by Tony Roberts
“Now, let’s not be hasty,” Pretaxis smiled. It was a smile that sent a chill down Casca’s spine. “I wouldn’t go upsetting the locals here. This isn’t Gaul, or Italia. People here take offense at rudeness, and asking people questions could be interpreted that way. My advice is not to try. If you can afford it, best to get someone like me to enquire. I wouldn’t want you to end up at the bottom of Ajax harbor, after all.”
Casca sized Pretaxis up, then smiled faintly. “You may be right there. I’ll consider my options. Goodbye.”
He was escorted out and walked back down to the dockside. He was full of doubts, mostly directed towards Pretaxis. Exactly who was he? He went back to the harbormaster. “This Pretaxis – who is he and what does he do, precisely?”
“Didn’t want to see you?”
“Oh, he did alright, but told me very little. What does he trade?”
“Oh, this and that. A bit of everything really.” The official’s face went shut. He didn’t volunteer anything more.
Casca pondered a little more, then nodded and left the office. Now he had a real bad feeling about things. Who would know who wasn’t afraid of this man? He went into the tavern and cornered a serving wench. The girl looked a little scared, and Casca asked her about the ownership of the tavern, deciding not to mention Pretaxis by name and see where it went.
“Oh, its the landlord, a man who lives up on the edge of town.”
“Oh, yes, Pretaxis.”
“Yes,” she said, then looked even more scared.
“Not to worry, I’ve had a meeting with him today. We had a nice little talk, so we know each other.”
“Oh,” she smiled, nervously. “You working for him?”
“He offered me a contract with money mentioned,” Casca said truthfully.
“Well, that’s alright,” she said, then slid a hand down his chest. “You – put a good word in with him about me? Please? I’ll be good to you,” she said in a husky voice. “Anything you like.”
Casca took hold of her hand and pushed it away. “I will, and there’s no need to do that kind of thing. What’s your name?”
“Lucia,” she said, a little put out he had rejected her offer. She had been ready to submit to anything he had wanted; he was quite a good looking man and very strong. She wouldn’t have minded in the slightest if he’d taken her to his room.
“So, Lucia, no need to offer yourself to me. I have a woman upstairs. Pretaxis protects businesses here, and he’ll need people like me to help carry out that protection, won’t he? And to – ah – stop anyone trying to change that.”
Lucia nodded. “Look, I must be about my chores. Nice talking to you, mister. And, if you ever feel like changing your mind, you know, woman or no woman, I’m on offer. Even a quick blow job,” she smiled at him, winking.
“Saucy bitch,” Casca muttered as she walked away.
So, Pretaxis was the local crime lord. No doubt he’d seen Geto and his group arrive. No doubt he knew where they were. Time to go into action. But what of Helga? She was on her own here, and vulnerable.
He went to their room. Helga looked up from sewing a skirt. “Oh, you’re back. I’ve heard people talking outside and its not pleasant. They want to know if we’re going to leave and whether we have money. The innkeeper was being asked by some other man.”
“They talked outside the door?”
“No,” she said testily, “outside there,” she pointed to the window. “I had it open and I could hear every word. The idiots forgot about it clearly. The courtyard is directly below us.”
“When was this?”
“A few moments ago. It was like they were checking on us.”
Casca sat down slowly. His mind was considering the options.
“So what’s the matter?” Helga asked, putting the sewing down.
“Are you armed, and are you able to use a weapon?”
“I’m of the tribes,” she said proudly. “And yes, I have a knife.”
“You’ve never used anything else? Alright, don’t bother answering that. Clearly not. Can you fight? We’re going to have to, I think. We’re up against the local criminal organization and I suspect they have Geto, Flavius and the others. This Pretaxis is a landlord, enforcer, and probably loan shark and slaver. I think he sends round his enforcers to exact protection fees from the businesses. We need to take him out.”
“Seriously? I mean, you want to get involved in all this kind of thing?”
