Emperor's Knife

by Emperor's Knife (retail) (epub)

  ‘What is your name?’ asked Silus.

  The man hesitated, then said, ‘Bek.’ Silus had no idea if it was his real name or not, but at least he had something to call him.

  ‘Are you going to kill me now?’ asked Bek. His voice held only a trace of tremor.

  Silus took the blade away from the spy’s throat and stepped back.

  ‘I’ve had my fill of blood for today. Go away. And tell your master that the next man I catch following me will be dead before he knows he has been discovered.’

  Bek nodded, then turned and ran. Silus waited for a while to make sure no one else was tailing him, then exited the far end of the alleyway, sobering up slowly as he took a long, winding walk home.

  * * *

  The initial shock had worn off. It was the bit where she didn’t believe it was true, despite what she had seen with her own eyes. She had barely spoken a word since the rough man had brought her to his house, and his slave had started caring for her.

  The slave was kind, like the one who had helped her mother raise her. She had cleaned her, shopped for her, cooked for her, brushed her hair, dressed her, and held her when the tears had begun to flow. Once she had started crying it was hard to stop, but eventually the torrent had slowed to a trickle, then ceased.

  And then an anger grew inside her.

  Tituria had rarely been angry in her life. She had had little need to be. Tantrums, yes, shouting matches with her brother, strops at her mother. But not real anger like this. Rage against the murderers of her family, the injustice that had ripped her away from everything she loved and that kept her safe. And now the questions started.

  ‘Who did it?’

  Apicula looked startled. She had hardly heard the child speak, and the blunt enquiry took her by surprise.

  ‘Did what, child?’

  ‘Who killed my father? My brother and mother. Burnt down my house?’

  The look on Apicula’s face told Tituria she would be getting no answers from the slave.

  ‘Child,’ breathed Apicula, a hand on her chest. ‘Oh, child, is that what happened to you? I’m so sorry. I know nothing about any of it.’

  Tituria pursed her lips. ‘How long am I to stay here? When will Silus take me to friends of my family, or to relatives who can care for me?’

  ‘I don’t know these things either. I’m sorry.’

  Tituria looked away, clenching her fists and digging her fingernails into her palms.

  ‘Thank you for your hospitality. I think it is time to take my leave.’

  ‘But you can’t!’

  ‘Am I a prisoner here?’

  ‘No. Yes. The master said—’

  ‘You know I am a freeborn daughter of a senator?’

  ‘No, I didn’t know, but I—’

  ‘I’m going to go now.’

  ‘Where will you go?’ Apicula looked desperate, uncertain.

  ‘To the house of Dio Cassius. He was a friend to my father. He will know what to do. He will look after me.’

  ‘Child, the master said that you were in danger. That you had to stay here. I can’t let you go.’

  ‘You are a slave. You have been kind to me, but that doesn’t alter the fact that if you lay a hand on me or try to hold me here against my will, I can have you crucified.’

  Apicula blanched. ‘Please don’t…’

  ‘Goodbye, Apicula. Thank you for your hospitality.’

  Tituria stroked Issa between the ears, walked to the door, unbarred it, picked up her doll and stepped out into the night.

  * * *

  When Silus returned to the apartment, he found Apicula sitting on the floor, weeping into her hands, while Issa stood on her hind legs and tried to reach her to lick her face. He looked around the room in puzzlement, pulled back the curtain to the bedroom, then turned to face Apicula again.

  ‘Slave! Where is she?’

  ‘Master, I’m so sorry. She left.’

  ‘She what?’ Silus’ fury threatened to overtake him until he saw the scared and pitiful expression on his slave’s face. He controlled himself with an effort.

  ‘Didn’t I say to keep her here? That she was in danger?’

  ‘She wouldn’t stay, master, and she said she would have me crucified if I tried to stop her.’

  Silus clutched at his hair in frustration. ‘And you thought I would be pleased that you had disobeyed my orders?’

  Apicula got onto her knees and clutched the hem of his tunic. ‘Master, forgive me, please.’

  ‘Stop it, slave. I’m not one of these rich Romans. I’m not going to punish you. Did she say where she was going?’

  ‘To the house of Dio Cassius.’

  ‘How long ago?’

  ‘Mere moments, master. You must have just missed her.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say straight away?’

