The Broken Lance

by Jess Steven Hughes

  Aurelia Severa, Sabinus’s wife, sat on a cushioned bronze bench in front of the fountain. Quietly, she stroked the silver-gray cat lounging in her lap. She came to life once she saw us and placed the feline, who meowed indignantly, on the polished floor. She stood, beaming at Sabinus. Alexias, Crispus, and I stopped as Sabinus and Aurelia slowly approached one another. They momentarily embraced and kissed.

  “Welcome, my Lord,” Aurelia said in a beautiful low timbre. “I am pleased the gods have safely returned you home.”

  I suspected her formal welcome was more for the benefit of Crispus and me.

  Sabinus smiled. “And a pleasure it is to be home.”

  In her late thirties, Aurelia wore a dark-blue stola girded beneath a matronly bosom. A white mantle draped from her left shoulder and twisted around her waist. Small clusters of blue sapphires, red garnets, and milky chalcedony dangled from the end of her gold strand earrings.

  Although Sabinus and Aurelia had been married nearly twenty years, excitement seemed to radiate from her wide, walnut eyes. Her instant smile indicated she still loved him, and a second glance from her betrayed a desire to be alone with her husband. Aurelia Severa did not fit the image of wealthy Roman matrons, who reputedly chased after gladiators and actors in favor with the mob.

  “It has been too long, more than a year, but now you are back for good.” Aurelia paused for a moment, arched her head back, and looked into his eyes. “Aren’t you?”

  He grinned and gently pinched her full cheek. “Of course, dear lady, rest assured I am.”

  Turning our way, Sabinus introduced Crispus and me to his wife. We bowed slightly in respect.

  “Welcome, noble guests, and especially you, Centurion,” Aurelia said in a smooth and hospitable manner. Her voice revealed a dignity and grace that made us feel at home. “My husband wrote of your heroism, but failed to mention how handsome you are. If you are staying with us, I shall warn the ladies of Rome to beware.” She chuckled. “Or should it be the other way around?”

  “You flatter me, great lady,” I answered. Her remarks caught me off guard.

  “Be kind, Aurelia, he’s blushing,” Sabinus scolded with a gentle laugh.

  “Oh, I’m sorry if I embarrassed you, I wanted to put you at ease. Really, we are country people, and not much on formality. I like treating everyone as part of the family.” Aurelia smiled again. “Besides, what man doesn’t like to be told he is handsome? Men are vainer than we women.”

  “I’ll keep your words in mind.” A warm glow seeped into my face.

  Alexias led Crispus and me to the baths to clean up before dinner, while Sabinus and his wife spent some time alone.

  *

  “Gods, Lord Sabinus’s baths are a far cry from the army’s makeshift affairs,” Crispus said as we stepped down into the steamy, hot pool.

  Each of the three bathing areas—hot, warm, and cold rooms—were slabbed in smooth marble quarried from the pits of Tuscany. Reliefs made of Boccatello marble from Hispania adorned the walls. Elaborate paintings, ranging from hunting scenes to one depicting the tragic romance between Aeneas and Dido, covered the ceilings. Water gushed from silver faucets.

  “Aye, no wooden shacks on the march for Sabinus,” I answered, relaxing as the tensions of the day began flowing from my body.

  Crispus exhaled and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “If this is considered a modest estate, then what’s it like in a wealthy mansion?”

  I shook my head. “Only the great Melkart knows.”

  To our surprise and gratitude, after bathing, we dressed in newly cleaned uniforms provided us by attentive slaves. Our weapons were polished to a blinding finish. Alexias guided us toward the triclinium to dine with Sabinus and Aurelia. As we followed the steward down the lamplit hallway, a scream, quickly followed by another more desperate shriek, echoed through the passageway.

  “That’s Lady Eleyne!” I barked to Alexias. “Where’s her room?”

  “The second floor, the guest room,” he stammered.

  “Where are the stairs?”

  “That way,” he pointed.

  Crispus and I dashed up the brick stairway, with swords drawn. Another scream came from the lighted cubicle ahead. We entered, and in the dim light of the smoking oil lamp, I saw Eleyne sobbing, huddled over a crumpled and blood-spattered body. Behind her an open shutter slowly swung back and forth in the window.

