“Murder is a sin,” he said quietly. “But in these fraught times we Christians must stick together. So, I will help you, Marcus. I will meet you and Esther tomorrow.”
Chapter Fourteen – Crossroads
Marcus stood half hidden in the doorway of the alley. Despite the noon heat the hood of his cloak was pulled over his head obscuring most of his face. From his vantage point he had a good view of the entrance to the Last Truffle tavern and the narrow street beyond. Tensely his fingers played with the pommel of his sword that hung from his belt. The time for Abraham to show up had come and gone and still there was no sign of the Christian priest. A day had passed since their meeting high up in the terraces of the Colosseum. Marcus had left the meeting, having arranged for Abraham to meet them in the Last Truffle at noon. He was to come alone and once he was satisfied, Marcus would introduce him to Esther. Except that Marcus had no intention of bringing Esther to the Last Truffle or being there himself. Abraham had been cautious at their first meeting and so he Marcus would be cautious at their second. He still didn’t really know whether he could trust the priest. It would be wise to initially watch Abraham from a distance and see whether he had brought anyone with him. Only then, once he was satisfied, would he approach the priest and take him back to the top floor room where Esther and Petrus were waiting. And if Esther agreed they would leave her in Abraham’s care and by tomorrow Petrus and he would be on their way to Portus. The thought of heading home brought a little contented look onto Marcus’s face.
Further down the alley two women were engaged in a ferocious war of words with each other and their high pitched, annoying voices carried down the alley. He hadn’t paid it much attention but now that he thought about it, there was a strange, tense mood in the congested streets and around the neighbourhood. He’d sensed it the moment he’d left his room and had set foot outside. The fact that no free bread had been handed out at yesterday’s games had not gone down well with the populace. They had been expecting the bread. And as he contemplated the thought, he was suddenly reminded of Alexandros’s warning about the recent riots in the city. Gods, Marcus thought biting his lip, the sooner he got out of Rome the better. The place was nothing more than a nest of filthy, stinking vipers and cut-throats.
Suddenly he froze. Abraham had appeared at the entrance of the Last Truffle and he was alone. For a moment, the priest hesitated as he turned to look around him but he did not see Marcus hidden in the dark doorway. Then boldly the man entered the tavern and vanished from view. Marcus sucked in his breath as he turned to study the street but all seemed normal. It would take Abraham just a few seconds to notice that Marcus was not in the tavern. Would he wait or would he come back outside? In the doorway, Marcus readied himself to move. If Abraham came outside and started to walk away he would follow and catch up with him in the street. At the door of the Last Truffle all was quiet. Suddenly the door opened and Abraham appeared looking a little confused. He took a couple of steps out into the street and shook his head. Marcus was about to leave his doorway when, from out of view, a second man suddenly appeared, sauntering straight towards Abraham and as he did Marcus’s eyes widened in shock and horror. It was Cunitius. Startled Marcus staggered back against the door, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. It was Cunitius. There was no mistake. And Cunitius was talking to Abraham.
“Shit,” Marcus hissed to himself as he felt his cheeks start to burn. What was going on?
At the entrance to the Last Truffle, Abraham shrugged and gestured at the tavern as Cunitius seemed to listen. Then as if acting upon some finely-honed animal instinct, Cunitius’s searching gaze slowly wandered into the alley and towards the doorway where Marcus stood half hidden in the shadows and as his eyes fixed on him, Marcus felt the bile in his throat start to rise. Cunitius had spotted him. He had picked him out from an impossible position.
“There he is, in that doorway,” Cunitius roared raising a finger and pointing straight at Marcus. “Seize him!”
