Armenia Capta

by William Kelso

  “I don’t need your money,” Marcus snapped.

  Cunitius nodded and for a moment he studied Marcus carefully. Then he smiled.

  “I am not offering you money,” the investigator replied, “But I will offer you some information, something I think you will want to know about.”

  “Information?” Marcus replied scornfully. “What can you possibly tell me that would be of interest to me?”

  Cunitius paused and drummed his fingers lightly on the side of his chair as he seemed to make up his mind.

  “I have a contact at the imperial court,” Cunitius said at last in a matter of fact voice. “His name is Laberius and he told me an interesting story the other day. Laberius told me that there is going to be an assassination attempt on Hadrian. It is going to happen soon and it has been organised by Hadrian’s opponents. I don’t know the exact details except that the plotters want Hadrian dead before he leaves Athens.”

  Marcus stood very still as he stared at Cunitius in surprise.

  “Who?” Marcus muttered. “Who is plotting to kill Hadrian?”

  In his chair Cunitius’s lips cracked into a cold, hard smile. “I see that your friends don’t trust you enough to tell you what is going on. Maybe you are not as valued by them as you think you are, Marcus. The man who has ordered the assassination is called Nigrinus. He is your faction leader, your political master, your friend. Yes, I thought that would surprise you. Funny how you think you know everything only to discover that you are but a small, insignificant and expendable cog in the party wheel.”

  Marcus grunted to himself and wrenched his eyes away from Cunitius. If the news was true, Cunitius was right. Nigrinus had indeed not bothered to tell him. He seemed to have deliberately cut him out.

  “So,” Marcus shrugged, turning back to Cunitius, “so what do I care if Nigrinus wants Hadrian dead. It is none of my business and I really don’t care whether Hadrian lives or dies. The man means nothing to me.”

  “I think you should care,” Cunitius replied carefully, “You see I have an advantage over you which delights me. I am my own man. I owe no allegiance to any faction or any political grouping. I am free. But you Marcus, you sold your soul to Nigrinus and now you must do his bidding even when he shits on you. That’s the difference between us. But I haven’t come here to insult you, my friend. I am here to get my man back. So, I will tell you why you should care about this attempt on Hadrian’s life.”

  Cunitius fixed Marcus with a cold, calculating look. “I bet you never told your political friends and masters that your son, Fergus I believe he is called, is the head of security for Hadrian. I can imagine that would not go down too well with Nigrinus. Well Laberius informed me that the plotters have said that they will kill anyone who stands in their way. Seems to me, that if your son is going to be at Hadrian’s side, that his life too will be in danger. Assassination attempts can get rather messy and bloody. Accidents and collateral damage happen. It’s just a friendly warning, Marcus, but I will be leaving now with my man.”

  And as he finished speaking Cunitius rose to his feet and turned for the door.

  “Harbouring an army deserter is still against the law,” Marcus snapped, “and don’t be so sure that I won’t prosecute you for that.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, my man will be punished for what he did,” Cunitius said as he pushed his way passed Indus, “Now where are you holding him?”

  * * *

  It was late in the afternoon and Marcus was still in his office staring down at the floor in a state of semi-shock. The surprise of meeting Cunitius again after all these years had worn off and he had allowed the investigator to take his man away. But the news that Nigrinus was planning an assassination attempt on Hadrian’s life was truly shocking and alarming. Initially he had considered that Cunitius may be lying but there was something in the investigator’s voice that had rung true. Why had the War Party, his party, not told him about this? Why had Nigrinus not let him into the secret? Did they not trust him? Did the leading members of the War Party know that Fergus was Hadrian’s principal bodyguard? It was possible, but he and Kyna had been very careful never to discuss Fergus in front of anyone remotely connected to Nigrinus. It would only have caused trouble.

