Emperor: The Death of Kings E#2 (11 page)

Two weeks after leaving port, they were taken out of the cell in darkness and left on a strange coast, without weapons or supplies. The captain had bowed to them as they were taken to the small boat that would be rowed in to the beach beyond, where they could hear the crash of waves.

“Goodbye, Romans. I will think of you often as I spend your coin,” he had called, laughing. They stayed silent, though Julius looked up at him steadily, as if noting every line of his face. He was furious that Cabera had not been allowed to leave with them, though he had known they might hold him. It was just one more reason to find the captain and rip his throat out.

On the beach, their bonds were cut and the sailors backed away carefully, daggers ready.

“Don’t do anything stupid, now,” one of them warned. “You can work your way home in time.” Then they were in the boat and rowing hard for the trireme that was black against the moonlit sea.

Pelitas reached down and picked up a handful of the soft sand, rubbing it between his fingers.

“I don’t know about you lads, but I’m going for a swim,” he said, stripping off his infested clothes in a sudden rush. A minute later, only Suetonius stood on the shore, then he was dragged in by the shouting, laughing officers, clothes and all.

*      *      *

Brutus used his dagger to skin the hares they’d bought from a farmer, scooping out the guts into a slimy heap. Renius had found some wild onions, and with the crusty bread and a half-full wineskin, it would be a suitable feast for their last night in the open. Rome was less than a day’s travel away, and with the sale of the horses, they were in profit.

Renius dropped a few heavy pieces of dead wood by the fire and lay down as close as he could, enjoying the warmth.

“Pass me the wineskin, lad,” he said, his voice mellow.

Brutus pulled the stopper out and gave it to him, watching as Renius guided the spout to his mouth and gulped.

“I’d go easy if I were you,” Brutus said. “You have no head for wine and I don’t want you picking a fight with me or weeping or something.”

Renius ignored him, finally gasping as he lowered the skin.

“It’s good to be home again,” he said.

Brutus filled their small cooking pot to the brim and lay down on the other side of the fire.

“It is. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed it before the lookout sighted the coast. It brought everything back to me.”

Shaking his head in memory, he stirred the stew with his dagger. Renius raised his head and rested it on his hand.

“You’ve come a long way from the boy I trained. I don’t think I ever told you how proud I was when you made centurion for the Bronze Fist.”

“You told everyone else. It got back to me in the end,” Brutus replied, smiling.

“And now you’ll be Julius’s man?” Renius said, eyeing the bubbling stew.

“Why not? We walk the same path, remember? Cabera said that.”

“He said the same to me,” Renius muttered, testing the stew with a finger. Though it was clearly boiling, he didn’t seem to feel the heat.

“I thought that was why you came back with me. You could have stayed on with the Fist if you’d wanted.”

Renius shrugged. “I wanted to be at the heart of things again.”

Brutus grinned at the big man. “I know. Now Sulla’s dead, this is our time.”

  CHAPTER
9
  

I
have no idea what you are talking about,” Fercus said. He strained against the ropes that held him to the chair, but there was no give in them.

“I think you know exactly what I mean,” Antonidus said, leaning in very close so that their faces almost touched. “I have a gift for knowing a lie when I am told one.” He sniffed twice suddenly and Fercus remembered how they called him Sulla’s dog.

“You reek of lies,” Antonidus said, sneering. “I know you were involved, so simply tell me and I will not have to bring in the torturers. There is no escape from here, broker. No one saw you arrested and no one will know we have spoken. Just tell me who ordered the assassination and where the killer is and you will walk out unharmed.”

“Take me to a court of law. I will find representation to prove my innocence!” Fercus said, his voice shaking.

“Oh, you would like that, wouldn’t you? Days wasted in idle talk while the Senate tries to prove it has one law for all. There
is
no law down here, in this room. Down here, we still remember Sulla.”

“I know nothing!” Fercus shouted, making Antonidus move back a few inches, to his relief. The general shook his head in regret.

“We know the killer went by the name of Dalcius. We know he had been bought for kitchen work three weeks before. The record of the sale has vanished, of course, but there were witnesses. Did you think no one would notice Sulla’s own agent at the market? Your name, Fercus, came up over and over again.”

Fercus paled. He knew he would not be allowed to live. He would not see his daughters again. At least they were not in the city. He had sent his wife away when the soldiers came for the slave market records, understanding then what would happen and knowing he could not run with them if he wanted them to escape the wolves Sulla’s friends would put on his trail.

He had accepted that there was a small risk, but after burning the sale papers, he had thought they would never make the link among so many thousands of others. His eyes filled with tears.

“Guilt overwhelms you? Or is it just that you have been found out?” Antonidus asked sharply.

Fercus said nothing and looked at the floor. He did not think he could stand torture.

The men who entered at Antonidus’s order were old soldiers, calm and untroubled at what they were asked to do.