Casca shrugged. “I think they’ll come for us tonight. Pretaxis is worried I’m going to ask around for Geto myself, and find out he’s something to do with him vanishing. Nobody else is saying anything and the local serving wench is clearly scared of him. And what you heard tells me they’re coming for me tonight. You’d best be ready to defend yourself.”
Helga shook her hair and looked at him defiantly. “I’ll do that. I’m no coward.”
“Just what I hoped you’d say. Right, let’s make preparations, we probably haven’t much time.”
They made sure everything they had was packed and handy, before setting traps inside the room. It wasn’t a massive space, and apart from the bed and a couple of chests and chairs, there was no furniture. Casca broke up the two chairs and sharpened their legs, then got some twine and fixed them to a crosspiece from the back of one chair, then tied it to the far wall and hung a stone he picked up from outside underneath.
Helga practiced with her knife, a vicious looking five-inch blade, sharpened on both sides. It was a gutting knife, probably picked up in the market place in Arelate. Evening came and Casca stood by the only window, shuttered, and peered through the small gap out onto the world beyond.
Nothing stirred and he lit the only candle in the room, placing it on a small chipped plate on one of the chests. Now with the light faintly coming from the room they knew the room was definitely occupied.
Dark fully fell and Casca kissed Helga on the cheek and gave her an encouraging squeeze of the upper arm. She smiled and took a couple of deep breaths. Nerves. The waiting was always the worst, and Casca spoke to her in a low voice, encouraging her.
Another glance out of the gap in the shutters for the umpteenth time. There! Dark shadows moving furtively into the rear of the building. “Here they come,” Casca murmured. There were maybe half a dozen or so. Big men, enforcers, bullies. Casca flexed his arms and took two deep breaths.
The door handle turned and he took hold of the string holding the trap to the wall. The door sprang open and a group of men burst in, swords drawn. With a convulsive jerk Casca pulled the string. The spiked trap flew from the wall, propelled by the weight of the falling rock, and struck the first man to come in. The wooden spike, honed to a vicious point, struck him across the upper chest and he screamed in pain and shock.
Casca wasted no time. He sprang forward, sword already falling, aimed at the next man who had been impeded by the reflex motion of the man who’d been struck. One arm half up at eyebrow level was no defense and Casca’s blow sank into his neck at the junction of the shoulder. Blood flew up and the second man yelled in agony and fear.
Helga, stood before the bed, thrust hard with her knife at the exposed side of the third man who’d turned to face what he took to be the danger. A woman was no problem. Not until she was armed with a knife, that is. Her blade sank deep in between two ribs and he stiffened and dropped his sword, his screams adding to the others’.
Casca pulled his blade free of the second man, pushed him back, then came at the next, sword slashing down and down again. The space was so constricted the men couldn’t wield their weapons effectively. The last two were still pushing in while those in front were falling or trying to get out. The next man took two blows down the chest and sank out of sight, his body spurting blood.
The fifth man came at Casca, his teeth gritted in desperation. Casca met the blow above his head and countered, sinking his blade through the guts. The last man watched horrified at the spectacle of a bloodied blade exploding form h
is comrade’s back and decided that was enough. He turned to flee.
Bad move. Helga sprang at him, knife plunging. The man took it in the back and cried out, falling face down onto the ripped and frayed rug outside the room. Helga landed on top of him and stabbed him repeatedly, screaming in rage. On the fifth time she raised her blade, Casca’s hand clamped around her wrist. “It’s alright, Helga, he’s had it.”
She looked down, breathing hard, straddled across the prone man’s lower back. She nodded and allowed Casca to pull her up. He stared at him, still panting hard, her lips drawn back. Casca took her knife and dropped it on the floor. She pushed at him, making inarticulate sounds, then suddenly she was all over him, kissing him, writhing against him, demanding sex. Casca’s sword fell and he took hold of her, swinging her round against the wall.
She forced his hands over her pleasure zones and demanded he make love to her, which he did. Frantically.
