Bandits of Rome

by Bandits of Rome (retail) (epub)

  His heart pounded, his feet bled, his legs burned, his injury screamed protest at new damage. His lungs cried out for more air, though he was at least grateful he wasn’t in the sparse atmosphere of the mines. His injured leg came down on a loose rock, which slid away, causing him to take a heavy tumble. He lay, breathing hard, knowing he must get up, but using the fall as an excuse to get his breath back, even if it was just for a moment.

  Two pairs of hands hoisted him unceremoniously to his feet. He looked around at Curtius and Orobazes. Orobazes pointed to Messana, and started to jog again. Stiffly, Carbo followed. Sica settled in beside him, and Carbo now realised that despite his earlier contempt for the marching abilities of the civilians, his age and injuries counted against him, and Sica was actually slowing her pace to his. The sound of barking dogs and excited shouts from the guards drew nearer, but he didn’t turn.

  “If you can run faster,” he gasped, “Run.”

  Sica shook her head. “Going nowhere without you.”

  He set his eyes on the port, which drew closer at a painfully slow speed.

  “Over there,” said Sica, pointing.

  In a depression between two hills, Carbo saw a cart track. It wasn’t cobbled like a proper Roman road, but it was smooth enough for wheeled traffic, and that meant more than smooth enough for pedestrians. There was no need to avoid frequented routes now they had been spotted, and as they would reach the track before their pursuers, it might give them enough of an edge to reach the town before they were caught.

  “This way,” said Carbo to the others, and they ran towards the track. By the time they reached it, the guards were no more than a hundred yards behind them, but the gap had increased a little by the time the guards themselves were on the track. The track wound through hills rising either side, so Carbo couldn’t judge how far the port was, but he knew it must be less than half a mile, from the last view he had had of it. They rounded a corner, nearly stumbled into a surprised traveller carrying a heavy sack of vegetables, ran on as he stopped and watched them with curiosity.

  The guards rounded the corner, not fifty yards behind. Carbo tried to make his legs move faster, but they had nothing left to give him. Curtius ran faster, pulling away from them.

  “Keep going, Carbo,” said Sica. “Nearly there.”

  Like his mother, thought Carbo, wryly. He had never believed her either. Curtius leading the way, they rounded another corner. Suddenly, Curtius came to a stop, and Carbo stumbled into the back of him, nearly knocking him over.

  “What…?” Carbo looked up, saw what Curtius had seen. Four guards, lined across the road, gladii out. Behind, the pursuers slowed to a walk, and four drew swords, the other delegated to hold the dogs which were obviously trackers not fighters. Carbo looked at the verges of the road. The hills on either side were almost sheer. They could try to climb, but the guards would be on them before they got halfway up.

  The guards in front started to advance on them slowly.

  “I not go back,” said Sica.

  Orobazes looked grim, and patted the shaft of his axe into his palm.

  The weaponless Curtius hesitated, then reached up to an overhanging tree and snapped off a thick branch. Carbo drew his knife.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I tried.”

  Curtius nodded to him respectfully. Orobazes put a hand on his shoulder. Sica impulsively threw her arms around him.

  “You gave hope, Carbo,” she said. “Don’t be sorry.”

  He squeezed her back briefly, then pushed her away, and turned to the guards in front of them.

  “We rush these ones,” said Carbo. “On my command. You don’t need to kill them. Just knock them down, incapacitate if you can, then keep running. Don’t stop, for anything.”

  They gripped their weapons, readied themselves.

  “Charge!” roared Carbo, and they ran, as fast as their energy reserves allowed, the three men in front, Sica just behind them. The oncoming guards hesitated at the sight of the onrushing fugitives. They were unarmoured, armour not having been considered necessary for the pursuit of some escaped slaves. One of them gave an order, and they lifted their swords, but these were not trained legionaries, they had no discipline.

