Emperor's Axe

by Emperor's Axe (retail) (epub)

‘I’ve been this way before,’ said Silus. ‘That is Mons Vesuvius.’

  Soaemias nodded. ‘And you know its history?’

  ‘Everyone knows. Even when I was a child in Britannia, my father told me of the death of Pompeii and Herculaneum.’

  ‘Mountains hold power. They keep it chained within themselves, and men walk over them, farm and build on them, not respecting what these ancient beings can do to them. Until something angers them, and they destroy the mortals that have offended them.’

  Silus didn’t want to picture the panic and suffering of those buried by the volcano’s eruption. He had had enough of misery, and hoped that this trip would be an escape from all of that, even if it proved to be a temporary respite. He smoothed his little dog’s head, taking comfort from the repetitive motion, and her affectionate response.

  ‘The name Elagabal means god of the mountains in the Aramaic language. My god was worshipped as a mountain god long before he was linked to the sun.’

  Silus nodded, not sure what she expected from him.

  ‘Elagabal is a mighty god, Silus. And my son will become his high priest.’

  ‘I’m sure he will be a very good at it,’ he said, hoping that was the right thing to say.

  ‘He will have power. Supreme power.’

  ‘As a high priest?’

  She gave him a sideways glance, then turned her back to the rail, and looked at the deck. Avitus was sitting cross-legged, eyes closed and humming to himself, drawing odd looks from the sailors, some of whom made signs to ward off evil. Gannys kept a watchful eye on him from a short distance away.

  ‘Tell me, Silus, who does he remind you of?’

  Silus looked at the boy, with his smooth skin, pre-pubescent and not yet roughened by acne or the first whiskers. His first thought was of Julia Domna, which was not surprising, since she was his great aunt. Then he looked again. His nose was delicate, not broad and flat. His eyes were gentle, not angry. His mouth was soft.

  But then a stray wave sprayed him, and his broad, prominent brow furrowed in a frown, and Silus’ mouth opened in surprise.

  ‘Are you saying that he is… that his father is…?’ He couldn’t bring himself to say the words.

  Soaemias smiled conspiratorially. ‘You are here to serve Marcellus. But one day, my son may have need of your help. Will you give it?’

  Silus remembered Oclatinius’ words about promises being chains. But the beautiful Syrian mother, looking into his eyes with a commanding, penetrating stare, bewitched him.

  ‘Yes, mistress. I will offer him whatever help is in my power, should he one day need it.’

  Soaemias gave a self-satisfied nod.

  * * *

  ‘We are going too slowly,’ said Aziz to the captain, Tamas, for at least the tenth time.

  ‘As I keep telling you,’ said Tamas, not bothering to conceal his irritation ‘we are making full use of the wind, and the rowers are pulling at maximum cruising speed. Yes, we can go faster, but only for a short distance before they begin to fatigue, and we will end up losing time overall.’

  Aziz ground his teeth. He had been given so little time to prepare. Festus had come to him and told him that he had just a day to find a fast ship that could take him south, together with a crew of armed criminals dangerous enough to take on a detachment of legionaries. He had scurried around the docks and warehouses, pulling in favours, bribing gladiators, homeless veterans and burly criminals to make a small crew of pirate marines. He had found the Cilician captain of a fast merchant vessel that was used for transporting the more perishable of trade goods, and paid him handsomely for his time. Tamas had almost backed out when he saw the motley crew of beggars and criminals that he would be required to transport, but when Aziz increased the reward, greed won out over caution. Festus had said money was no object on this mission, and Aziz had taken him at his word.

  Cilicians had a fine history of piracy, Aziz had reflected, so this job should be second nature to the captain, though he had refrained from telling him the truth of his orders. But the tide and wind had not been in their favour, and they had set sail half a day later than he had hoped. So now he clenched his fists and paced the deck and prayed for an optimum wind.

  ‘Mons Vesuvius,’ said Tamas, pointing to a peak in the distance.

  Aziz reached inside his cloak and fingered the small, conical black stone that always he wore on a leather necklace, close to his chest.

