Bandits of Rome

by Bandits of Rome (retail) (epub)

  So how was one man supposed to hold the place against an army, even if it was only made up of brigands, bandits and thugs. And what of the townfolk? Would Blaesus really follow through with his threat to sack the town after he had rescued his son. Now he knew that Blaesus and Atreus were one and the same, he feared that he would. His stomach suddenly cramped at the thought of what that would mean for Calidia. Had his stubborness brought this awful fate down upon the woman he loved?

  A loud hammering came from the main double doors upstairs. Lutorius jumped, and Publius laughed again through the barred window of his cell door.

  “Like a frightened kitten,” he said. “And now my father is here, and it’s all over. You had your chance to let me go, your chance to run. Now you are a dead man.”

  “If I’m a dead man, then maybe I should kill you now.” Lutorius hefted his gladius and advanced towards the cell. Publius backed off, sudden doubt in his eyes. “Come on, Publius. Or Menelaus, if you prefer to hide behind a name and a mask like a coward. Tell me, what have I got to lose.”

  “You would have to open the cell door and come and get me.”

  “Is that supposed to scare me? You think that I, a seasoned veteran of the legions, armed with a freshly sharpened sword, couldn’t make short work of an unarmed, out of shape, bored little rich boy like you?”

  The hammering came again, more urgent. He heard shouts. Lutorius sighed. If he was going to kill him, he would have done so by now. He wanted to see justice done, not murder. He supposed he had better face Blaesus. The man still had to break down the barred statio doors. Maybe he had some breathing space to negotiate. To threaten Publius, to escape with a sword at the young man’s throat.

  He ascended the stone steps from the cellar, walked past the deserted sleeping quarters, and the open door to Asellio’s empty office, and approached the main entrance. The hammering came again.

  “By all the gods, Lutorius will you open these cursed doors, you cocksucker!”

  Lutorius hesitated. That voice. It wasn’t Blaesus. It sounded like…

  He put his eye to the crack between the two doors. The light was occluded as a face appeared before his own, separated by the thickness of the wood. He smelled sea salt and garum and onions.

  “Carbo?”

  “Lutorius,” yelled Carbo. “Are you deaf? Get these doors open.”

  In disbelief, Lutorius heaved the wooden bar out of the way, and yanked open the doors, noon day sunlight flooding into the gloomy interior, making him blink. Carbo stood before him, complexion grimed, hair unkempt, eyes tired and haunted. Beside him stood Vespillo, regarding him with a lopsided smile. Relief flooded over him.

  “Lutorius,” said Carbo. “Tell me, by Hercules’ cock, what is going on.”

  Carbo had waved away all Lutorius’ questions about his whereabouts and his escape, and Vespillo told him to leave well alone. Vespillo told Lutorius that they had come to the stationarii to tell them about Blaesus, and found the town shuttered, and the statio door barred.

  The three of them sat in Asellio’s office, and Lutorius told them about how he had caught Publius, the witness, and the mask.

  When Carbo heard that Publius was Menelaus, he had exhaled, his shoulders relaxing as at least one burden was taken from him.

  “I was sure it was going to be Quintus,” he said. “I shouldn’t have doubted the lad.”

  “You have precious little reason to trust at the moment, Carbo,” said Vespillo consolingly. “Don’t blame yourself.” Vespillo looked at Lutorius. “Where is Quintus anyway? He wasn’t at the farm, and you said he wasn’t at Blaesus’ villa.”

  “I don’t know,” said Lutorius. “I think he had given up hope. Hope of finding you, hope of… well, there was a woman. He has taken himself off like a wounded wolf, and if Fortuna is with him, he is a long way from here.”

  “So, Publius will be tried? Executed?” asked Carbo.

  “It’s not as simple as that. Asellio has gone.”

  “What do you mean gone?”

  “Left. Departed. Training exercise, with all the men.”

  Carbo and Vespillo looked at each other. “Why would he…?” began Vespillo.

  “Blaesus,” said Carbo. “He’s coming for Publius isn’t he? So is Asellio corrupt or a coward?”