  I nodded to Crispus, who headed to the window.

  Drawing closer to Eleyne, I recognized the pale face of Karmune, Eleyne’s servant. She barely clung to life. Spitting blood, her breathing growing shallower by the second.

  “Too dark—can’t see anything but wagons driving by!” Crispus shouted over the noisy din of wheels slamming against the cobble-stone street below. “Sounds like hundreds out there. Could have gotten away in any of them.”

  “Who did this?” I demanded harshly, the soldier momentarily taking command of me.

  Too shaken to say anything, Eleyne pointed to the window. She wept as she held the dying Karmune close. Running to the window, I looked into the black street beyond the wall. The moon had retreated behind fat, drifting clouds. Crispus was right. Countless produce wagons rumbled past in the darkness. Because the room was for guests and not slaves, this upper floor window was one of the few not grated.

  “Why all the wagons at this hour?” Crispus asked.

  “I’ll explain later, right now we’ve got to learn who did this,” I answered.

  “Who was it, Eleyne?” I demanded, returning to where she had kneeled by Karmune. “We’ve got to find the assassin.” How did he get to the second floor? I wondered.

  “I don’t know. He’s big. That’s all I remember . . . and . . . his hand was crooked,” she added. “I never saw . . . his face . . . but she did.”

  I stared at Karmune.

  “Karmune,” I asked, going down on one knee next to her. “Can you hear me?” I lowered my face to hers, blood slowly dripping from her lips, her breathing shallow. “Who did this? Can you tell me?”

  “He,” she gurgled in a barely audible whisper, “he . . . a jagged . . . jagged scar on . . .” She raised a bloodied hand. A finger traced a sticky shape on my face, and then fell weakly to her side after smearing what felt like a jagged line.

  “Go on, please try, Karmune. Please try,” I urged.

  “On his . . . face . . .” She gurgled again—the sound of death—and was gone.

  “Karmune!” Eleyne cried, her eyes fixed in horror. “Karmune! Oooh . . .” On her knees, she slipped to one side of Karmune’s body and wept. Her only link to Britannia lay dead in her arms.

  Fury rushed through my mind and body. Why had Eleyne’s good-hearted companion, Karmune, been cut down with such cold-blooded ruthlessness? She must have been an unwitting victim of an assassination attempt on Eleyne’s life. Now, I understood why Uncle Budar said to beware of Rome’s Imperial intrigues. Sacrificing innocent people was part of a monstrous game.

  Amid the clatter of sandals echoing from the hallway, Sabinus, his wife Aurelia, Alexias, and several lamp-carrying servants rushed into the room. In the shadows of the lantern light, Sabinus motioned the slaves to stand along the nearby wall. Quickly, I related what happened.

  After Eleyne regained her composure and gently laid Karmune’s head on the floor, she slowly got to her feet.

  Aurelia moved to her side. “You poor child.” She touched Eleyne’s shoulder.

  Sabinus’s face remained sober as he looked toward the open window and back to Eleyne. “I’m very sorry about your servant,” he said in a voice etched in sorrow, “can you give us any more details?”

  Eleyne sniffled, pulled a cloth from her waistband, and wiped her face. Through tear-stained eyes she looked toward Sabinus. “Karmune had finished helping me dress.” She paused.

  “Please go on, Eleyne,” Aurelia said gently, “you have nothing to be afraid of.”

  “It was the new gown you gave me, Lady Aurelia. Karmune saw the
other new silk gown, and asked to touch it.” She glanced to Aurelia and back to Sabinus. “She’d never seen that kind of material before. I gave her permission, and I went behind a screen to look at myself in the silver mirror.” Eleyne nodded to the far corner of the room.

  She related that while she was making some minor adjustments to the dress, the attacker slipped in through the window. The noise from the clattering wagons in the street below drowned the sounds of his entry.

  “As I came out from behind the screen, I saw a big man in a dark tunic leap down from the sill to the floor,” she continued. “I froze and couldn’t scream.”