  Slowly Marcus clasped his head in his hands and groaned as he realised the full extent of the terrible dilemma he now faced. Should he warn Fergus about the pending assassination attempt on Hadrian’s life? His son’s life was in danger for Fergus would surely try to prevent the attack, but if he warned Fergus he would be betraying his own party. He would be betraying Paulinus, Lady Claudia and the honourable military men who had just promised his hospice a generous donation. He would be betraying all the trust and favours that had been bestowed on him. He would be putting his whole family in mortal danger if he betrayed his political friends. For if Nigrinus found out, he would surely have Marcus and his whole family killed for such treachery. And he would be breaking his solemn oath he had given to Nigrinus and Lady Claudia. It would be an utterly dishonourable act but Fergus’s life was at risk. His son might be killed if he did nothing.

  “Fuck,” Marcus hissed, as he shook his head in utter and growing dismay. “Fuck,” he groaned in a louder voice. This was not how he had expected the day to go. What was he going to do?

  “Sir,” a voice said quietly from the doorway and looking up, Marcus saw that it was Indus. The Batavian looked grave.

  “Sir, I thought you should know,” Indus said in his native language, “that mugger, that deserter who was here earlier and whom you released, he is dead. Some of the boys have just told me that his body has been fished out of the Tiber. Seems our visitor had him killed, Sir.”

  Chapter Five – The 223 rd Olympiad

  The Olympic Stadium – Greece – July 113 AD

  The crowds had to be around fifty thousand strong Fergus estimated and they were noisy, drunk, rowdy and excited. A bodyguard’s nightmare. Around him the Olympic stadium had come alive with feverish roaring, flag waving and shouting as the spectators at the 223 rd Olympic games urged on their champions. Down in the oval sporting arena the runners in the main event, the two-hundred-yard sprint, were beginning to line up for the race. The men - they were all men, were stark naked, their oily bodies glistening in the fierce sunlight. Fergus was standing directly behind Hadrian, his hand resting casually on the pommel of his sword as he kept a close and careful eye on the spectators around him. His handsome face had matured and now at twenty-seven he seemed to be at the peak of his physical ability and fitness. Short, red hair covered his head and he was sporting a neatly trimmed beard. Around his neck on a small chain, hung the Celtic amulet made of iron that Galena, his young Celtic wife, had given him at the outset of the Dacian war, some eight years ago. The amulet had powerful magic she had told him and it would protect him. It had however not managed to twist fortune’s fate into giving him a son. Instead Galena had borne him five daughters. Five beautiful daughters!

  Glancing down at Hadrian he saw that his boss had produced a bag of coins and was laughing at one of his Greek friends sitting beside him. Hadrian was gambling. Silently Fergus’s gaze slid away and back to watching the spectators. He took his job very seriously. In the seven years in which he had worked for Hadrian as his principal bodyguard, he’d become highly experienced and successful at what he did. He’d kept Hadrian alive and out of trouble. He had rescued him from numerous embarrassing and potentially dangerous situations and it was a record that Fergus was proud of, but he couldn’t have done it alone. His close protection team of seven men and a woman, all handpicked and trained by himself, were the best of the best.

  Hadrian and Adalwolf, Hadrian’s principle adviser and close friend, together with their Greek host and friends had been seated in the section of the stadium reserved for the wealthy. Fergus however had no faith in the few, ill-disciplined and poorly-armed Olympic guards who were supposed to be guarding the stands. The two smartly-dressed Greeks sitting quietly in the front row had n
ot stopped staring at Hadrian and the drunk in another section of the stands had now started to hurl verbal abuse at Hadrian, but Fergus knew his team had them covered. From his vantage point directly behind his boss, the security net around Hadrian was invisible to the untrained eye, but Fergus had a direct line of sight to every member of his team as they anonymously mingled amongst the crowds. And they needed to be alert. The threats Hadrian faced were numerous and real, for everywhere he’d gone, Hadrian had left behind a trail of jilted-lovers, angry-husbands, thwarted-merchants and humiliated-intellectuals. The Greeks seemed to love Hadrian but not all of them. And in the mountains on the long road back to Athens there were bandits.