  As Carbo reached them, he swung his knife two handed, batting away the outstretched sword of the guard he had targetted. He dropped a shoulder and hit the guard in the chest, hurling him backwards three feet. Carbo stooped, and thrust his knife into the guard’s throat, then pulled it out to release a bright red spray of arterial blood. To his right, Orobazes swung his axe, cleaving the guard’s sword in two. He gripped the man’s tunic, and headbutted him in the middle of the face, sending him unconscious to the floor. Curtius pushed past his opponent, neither disarming nor incapacitating him. The guard let Curtius pass, and grabbed Sica who was behind him instead.

  Sica thrust out with her knife, nicked the guard’s forearm, but the fourth guard who had not been targeted took hold of her arms, and pinned them behind her. The guard she had slashed looked at his bleeding arm.

  “Little bitch,” he swore, and, too far away to intervene, Carbo watched helplessly as the guard drew his sword back to run her through.

  With a loud curse, Curtius threw himself onto the guard’s back, grabbing the sword arm and wrestling with him. The guard twirled around, trying to shake Curtius loose, but he gripped him like a wolf on a deer.

  The guard holding Sica hurled her to one side, gripped his sword two handed, and plunged it into Curtius’ back. With a cry, the thief let go, dropping flat onto the dusty track. Carbo hurled himself forward, knife outstretched, and stood over Curtius’ writhing form. The two guards swung at him, but he ducked one blow, parried another with his knife, then twisted his arm, so his knife slid off the guard’s blade, and buried with force through the astonished man’s mouth and out of the back of his neck. As he stiffened and fell, Carbo released his grip on the knife and grabbed the gladius, by the blade. Though it bit into his hands, drawing blood, he gripped it tight, and swung it in time to parry another swing from the guard still standing.

  Untrained, he thought, analysing the fighting, even as he flipped his sword into the air and grabbed it by the hilt. A thrust might have finished him off, as every legionary knew. The swing could be parried. The guard swung at him again, and this time Carbo, holding the sword in both hands, feet set apart in a defensive stance, met the blow with such fury that the guard dropped his weapon in shock. Carbo didn’t hesitate and thrust his sword into the guard’s unprotected chest, pulling it out and turning to face the next threat.

  He stopped.

  Orobazes looked ashamed.

  “I’m sorry, Carbo,” said Sica.

  The four pursuing guards, and the one with the dogs, had reached them, encircled the barbarian and the young girl. Three swords pointed at Orobazes’ chest and the guard holding Sica had the blade across her throat. As Carbo watched, the guard with the dogs approached, and took Sica’s knife and Orobazes’ axe from their unresisting hands. Carbo recognised him as Cominius, the guard captain from the mines.

  “You run, Carbo,” said Sica. “You go free.”

  “Drop your sword,” said Cominius, “Or they die right now.”

  Orobazes shook his head. Sica beseeched him with tear filmed eyes. Carbo tossed the sword into the dirt.

  One of the guards left Orobazes to stand behind Carbo, pressing the tip of his sword painfully into Carbo’s back, over his kidneys.

  “What shall we do with them?” asked one of the guards.

  “Orders were ‘dead or alive’, weren’t they?” said Cominius. “It will be hard work bringing them back alive.”

  “Yeah,” said another guard. “And what if they escape along the way? Then it will be our lives forfeited.”

  “We’re agreed then?” said the Cominius. “Finish them off?”

  “Aye,” the other guards all chorused.

  “Fine. Kill the men first. No point hurting the girl until we have had some fun with
her. And yes, Modius, I know you would prefer some fun with the men, but that’s too risky.”

  The other guards chuckled, and Modius, who was restraining Carbo, flushed angrily. “Go suck your own cock, Cominius.”

  “Get to it then,” said Cominius. “The big one first, he is most dangerous.”

  “Stop!”

  The voice was distant, but carried unquestionable authority.

  The guards turned. Carbo squinted in the direction of the voice, which emanated from the direction they had arrived. A short, broad man, flanked by a young woman, was running towards them, puffing hard.

  “Damn you to Hades, Carbo, why do you always do things the difficult way?”

  “Vespillo?” Carbo gaped, incredulous.

  Marsia ran full speed at Carbo, flinging her arms around his neck and holding him in a bearhug.

  “Master,” she wept into his neck. “I told them. I knew you were alive.”

  The guards stared at the two newcomers.

  “Excuse me,” said Cominius, frowning.

