by R. W. Peake
Pointing to a gap between two dilapidated buildings, he spoke in a near whisper, “We cut through here, then we should find Demeter and the others right down the street waiting for us.”
Without waiting, he stepped into the gap, and while I did not hesitate to follow, almost immediately, I was assaulted by a sensation that I had done this before. It only took a couple of heartbeats for me to recall why, remembering the fighting in Petuar and how Tincommius and I had cut through what was not quite an alley. I also made an observation as, once more, I was forced to turn and sidestep, and that was the cac of people from Britannia smells almost exactly like the cac of the poor Egyptians of Alexandria. I reminded myself to make sure I washed my feet before being in Bronwen’s presence as I emerged to stand next to Alex, where we were joined by Septimus. Despite straining our eyes, we could not see anyone, and I was about to ask Alex if he was certain this was the right spot, when a short hissing sound alerted us, and we spun about to see three shadowy figures standing there.
“We were looking in the wrong direction,” I muttered, although we were already hurrying to join the others.
“We were wondering how long it would take you to turn around.” Marcellus’ grin was more audible than visible.
“Where do we go from here?” I asked, deciding that I would not engage in more banter.
Demeter pointed to the intersection that was now to my back. “When we turn that corner, Aviola’s house will be visible once you walk about five paces down the street. If we press ourselves against the wall, we can stay out of sight for another five or six paces.”
“Which will be close enough to hear Gaius when he starts talking to them,” Alex pointed out.
This was the moment we all turned to the youngest member of the group, who also was about to play the most crucial role, and because of the darkness, I put my hand on his shoulder, not surprised to feel him trembling.
“Are you ready for this?” I asked him quietly, and I saw his head bob up and down once, while I cursed myself for not thinking of this earlier. As we walked to the corner, I leaned down to whisper in his ear, “Gaius, you know what the secret to being a Pullus is?” For the first time, he looked up at me, his features barely visible as he shook his head, still not saying anything. “It’s because,” I went on, “unlike most people, we Pulluses don’t let our fear control us. We’re the masters over our fear instead.” I paused to let this sink in, then asked, “Do you understand?”
For the first time, he spoke. “Y-yes. I do, Gnaeus. And,” his voice grew a bit stronger, “you can count on me!”
“Which is why you’re here.” I patted him on the shoulder.
We were at the corner now, and to my surprise, I did not have to give him a nudge forward; on his own, Gaius turned the corner, disappearing from sight. I waited to a count of five, then I followed him, except I put my back to the building and essentially repeated what I had done to get through the gap, sliding my feet along, while Gaius moved to a spot where he could walk down the middle of the street. Unlike Petuar, the streets even of the poorest district in Alexandria are paved, although there is an accumulation of all manner of things covering the stones; animal droppings, dirt, and the gods know what else, which made the smell only marginally better than it had been between the buildings. There were two shuttered windows of the building we were up against, and I was relieved to see there was no sign of light from either one, although I still bent over so that my head was below them as I slid past. The quiet was abruptly broken by a sharp call that I knew did not come from Gaius, who was still a couple paces short of the next intersection, although I could tell that he was plainly visible from Aviola’s building, and while I recognized the tone, sounding similar to when a Legionary called out a challenge while on guard, my heart sank when I could not understand a word that followed the warning call.
“It’s a fucking Egyptian,” I whispered. “They must have…”
Gaius had come to an immediate stop, as he should have, but before I could finish my thought, the voice immediately switched to Greek. Which, I instantly understood, made sense that, no matter who would be standing guard, they would start in the tongue most likely to be understood by this possible intruder.
“Oy!” the voice called out in Greek. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
Gaius did not respond, although I knew he understood Greek, which made me think that he had frozen as I had feared he would.
In fact, he had done no such thing, which I would learn when he called out, but in Latin, “I…I don’t speak Greek.”
Even with the distance, I heard at least two men’s voices exclaiming in surprise, but it was the original interrogator who immediately switched to Latin as well, speaking with an accent that my ear told me came from Latium, “You’re a Roman?”
“Yes.” Gaius did a nice job of sounding relieved. “Yes, I am.”
“Then what by Cerberus’ balls are you doing here?” The voice sounded more curious than alarmed, although he was clearly wary.
“I’m Lucius Sempronius,” Gaius lied. “My father is the master of the Concordia, a cargo trireme out of Narbo Martius, and this is my first voyage with him.”
A new voice spoke then, also in Latin, although it was with a trace of the kind of accent that speaks of a childhood spent in Hispania, but more importantly, he sounded more suspicious than curious.
“That’s all well and good, but that doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.” Before Gaius could respond, the same voice demanded, “How old are you?”
“I’m fifteen,” Gaius answered the last question first, then went on, “but I wanted to see Alexandria. My father,” he shifted from one foot to another as if he was uncomfortable, “told me to stay aboard, but he took the crew into the city. And,” I could see him shrug, reminding me of the kind of thing I would do with my mother when I had no real desire to answer a question, “I decided that I would just go for a short time and get back before they did, and he’d never know.”