“I want names from him,” Antonidus said to them. He turned back to Fercus and raised his head until their eyes met once more. “Once these men have started, it will take a tremendous effort to make them stop. They enjoy this sort of thing. Is there anything you want to say before it begins?”

“The Republic is worth a life,” Fercus said, his eyes bright.

Antonidus smiled. “The Republic is dead, but I do love to meet a man of principle. Let’s see how long it lasts.”

Fercus tried to pull away as the first slivers of metal were pressed against his skin.

Antonidus watched in fascination for a while, then slowly grew pale, wincing at the muffled, heaving sounds Fercus made as the two men bent over him. Nodding to them to continue, the general left, hurrying to be out in the cool night air.

*      *      *

It was worse than anything Fercus had ever known, an agony of humiliation and terror. He turned his head to one of the men and his lips twisted open to speak, though his blurring eyes could not see more than vague shapes of pain and light.

“If you love Rome, let me die. Let me die quickly.”

The two men paused to exchange a glance, then resumed their work.

*      *      *

Julius sat in the sand with the others, shivering as dawn finally came to warm them. They had soaked the clothes in the sea, removing the worst of months of fetid darkness, but they had to let them dry on their bodies.

The sun rose swiftly and they were silent witnesses to the first glorious dawn they had seen since standing on the decks of
Accipiter
. With the light, they saw the beach was a thin strip of sand that ran along the alien coast. Thick foliage clustered right up to the edge of it as far as the eye could see, except for one wide path only half a mile away, found by Prax as they scouted the area. They had no idea where the captain had put them down, except that it was likely to be near a village. For the ransoms to be a regular source of funds, it was important that prisoners made it back to civilization, and they knew the coast would not be uninhabited. Prax was sure it was the north coast of Africa. He said he recognized some of the trees, and it was true that the birds that flew overhead were not those of home.

“We could be close to a Roman settlement,” Gaditicus had said to them. “There are hundreds of them along the coast, and we can’t be the first prisoners to be left here. We should be able to get on one of the merchant ships and be back in Rome before the end of summer.”

“I’m not going back,” Julius had said quietly. “Not like this, without money and in rags. I meant what I said to the captain.”

“What choice do you have?” Gaditicus replied. “If you had a ship and a crew, you could still spend months searching for that one pirate out of many.”

“I heard one of the guards call him Celsus. Even if it’s not his real name, it’s a start. We know his ship and someone will know him.”

Gaditicus raised his eyebrows. “Look, Julius. I would like to see the bastard again as much as you, but it just isn’t possible. I didn’t mind you baiting the idiot on board, but the reality is we don’t have a sword between us, nor coins to rub together.”

Julius stood and looked steadily at the centurion. “Then we will start by getting those, then men to make a crew, then a ship to hunt in. One thing at a time.”

Gaditicus returned the gaze, feeling the intensity behind it. “We?” he said quietly.

“I’d do it alone if I had to, though it would take longer. If we stay together, I have a few ideas for getting our money back so we can return to Rome with pride. I won’t creep back home beaten.”

“It’s not a thought I enjoy,” Gaditicus replied. “The gold my family sent will have pushed them all into poverty. They will be happy to see me safe, but I will have to see how their lives have changed every day. If you aren’t just dreaming, I will listen to those ideas of yours. It can’t hurt to talk it through.”

Julius put out his hand and gripped the older man’s shoulder, before turning to the others.

“What about the rest of you? Do you want to go back like whipped dogs or take a few months more to try and win back what we have lost?”

“They will have more than just our gold on board,” Pelitas said slowly. “They wouldn’t be able to leave it anywhere and be safe, so there’s a good chance the legion silver will be in the hold as well.”

“Which belongs to the legion!” Gaditicus snapped with a trace of his old authority. “No, lads. I’ll not be a thief. Legion silver is marked with the stamp of Rome. Any of that goes back to the men who earned their pay.”

The others nodded at this, knowing it was fair.

Suetonius spoke suddenly in disbelief. “You are talking as if the gold is here, not on a distant ship we will never see again while we are lost and hungry!”

“You are right,” Julius said. “We had better get started along that path. It’s too wide to be just for animals, so there should be a village hereabouts. We’ll talk it out when we have a chance to feel like Romans again, with good food in our bellies and these stinking beards cut off.”

The group rose and walked toward the break in the foliage with him, leaving Suetonius alone, his mouth hanging open. After a few moments, he closed it and trotted after them.

*      *      *

The two torturers stood silently as Antonidus viewed the wreck that had been Fercus. The general winced in sympathy at the mangled carcass, glad that he had been able to enjoy a light sleep while it was going on.

“He said nothing?” Antonidus asked, shaking his head in amazement. “Jupiter’s head—look what you’ve done to him. How could a man stand that?”

“Perhaps he knew nothing,” one of the grim men replied.

Antonidus considered it for a moment. “Perhaps. I wish we could have brought his daughters to him so I could be sure.”

He seemed fascinated by the injuries and inspected the body closely, noting each cut and burn. He whistled softly through his teeth.

