Deva Tales

by S. J. A. Turney

  He would be dead before he could count to one hundred.

  Two down. Three left.

  The German was running now, keeping low. When he reached the end of the hedgerow, perhaps a quarter of a mile further down the road, he paused for breath and looked back. The hoplomachus with his spear – Segovax, Lupus suddenly remembered from the arena announcements earlier – was standing in the road by the two bodies, while the murmillo and the dimachaerus moved around the ruined barn, shouting and pointing, searching for their attacker.

  It was irksome. Lupus prided himself on his abilities as a warrior, face to face and honourable across the sands. Such devious, dishonourable killings sat badly with him, but he owed a life-debt and even on his best day, one against five was asking for a painful and bloody death.

  Now he was one against three. Better. He might even come away from that the victor. But he also knew that this Segovax was something of a veteran and a champion in his own right, and a dimachaerus was always an unknown quantity. Two swords presented unusual difficulties. Better to even the odds further. Of course, he wouldn’t get to lay the same ambush again.

  Óðr would provide. He always did.

  The pair seemed to be giving up on their search and soon they would rejoin their friend on the road and come on at pace. Now they would run more and move about on the road, for a fast-moving and unpredictable target was difficult for even the most expert slinger.

  Taking one more breath of recovery, Lupus ran on, making sure he was far enough ahead that he could not be spotted by his pursuers around the corner past that hedge.

  Perhaps three quarters of an hour had passed when Lupus decided he was safe to take a breather. The hills were now close – no more than a mile away – and the flat farmland with its small stands of trees was giving way to general forest with large clearings. Beech and oak lined the roadside, with only occasional grassy meadows.

  Aware that for all his strength and stamina he must rest briefly, the German moved off the road and ducked into a worn path among the trees where he could rest more securely. Breathing heavily, he followed the narrow game trail over crunching undergrowth and soon spotted a small clearing with a natural bench in the form of a fallen tree.

  With relief, he crossed the clearing and was suddenly drawn up short as an arm wrapped itself around his neck and a sharp point touched his spine. Too late his eyes picked out the kit bag and the trident leaning against the fallen tree.

  ‘Who are you and what do you…’

  The voice tailed off and Lupus felt the point removed, followed by the arm. He turned, unsurprised to see Leonidas standing there in a heavy tunic and drab cloak.

  ‘What in Ares’ name are you doing here?’

  Lupus straightened and rolled his neck.

  ‘My gods demanded I come. I owe you a life.’

  ‘Bollocks.’

  ‘We would have died in the arena.’

  Leonidas sighed as he sheathed his blade. ‘So you’re planning to follow me around like a pet until you can pay back some imagined debt?’

  Lupus tried not to let the anger take hold of him. Such arrogance.

  ‘Your lanista has set his men on you.’

  ‘I can take any of them,’ Leonidas said.

  ‘Can you take all of them?’ shot back Lupus pointedly.

  ‘How many did he send?’

  ‘Five.’

  The retiarius had the grace to look a little less arrogant. ‘Five might be troublesome, yes. I’d assumed he would send his thugs’

  ‘Three now. Two are swimming the death river now.’

  The Greek gave him an appraising look. ‘Thank you. It appears you’ve already paid the debt before I knew of it. Who were they?’

  Lupus followed the Greek across to the bench and sat beside him, rubbing his knee, which still ached from this man’s blow at the arena. ‘A scissor and a retiarius are already down.’

  ‘That’ll be Tancorix and Divixtus. Good work, then.’

  ‘The other three are the hoplomachus – Segovax – and a murmillo and a dimachaerus.’

  ‘The murmillo in blue or red?’

  ‘Red.’

  ‘Damn. That’s Gavo, and the two-sword is Lugracus. Those three will still be a lethal enough combination. Gavo needs to be taken by surprise or he’ll be a challenge. Lugracus is good with his swords but a little cocky. I’m surprised Segovax is here, though. He’s not the sort of man to hunt one of his own.’

  ‘Gladiators do not have friends,’ Lupus said flatly.

  ‘Then what are you?’

  ‘A debtor. Be quiet!’ he suddenly hissed.

