The Silver Eagle (40 page)

Romulus shook his head. Few things angered the gods more than trying to change the course of one’s life path.

‘And I was not the first to predict Brennus’ future. His druid had told him,’ said Tarquinius. ‘Believing that prophecy was what helped him survive for so long in the
ludus
. As well as Astoria and you, of course.’

The memory of Romulus’ first real meeting with the big Gaul was still vivid. After killing a
murmillo
who was holding Brennus’ lover Astoria hostage, Romulus had incurred the wrath of Memor, the brutal
lanista
. Facing a daunting single combat the next morning as punishment, and with nowhere to sleep, Romulus had begun to despair. Brennus was the only fighter to offer him refuge. Unsurprisingly, their friendship had grown from there.

‘Apart from wanting the best for you, Brennus wished for just one thing.’

Romulus knew what Tarquinius would say next.

‘It was to regain his honour while saving his friends.’

‘As he had been prevented from doing before,’ Romulus finished. ‘With his wife and baby.’

‘And his uncle and cousin.’

A surge of faith filled him. ‘So the gods granted his final wish.’

‘That is what I believe.’

Both men sat for a while, honouring Brennus’ memory.

Below them, a fish jumped high in the air, catching a fly. There was a loud splash as it re-entered the water.

Romulus wrinkled his nose at the unpleasant smell which arose. Bizarrely, it reminded him of his former owner. The cruel merchant had bathed little. Abruptly he decided to test Tarquinius’ honesty. ‘What about Gemellus?’

The haruspex looked surprised. ‘His recent business ventures have not gone well. More than that I do not know.’

Satisfied and pleased with this simple response, Romulus ventured another question. ‘Are my mother and Fabiola still alive?’

This was his most deeply held hope, the burning ember of which he guarded like the font of life itself. For fear of the haruspex’ possible answer, Romulus had never dared mention it before.

Tarquinius’ expression changed, becoming sombre.

Romulus steeled himself.

‘Fabiola is,’ Tarquinius said at length. ‘I am certain of it.’

Joy filled him, and he grinned. ‘And my mother?’

The haruspex shook his head once.

Romulus’ initial elation ebbed away, to be replaced by sadness. His mother’s death was not a complete surprise to him, however. While not particularly old at the time of his sale to the
ludus
, Velvinna had been small and slight of build. And her children’s sale would have finally broken her spirit. The incredibly harsh environment of the salt mines, into which Gemellus had promised to sell her, killed even the strongest of men within a few months. To expect that she would survive more than four years in such a living hell was unrealistic. Romulus had kept her alive in his imagination because it helped him with his own situation. Closing his eyes, he asked that the gods look after his mother in paradise.

‘Where is Fabiola now?’ Romulus nearly choked on his next words. ‘Still in the brothel?’

‘No.’

‘Where, then?’

‘I’m not sure,’ said Tarquinius. ‘If I see more, you’ll be the first to know.’

Romulus sighed, wondering why, in his vision, Fabiola had been at the Forum. He would have to wait for the answer.

Overhead, the harsh keening of the gulls reminded them of their proximity to the sea: their possible route home. Romulus’ heart sang with previously unthinkable ideas.

The timbers beneath them creaked as heavy footsteps approached their position.

The haruspex’ eyes narrowed, and Romulus’ fingers crept towards the handle of his
gladius
. In this exotic port, they had no friends – only potential enemies. The gravelly voice that butted in was a rude reminder of this fact.

Romulus did not understand the words, but the angry tone conveyed the speaker’s meaning very well.

‘He wants to know what we’re doing on his dock,’ whispered Tarquinius.

‘
His
dock?’ hissed Romulus incredulously.

The haruspex raised his eyebrows and he had to stifle a smile.

A brute of a man was standing over them, his hands on his hips. Dressed in a plain loincloth, his deeply tanned body was covered in scars. Thick cords of muscle stood out on his chest and arms; leather bands encircled both wrists. Greasy black hair fell in long braids on either side of the man’s broad, unshaven face. A badly broken nose twisted his features, which were lumpen and crude. He repeated his question.