Because of the gloom, if I could have seen them, it would have been impossible to tell by the facial features of the two guards whether they were accepting Gaius’ story; fortunately, the tone of the first man’s voice told us that he had.
“That’s not good, boy,” he chuckled. “I think you may be better off staying here in Alexandria. Your Tata is going to stripe you good.”
“I know,” Gaius said miserably, playing his role to such perfection that we heard both men laugh.
And that is when I launched myself into a run.
It was the one thing that we had not discussed; what the signal would be when we moved to subdue the two guards, but I knew this was the right moment, because men who are still tense and alert do not laugh. In the moment, my concern was more about Gaius since he was essentially now standing in my path, yet before I could warn him, he clearly heard me coming, because rather than take the risk of accidentally dodging into my path as I shifted to avoid him, he simply dropped down onto his hands and knees so that I was able to hurdle over him. Immediately after my first foot hit the ground, I pushed off on it to launch myself in the same motion, and I was close enough to see the widened eyes of a man who, even in the eyeblink of time that I had, I still would have recognized anywhere, the weather-beaten face of a man who has marched for Rome. There was a brief flash of pain as we collided, then I was falling with him back and downward, my left hand wrapped around the man’s throat as I drove his body to the ground. Because of our proximity, I was blasted with a great gust that smelled of wine and garlic as the air was driven from the man’s lungs, and I drew my fist back to punch him, aiming for the point of his chin, since that seems to be the best method to knock a man unconscious. It worked perfectly, but whether the second guard had better reflexes, or Septimus, who had been immediately behind me, was a bit slow, what mattered was that just as I looked away from the now-unconscious first guard, I saw that the second Roman had dodged aside as Septimus flew past him to collide directly
with the outer wall of Aviola’s hideout. This guard was just turning around, presumably to shout a warning when, out of desperation, I launched a wild punch that completely missed my target of his cheek, striking him instead on the side of his head just above his ear. It hurt, a great deal, and I worried that I had broken my hand, but while it did not render him unconscious, it did send him reeling away from me. I do not recall how, but I somehow got to my feet, which enabled me to close the distance because he was still off balance, and this time, my aim was true, my fist striking him in exactly the same spot as the first man, with the same result, as he collapsed in a heap, out cold. Unfortunately, Septimus’ collision with the mud brick wall was enough to rouse someone inside, as what sounded like a chair being moved, made a scraping noise, indicated whoever it was suddenly stood up.
“Flaccus! What’s going on out there?”
“Nothing, Dominus! I just tripped!”
Septimus had done his best to sound like the first man, and he did a good job to my ear; unfortunately, whoever was inside was addressing the other man, or this was what I immediately assumed because they did not say anything, and instead began running, the sound of his footsteps making it clear he was heading for the back door. I doubt a full heartbeat passed before I lifted my foot to kick the door in, shattering it into kindling, some of the pieces flying backward into my face as I did the incredibly foolhardy, or as Alex would put it, foolish thing of rushing headlong into the building. There was next to no light, only a feeble glow that shone through a doorway to my right a couple of paces from the entrance that led to the next room, but I saw the dark figure of a man, running just a few paces ahead of me, and all I could think was, “Aviola’s getting away.” The idea that it might not be Aviola did not even occur to me, so I did not break stride as I went after him. And, just as I was passing by the doorway, I got the barest flicker of warning in the form of a dark blur that slammed into me from my right side. If I had been a normal size, I would have been sent sprawling, yet despite not losing my feet, I went staggering sideways to slam into the far wall, feeling it give way under my shoulder. I believe that whoever it was who had rushed at me had counted on his target being his own size, because as I pivoted to put the wall to my back, I saw what was clearly a man standing there, yet not rushing at me; I also saw the same thing happen to him as Septimus ran through the door to slam into him in an almost identical repeat of what had just happened to me, the only differences being that I did not squawk like a frightened girl as I went flying nor did I go crashing to the floor.
“I’ve got him!” Septimus shouted, so I resumed my chase, hopping over the prone form of my attacker, but to my dismay, I saw the rear door yawning open, with who I had presumed was Aviola nowhere in sight beyond the doorway.
Thank Fortuna, before I went another couple of steps, I heard another shout from out in the street, followed by a deeper, meatier sound, and as I rushed through the door, the sight that greeted me was Demeter standing over someone who was lying on his back in the middle of the street; what drew my eye was the gladius in the Rhodian’s hand, which was pulled back near his ear.
“Demeter!”
Even as I bellowed his name, I knew that it would mean waking everyone within earshot, but I had no choice because I was close enough to see the man’s face, and I recognized that look. For years, even longer than any member of the Pullus family, Demeter had been dreaming of this moment, and it was only later that I understood how, in that instant, Aviola’s identity had been confirmed for me because of Demeter’s reaction to seeing him.
My shout did the trick, thank the gods, because his arm had just begun moving down to plunge the point of his blade into the prone man’s throat. For his part, Aviola was holding both hands up above him in a gesture that I have seen more times than I can count, as a vanquished man begs for his life, although it rarely works. And, I knew in the moment, that Demeter’s sparing of Aviola was not because of his plea, but my warning shout. Except that, for the span of several heartbeats, it seemed as if Aviola’s reprieve would be temporary, as Demeter, having arrested his downward movement at my shout, pulled his arm back again.