  “Excuse me, sir,” corrected Vespillo.

  “Excuse me, sir,” said Cominius. “But, by Juno’s tits, who are you?”

  “Tribune Lucius Vedius Vespillo. I’ll take things from here.”

  “But…by whose authority?”

  “How dare you question me?” roared Vespillo. “I’ll have you and all your men strung up by your balls. This is what happens when you let the mines be run by private companies. Far better when the legions were in charge. Now, I will take custody of this man, unless you want me to summon my first century, and have them instil some legion style discipline into you all!”

  “Of course, sir,” said Cominius, backing away and nodding to Modius to release Carbo. “It is just the one prisoner that you are taking charge of, is that right?”

  “Yes,” said Vespillo.

  “No,” said Carbo.

  Vespillo shot Carbo a glance, warning him not to push too far. Carbo stood his ground.

  “I believe these prisoners also fall under your juridisction, sir,” he said. “They are in a similar position to myself.”

  Vespillo gave a sharp nod. “As you say. I will take charge of all these prisoners.”

  “This is…completely unprecedented,” said Cominius. “What will I tell the overseer?”

  “Tell him that Lucius Vedius Vespillo appreciates his openness and his help, and that I hope I can pay him back one day.”

  Cominius frowned, searching for a hidden meaning or threat in the statement, but Vespillo regarded him with a neutral expression.

  “Do you need any help escorting them further?” asked Cominius, with clear reluctance. “They are very dangerous. They have killed some of my men.”

  “You have no need to worry on my account,” said Vespillo. “Now gather your things, and take your men for burial. I will deal with everything from here.”

  Carbo bent down to Curtius.

  “Curtius. Can you stand?”

  “Hurts like a bastard,” groaned Curtius through gritted teeth. Carbo turned Curtius over, probed the wound through the rent in his tunic, causing Curtius to swear.

  “It’s bounced off your ribs and sliced open your shoulder muscle,” he said. “You are going to be fine, you lucky bastard.” He put a hand under his shoulder, and heaved. Orobazes moved to the other side and helped him get Curtius to his feet.

  “Let’s get on our way,” said Vespillo in a low voice. “Before anyone with more authority shows up.”

  They left the camp guards trying to rouse their unconscious colleague, and attempting to work out how to get the three dead bodies back to the mining compound. Marsia remained glued to Carbo’s side, and Sica and Marsia exchanged suspicious looks.

  It wasn’t far to the outskirts of Messana. They passed a small cemetery and entered the port. The first tavern they reached, Vespillo ushered them inside, finding a table around which the six of them could sit. The fugitives slumped into the wooden seats as if they were feather padded couches. Curtius groaned as he settled into place, but Carbo saw his face was flush, not pale, and the blood loss seemed to be minimal.

  A slave girl came over to take an order, looking around at the dirty, dishevelled group with concern.

  “Wine for everyone,” said Vespillo, producing a few sestertii. “Not too much water. And bring some food, whatever you have that is hot.” The slave girl took the coins, and showed them to the barman, who looked over at the group, then nodded. She returned with six cups of wine. Carbo took a glug. They had been fairly heavy on the water, despite Vespillo’s instructions, but Carbo didn’t care, and he thirstily drained the cup, feeling the wine warm his guts. Sica took a sip, wrinkled her nose, shrugged, then drank deeply.

  Sloppy stew appeared in bowls, with some loaves of bread on a plate. The fugitives ate ravenously, silent apart from the noises of swallowing, chewing and belching. As Carbo mopped up the last of the sauce from his bowl with a piece of bread, he looked up. A sudden realisation hit him, shock and exhaustion having delayed its arrival in his head.

  “Vespillo. Am I free? Really?”

  Vespillo reached out and gripped his forearm.

  “Really, friend.”

  Marsia grinned and threw her arms around him again, kissing his face, then sitting back down, embarrassed. Sica tutted.

  “Would now be a good time for introductions?” asked Vespillo.

  “Of course,” said Carbo. “This is Orobazes. He doesn’t speak Latin. He comes from somewhere in the east. Maybe Parthia? This is Curtius, he is an Italian. And the young lady here is Sica, from Dacia.”