  God of the mountains, help me now.

  * * *

  Silus managed to keep down some bread and stew, then went to the back rail to keep his eyes on the horizon. One of the sailors had taught him this trick to reduce nausea, and it seemed to work. He wasn’t sure why. Somehow it seemed to fool his body into thinking he wasn’t actually being thrown all over the place by the vicissitudes of the sea. They were around half a day’s sail from the straits of Messana now, and once they had passed through that it wasn’t far to Syracuse. Then he could leave Marcellus to his Sicilian business, and fulfil his promise to visit Tituria. Issa sat at his feet, licking her arse with avid strokes of her tongue. The presence of the little dog, the last remnant of his murdered family, gave him great comfort, and he was glad he was on the sort of mission where he could bring her with him.

  A ship in the middle distance caught his eye. His gaze had drifted over it before, when it had been on the horizon, but now it seemed to be gaining on them fast. Obviously in a hurry to be somewhere. Maybe an Imperial messenger, heading around the toe of the Italian peninsula to take orders to some provincial governor in the east or the south? But as he watched, it seemed to bear directly towards them, and a sense of unease grew in the pit of his stomach.

  He found the captain and pointed the vessel out.

  ‘What sort of ship is that?’

  The captain used his hand to shield his eyes from the midday sun, which was still fairly low on the horizon given the time of year. He squinted and frowned.

  ‘It looks like a fast merchant ship. But it has a fair turn of speed. Their captain is really pushing the oarsmen.’

  ‘Why would he be doing that?’

  ‘Beats me. At that speed they will tire soon, and he will have gained nothing.’

  ‘So maybe his destination is nearby?’

  ‘There are no major trading ports near enough to be worth that speed.’

  ‘What else is around here then?’

  The captain shrugged. ‘Just us.’

  Silus watched the ship for a moment longer. He understood enough about sailing to know that the fastest route between two ports was not a straight line, as the ship tacked with the wind. But it seemed to him that all the ship’s manoeuvres brought it closer and closer to them.

  ‘Do me a favour,’ he said to a nearby sailor. ‘Can you shut my dog below decks? I need to talk to Marcellus.’ The sailor grumbled as he took her, holding the smelly dog at arm’s length as she tried to lick his face.

  When Silus explained his concern, Marcellus joined him and the captain at the stern to look at the ship for himself.

  ‘Are they chasing us?’ asked Marcellus.

  ‘It’s possible,’ conceded the captain.

  ‘How far to the nearest safe port?’

  ‘Far enough that they will catch us before we reach it. If that is their intention.’

  ‘Captain, do me a favour,’ said Marcellus. ‘Get my wife and son below decks and shut them safely away. Gannys too, I suppose.’

  The captain rolled his eyes, and walked off to do Marcellus’ bidding, muttering that he was no one’s slave.

  ‘Pirates?’ Silus asked Marcellus.

  ‘It’s possible. Strange though, so near to Rome. Bold pirates.’

  ‘Something else then. Someone coming for you?’

  ‘That seems more likely. I’ll tell the legionaries to ready themselves for a fight.’

  ‘I’ll go and sober up Atius.’

  Silus was being a little unfair on his friend given the time of day, and in fact, Atius ha
d just had one well-watered cup of wine, which meant he had his wits fully about him. When Silus told him of the possible threat, he was instantly alert, and strapped on a breastplate and short sword. Silus armed and armoured himself similarly, and they went to the back of the ship to monitor the progress of the pursuing vessel while the legionaries rushed around readying themselves for battle.

  When the ship came within hailing range, a short number of yards behind them and to their port side, the captain called to them across the water.

  ‘You have chased us hard. What is your business with us?’

  The captain of the other ship, standing in the prow, called back, ‘Drop your sails. We are just here for your cargo. No one needs to get hurt.’

  ‘You have made a mistake. This ship is on the business of the Emperor. We carry only messages, no cargo of value to pirates.’

  ‘I’m sure you won’t mind if we don’t take your word for it, and check for ourselves?’