“Don’t do it, Demeter,” I warned him, but in a normal tone. “You know that I need him alive.”
“Yes,” Demeter’s voice was hoarse, “but I do not.”
“Demeter!” I spoke more sharply, mainly because I wanted him to take his gaze away from Aviola, who was at least wise enough not to move, although he was making whimpering noises as his fate was being decided. I softened my tone, but not my words, “You don’t want to make me your enemy, Demeter. And, I swear by Jupiter, and by Zeus, if you kill him now, you will be dead before you draw another breath.”
He acted as if he had not heard me, but what mattered was the gladius did not move. With his left hand, he pointed down at Aviola, and the anguish was clear to hear as he spat, “He is the reason Lykos is dead!”
No, I thought, Lykos is the reason Lykos is dead; aloud, I said, “Then I will promise this much.” For the first time, he looked up from Aviola, our eyes meeting as I told him, “As soon as I learn what I need, I will give him to you to do with as you will.”
This elicited a reaction from Aviola, who issued a low moan, but all I cared about was the Rhodian, who did not answer immediately.
Finally, he asked, “You swear this, Pullus?”
“I do,” I assured him. “But,” I warned, “only once he’s given me what we came for.”
Demeter still did not lower his arm for another couple of heartbeats, but then, with a sharp exhalation of breath, he dropped his gladius down to his side, and it became my turn to sigh with relief as I walked over to Aviola. Naturally, he had only been watching Demeter, but his eyes turned upward at the sound of my approach, and even though I knew that I appeared upside down to him, he let out a low moan of fear.
“You…you’re Pullus’ brother!” he gasped. “The Legionary!”
“Close enough,” I answered, but I was bending down as I spoke, grabbing a handful of tunic to lift him bodily to his feet in a manner that demonstrated how easy it was for me and sending the message that trying to escape would be foolish.
Just as I did so, there was movement from across the street, which Demeter also either saw or perhaps heard the footsteps, and since I was holding Aviola with my left hand, I drew my gladius from over my shoulder. Then Marcellus materialized out of the gloom, also with his gladius in his hand, but it was the blood covering the blade, gleaming in the faint light, that caught my eye.
“What happened?” I asked sharply, and he shook his head, refusing to meet my eyes.
“I’m too fucking old,” he said unhappily, “that’s what happened.” He went on to explain, “I tried to knock the bastard out who was wedged in that spot across the street, but since I couldn’t get him from behind, he saw me coming, and drew his gladius.”
“Was he a Legionary like the two in front?”
To my relief, he shook his head, assuring me, “No, Pullus. He’s too dark-skinned to be Roman.”
“He’s not,” Aviola spoke up for the first time. “He’s Macedonian Egyptian.”
“He was Macedonian Egyptian,” I replied, then before anything more could be said, there was the sound of a door slamming from down the street, and I bit back a curse to say quickly, “We need to get back inside.”
I was turning Aviola around to shove him inside when Demeter asked, “What happened to the fourth man that we saw earlier?”
Juno’s cunnus, I wanted to shout it out as I wondered how I could have forgotten about that. I glared at Aviola, demanding, “Well?” He shook his head, clamping his mouth shut; it took one slap against his head that buckled his knees and required me to hold him upright that loosened his tongue.
“He’s going to a taverna in the city where I have more men waiting.” For some reason, this seemed to embolden him as he looked up at me the first time, “They’ll be here soon! And then,” he smiled, “you’re going to be tra
pped here, and they don’t like Romans in the Rhakotis.”
I wanted to smash his face in, but I did the next best thing, completely ignoring him to ask Marcellus, “Where’s the body?”
“I shoved it all the way back in that gap out of sight,” he answered. “Nobody will find it unless they’re looking for it.”
The shout that originated from the same direction as the door slamming got me moving, and I shoved Aviola towards his hideout, calling over my shoulder to Demeter and Marcellus to come inside as well. I was not surprised but still happy to see that Septimus, Alex, and Gaius had not been idle, the evidence being three figures stretched out on the floor, hands bound behind them with rags stuffed in their mouths.
“If this cunnus is telling the truth, we don’t have much time,” I told the others. “So we have to decide whether to try and get him talking here or take him back to the ship and run the risk of being caught out on the street when we run into the men he says are coming.”
It is impossible to say why with any certainty, but Aviola seemed to think that he had some sort of control of his fate, because he said coolly, “If you let me go now, I swear on the black stone that none of you will be hurt, and I won’t report any of this to the authorities.”
A quick slap that buckled his knees again, which was accompanied by my growling, “You’re not going anywhere, you cunnus, and neither are we, not until you come up with the money that you cheated from Gaius Pullus.”
I suppose that with a man like Lucius Aviola, it is second nature to lie, because he frowned, shook his head and replied, “Gaius Pullus? I’ve never heard of him.”
This got him another slap as I reminded him, “You just called me ‘Pullus’ brother, the Legionary,’ you fucking idiot.”