell with a heavy thud to the flagstones.
Vespillo stepped back, looking at the ground in horror, his human shield and exit strategy lying dead at his feet. Carbo stared, trying to adjust to the sudden change in their situation.
In that instant of hesitation, Atreus took a rapid step backwards, at the same time bending his knees. The sword blade sliced against the skin under his chin, but blood flowed only in a trickle from the superficial wound.
Carbo swung his gladius two handed in a stroke designed to bite deep into Atreus’ neck, but it was stopped short in a clash of metal on metal by the counterstroke from Menelaus. The shock of the heavy blows ran up both their arms and shook them. Carbo recovered first, twisting his sword away, then thrusting for Menelaus’ midriff. Menelaus moved quickly. His build was slim and he appeared young, even though his face was concealed, so he was agile. The blade slid by him harmlessly. Carbo thrust again, and Menelaus parried, then countered. The counter was swift, but there was no great strength behind it. Carbo batted the sword away with superior force, putting Menelaus off balance, then swung a blow that sliced Menelaus’ arm. Menelaus hissed in his breath at the sting, but his low stance didn’t change, and Carbo recognised someone who was a trained fighter.
But training was no substitute for strength and experience, and Carbo battered Menelaus backwards. A driving blow forced Menelaus to his knees, and Carbo raised his sword arm.
“Enough,” said Atreus in a loud voice. Carbo placed his sword tip over Menelaus’ heart, then half-turned to Atreus, keeping Menelaus in his field of view.
; Febrox had Vespillo in a stranglehold, one arm wrenched painfully up behind. Two bowmen stood either side of and just behind Carbo, arrows triangulating on his back. Carbo froze, like the subject of a mural, the heroic legionary poised to strike the cowering barbarian. But there would be no strike. Febrox twisted Vespillo’s arm higher, causing an involuntary cry to escape from between the gritted teeth of his friend. Atreus moved up close behind Carbo and stroked his neck just below his ear with a sharp knife, neatly but shallowly incising the skin.
“Put the sword down, Carbo,” said Atreus. “This ends now.”
Carbo let the sword drop from his fingers, the noise loud in the stillness of the plaza. Numbness and cold spread through his body. His shoulders slumped, his head drooped. Lutorius, you bastard, where were you?
The end. Defeat. No chance to revenge Rufa. Oh Rufa, I’m so sorry.
He didn’t feel the blow from Atreus.
The world faded to black.
Chapter XI
Lutorius lay beneath his commanding officer’s bed, trying not to sneeze. Piles of dust irritated his nasal passages, along with rat droppings and scurrying cockroaches. Calidia must not have very good control of her household slaves, he thought. From above him came the sound of grunts and groans as the portly Asellio bounced on top of his wife. Calidia’s personal slave had warned them of his unexpected return, bursting in on them while Lutorius was in the very position that Asellio occupied now. They had just enough time for Calidia to throw on some night clothes and feign sleep, and for Lutorius to dress, then scramble under the bed at the heavy sound of approaching footsteps.
Asellio was drunk, and had demanded his conjugal rights without preamble. Lutorius cursed his luck. He knew he had no right to jealousy, but he still hated the idea of this drunk, fat, old man with his lover. The only consolation was that Calidia made none of the noises of passion with Asellio that she made with him. He wondered how she must be feeling right now.
He cursed Fortuna, then rather more fairly, himself. His new friends had been relying on him for back up tonight, and if Asellio hadn’t turned up unexpectedly, he would have finished his business and been away with plenty of time. They didn’t really need him, he reflected, if everything went according to plan. But how often did that happen?
Asellio let out a guttural groan, then was still. He waited a while longer, until intermittent splutters and snorts indicated that Asellio was snoring. Then he gently eased himself out from under the bed, and quietly stood. Asellio was draped over the naked Calidia, fast asleep, his poor wife pinned in place by his dead weight. She looked at him with an anguished expression. He shrugged helplessly at her, then turned tail and left as quickly and quietly as he could.
Lutorius ran down the quiet, dark streets from his commanding officer’s house towards the plaza where Carbo and Vespillo were planning to meet the two masked men. With Rabidus terrified for his life, bound to Vespillo to get the antidote to keep him alive and more importantly virile, they should have no problems overpowering and capturing the two bandits who had been terrorising the area. Still, he was uneasy, didn’t like the thought of it all happening without him observing from the rooftops, as Carbo and Vespillo would be expecting.
He wasn’t sure what the plan was after that. Trial, conviction, death by crucifixion or beheading, depending on whether they were citizens. That was what Lutorius had in mind. He suspected Carbo was thinking along different lines.
He rounded a corner, saw the building he had been heading for. External stairs led to the upper flats and the roof. He mounted them two at a time, up two stories, then pulled himself onto the gently pitched roof, up to the crest, and looked down onto the plaza below.
A cold hand gripped his heart.
The tableau that confronted him held him, frozen in place. Carbo was standing, head down, sword at his feet, with the masked Atreus holding a knife against his neck. Behind, Vespillo was being restrained by Febrox. And Rabidus. Rabidus was stretched out on his face, lying in an enormous pool of blood, an arrow clutched in his hand.
What could have gone so horribly wrong? By what sequence of events could Rabidus have ended up dead? His head spun, as a tremendous weight of guilt descended on him. If he had been here watching as he was meant, would he have been able to intervene? Would his presence have made a difference?
As he watched, gripped in indecision, Atreus brought the hilt of his knife down hard on the back of Carbo’s head. Vespillo yelled out incoherently. Carbo pitched forward and was still.