  “Corrupt at least. Maybe a coward too.”

  “And the reason that all the shops and houses are closed and shuttered?” asked Vespillo.

  “They will have seen the stationarii leave, and word will have got out that Blaesus is on his way. He plans to sack the town, once he has rescued Publius. For revenge, or reward for his men, or pleasure. I suppose it makes no difference to the women raped and the old men and children slaughtered.”

  “Why haven’t people fled?”

  “I’m sure many have. But it’s not easy to evacuate a whole town. Some can’t be moved, some won’t believe in the threat, some will stay to defend their property.”

  “How many men has Blaesus got?” asked Carbo.

  Lutorius shook his head. “I have no idea. There are as many rough men available as he can afford to pay, so I guess as many as he thinks he needs. With the stationarii gone, maybe he won’t be expecting too much of a fight, but I’m sure he will still bring more than enough to finish the job.”

  “Will the townsfolk help us?”

  The optio shook his head. “No chance. They are terrified. They have either fled, or barricaded themselves in their homes.”

  Carbo considered for a moment, then looked at Vespillo, cocking his head on one side.

  “This place isn’t defensible,” Vespillo said. “It’s surrounded by narrow alleys and overlooked by houses. They could burn us out, they could take out those doors with a couple of good axes in moments. Then they could overwhelm us with their numbers.”

  “I agree,” said Carbo.

  Lutorius looked from one to the other. “Are you saying we should run?” he said in amazement. “Let Blaesus take back his son?”

  Carbo’s eyes blazed. “Do you really think I would let the man who helped kill Rufa go free?” he said coldly.

  Vespillo put a conciliatory hand on his shoulder. “You know us better, Lutorius. We take Publius to Carbo’s farm.”

  “The farm? How is that better?”

  “Firstly, it will draw Blaesus away from the town. It will help keep the citizens safe. And secondly, well. Lutorius, I know you are a legionary, but you haven’t seen a lot of active service have you?”

  Lutorius grudgingly shook his head.

  “Then prepare to witness a Roman army entrenching.”

  Carbo bucked and jolted on the horse, gripping the reins tightly, despite Vespillo consistently yelling at him to ease off. He knew how to ride, but wasn’t a natural, and didn’t choose this mode of transport unless desperate. He consoled himself that Publius, gagged and bound hand and foot, and slung over the horse in front of his saddle, was having a considerably more uncomfortable time of it. Carbo had to restrain himself from worsening the young man’s discomfort. But he had promised himself he would savour the man’s punishment when the time came.

  Vespillo rode beside him at an easy trot, and on the other side rode Lutorius, who like Carbo looked uncomfortable, but had the bonus of his woman’s arms wrapped around him. Lutorius would not leave without Calidia, and Carbo had reluctantly conceded it made no sense to leave her behind where she could be used as a hostage. If Asellio was corrupt, and knew about Lutorius and Calidia, then he would likely have told Blaesus all about the two of them as well.

  “How long till they come for us?” asked Vespillo.

  “However long it takes for Blaesus to round up his gang, get them to town, discover we aren’t there, grab some poor townsperson to ask which way we went, then head over.”

  “They will be on foot,” said Carbo. “And they aren’t legionaries. Getting them to move with any speed will be like herding cats.”

  “We have at least a few hours then,” said Vespillo. He sq
uinted at the position of the sun. “Maybe the rest of the day. If they haven’t got to us before sundown, do you think they will attack at night?”

  “They are thieves and murderers. I’m sure of it.”

  Vespillo nodded with satisfaction.

  “Good.”

  Lutorius looked from one to the other, shaking his head.

  “I know you two are veterans, and believe me I know you can fight. And I know you have a plan. But do you really think the three of us are a match for the numbers Blaesus is bringing with him?”

  Carbo’s face was grim, but determined. Vespillo smiled broadly. “The Fates will decide. But in any case, we number more than three.”

  Chapter XXIII

  Dusk had turned to night, the grey clouds that had covered the earlier sunlight now black. There would be no moon tonight. That was a mixed blessing, Carbo thought. But more of a blessing than not. His mind turned to his preparations. Were they adequate? How observant were Blaesus and his men? How many would he bring with him?