Neither of the friends answered, but they both got to their feet. Facing the newcomer, they moved a couple of paces apart.

A sword with a deeply curved blade jutted from a wide belt around the man’s waist. Tiny brown discoloured pits in the iron revealed the newcomer was a sailor. Or a pirate. Only salt spray affected metal like that, thought Romulus. The fool didn’t know that oiling his weapon would prevent it from rusting. Or didn’t care.

Raising his hands in a peaceful gesture, Tarquinius spoke a few words.

The response was an angry growl.

‘I told him that we were merely resting,’ the haruspex said in an undertone.

‘That doesn’t seem to be enough,’ muttered Romulus, taking in the corsair’s body language.

‘No,’ Tarquinius replied archly. ‘He wants to fight.’

‘Tell him we don’t want trouble,’ said Romulus. Doubtless this brute had friends.

Tarquinius obeyed.

Instead of standing aside, the man sneered and planted his trunk-like legs even further apart. Now he resembled some kind of deformed Colossus, standing astride the wharf.

Angered by the threatening move, Romulus took an involuntary step forward.

‘Look,’ warned Tarquinius.

Romulus peered over his opponent’s shoulder to see that the rails of a predatory-looking dhow a short distance away were lined with grinning men. ‘What should we do?’

The haruspex watched two screeching gulls fight over a juicy scrap. He was reasonably sure that they should offer their services as crew on a merchant vessel rather than get involved with pirates like those watching. But it was best to check.

Romulus waited, studying the big corsair.

A smile broke out on the haruspex’ scarred face as, at the last moment, the smaller black-beaked gull boldly snatched a morsel from the beak of the larger bird.

And then things happened very suddenly.

Romulus’ enemy lunged forward, attempting to seize him in a bear hug. Ducking underneath his swinging arms, Romulus planted an elbow in his back instead. The hefty blow elicited little more than a grunt of anger but produced gales of laughter from the onlookers. The pair turned to face each other once more. Tarquinius took the opportunity to move well out of range of the struggle.

Romulus grimaced. Once more events had been taken out of their hands. He wasn’t going to let a random thug just beat him up, but the consequences might be serious. Be careful, he thought. Don’t injure the brute.

The pirate approached more slowly this time. Clenching his jaw with anger, he slid his bare feet forward across the dock’s warped and cracked planks. Romulus crouched, bending his knees and remembering the dirty moves that Brennus had taught him. He let the other come even closer. There was no room for error: few men were stronger than Brennus, but here was an example. If a single blow connected, Romulus knew he would go down and not get up again.

Two or three paces apart, they stared at each other.

The pirate’s sunburned, cracked lips peeled back, revealing rows of brown, rotten teeth. His huge fists bunched, ready to strike. As far as he was concerned, Romulus was now within his reach. Victory was already his.

The young soldier feinted to the left, and as expected, his opponent moved away. But Romulus did not follow through with a punch. Quick as a flash, he kneed the other in the groin. He did it with all his strength, and the pirate’s mouth opened in an ‘O’ of surprise and agony. Crumpling neatly, he dropped to the dock with a loud crash. A low, inarticulate moan emanated from his slumped form.

Romulus grinned and stepped away, pleased that he had not needed to badly injure the corsair.

With luck, his shipmates would also appreciate the restraint.

Glancing over, he could see that many of them were laughing. But a sizeable number seemed quite unhappy too. Angry fists were being shaken in his direction. A coal-black Nubian with gold earrings stood by, watching to see the outcome. More and more insults rang out, and a few men reached for their weapons. It was the beginning of a trickle effect. Realising that he and Tarquinius would have to run like cowards, Romulus cursed silently. Just like a rioting mob that pauses before lynching an innocent bystander, the pirates were still stationary, but it would only take one man to move for the whole lot to swarm over the rails.