  Eleyne explained that she had watched helplessly as the horror unfolded before her eyes. “The killer didn’t see me behind the screen,” she explained, “or in the shadows where I came out. Instead, he mistook Karmune for me. My mouth went dry. Again, I tried to scream but couldn’t. That monster silently crept up behind Karmune and took a dagger from his waistband. The blade glistened in the lamp light as he raised it.

  “He grabbed poor Karmune,” Eleyne continued, “and with his free hand twisted her mouth shut to muffle any screams.” She hesitated for a second and turned her face away. “I don’t know if I can go on.”

  “Please try, Eleyne,” Sabinus urged.

  “It’s all right, child,” Aurelia said. “We shall see that no harm comes to you.”

  Eleyne swallowed hard and licked her lips. “All right. He . . . he pulled her to his chest and stabbed her over and over! Blood spurted from Karmune’s wounds, and she struggled frantically to free herself from the assassin’s clutches.”

  The young woman paused and took a deep breath.

  “Go on,” I said. “What else?”

  “Karmune tried shaking her head to free her mouth from his hand’s grip. She managed to turn for an instant and our eyes met. They were only shadows in the poor light, but I knew my friend was dying.”

  She wiped more tears from her face with her cloth before continuing. “The . . . the mon . . . monster twisted his dagger from poor Karmune’s limp body and dropped her like a rag. He must have sensed something, because he turned around and saw me.”

  “What next?” I asked.

  “He slowly crept towards me. Finally, something snapped, and I screamed over and over.”

  Eleyne said the assassin lunged at her with a long, twisted weapon in his left hand. The poor light obscured the features of his face, but it was sinister and round. Then he tripped and crashed with her to the floor. She smelled the stench of his body, his breath reeking of garlic and fish oil-garum.

  “We rolled on the floor,” Eleyne said, her breathing growing heavier, “and I used both hands to grasp his wrist.”

  I noticed bloodstains on her hands from holding Karmune.

  “I heard the sound of footsteps and screamed again,” she continued. “Then he slapped me and backed away. He glanced to the door and ran to the window.

  “He paused on the balcony. I’ll be back, he boasted. He shook the raised weapon in his clinched fist and spat, Death to your house. He jumped and fled into the night.”

  “By the gods,” Sabinus growled in a subdued voice, “someone will pay for this with their life!” He turned to his steward, Alexias, who had waited with the other servants near the door. “Inquire where the guards were when this happened, and bring them here.”

  “At once, sir.” A concerned look crossed his face and settled in his eyes, as if an old fear of his patron, dredged from the days when he was a slave, had resurfaced.

  “One more item before you leave,” Sabinus paused for emphasis. “From now on, Lady Eleyne needs constant protection. This will never happen again—never! My wife recently purchased a new slave, a big one.”

  “The one from India?” Alexias interjected quickly from across the room, apparently eager to temper Sabinus’s growing rage.

  “The same. Send him here at once. He’ll be an excellent bodyguard.”

  “Very good, sir.” Alexias fled from the room.

  “Marcellus,” Sabinus said.

  “Sir?” I answered.

  He motioned to Crispus and me to join him.

  As Sabinus was about to speak, Aurelia placed an arm around Eleyne’s shoulder and attempted to console her. Eleyne buried her head into Aurelia’s bosom.

  “This is so dreadful,” I overheard Aurelia say. “I’m so sorry, my dear.”

  “She was my best friend,” Eleyne cried, her face streaked by tears. “Now I have no one. Is this how you treat guests in Rome?”

  “There now . . . easy, dear child,” Aurelia said softly, “we are your friends, and we do care about you, honestly. I promise, we’ll protect you.”

  Sabinus lead Crispus and me to the far corner of the room. “There could have been only one person behind this,” he whispered.

  I looked toward Crispus and back to Sabinus. “The elder Gallus?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “But there’s no proof, sir,” Crispus said.

  “I know,” Sabinus answered, “but this is something he would attempt, assassination by a hired thug.”

  “Whoever planned this knew which room she was staying in,” I said.

  Sabinus glanced to the window and grunted. “News of our arrival has been known for weeks. Unfortunately, this is the guest room, and its location is common knowledge. We will move Eleyne to one of the slave cubicles, where the windows are barred, until security arrangements are improved.”