  A more pressing concern however was the large group of young men and women gathered just outside the entrance gate to the stands. The youths were all trying to catch Hadrian’s eye for Hadrian’s promiscuity with both sexes was infamous. If they surged forwards, and towards his boss, he would have to act, Fergus thought. Carefully he made eye contact with a big, brawny man with a blond-moustache and long free-flowing blond hair, who was casually leaning against a pillar close to the entrance gates. Flavius was thirty years old, three years older than Fergus and of Germanic origin and Fergus’s deputy. He’d been a champion boxer in Aquincum before Fergus had handpicked him for his close protection team. Catching Fergus’s silent hand signal, Flavius left his position and slowly idled over towards the gate and folded his arms across his chest as he turned to face the excited, jostling youths. Flavius was not only the ugliest man Fergus had ever encountered, but he was known to be able to kill a grown man with a single punch.

  Down in the sporting arena, the sprint, the highlight of the games, was about to begin and in his seat Hadrian had handed the bag of coins to Adalwolf and was peering down into the arena with eager anticipation. Fergus looked on in stoic silence. Adalwolf and he went way back to the time when the two of them had saved Hadrian’s life in Germania. He knew all Hadrian’s friends and acquaintances. He had personally vetted all the staff and slaves who worked in his boss’s household. And when they came to visit, he had insisted that Hadrian’s friends and companions leave their weapons with him, much to their annoyance, until Hadrian had told them to just do it. It had not made Fergus very popular with the influential men and women around Hadrian but he didn’t care about that. He was head of security for Hadrian and keeping his boss alive was not only his job but a matter of professional pride.

  Amongst Hadrian’s companion’s there was however one notable absentee and her absence made today’s job slightly easier Fergus thought. Vibia Sabina, Hadrian’s wife had not accompanied her husband to the games, for married women were not allowed to watch the sporting contests. Vibia was a bitch, a total and complete evil bitch who treated Fergus and his close protection team like slaves. If he had an arch enemy within Hadrian’s entourage it was Vibia. Her marriage to Hadrian, arranged by the empress Plotina, was scandalously bad, even for a marriage of convenience and Fergus had long ago learned to avoid Vibia as much as possible for she brought nothing but trouble. It was none of his business what Hadrian or his wife Vibia Sabina did in their private lives, but their lifestyles did make his job harder than it needed to be. Hadrian had the annoying habit of trying to slip away from his close protection team without telling them. He could be incredibly arrogant, impulsive, boastful and insulting, not caring about the consequences of his actions. He loved everything Greek and he was obsessed with hedonistic pursuits, gambling, hunting, drinking, the theatre, parties and sexual conquests, as was Vibia. Hadrian’s affairs with both men and women were notorious and infamous and it had made him many enemies. It had also opened him up to blackmail and public contempt.

  But you are still worth protecting, Fergus thought silently as he glanced down at his boss. For when the time came for Hadrian to be the next emperor, he would work hard to look after Rome, it’s people and the army. For beneath all his failings and short comings there was a dutiful side to Hadrian that Fergus admired. The man cared deeply for the welfare of the army and the peoples of the empire and there was no doubt in Fergus’s mind, that if he just became a little less hedonistic, impulsive and a little less Greek in his thoughts, Hadrian would make a good emperor.

  In the sporting arena, a trumpet suddenly rang out and in the stadium the crowds erupted as the naked sprinters shot off down the track. In front of Fergus, Hadrian rose to his feet in excitement, clenching a raised fist. Fergus however had no time to follow the race. Tensely he turned this way and that to look at the crowds of cheering and excited spectators as he searched for signs of trouble. A mighty roar at last signalled the end of the sprint and in front of him Hadrian sat down. Most of the spectators fell silent as they waited for the winner of the 223 rd Olympiad to be announced, but in a corner of the stadium a section of the crowd continued to cheer and scream in wild celebration.

  “The winner of the 223 rd Olympiad stadium race is J. Eustolos of Side,” a man cried out in a deep voice and his announcement was repeated throughout the stadium.

  As the announcement was made, Hadrian leapt to his feet with both hands raised in the air and yelled triumphantly. It seemed he had won the bet. Then suddenly, several things happened at once. From the corner of his eye Fergus noticed the drunk who had been insulting Hadrian, rise to his feet, raise his arm and prepare to throw his cup of wine at Hadrian. And at the gates leading into the stands the mob of youths surged forwards, batting the guards aside. Yelling with the fervour of over-excited fans, they rushed straight towards Hadrian.