  ‘That won’t be possible. We are carrying documents relating to the security of the Empire, and they cannot fall into the hands of anyone else. You may trade them to the Emperor’s enemies.’

  ‘I wasn’t asking. Drop your sails or we will board you.’

  Marcellus spoke up now.

  ‘Hear me,’ he yelled across the rapidly closing gap between the ships. ‘I am Sextus Varius Marcellus, propraetor, new Governor of Numidia. If you cease your pursuit of us now, this matter will be closed. But if you continue, we are well able to defend ourselves and I will ensure every man of you is crucified. Just think about hanging on the cross with no water while the rats chew your toes and the crows peck out your eyes!’

  The captain of the other ship laughed, and pulled level so that for the first time they got a clear view of the men lined up along the side, ready to board. Although they were not equipped to the standards of the legionaries, they greatly outnumbered them, around thirty tough-looking men to the ten legionaries of the Second Parthica, together with Marcellus, Silus and Atius.

  Silus and Atius exchanged looks. This was going to be a real fight.

  The other ship abruptly swung in towards them, and their captain reacted too slowly to avoid it. The legionaries let out a hail of javelins, two of which hit home, one grizzled pirate tumbling backwards, the other falling between the ships just as they crashed together with a huge spout of water and the crack and groan of stressed, fracturing timbers.

  A dozen pirates leapt across with a roar before the ships parted and the gap became temporarily too wide to cross. Immediately a flurry of desperate hand-to-hand fighting broke out. The legionaries locked shields and stabbed out with swords, and two more pirates fell back with a cry. But there were too few legionaries to block the entire length of the deck, and pirates rounded the sides of their shield wall and began to hack at the unfortunate legionaries at either end. As those men turned to face the threats on their flanks, the cohesion of the wall began to break apart.

  Marcellus stood with Silus and Atius behind the legionaries, biting his lip. He saw a gap in the line appear as a legionary’s helmet was caved in by an axe, and drew his sword, preparing to step into the breach. Silus put a hand out to prevent him, and Atius moved forward, quickly grabbing the fallen legionary’s shield and furiously shoving and hacking the pirate who had felled him.

  The numbers of combatants were roughly equal at that moment, but the pirates had a gang of reinforcements itching to get into the fray once the ships moved close enough again. The captain of Marcellus’ ship was trying to keep them apart, but the pirate ship was faster, and they began to close again.

  ‘Sir,’ said Silus urgently. ‘We need to get rid of this lot before more of the buggers arrive.’

  ‘I know that, but what do you suggest?’

  Silus had been on the front lines, had been eye to eye with barbarians trying to kill him. He suspected that for all Marcellus’ experience in government and in the field over the years, this was the first time he had been so close to the bloody violence of battle.

  ‘Advance,’ said Silus.

  Marcellus frowned for a moment, then understood. The line of locked shields still held, just, and the pirates were fighting on the edge of the deck. If they were forced two paces backwards, they would be overboard. Rather than holding position, as was the textbook tactic for defence against superior numbers, they needed to push.

  ‘Legionaries, on the count of three, one step at a time, you will advance,’ yelled Marcellus.

  The desperately fighting legionaries managed to let out a chorus of grunts in acknowledgement.

  ‘One. Two. Three. Advance!’

  Silus threw his weight into Atius’ back, and Marcellus pushed another legionary near the middle. The pirates slid backwards, slipping on wooden planks that were becoming slick with blood.

  ‘Again, advance!’ yelled Marcellus, and with a cry the legionaries pushed forward. Now the pirates teetered on the edge of the deck, the churning foam behind them. Suddenly their focus shifted from fighting to keeping their balance. One of the legionaries thrust his gladius into an off-balance pirate who tumbled backwards with a scream and then a splash.

  ‘Again, advance!’ And with this next step, half a dozen pirates disappeared over the side, just as the ships came level again. If any of the pirates could swim, it was of no help to them as the sides of the ships crashed together again, crushing heads and bodies like a boot squashes an ant.

  Now it was the legionaries who were off balance, the weight they were pushing against suddenly gone, and they were near the treacherous edge of the deck.