  Vespillo watched him, and Carbo knew he was reading his mind, was thinking the same things. They had both been in battle many times before, as besieged and besieger. Maybe it wasn’t as terrifying as his first time. But usually in battle, they weren’t defending their own loved ones.

  Severa, Fabilla, Calidia, Theron and Thera were in the cellar, the hatch barred from below, Publius tied up securely with them. They would be safe, while the battle lasted. If the battle was lost though, Blaesus would find them and…

  Carbo repressed the thought. It wouldn’t help him in the coming fight. He studied his sword, checking the edge was keen. It would be no use to him in the first part of the action to come. Ranged weapons would be more important when defending a position, but that sort of fighting, at a distance, was for auxiliaries. Legionaries fought sword to sword, looking the enemy in the eye and screaming into his face.

  They had raided the armoury of the statio before they left. Asellio had taken most of inventory with him, but they had liberated a handful of javelins, two bows and around two score of arrows, as well as three somewhat rusted and blunt gladii. Carbo looked around him. To his right, peering out of one of the windows in the atrium, into the darkness, Vespillo held a bow. He didn’t look comfortable with it, but had handled one before.

  Sica held the other. With her free hand, she twiddled an arrow in a rapid circle, throwing it in the air still spinning, then catching it on its descent and with one swift movement notching it and drawing the bow. Carbo might have thought she was showing off, but knew that it was just her way of dealing with her nerves. He had been reluctant to let her take part in this fight, but when she had taken one of the bows from him and split an onion at a hundred paces, he had conceded she might be useful.

  Of course, if Sica was fighting, Marsia would not be left with the women, children and the old man. She hefted a gladius, patting it into the palm of her hand, face set. Brought up in a martial Germanic tribe before her enslavement, Marsia too could prove important. Carbo’s pride was going to take a dent from fighting alongside women, but if the Romans’ ancestors, the Trojans, could fight alongside the Amazons, he supposed he could live with it.

  To Carbo’s left, Orobazes waited stoically, gripping the shaft of a sledgehammer that Carbo had found in a shed. Sica had spent some time explaining what was happening, mainly with sign language. Carbo wasn’t sure he had really understood much, but he knew a fight was coming, and he was willing to help.

  “Where are they?” muttered Curtius. Curtius also held one of the short swords. The legionary and veterans had helped sharpen them as best they could. When Lutorius had complained they couldn’t make gold out of lead, Carbo and the former mine slaves had gone quiet, and Vespillo had cuffed the stationarius around the head for his thoughtlessness.

  “Do you think they stopped to sack the town before coming here?” asked Marsia. “We are too far to see the fires aren’t we?”

  “Man come for son,” said Sica. “Not stop for anything else.”

  Marsia shot her a withering look, but didn’t retort.

  The front door crashed open, and Lutorius burst in.

  “They’re coming,” he gasped.

  “How many?” asked Carbo.

  “It was hard to tell in the dark. But I counted ten torches. I think one torch for every four men.”

  Carbo sucked in breath between his teeth. Forty men? That was surely like taking Orobazes’ hammer to a small nut. Blaesus wasn’t taking any chances.

  But then, Blaesus didn’t know what they had prepared for him.

  “How far?”

  “A quarter of a mile.”

  “Time for me to go and say hello, then.”

  Carbo picked up a bright torch, turned, and felt everyone’s gaze upon him. Curtius looking shaky but resolute, Orobazes looking calm. Sica and Marsia, looking worried about him. Lutorius looking uncertain, but trusting. Vespillo, like a rock, as always. He held each one’s gaze for a moment, then stepped out of the door.

  His family was cursed. Atreus knew this, had known it for many years. Since the loss of his wife, the loss of his position, the… loss… of his brother. That’s why he had chosen the name Atreus, when he had started his alternative life as a part time bandit. Because they were cursed, just like the House of the Atreides.

  He had dared to hope the curse had lifted. With his fortunes restored, his sons becoming adults, maybe the curse would stop with him. Then Carbo had arrived, and killed his other brother.