  “A wise precaution, sir,” Crispus added. “Why would anyone want to murder a hostage?”

  “For political reasons—Eleyne’s death would have made me look very foolish in the eyes of the emperor.”

  “How so?” I asked cautiously.

  “Had she died, her father Verica would no longer have a reason to remain loyal to Rome. He could murder Togidubnus and instigate open rebellion in Vespasian’s rear. That would be extremely serious, if not devastating, to his campaign.”

  “Thank the twins we arrived when we did,” I said. I glanced over to Eleyne as she was being consoled by Aurelia. Even in this moment of tragedy I felt a deep stirring of compassion for her and felt her hurt and grief. I knew what it was like to lose someone so close and dear and wanted to hold her. Comfort her. My heart full of care and compassion. I hadn’t experienced the feeling since losing my beloved Kyar.

  Even in grief, Eleyne was beautiful. The big, red mark left by the slap of the assassin, the blood, and the runny kohl lining her eyes only emphasized her waif-like face. From that moment on, I no longer considered her a barbarian princess and political hostage. For the first time, I recognized that she had touched a need within me too long dormant.

  “Is there a chance Eleyne will be sent to the palace for greater protection,” I asked, “especially since you aren’t city prefect?”

  “Had she been from one of the Eastern kingdoms, probably,” Sabinus answered. “However, since she is considered a barbarian, it’s doubtful. A senator’s home is deemed protection enough. If she were assassinated at the palace, it would look even worse politically, weakening the emperor’s position with the Senate and Praetorian Guard. Since I was involved in negotiating the surrender of the eleven British kings, the emperor has entrusted me with her well-being regardless of my political status.”

  Alexias returned with two staggering guards reeking of wine. A dark-brown colossus of a man held onto the arms of one sentry while Alexias along with a couple of other slaves restrained the other. “I caught these two in the wine cellar drinking your vintage Sentenian,” the steward reported.

  Sabinus glared at the two sentries, and a cruel, dark expression settled over his face. He addressed the slaves directly, something he rarely did. “Death visited my house this night because of your—” He checked his stern voice then continued in a controlled and calmer manner. “What I do now is with utmost reluctance, and many years have passed since I employed such punishment. You will suffer the ultimate penalty—death.”

 
The guards immediately sobered from their drunkenness and stared wide-eyed. They begged for mercy, but Sabinus ignored their frantic pleas.

  He turned to Alexias. “I leave to you the method of employment,” he said in a sinister voice, “but first learn who paid them to break into the wine stores, and make it swift. Now, get them out of my sight!”

  As they turned to leave, Sabinus ordered the tall slave to wait. With the other slaves’ assistance, Alexias grabbed both stammering guards and dragged them away.

  Later that night I heard their screams. Under the law, Sabinus had the right as master of the household to summarily execute his slaves. The attempt on Eleyne’s life, a pawn in the political game of empire and war, had shaken him. Although not in character, the harsh punishment he meted out proved he was human enough to feel fear of the emperor’s retribution.

  Although severely scourged, the condemned guards revealed no clues to the murder. They denied having any part of the crime, but even in death were fortunate. Swift and certain, their deaths displayed at least a measure of mercy. Their heads fell before the sword, instead of suffering a lingering death by crucifixion—punishment of slaves and non-citizens.

  Sabinus watched as his slaves removed Karmune’s body from the room.

  “I know it’s little consolation,” Aurelia said, comforting Eleyne, “but we will see she receives a dignified burial.”

  Suddenly, Eleyne composed herself and dried the tears from her eyes. “I’ll prepare her myself,” she announced. “It’s the custom of my people to ready their own family for burial. She was like a sister to me.”

  The silent bodyguard appeared to watch while Eleyne’s eyes stared at the dark pool of blood, then she squatted and draped a dark cloth over the stain.

  Eleyne gazed at the door through which Karmune’s body had been removed. “Let’s go,” she said with a sigh of resignation. Eleyne and Aurelia followed the slaves down the hallway to Karmune’s room.