Without hesitating Marcus sprang away from the door and raced away down the alley. Behind him he heard loud, angry, shouts and the sound of running feet coming after him. As he shot past the two arguing women, he yanked one of them into the alley and was rewarded by an outraged squeal. Nearly skidding around the corner at the end of the alley, Marcus dashed into a narrow, crowded street but as he did so, coming towards him he saw four, burly-looking armed men, clad in identical white tunics. They raised a cry as they caught sight of him. With a startled yelp, Marcus reversed course and started to run in the opposite direction. Behind him the excited cries of his pursuers filled the street. How many men did Cunitius have? It was impossible to know but the loud shouts of his pursuers seemed to be everywhere. The narrow street was crowded and congested and as he pushed past the pedestrian’s, shoving people out of the way, numerous voices cried out in outrage and protest. From a shop a baker suddenly appeared carrying a tray of freshly baked bread that was meant for his stall, but as Marcus barged past he caught the tray with his hand and sent it and the loaves of bread, out of the shocked baker’s hands, and flying into the street.
“Seize that man,” a voice roared from terrifyingly close behind him, “In the name of Emperor Trajan, seize him. He is a criminal!”
Darting into another alley, Marcus nearly collided with a man leading a donkey towards him. As he raced past, instinctively Marcus lashed out with his heavy army boot, catching the poor beast squarely in its exposed belly and private parts. Loudly braying the animal ripped free from its master’s lead and went careering wildly down the alley and into the street. There was no time to see if his pursuers were being slowed down. Gasping for breath Marcus sprinted down the narrow street. Up ahead workmen had erected some wooden scaffolding. A ladder led up to several wooden platforms and the sloping roof of a building. Two workmen were busy replacing the old tiles with brand new ones. Frantically Marcus flung himself onto the ladder and started to climb up it. Down below in the alley he caught a glimpse of his white-clad pursuers surging around the corner and racing towards him. Ignoring the startled cries of the workmen Marcus scrambled onto the first platform and hastily hauled up the ladder. He’d just managed to raise it when he caught sight of Cunitius running towards him. Dropping the ladder onto the platform Marcus grabbed hold of a roof tile, from a neat stack that was standing on the scaffolding, and sent the piece of masonry hurling towards Cunitius. Above him, from the roof, the workmen broke out into an outraged bellow as Marcus sent a furious barrage of roof tiles hurtling down into the alley in the direction of Cunitius and his men. Then, when there was nothing left to throw, he grabbed hold of the ladder that led up to the second scaffolding platform and hastily started to climb. In the alley below Cunitius was yelling orders and as Marcus desperately clambered up onto the second platform, he felt the whole wooden structure start to shake and move. Above him one of the workers was climbing down towards him, cursing and yelling as he did. With a snarl, Marcus leapt across the platform, stooped and with a mighty shove, sent a whole stack of brand new roof tiles crashing down into the alley below. He was rewarded by a scream and a bellow of pain as with a loud crash the masonry smashed to pieces across the ground. As the workman reached the bottom of the ladder and turned to face him Marcus pulled his pugio knife from his belt and held it up to the man’s throat.
“Get the fuck out of here,” he hissed, “This is not your fight. And tell your friend to leave me alone. Do it!”
Alarmed, the labourer looked down at the knife hovering close to his throat. Then he raised his hands and nodded hastily. Suddenly and without warning the whole wooden-scaffolding structure swayed violently and with a cry the labourer staggered backwards and before Marcus could do anything the man lost his footing and plunged straight to the ground, striking the hard stones with a dull thud. There was no time to see what had become of the labourer. Gasping for breath, Marcus caught hold of the ladder that led up onto the roof and started to climb. And as he reached the sloping, tiled roof the
structure of the scaffolding groaned, swayed violently and then with a single splintering crack it toppled sideways down into the alley. With a frantic cry, Marcus flung himself, belly first onto the tiled, sloping roof, clawing at the tiles. Close by the second workman was staring at him in silent, stunned horror. For a moment, Marcus was incapable of doing anything. Gasping for breath he lay clamping himself to the sloping roof as below him the shouts and cries of his pursuers filled the alley. Then something struck the tiles close to his head and with horror Marcus saw that it was a knife.