  And now this.

  He was sure he had been avenged on Carbo, with a vengeance worthy of Nemesis. He was sure he just had to walk into Nola to collect his eldest son, since he knew Asellio would be gone. And he had walked through the open doors of the statio, to find it empty. Just a note, pinned on Asellio’s desk with a knife.

  “Come and get your son. You know where I live. Carbo.”

  His stomach roiled with anger even now at the thought of it. How had the man escaped? He wanted to lash out, to scream. But he didn’t. He retained his composure, like the true Roman aristocrat he had been born as. He looked out of the eye slits of his mask, into the darkness, past the circle of light shed by the torchbearers, straining to catch his first sight of Carbo’s farm, where he would finally end this. He supposed strictly the mask was superfluous now that his identity was known. He would deal with that problem another time. Asellio would help. For now, the mask felt like part of him, gave him the confidence to be what he needed to be. Tonight, he wasn’t Blaesus, he was Atreus.

  Around him some forty of the worst men Febrox could find walked with him. Cutthroats, thieves, beggars and murderers. All looking for money, a fight, and then torture and rape.

  To his left walked Febrox, his feral grin illuminated by the flickering torchlight to give him a demonic air.

  To his right, wearing a comedy mask that Atreus had inconveniently had to find to replace the one taken when that idiot Publius had been captured, was his other son.

  Atreus put a hand on Menelaus’ shoulder, and gave it a squeeze.

  He peered forward. There was a building ahead, and a light. Was that a figure holding a torch?

  A loud voice cut through the night air.

  “Stay where you are, Blaesus.”

  Atreus gritted his teeth.

  Carbo.

  Carbo saw the bandit army approach, making no effort to conceal their presence or their number. They had no need he supposed, with their overwhelming numerical superiority. As they drew nearer, he saw the leader, wearing his tragedy mask. And to Blaesus’ right, he saw another figure wearing a mask. A comedy mask. His heart plummeted.

  Oh no. Quintus.

  It didn’t make sense. Quintus and Publius were both Menelaus? Publius was pretending to be Menelaus? There was no time to comprehend it. He took a breath, called out loudly.

  “Stay where you are, Blaesus.”

  He saw Blaesus hold up a hand for his men to stop, saw them raggedly come to a halt.
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br />   “Carbo,” called back Blaesus. “You are a surprise. This time though, there will be no escape. No prolonged punishment. This time, I will kill you.”

  “Go back,” called Carbo. “Publius will be tried for his crimes. The stationarii will deal with you.”

  “Give me my son, Carbo, and I will make the deaths of all your loved ones merciful. If I have to fight my way in there, my men will torture and mutilate every man, woman and child that they find. And, I’m sorry to say, some of these men have had a lot of practice at that sort of thing.”

  “This is between you and me, Blaesus. I killed your brother. You killed my woman. Let’s fight it out, man to man.”

  “How gladiatorial. No, I think I prefer the odds I currently have, which as you can see, are considerably better than one to one.”

  “Last chance, Blaesus. You will die at my hands, but if you leave now it won’t be tonight.”

  Blaesus turned and muttered something to the figure at his side, that Carbo could now see was Febrox. Febrox gestured, and half a dozen men advanced on Carbo’s position at a jog.

  Before they had covered half the distance, one of them cried out and clutched his foot, then another. The others stopped, looking down uncertainly.

  “Caltrops?” Blaesus laughed. “You will have to do better than a few nails in my men’s feet to stop us.”

  Carbo held his torch up high, then brought it down sharply. At his signal, two flaming arrows arced from the house. One fell short, but the other landed at the feet of the men who had advanced. There was a moment of silence, then a noise like a sharp exhalation as the naphtha soaked dry straw at the men’s feet ignited. The men screamed out, tried to run, stepped on more caltrops in their panic and tumbled to the ground. The flames engulfed them as they rolled in terror and agony. Their screams seemed to last an eternity, before the last ones died away. Soon after, the flames died down, the oil and straw rapidly burning itself out. Through the smoke, Carbo saw that Blaesus had not moved.