  As Leonidas fell silent and sat still, they could hear a murmur of voices and the cracking of twigs.

  ‘They’re closer behind than I thought,’ whispered the German. Leonidas gestured to his sword and pointed over to the left, then to his own blade and right. Lupus nodded and rose, picking his way slowly and carefully across the clearing, placing his feet cautiously to avoid tell-tale noises. The afternoon sun was already descending and the shadows among the trees were becoming threatening and numerous. Within moments, the German and his Greek counterpart were in position behind the larger boles and to either side of the trail that led from the road, Leonidas in the same place he must have been when he caught Lupus out.

  The noise was louder and closer now. They must still be on the hunt, for otherwise they would have no reason to enter the woodland, but why then all the noise? Were they stupid? Segovax was bright, apparently, but the others were just efficient killers. Nothing more. No spark beyond the trained murderer instincts.

  Leonidas held up one finger and pointed to himself and then two and pointed at Lupus, who nodded his understanding. Both men waited, swords at the ready, and the cracking of undergrowth grew louder and louder until the murmillo stepped into the clearing, his eyes on the fallen log bench.

  He was already crossing the open ground when his eyes picked out Leonidas’ kit bag and trident wrapped with the net by the tree and he realised he was not alone. By the time he turned and saw Leonidas coming for him, the dimachaerus was also in the clearing, his face registering concern at his friend’s expression.

  And then Leonidas hit the murmillo, his blade driving deep into the red-clad gladiator’s chest, expertly aimed to slide between ribs. In passing, while he dealt with his own problem, Lupus nodded in appreciation of his ally’s blow as the tip of Leonidas’ sword emerged from the man’s back, the Greek hugging his victim in close so that he was too near for the man to strike with his sword, should he still have the strength to do so. There he held the murmillo for long moments, blood gouting from his mouth and chest, until the light left his eyes.

  Lupus had little time to watch the expert blow, though from what he briefly saw he had to acknowledge Leonidas’ sword-skill, given that he was trained with a net and trident. That was likely what made him so successful a gladiator: adaptability.

  The dimachaerus was quick. As soon as he saw his friend’s face, the swords were moving and Lupus’ first blow was parried as the man tried to swing round an awkward first strike, missing by mere finger-widths.

  The swordsman twirled his blades expertly, and carried out a few threatening manoeuvres with a grin in an attempt to intimidate Lupus.

  It failed.

  Two-swords were difficult. One sword was always coming for a blow while the other parried, unless the man found an opening, in which case both blades became deadly strikes. But the under-experienced and the over-confident often made the same mistake: showing off.

  As the man spun the steel, Lupus threw himself down and forward into a roll, slipping past his opponent under the sweep of one of the paired swords, his own blade coming out as he rolled past and slicing through the man’s ankle tendon. There was an elastic snapping noise audible even over the fight, and the dimachaerus was suddenly collapsing in a screaming heap even as Lupus rose from his roll and readied his sword.

  ‘Nice,’ commented Leonidas as he let the li
feless body of the murmillo fall from his arms, and Lupus carefully kicked both swords away from his own thrashing victim, preparing to deliver the killing blow if only the man would stop rolling around so much and shrieking

  ‘Ahem…’

  Both victors suddenly looked up across the clearing to see Segovax the hoplomachus behind the log seat.

  Ah, so that was why these two made so much noise… to cover their friend’s approach.

  The third champion gladiator present had his spear hefted and arm pulled back ready, his sword in the other hand. Lupus glanced at his Greek ally, but Leonidas was still as a statue, which told Lupus everything he needed to know: the spear-man was good enough that if he cast his weapon, one of them would die. Of course, the hoplomachus would probably follow them across the dead-river moments later, but that wouldn’t be much consolation to the corpse.

  Difficult.

  ‘Oh for the love of Nemesis, will you finish him?’ Segovax murmured, nodding towards the thrashing two-sword on the ground, whose high keening noise was starting to cut straight through the ears to the nerves.

  Lupus nodded and turned, placing a boot on the downed man’s chest to steady him and then driving his sword down into the neck. The dimachaerus expired in a gurgling spray of crimson, but already Lupus had turned back to the newcomer.