It didn’t last long, and they were soon stood in the corridor facing one another, catching their breaths. “I-I don’t know what came over me...” she said lamely. “I-I’m sorry”
Casca wasn’t, but he kept silent. He knew why. It was a release of emotion from a fatal situation where death had been possible, and now she was still alive and wanted to celebrate surviving. It was deep in the psyche, and manifested itself in the act of copulation. It was fairly commonplace in a violent world.
Casca picked up the dropped weapons. “Let’s get out of here before someone comes.”
“Won’t – won’t the owner investigate?”
“Nah, he thinks we’re the ones dying. He’s probably thinking we’re being taken out even now. He’ll have a nasty surprise once he comes to make sure there’s no mess. Let’s go.” They slipped down the stairs as quietly as they could and left by the same route the enforcers had come in. Outside in the streets Helga turned to him.
“So now we run? Will we always be running?”
“Not if I can help it. This bastard’s got to be taken care of. You’re not really on his hit list, so maybe you could – distract him?”
“What do you mean?”
Casca shrugged and waved a loose hand at her. “You use your – ah – charms to occupy his attention while I get in and take care of the rest of them. You can be a praying mantis.”
She looked puzzled. “Praying mantis?”
“Insect. The female kills the male after fornication.”
She eyed him in surprise. “Oh? Mmmm now that sounds interesting!”
“Don’t get any ideas,” Casca said, wagging his finger.
Helga smiled briefly. “So, you want me to go into the heart of danger and risk my life again?”
“Yeah and fuck the bad guy as a bonus.”
Helga pushed against Casca. “You’re quite the bad guy you know. Alright, and if anything goes wrong and you get killed, I’ll deny all knowledge of you and become this man’s woman. Won’t worry me unduly – I’ll have a better standard of living, being the local crime lord’s love interest.”
“Deal. I’ll stake the place out today after light, and let you work your way into his black heart.”
“So what’s my story?”
Casca scratched his head, leading her through the streets. “You’ve recently arrived and were outside the tavern when this fight broke out and you were scared – you heard your Pretaxis’ name being mentioned and thought you’d best go to his place... no, even better, you were told by one of the dying men to go tell they had failed. Yep, that’s the tale to tell. You tell him you saw me run into the docklands area. That’ll occupy them for a while, give me a chance to work out where to get entry into his villa and how.”
“And I wait till you get in before making my move?”
“Yes. I’ll leave it to you when and how.”
She nodded. “I’m going to do this and then that’s it – I want to have a settled and safe life. I don’t want to keep on doing this kind of thing – I’m not you.”
“Perish the thought,” Casca said, climbing up the last rise before the villa. “This kind of life isn’t for you. There you are, there’s men on guard in the gardens. You can’t see them but they’re there. Once you cross the street they’ll be watching you. Look scared. Good luck,” he kissed her cheek.
She squeezed his hand, then made her way across the street, hesitantly, before entering through the arched entrance. Casca made his way back down the hill, then detoured round so he came at the villa from a different direction. He would survey the building from a nearby hiding hole. There was one, in an old abandoned looking shed where broken pots lay in a pile out the rear of an adjoining house. Casca slipped the rotting door open and then pulled it shut, finding the floor full of detritus and stones.
After clearing the space around him and kneeling down, he found he could peer out of the gaps in between the warped planks of the shed. The construction was in the midst of an overgrown garden with weeds growing high. A half-broken wall stood at the boundary of the garden and Casca could see quite nicely across the street through one of the missing parts of the wall.
It was going to be a long wait, but he had to do it. He just hoped Helga was alright.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Day had come and gone. Now darkness had fallen yet again. Casca was hungry, thirsty and tired. His mood wasn’t good. However, his hiding place had been perfect. Men had come and gone from the villa, most of them armed. There had even been a richly-dressed individual escorted by four soldiers who had paid Pretaxis a visit. That had been a surprise. Maybe the crime lord had the authorities in his pocket. That wouldn’t be a surprise.