  “Shit,” Fergus managed to hiss as the situation swiftly threatened to spiral out of control. But before he could make a move, Arlyn, the tall red-headed Hibernian on his team, rose from the seats behind the drunk, caught hold of his arm and wrestled him to the ground, sending wine splattering across the nearby spectators. There was however no time to check on the situation with the drunk. Near to the gates the mob of youths had run straight into Flavius and the big German was not holding back and not caring whom he hit as his fists flew this way and that in a flurry of indiscriminate punches and blows. A howl of surprise, panic and fright rose from the mob of youthful fans and some of the unfortunate ones went tumbling to the ground. But there were too many for Flavius to handle on his own and some of the fans still seemed intent on reaching Hadrian. As he stared at the scene with mounting horror, Fergus suddenly noticed the two Italian brothers, veteran legionaries and by far the oldest members of his security team, running to Flavius’s aid. The brothers were each clutching a toilet bucket full of piss and excrement from the communal stadium toilets and as Fergus looked on, they ran up to the mob and flung the contents of the buckets over the fans. Assailed by Flavius’s fists and now covered in urine and shit the mob broke and fled, dispersing in a wail of outrage and terror.

  “Get that arsehole out of here,” Fergus shouted turning to Arlyn and indicating the drunk whom the Hibernian had pinned to the ground. In response, Arlyn yanked the drunk onto his feet, grasped hold of his neck and began to aggressively push him down the stands and towards the exit, where the man was unceremoniously thrown out onto the ground. In the stands around Fergus a few of the spectators had risen to their feet in alarm and Hadrian seemed to have frozen in mid-movement, his face and body a mixture of surprise and concern.

  “Sir, it’s all right,” Fergus snapped, leaning forwards. “Sit down Sir, we have the situation under the control. Everything is fine.”

  “Fine, my arse,” Hadrian muttered, but he did as Fergus had asked.

  Hastily Fergus turned to check on his security team but they all seemed fine and back in position. Around him, in the stands, things had started to calm down. Catching the attention of the Italian brothers, one of them winked at Fergus and there was an amused smirk on his face. The Italians, despite being in their mid-forties were the practical jokers inside his team and loved to surprise and shock. Fergus bit his lip and slowly shook his head in disbelief. He hadn’t thought about using buckets of piss and shit
as a method of crowd control but it had worked spectacularly. That would be a good conversation for the tavern tonight, after they had gotten Hadrian safely back to his compound.

  In the arena, it was as if no one had noticed the scuffles in the stands and a new set of athletes had appeared and had begun to compete in discus and javelin throwing to the approving and encouraging roar of the crowds of spectators. Fergus paid the Olympic athletes no attention. One of the quiet, well-dressed Greeks, who had been staring at Hadrian, had risen to his feet and was slowly making his way towards Hadrian in a dignified manner. As he approached, Fergus left his position behind Hadrian and holding up his hand to the man’s chest, he confronted him before he could get any closer.

  “Step back Sir, unless my employer wishes to speak to you, he is not interested in what you have to say or offer,” Fergus said smoothly but firmly.

  “Young man,” the stranger said in good Latin, “I know you have a job to do but all I want to do is offer your master my sincere congratulations on winning his bet. My name is Alexander, a grain merchant out of Athens and I would wish him to know that I am one of his humble admirers and supporters.”

  “It’s all right Fergus,” Hadrian called out in a jovial voice. “I heard the man and I appreciate what he has to say.”

  Turning to Hadrian, the stranger dipped his head in a respectful manner and then slowly started back down the stands towards his seat and his companion. Fergus watched him go in silence. Hadrian was an important man, most likely the next emperor of Rome and in addition to the horde of aggrieved who wished to harm him there were also a horde of people who wanted to suck up to him. Fergus had witnessed and seen it all. Merchants looking for favourable contracts, land owners asking him to decide on land disputes, women pleading for his favour in divorce cases. There had even been youths claiming to be Hadrian’s illegitimate offspring. There was no end of the people who were interested in gaining Hadrian’s favour and it was tiresome work fending them off.