  “And you were all prisoners in the mines together?”

  “We were. This is what remains of my workgroup.”

  “The rest died in the cave-in?” asked Vespillo.

  “How did you know about that?”

  “I met that pleasant overseer, Durmius. He told us you had died in the cave-in.”

  “We didn’t,” said Curtius.

  “I can tell,” said Vespillo.

  “And how did you find us?” asked Carbo.

  “One of the guards was talkative. We heard there were one or more escapees. I didn’t know it was you, wasn’t sure even whether to follow it up. But Marsia is quite persuasive when she puts her mind to it. We were able to catch up with the search party, then follow at a distance. They outpaced us when they caught sight of you though. I’m just glad we got to you in time.”

  “So are we,” said Carbo.

  “Thank you,” said Sica. She looked at Marsia. “Both.” Marsia inclined her head grudgingly.

  “So how did they all end up in the mines?” Vespillo asked Carbo, eyes narrowed. Carbo looked at his fellow escapees. The thief, the fugitive, and the girl who cut off her master’s genitals.

  “It is of no importance,” said Carbo. “Not anymore.” Carbo locked eyes with Vespillo, held them.

  Vespillo nodded. “No importance,” he agreed. “Does anyone want more to eat or drink? We have a boat waiting for us.”

  “You did what?” yelled Durmius.

  Cominius flinched. “He was a Tribune. How could I refuse?”

  “You aren’t in the legions, you fool. You aren’t subject to orders from the military. You don’t even know he was a Tribune anyway. He could have been anyone!”

  “He had a certain air about him…”

  Durmius slapped him round the face, the white mark he left on Cominius’ cheek turning slowly red.

  “So you just let four slaves go, because he had ‘a certain air about him?’”

  “Well, yes, sir.”

  “After the slaves had killed three of your men.”

  “Well I wasn’t happy about it. But he said he had spoken to you.”

  Durmius looked at him sharply.

  “Did he, indeed. And what did he say?”

  “He said Lucius Vedius Vespillo appreciates your openness and your help, and that he hopes he can pay you back one day.”

  Durmius look
ed thoughtful. How had the man seen through his lies? Had he made himself a formidable enemy? Maybe it was prudent to chalk this one up to experience.

  “Shall I go back, sir. See if I can intercept them?”

  “No, Cominius,” said Durmius. “I think there has been a misunderstanding somewhere. You can go about your duties. In future, though, don’t use your own initiative, or obey orders from someone else. You answer only to me.”

  “Yes, sir.” Cominius left, looking relieved.

  Durmius mused briefly on Carbo’s signficance. He had arrived mysteriously, and had been rescued by someone of minor importance. There was nothing further he could do. But chances were that was the end of it. The vigiles had no jurisdiction here.

  His mind moved back to the mine workings. The water table was rising, he would need to allocate more slaves to the pumps. He was a little short of labour after the cave-in and escape, but he had a score more slaves due in a few days. He would just make the ones he had work a bit harder in the meantime. Also, one of the older women was struggling to keep up. She was becoming more of an expense to house and feed than she was worth in labour. He would deal with her in the morning, in front of the other slaves. He smiled at the thought.

  Chapter XXI

  Carbo and Vespillo walked slowly along the docks, the others limping along behind. They had spoken little since Vespillo’s intervention had saved them, Carbo more intent on restoring his energy with food and a good wine. Now, as they got nearer to the boat Vespillo had organised to take them home, he felt himself tremble at the thought of being off this accursed island.

  Vespillo noticed and put a hand on Carbo’s shoulder. “How bad was it?” he asked.

  Carbo said nothing, eyes fixed on the horizon. Vespillo sighed dropped his hand.

  “It was bad,” said Carbo.

  Vespillo waited.

  “I’m a strong man, Vespillo. You know what I have been through. I don’t think I would have lasted much longer there.”

  Vespillo kept silent, waiting for his friend to talk in his own time.

  “The people down there, the slaves. They are treated worse than animals. Worked to death, then thrown into a pit, while new meat is shipped in to replace the losses. All so we can have our silver cups and our fountains supplied by lead pipes.”