Lutorius drew his sword, but still hesitated. He counted six opponents. Atreus and Menelaus, Febrox, and three thugs. Two of the thugs were armed with bows, one with a club, and Febrox had a knife at his waist belt. What could he do, that wouldn’t be suicidally stupid?
Atreus’ voice carried in the quiet, cold night air.
“Febrox, I’m going to take one of your men. He is going to help me with this brute, in case he wakes up.”
“Where are you taking him, master?”
“None of your business,” snapped Atreus. Then, relenting slightly, “Let’s just say, his end will not be a merciful one.”
Febrox smiled. He nodded to one of the bowmen. At Atreus’ prompting, he bound Carbo’s hands behind his back with thick rope, then hobbled him.
Atreus nodded at Vespillo. “Have whatever fun you feel the need for with that one,” he said to Febrox. “Then kill him.” He beckoned Menelaus and the bowman. “Come, let’s find a cart to throw this lump of meat into.”
Menelaus and the bowman then picked Carbo up, under the arms and by the feet, and followed Atreus out of the square.
Febrox’s two remaining men stepped forward to take Vespillo from their leader, pinning his arms behind him.
Febrox pushed his face up close to Vespillo, and Lutorius could imagine the stench washing over Vespillo from the man’s rotting teeth. Vespillo had stopped struggling, despair written clearly across his face. The new leader of the gang of cutthroats and muggers leered at the veteran watchman.
“So, how does this feel?”
Vespillo returned his stare coldly, saying nothing.
Febrox punched him, a hefty roundhouse blow to the jaw. Vespillo sagged, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth, then lifted his head to stare wordlessly at Febrox again.
Finally shocked into action, Lutorius crept forward, lowering himself off the edge of the roof onto a ledge, then quietly down into the plaza.
Febrox growled at Vespillo. “So brave, so stoical. I’ll get some noise from you when I start to cut you up. I’ll show you what happens to someone who tries to make a fool out of me.”
Vespillo spat a bloody gob into Febrox’s face. Febrox flinched, wiped his face with the back of his hand, then punched Vespillo hard in the midriff. Vespillo doubled forward, a whooshing sound accompanying the air leaving his lungs.
“You’ve got balls, I’ll say that,” said Febrox. He drew his knife slowly from his belt. “Not for much longer though.”
Lutorius let out an incoherent roar. He charged the short distance from the shadows of the building at the edge of the plaza. All three thugs left in the square turned and stared.
“Febrox, you cunnus!” he yelled, sword waving.
The remaining bowman let Vespillo go, fumbled for his bow which lay on the floor. He stepped forward, and with surprising speed, he notched an arrow, and let it fly. The hasty aim was untrue and the arrow flew well wide. Lutorius dropped a shoulder and barged into the bowman, sending him flying backwards, bow clattering away, winded. Momentum barely checked, he carried on towards Febrox.
Febrox took a step back, alarmed, suddenly realising he had brought a knife to a swordfight. Lutorius thrust at him, a deadly stab lacking entirely in finesse, aiming only to penetrate flesh, to kill. Febrox writhed wildy to one side, and Lutorius swung, making him jump back further.
Vespillo reacted quicker than his captor. Short and stout, he was able to twist in the grip of the thug who still restrained him. A lit
tle fuzzy as he was from Febrox’s blows, he was still able to grab hold of the thug’s wrists, preventing him from reaching the club that hung from a loop on his belt. The two men wrestled, grunting. They were evenly matched. The thug was younger and fitter, but Vespillo had more brawn and more brains. He slowly pushed the man’s arms backwards, then brought his head forward sharply, forehead connecting with a crunch squarely in the middle of the thug’s face.
The thug yelped and stepped backwards, but rather than clutch his nose which was now pouring with blood, he stepped forward in rage and swung a two handed blow at Vespillo’s head. Vespillo ducked, but not enough, and the blow glanced off the side of his temple, staggering him sideways. The thug pressed forward, aiming a kick at Vespillo’s middle which connected, knocking the breath out of him. The thug dived on him, and they rolled on the floor, each searching for a lethal grip.
Febrox tried to parry Lutorius’ sword with his little knife. The blow nearly flicked it from his hand and he barely managed to keep his grip. He attempted a thrust of his own, but he didn’t have the reach and Lutorius swept his sword across Febrox’s forearm. The swing had little power and momentum, and his sword did not have the razor sharp edge of a gladius belonging to a legionary on active duty. Still, it bit into muscle and tendon, and Febrox’s knife fell from suddenly useless fingers.
The bowman hit Lutorius in the back, pitching him forward onto his face, his own weapon now going flying as he brought his hands up to break his fall. The bowman had obviously recovered his wind, and knelt across Lutorius’ back, punching him on alternate sides of the head with heavy blows that sent a ringing through his skull. He bucked and rolled, the bowman falling sideways. One of Lutorius’ hands, scrabbling for an advantage, found the bowman’s eye socket and pressed. He heard a scream as the soft globe gave way beneath his thumb. Then the bowman brought his knee up, a lucky blow between Lutorius’ legs, and Lutorius doubled up in gasping, intense pain. He looked up through tear-streaming eyes as the bowman picked up a fist-sized stone, and kneeling over Lutorius, raised his hand.
A hefty kick caught the bowman in the side of the head, and he went down, unmoving. Lutorius’ eyes focused on the panting, bloodied face of Vespillo. Beyond him, the other thug lay still, tongue lolling, face blue, where Vespillo had strangled the life out of him.
Bandits of Rome Page 14