Hastily he began to clamber up the roof moving on all fours like a spider, his feet slipping and desperately propelling him upwards over the tiles. Another projectile hit the roof close to where his hand had just been. Then he reached the top of the sloped roof and without pausing, he rolled over the top and onto the other side of the roof, but as he did, he lost his grip and with a terrified cry, he went sliding down the side of the roof and over the edge of the building and down into the enclosed courtyard beyond. A line of ropes from which clothes were hanging up to dry, broke his fall and with a horrified yelp he landed with a painful thump onto a table before rolling off it and onto the ground. For a moment, he lay there looking up at the blue sky, too stunned to be able to move. Dimly he was aware of a gathering noise but it was coming from the streets, beyond the buildings. With a groan, he raised his head and hastily checked to see if he was all right and apart from a few bruises and cuts, he was. As he staggered to his feet he caught sight of a small girl staring at him from a doorway. But before he or she could say anything a woman appeared and quickly caught hold of the girl, pulling her into a protective embrace. Suspiciously and nervously she stared at Marcus as slowly she backed away. Outside in the streets the tumult seemed to be growing.
“I mean no harm,” Marcus snapped hastily raising his hands. “Please, which way leads out onto the street? Preferably not in that direction,” he added gesturing in the direction of the alley from which he’d just come.
“You don’t want to go out into the streets right now Mr,” the woman retorted as she continued to back away. “Can’t you hear it. There is a riot going on. Best to stay off the streets until it has died down.”
“A riot,” Marcus frowned. Then as he cocked his head, he heard it too. The sounds of screaming, thuds and things being smashed in the streets. It seemed to be coming from all around.
Silently raising his hand to the woman, he crept away towards a doorway and tried the door but it was locked. He paused beside an open window and was about to poke his head through it when he heard an old man’s voice.
“No, you don’t, I have a hammer,” the old man growled in warning.
“All right. All right,” Marcus muttered, leaning back against the wall, “I mean no harm. I just want to get out of here. Which way, old man?”
“No way out,” the voice growled from inside the room. “No one goes out whilst there is a riot going on. Are you mad? You will find all doors locked and barred. You will just have to wait until it has died down.”
“And how long will that take?” Marcus said with a weary sigh.
“I don’t know,” the old man’s voice answered. “The last one took two days. The drunken thugs around here are never content until they have cracked at least a few skulls. In the meantime, you can fix those ropes that you broke in your fall. Those were my washing lines.”
***
It was night when Marcus slunk into the crumbling apartment block and hastily mounted the stairs towards the top floor room where he had left Esther and Petrus. The entrance hall of the building was deserted. Outside, the streets of the Subura were littered with broken and smashed debris, broken doors, masonry, overturned street stalls and the occasional pool of blood and lifeless body. The riot seemed to have calmed down after nightfall but here and there loud cries and screams still punctured the night. What had become of Cunitius and his men was anyone’s guess, but Marcus guessed that they had not stayed to hang around after the riot had started. As he made it up onto the top floor landing, he paused to catch his breath and listen, but all seemed quiet. Gently knocking on the door, he opened it and carefully slipped inside. In the darkness, he could barely see anything.
“Petrus, Esther,” he whispered, “where are you?”
There was no answer from within the room. Quickly Marcus moved around but the room was deserted and completely bare, even Petrus’s pack was missing. With a weary grunt, Marcus raised his hand to his forehead to wipe away the sweat. He was exhausted. What had happened to Petrus and Esther? Closing his eyes, he tried to think. What had he told them to do? Suddenly he opened his eyes and swiftly turned and strode towards the open window. Beyond, in the darkness, the contours of the city of Rome were just visible in the moonlight. Poking his head out of the window he turned first to the right and then to the left.
“Petrus, Esther, it’s me, Marcus,” he whispered into the darkness. “Everything is all right. Where are you?”
In the darkness, nothing moved. Then as he repeated himself, something stirred in the night.
“We’re out here, Marcus,” a tired and fed-up sounding voice replied. “We have been sitting out here on the roof for nearly the whole fucking day, waiting for you to return. Where have you been, what have you been doing?”
A moment later Marcus saw Petrus crawling towards him followed by Esther.
“Well?” Petrus exclaimed angrily as he clambered through the window and back into the room followed by Esther.