“Astonishing. I would not have believed he had such courage in him. He didn’t even try to give false names?”

“Nothing, General. He didn’t say a word to us.”

The two men exchanged a glance again, hidden behind the general’s back as he bent close to the bound corpse. It was a tiny moment of communication before they resumed their blank expressions.

*      *      *

Varro Aemilanus welcomed the ragged officers into his house with a beaming smile. Although he had been retired from legion life for fifteen years, it was always a pleasure to see the young men the pirates left on his small stretch of coast. It reminded him of the world outside his village, distant enough not to trouble his peaceful life.

“Sit down, gentlemen,” he said, indicating couches that were thinly padded. They had been fine once, but time had taken the shine from the cloth, he noted with regret. Not that these soldiers would care, he thought as they took the places he indicated. Only two of them remained standing and he knew they would be the leaders. Such little tricks gave him pleasure.

“Judging by the look of you, I’d say you have been ransomed by the pirates that infest this coastline,” he said, his voice drenched in sympathy. He wondered what they would say if they knew that the pirate Celsus often came to the village to talk to his old friend and give him the news and gossip of the cities.

“Yet this settlement is untouched,” said the younger of the two.

Varro glanced sharply at him, noting the intense blue stare. One of the eyes had a wide, dark center that seemed to look through his cheerful manner to the real man. Despite the beards, they all stood straighter and stronger than the miserable groups Celsus would leave nearby every couple of years. He cautioned himself to be careful, not yet sure of the situation. At least he had his sons outside, well armed and ready for his call. It paid to be careful.

“Those they have ransomed are left along this coast. I’m sure they find it useful to have the men returned to civilization to keep the ransoms coming in. What would you have us do? We are farmers here. Rome gave us the land for a quiet retirement, not to fight the pirates. That is the job of our galleys, I believe.” He said the last with a twinkle in his eye, expecting the young man to smile or look embarrassed at failing in that task. The steady gaze never faltered and Varro found his good humor evaporating.

“The settlement is too small for a bathhouse, but there are a few private homes that will take you in and lend you razors.”

“What about clothes?” said the older of the two.

Varro realized he didn’t know their names and blinked. This was not the usual way of such conversations. The last group had practically wept to find a Roman in such a strange land, sitting on couches in a well-built stone house.

“Are you the officer here?” Varro asked, glancing at the younger man as he spoke.

“I was the captain of
Accipiter,
but you have not answered my question,” Gaditicus replied.

“We do not have garments for you, I am afraid . . .” Varro began.

The young man sprang at him, gripping his throat and pulling him out of his seat. He choked in horror and sudden fear as he was dragged over the table and pressed down onto it, looking up into those blue eyes that seemed to know all his secrets.

“You are living in a fine house for a farmer,” the voice hissed at him. “Did you think we wouldn’t notice? What rank were you? Who did you serve with?”

The grip lessened to let him speak and Varro thought of calling to his sons, but knew he didn’t dare with the man’s hand still on his throat.

“I was a centurion, with Marius,” he said hoarsely. “How dare you . . .” The fingers tightened again and his voice was cut off. He could barely breathe.

“Rich family, was it? There are two men outside, hiding. Who are they?”

“My sons . . .”

“Call them in here. They will live, but I’ll not be ambushed as we leave. You will die before they reach you if you warn them. My word on it.”

Varro believed him and called to his sons as soon as he had the breath. He watched in horror as the strangers moved quickly to the door, grabbing the men as they entered and stripping their weapons from them. His sons tried to shout, but a flurry of blows knocked them down.

“You are wrong about us. We live a peaceful life here,” Varro said, his voice almost crushed from him.

“You have sons. Why haven’t they returned to Rome to join the armies like their father? What could hold them here but an alliance with Celsus and men like him?”

The young officer turned to the soldiers who held Varro’s sons.

“Take them outside and cut their throats,” he said.

“No! What do you want from me?” Varro said quickly.

The blue eyes fastened on his again.

“I want swords and whatever gold the pirates pay you to be a safe place for them. I want clothes for the men and armor if you have it.”

Varro tried to nod, with the hand still on his neck.

“You will have it all, though there’s not much coin,” he said miserably. The grip tightened for a second.

“Don’t play false with me,” the young man said.

“Who are you?” Varro wheezed at him.

“I am the nephew of the man you swore to serve until death. My name is Julius Caesar,” he said quietly.

Julius let the man rise, keeping his face stern and forbidding while his spirits leapt in him. How long ago had Marius told him a soldier had to follow his instincts at times? From the first instant of walking into the peaceful village, noting the well-kept main street and the neat houses, he had known that Celsus would not have left it untouched without some arrangement. He wondered if all the villages along the coast would be the same, and felt a touch of guilt for a moment. The city retired their legionaries to these distant coasts, giving them land and expecting them to fend for themselves, keeping peace with their presence alone. How else could they survive without bargaining with the pirates? Some of them might have fought at first, but they would have been killed and those that followed had no choice.