  ‘We appear to have a problem,’ Leonidas said with a cold smile.

  ‘Not really,’ Segovax answered lightly. ‘I’ve no overwhelming desire to put this through either of you. All I want is the sack of money, then you two can go on your way.’

  Lupus and Leonidas exchanged a look. ‘What will you tell your lanista?’ Lupus growled.

  ‘Maybe I want the money for myself and I’m not going back?’ grinned Segovax.

  ‘Hardly,’ Leonidas replied. ‘You’re not the fugitivus sort. You love the game. Plus with me gone, you’re Deva’s champion. You wouldn’t pass up all those busty Roman matrons wanting a night with you.’

  Segovax’s grin widened. ‘You’re right, of course. Yes, the money will go back to Sacratus. But I am perfectly happy to tell him that I dispatched you, as long as you disappear for good.’

  Leonidas shook his head.

  ‘You can’t take the money back.’

  Segovax barked out a laugh. ‘Neither of you two needs any more money. You’re both rich champions.’

  ‘True, but Sacratus doesn’t deserve it. He’s a corrupt and cruel piece of shit.’

  ‘There’s no denying that,’ Segovax laughed. ‘But I think he’s got enough trouble coming with the tribune and the legate. The tribune wanted you to fall, and commander of the Twentieth won’t be happy with fight fixing in his amphitheatre. Give me the money, and everybody wins.’

  ‘Except me.’

  The two of them looked across at Lupus.

  ‘You could be dead, too? I can deliver the news to your lanista…’

  There was a long silence and Segovax sighed. ‘I don’t mean to hurry you, but if we’re to reach a peaceful conclusion, can we do it soon? This spear is heavier than it looks.’

  Lupus turned to Leonidas.

  ‘My money is all in Camulodunum at my ludus. If I walk away now, I do it as a penniless escaped slave.’

  Leonidas shrugged. ‘I have money to spare. I can advance you some.’

  Lupus felt the world open up slowly around him. If he was officially dead, no fugitivus hunters would come after him. It would be unofficial, but he would be free. A free man.

  ‘Do it,’ he nodded at Leonidas, who pointed with his sword, indicating his kit bag.

  ‘It’s a deal, Segovax. The cash bag’s tied to the kit bag, in the top. Take it. You’ll report us both dead?’

  Segovax nodded as he lowered the spear and moved over to the bag, untying the money container from it.

  ‘My lanista will be furious,’ Lupus murmured.

  ‘All the better,’ grinned the Greek. He’ll blame Sacratus and demand compensation. Sacratus won’t be able to say no without losing all his status and respect, and with any luck the price for you will break the bastard.’

  Lupus allowed himself a small rare smile.

  ‘Where will you go?’ he asked Leonidas.

  ‘To Isca, down south. Got an open invitation from the lanista there. He’s a good one. You want to come?’

  Lupus shook his head. ‘I need to return to my people.’

  ‘Germania?’

  ‘The Chatti,’ Lupus nodded.

  ‘Then come to Isca. It has a port as big as Deva’s and it’s a lot closer to Gaul and Germania. You can book passage there.’

  Segovax, who was busy weighing the coin bag appreciatively, cleared his throat.

  ‘I’d suggest instead that you both head east towards Viroconium and go that way.’

  ‘That’s more populated, and word of people like us travels far and fast in populated lands,’ Leonidas said, in refusal.

  ‘There’s trouble all around here,’ the hoplomachus warned them. ‘From what the locals have told me, what the procurator’s done has stirred up the natives. You’re safer somewhere with walls and a legionary presence – barring Deva, of course. The hills are dangerous now. I wouldn’t want to cross Cornovii and Deceangli lands without a cohort or two at the moment.’

  Leonidas and Lupus shared a look, which Segovax caught, and he shrugged. ‘Do as you like. But try not to add too much authenticity to my report of your death. I don’t want to see you in Hades and have to say “I told you so”.’ With a grin, the hoplomachus shouldered his spear and the money bag and disappeared off into the trees once more.