“I think I caused the riot today,” Marcus said, leaning back against the wall in relief. Then softly he began to laugh as he allowed the tension, fear and exhaustion to finally seep out of himself.
“You caused the riot?” Petrus hissed raising his eyebrows in disbelief. “Whatever happened to Abraham? You were supposed to bring him here and we were going to leave Esther in his care. What happened?”
“We were betrayed, my friend,” Marcus sighed raising his arm and grasping hold of Petrus’s shoulder. “Abraham betrayed us. He is clearly not who he claims to be. He showed up at the tavern with Cunitius and his men. They saw me and chased me. I managed to get away and then the riot started. I was lucky.”
“Cunitius,” Petrus exclaimed, reeling backwards in shock, “Cunitius is here in Rome! How can this be so? How can he have found us so quickly?”
Then before anyone could answer, Petrus groaned and raised both his hands to his head in dismay. “At Hengistbury Head, the blond girl and your friend, the Batavian, Clodovicus; they knew we were heading to Rome. Cunitius must have somehow found out and followed us here. This is my fault. This is all my fault.”
Marcus shrugged as he turned to gaze at Esther. “I don’t know who Abraham really is,” he muttered. “Maybe he is an informant for the state, maybe he truly is who he says he is and sold us out for the reward, it doesn’t matter. He and all those Christian brothers of yours are no longer trustworthy. We cannot rely on them anymore. Abraham betrayed us. After our meeting, yesterday in the Colosseum, he must have gone directly to Cunitius and reported what we’d said. And if he knew who Cunitius was and how to find him so quickly, that suggests that our good friend Abraham is no amateur. Maybe he does this for a living?”
“What do you mean, does this for a living?” Esther asked folding her arms across her chest, the darkness covering the anxious look on her face.
“Maybe he is employed to track down and capture unwanted people here in Rome,” Marcus replied. “Maybe he is employed by the government to find people like us, runaway slaves, Christians, criminals, spies and send them to the Colosseum for execution. Now that I think about it, he really didn’t seem concerned about the execution of those Christians yesterday. That was odd. That behaviour should have been a warning.”
Silently Esther came towards Marcus and before he could stop her she placed her arms around him and embraced, pressing her head against his chest.
“Thank you, Marcus,” she muttered in a dignified voice as she broke f
ree. “God is wise for he sent you to protect me and you have, both of you have.”
Marcus nodded and looked down at the floor.
“Shit,” Petrus stammered as he shook his head, “I can’t believe this. So, what do we do now? Our only contacts in the city are bust. Should we just leave and find another home for Esther? Should we just go home? I trusted those brothers. I was told that they were reliable. I was assured that Abraham would help us.”
“It’s not your fault,” Marcus said sharply. “Don’t beat yourself up about it. We were all fooled and besides, I already gave you a black eye for what happened in Hengistbury Head. I don’t have the energy to give you another.”
“I do not wish to leave Rome,” Esther said in a firm voice. “Maybe the time has come for you two to go back to your home in Britannia. You have done so much for me and I cannot thank you enough. But maybe I should look after myself from now on. This is the city where I was born. This is my home now. I feel it more strongly than ever. I will manage. I will survive on my own. You should go.”
But in the gloom Marcus shook his head.
“No,” he said in a resigned voice, “I am not going to give up just yet. There is still one option that we have not yet considered.”
Chapter Fifteen – The Alliance
It was deepest night when Marcus, leading Petrus and Esther approached the Ludus on the Quirinal hill. Around them the stink of the city was ever present but all was quiet and they had met very few people on their nocturnal journey through the winding streets of Rome. High above in the heavens the stars covered the night sky in a brilliant and fantastic mosaic of tiny pinpricks of light. Feeling his way cautiously along the wall of the narrow street Marcus grunted as in the gloom he finally recognised the tall school gates. Carefully he reached out to give the gates a push but as expected they were locked and barred. Leaning back against the wall he paused. He was learning fast that no one in their right mind left their doors unlocked at night in Rome.
The Dacian War (Book 6 of the Veteran of Rome Series) Page 12