  ‘Legionaries, two steps back on my command,’ yelled Marcellus without prompting, to Silus’ approval. ‘One. Two.’

  The legionaries retreated to a more secure and stable position and prepared to meet the next wave. Two pirates who had not been directly in front of the legionaries in the last attack still fought, but as Silus watched, a legionary thrust his gladius through the throat of one. The other, though, skirted the end of the line and charged at Marcellus, sword raised high. Marcellus was watching a dozen more pirates leap across from the pirate ship and did not notice as the sword descended towards his head.

  Silus’ blade deflected the blow to one side, so it crashed into a mast behind them. Marcellus flinched and looked around in alarm, but Silus had already advanced, taking the attacker away from the governor, as it was his job to protect.

  The pirate had a long scar from brow to cheek, one eye grey and watery. His rough beard was flecked with grey, and his breath smelt of strong wine and fish sauce. He fought like a gladiator, cautious now his surprise attack on Marcellus had failed, holding his sword before him, ready to thrust if the opportunity arose.

  Silus would rather have faced a veteran. They were trained to fight in groups and generally had no experience with single combat. For gladiators, one-on-one fights were the be-all and end-all of their training and their experience, and their very lives depended on learning all the tricks, honourable or otherwise, that would keep them alive in the arena.

  Silus circled the gladiator in a clear space on the deck behind the line of legionaries, who were now bracing as another wave of pirates leapt across from their ship. He watched his opponent’s eyes carefully, looking for any signs of a move. The sword was in his peripheral vision, but it was the eyes that moved before the weapon, even if it was just a little tightening around the corners, a widening of the pupil.

  But of course the gladiator knew the same, and when Silus feinted, the gladiator fended it away easily, then followed up with a thrust of his own. Silus parried, realising that they were evenly matched.

  Abruptly the gladiator lunged at Silus with a flurry of slashes from left to right and back again. Silus retreated, one step, another, towards the rail on the far side of the ship behind him. Across the deck he could see the legionaries being pushed backwards by the new wave. Marcellus had now joined the line, and was fighting hard alongside Atius, who was doing his best to keep him safe while
fending off the pirate who opposed him. Almost all the armed pirates had now crossed onto their ship. The sailors remained on board the pirate ship, most unarmed, some carrying knives, hammers or other tools, but looking like they had no intention of joining the fight unless they were personally threatened. Similarly, the sailors on Silus’ ship hung back, looking anxious but not prepared to commit to combat.

  He stepped forward, sending his own flurry of cuts and thrusts at his enemy. The gladiator grunted, retreated a short way then stood fast. They traded blows and Silus felt his arms become heavier. He wondered how his endurance would compare to a man who spent all day every day training.

  To his right, near the prow, something caught Silus’ attention. He glanced across and nearly missed a thrust aimed at his midriff. He jumped back just in time, pressed forward, then took a step back to give himself breathing space.

  Young Avitus had emerged from below decks. Under one arm he carried a small black stone, and in his hand he held a short knife. Under the other arm was Issa, tongue lolling, tail wagging as she looked around at the chaos with interest.

  What in the name of all the gods of the underworld was he doing?

  As Silus watched in horror, the boy knelt before the stone, praying loudly in a foreign, eastern language, the knife held to the trusting little dog’s throat.

  Silus let out a roar of anger and charged forward. The gladiator was taken aback by the sudden onslaught, and finally Silus managed to find a chink in his defences, a thrust slicing through the vessels and nerves in the pirate’s armpit, making him drop his sword. He grimaced, clutched the wound, held up his other hand in an attempt to surrender, but Silus had not time to accept as he saw the boy lift his knife.

  He thrust his sword deep into the gladiator’s chest, letting out a guttural cry.

  ‘Avitus! No!’

  He did not arrive in time.

  But another did.

  A hooded figure leapt from the prow of the pirate boat and landed lightly with bent knees on the pitching deck. Taking barely a heartbeat to regain his balance, he ran at Avitus, and just as the blade began its descent towards the little dog, he grabbed the boy around the waist and swept him away.