Romulus waved Tarquinius forward, over the groaning heap. Once off the wharf and mingling in the crowd, they would be safe.

A large hand reached out and grabbed at the haruspex’ ankle, almost tripping him.

Hearing Tarquinius cry out, Romulus spun on his heel and in reflex, stamped down on the corsair’s head. A blow from the hobnailed sole of his army sandal was like being hit with a hammer, and the big man slumped down, unconscious. Rolling gently away, his huge weight gave him just enough momentum to reach the edge of the narrow dock and tumble over it. With an almighty splash, he hit the water, sinking immediately.

Aghast, Romulus peered down into the murky depths. Killing his opponent had not been his intention, but that would surely be the outcome now. Already he could see nothing more than chains of rising bubbles.

With an inchoate roar of rage, the entire crew of the pirate ship leapt overboard and sprinted towards them. They were on a parallel jetty, but it would not take long for the two friends’ escape route to be cut off.

Tarquinius grabbed his arm. ‘Let’s go,’ he hissed. ‘Now!’

‘But the poor bastard will drown,’ protested Romulus.

‘Do you think he’d care if it happened to you?’ retorted the haruspex. ‘His friends can save him.’

‘It’ll be too late by then.’ He could not leave a man to die yet again. Romulus unbuckled his belt, took a deep breath and dived in. For the second time in as many moments, the water fountained into the air.

Horrified, Tarquinius stared after him. His moment of indecision cost him dearly. Several pirates had already reached the end of the wharf he was standing on. Leering with pleasure, they swaggered along the planks towards him, axes and spears raised.

Romulus knew none of this. Kicking downwards, he cast his eyes left and right. Fortunately, the visibility was good, much better than on the surface. But he could see nothing. Long fronds of seaweed straggled up from the bottom, threatening to entangle him. Romulus searched fruitlessly for what seemed an age, when a thick rope appeared before him, leading diagonally downwards. It had to be the anchor cable for one the ships above. Romulus took a good hold of it and pulled himself even deeper. If he didn’t find the pirate soon, it would be too late.

Half a dozen heartbeats later, he reached an enormous stone anchor. Romulus was running out of air. Mithras, help me, he prayed desperately.

It was the braids of black hair that caught Romulus’ attention. Like the seaweed around them, they were swaying to and fro in the current. He swam forward, finding the big man within arm’s reach, flat on his back and completely motionless. Not a good sign, he thought. Grabbing hold of the long tresses with his left hand, Romulus placed his feet on the sandy bottom and bent his knees. Using the power of his muscular thighs, he pushed upwards with all his might. The surface seemed miles away, and the weight dragging down his left arm like a sack of lead. But he transferred his grip to the corsair’s chin and, stroke by slow stroke, they ascended.

When two heads broke through the scummy water, great cries of relief went up.

Tarquinius’ voice was among them.

With a sinking heart, Romulus saw that the haruspex had been disarmed and was surrounded by corsairs. But he had no time to think; although he could feel a pulse beneath his hand, the big man was limp in his grasp. His lungs could be full of water. Realising the same thing, his comrades quickly lowered a rope. Romulus tied it fast around the unconscious pirate’s chest and watched as he was pulled up to the dock. Lying the big man on his front, a swarthy figure delivered a few sharp blows to the back of his chest. Nothing happened, and Romulus’ heart sank. The procedure was repeated a number of times to no avail. Just when he thought his rescue attempt had been pointless, the hulk coughed violently before vomiting up a large amount of seawater.

His friends cheered with delight.

Again the rope was dropped, and Romulus eagerly swarmed up it, hand over hand. Surely he would be well received. After all, he had saved the man’s life.

As Romulus reached out to pull himself up on to the dock, a pair of calloused black feet stepped in his way. He looked up, into the eyes of the Nubian with gold earrings. This had to be the pirate captain – and there was a large, wide-bladed cutlass in his right hand.