  ‘That’s all your money,’ Lupus noted, ‘and I’m guessing Isca’s a long way.’

  Leonidas laughed. ‘I have investments everywhere, including Isca. Besides, you don’t believe for a minute all the money I took was in that one bag, do you?’

  As Lupus laughed again, a rare treat for his face, Leonidas excavated a heavy pouch from his kit bag and tossed it over. ‘Plenty there to see us to Isca and spend a week or two there in luxury, and still buy you passage back to your hairy brothers in their haunted forests.’

  ‘And what of these rebellious local tribes?’

  ‘What of them? Against the combined might of the champions of Deva and Camulodunum? Let them come.’

  Over an hour later the two gladiators finished resting themselves, refreshed with salted meat and a flask of water from Leonidas’ pack, stretched, re-armed and made their way back across the clearing, along the game trail and out towards the road, leaving the bodies of the two gladiators in the clearing to be discovered at some future date. Lupus shrugged the ill-fitting tunic he had taken from the dimachaerus and the cloak into a better place. The extra swords they had taken from the bodies hung from his belt. Their sale when they reached the military settlement of Levobrinta would help fill Lupus’ empty purse.

  The sun had been gone for some time now, and the trail was more difficult to negotiate in the dark. Leonidas had told him that there was no settlement nearby, just a set of lead mines a mile or so away and a forester’s concern a few miles beyond that. The nearest village with an inn would be an unnamed native affair some fifteen miles south as the crow flew. It had been a tiring day, but both men had agreed that following a rest and a bite to eat, they could manage such distance even in the dark and reach the comfort and safety of an inn before stopping for the night.

  Lupus was almost as surprised as the little man as he rounded a particularly intrusive shrub and found himself face to face with a figure who looked as though he might have been sired by a toad. The man’s eyes rolled white in panic.

  Leonidas almost bumped into him from behind and made confused noises in the dark and leafy confines. Lupus stared in surprise. It took some time for him to recognise the procurator who he’d last seen in the stands of the arena hours ago. Then, he had not looked so frightened. Then, he had not had his arms bound behind his back, a rag stuffed into his mouth, and another tied round to hold it in. Despite the
obvious panic in the man’s eyes, Lupus saw no sign of recognition among them and gave a puzzled frown before he realised that the official would have no reason to recognise him. During the big fight, he had worn an enclosed helmet, and he was now dressed in a stolen tunic and cloak. Good. A fugitivus could not afford recognition.

  As the little man tried to turn in panic in the narrow trail and flee again, Lupus reached out and grabbed his bound wrists, pulling them up, eliciting a muffled yelp from the gagged mouth. Roughly, Lupus manhandled the little official, shoving him forward and out to the main road.

  ‘There he is!’ shouted a voice.

  ‘Slippery little bastard,’ added another, with surprising venom.

  Lupus paused and squinted in the poor light. The overcast had cleared away late in the day, and now a sickle moon and a million stars cast their radiance upon the land, but on this narrow paved way between high banks of trees, the gloom was still oppressive. The German was surprised to see a small party of Romans advancing down the road, officers and even a woman accompanied by blood-spattered infantrymen who were ranging ahead, clearly looking for the procurator.

  Lupus was about to turn and warn Leonidas, but the retiarius had clearly already considered the implications of recognition and had simply undone the tie on his kit, letting the trident and net fall away into the undergrowth before they emerged. Dressed in a tunic and cloak and without the tools of his trade, he was as miscellaneous as Lupus. Only their numerous scars would give away their profession, and in this gloom such were not visible.

  ‘Thank Minerva most wise,’ breathed a man with a centurion’s crest, ‘the procurator. Good man,’ he added, gesturing at Lupus with his vine staff. Three legionaries ran over, and Lupus reached for his blade, but Leonidas, now out on the road with him, shook his head, warning him not to draw. Threatening the legions of Rome was an invariably fatal move.

  As they closed the three men, for all the liberal bloody coating on two of them, seemed to be peaceable, not reaching for their own weapons. Instead, two of them took the procurator by the shoulders and hustled him away, delivering a few subtle kicks and shoves as they did so. The third man nodded professionally at them and smiled.