There had been no alarm or commotion from within the villa, so he guessed Helga was alright. He hoped Pretaxis had taken a shine to her. He’d find out soon enough.
The way in had been decided. To the side of the villa the buildings formed the wall that fronted the street and there was a tradesman’s entrance there. There had been three visitors and all had knocked on the door the same way – two short, one long and three short. So there was a code. He couldn’t really hear anything at that distance but from what he had seen it was the servant’s wing. Good place to start.
The villa was in the shape of a large square, with a bathhouse, sleeping section, living section and undoubtedly a garden at the rear. Pretaxis would be in the best room, hopefully being tended to by Helga.
Casca flexed his legs, forcing blood into them once more. Time to get going. He pushed the door open and came away with a part of the planking in his hand. He looked at it in disgust before dropping it to the ground. Eaten – either by insects or the weather. Or maybe both. He moved silently through the garden to the broken wall and peered across the street. Faint lighting illuminated the cobbled surface and nobody was in sight.
At this point he was out of sight of the front of the villa, so this was a blind spot. He crossed the street, sword in hand, and pressed against the wall next to the door. He gave the coded knock and waited.
On the other side he could hear movement. A bolt was slid back and the door opened a crack. “What is it? Who are you?”
“Death,” Casca replied, kicking the door in and springing at the stunned man who’d been hit by the edge. A quick stab and the man was on his way to whatever hell be believed in. The villa was dimly lit, an occasional flickering light showing the way, so Casca quietly closed the door behind him, stepped over the fallen man and passed through a small entry chamber into a corridor with doors to either side.
Faint noises came to him. Definite sounds of a voice from somewhere, chuckling water from somewhere else, possibly from the garden. His ears were pricked. He would have to get to the bedchamber of Pretaxis fast and make sure Helga was alright. But which way?
Ahead the passageway ended in a door, and that was probably the entryway to the living area for the owner, while the doors to left and right were servants’, and maybe the kitchen? He sniffed the air. Yep, definite smells of cooked food were strong here. One doorway was op
en and it was lit by a crackling fire with a spit hung before it. Definitely the kitchen there. He moved on, past a room with snoring coming from it.
The door ahead of him he tested, and the handle moved easily enough. He pulled it open and looked left and right. Right was where the garden was; he could feel the soft caress of the night air on his face coming from that direction, so he looked left.
Passageway running through to the entry hallway. Double doors faintly seen in the distance and the angle and direction seemed to correspond with that, so he moved along the marbled floor, regretting the harsh, metallic clicking sound his footwear made, but unless he floated there was nothing he could do about that.
It was then his luck ran out. Maybe his feet made too much noise, or maybe it was just the time the guard made his rounds. Whatever, a big man suddenly came round a corner from a chamber and bumped into him. Casca slammed his blade up into the man’s gut but the man cried out before his breath was cut from his lungs. Casca cursed him as the man collapsed to the ground, his body making even more noise as it collided with a vase, knocking it off its stand and it rolled loudly across the passageway.
Cursing all the gods of creation Casca stuck his head into the chamber from where the guard had come but there was nothing there of note – it was a dining chamber with a low table and cushioned benches.
A challenging cry went up from nearby and Casca knew his time had run out. He ran to the door opposite and hauled it open. He came face to face with an armed man with a large sword.
In a room two doors away Helga was pleasuring Pretaxis. He had taken her in that day and listened to her tale with interest, and a little anger. He was not used to being defied and opposed, and had sent out orders to his men to find this scarred man and take care of him. That had left Helga with him and he had asked her questions about her identity, where she had come from and what she wanted to do with her life.
Nobody had connected her with Casca, as Pretaxis hadn’t asked the harbourmaster and other contacts to notify him about women arrivals – just men. So this long-legged blonde woman with big blue eyes had turned up on his doorstep looking scared and needing help, and he loved the idea of being a man to help a woman in distress – for a price of course. And she seemed quite ready to pay that price once he put it to her. Moreover, she was damned good at paying, too.