  Silus rushed for the door, hearing Apicula start to cry again behind him. He ran down the rickety steps two and three at a time until he reached the street. He looked up and down, realising he didn’t know where Dio Cassius lived. He had heard of the senator from Oclatinius’ teaching, but couldn’t recall his address. Was it the Palatine or the Esquiline?

  He took a gamble and ran in the direction of the Palatine. He covered distance quickly, but was conscious that with Rome’s multiple intersecting streets, Tituria could have taken a different route, and he might easily breeze straight past her along a parallel road. He estimated he had run nearly half a mile when he saw a patrol of vigiles, strolling casually along with their belted tunics and axes at their sides.

  ‘Sirs,’ he said, out of breath. ‘Do you know where the senator Dio Cassius lives?’

  Their leader looked suspicious. ‘What’s it to you?’

  ‘I… have an important message for him. From my patron.’

  ‘And your patron neglected to tell you his address?’

  ‘He did, I just… forgot. And my patron will have his men beat me if I don’t deliver the message he asked.’

  The leader of the vigiles looked at his men. ‘Dio Cassius? Isn’t he the big house on the Esquiline?’

  ‘That’s the one, boss.’

  Jupiter’s hairy cock, he was going the wrong way. He thanked them, and retraced his steps. He wondered how quickly a nine-year-old girl could travel at night in Rome. Or how much danger she would be in. Maybe her air of authority coupled with innocence would keep her safe from the dark men of Rome’s night. But it wouldn’t keep her safe for long when she reached her destination.

  He recalled Oclatinius telling him that Cassius Dio was likely a Geta loyalist. Perhaps that would save her – after all, it was Caracalla who wanted her dead. But he didn’t know what information she carried in her head. Maybe it was as dangerous to Geta as to Caracalla. Or maybe it was of benefit to Geta, with Tituria being used as an expendable pawn in the game between the two brothers.

  He redoubled his pace through the city, and started the climb towards the Esquiline. He realised his route was similar to the one he had taken so recently when he had killed Tituria’s family. Cassius Dio must live in the same region as Titurius had, so Tituria would know his house well.

  As he ascended the incline at the foot of the Esquiline, he passed a tavern keeper picking up dirty plates and cups from the tables outside his store.

  ‘Hey. Which way to Dio Cassius’ domus?’

  The tavern keeper was much less suspicious than the vigiles had been and gave him detailed directions.

  ‘Have you seen a young girl on her own heading that way?’ Silus asked, more in hope than expectation. But the tavern keeper confirmed that he had been surprised to see a child going that way a short time before.

  Silus broke into a run. The domus was close now, and if Tituria got there before he stopped her, she would be recognised, and it would all be over. Not only her life, but his, when Oclatinius and Caracalla found out he had lied and spared her.

  He rounded a corner and sprinted down the street, narrowly avoiding a cart trundling the o
ther way, then running into a litter and spilling a finely dressed lady into the ordure in the gutter. He kept going, her screams and the curses of her slaves echoing behind him, and took the next turn as the tavern keeper had directed. At the end of the street was the town house of Dio Cassius, and striding purposefully towards it, head down, her doll clutched in her hand, was Tituria.

  A porter was standing outside the senator’s domus, leaning against the house with one hand while he held his cock in the other, a hiss of urine splashing against the wall. Tituria headed straight for him, and was maybe a dozen yards away when Silus grabbed her from behind, covering her mouth with his palm, and lifting her off her feet into a tight hug.

  Tituria’s surprised and outraged scream was too muffled to disturb the porter, who didn’t turn. Silus dragged her down a side alley, pressed her against a wall and leant down in front of her.

  ‘Tituria. Are you hurt?’

  ‘Let me go, Silus,’ she said calmly. ‘Or I will scream for the vigiles and the Urban Cohorts and the Praetorian Guards, and they will arrest you and throw you into the arena.’

  ‘Tituria, I know you are hurting. I know you must be full of questions. But you have to trust me. It’s not safe…’

  ‘Why do I have to trust you?’

  ‘Why? Because… because I am the only one looking out for you right now.’

  ‘Silus, I need to know what happened. And why.’

  Silus nodded. ‘I will tell you what I can. But I need you to talk to me, too. Maybe we can piece this together between us.’

  Tituria looked towards Dio Cassius’ house, and considered. Silus wondered what he would do if she decided she still didn’t trust him. How could he keep her safe in his little apartment if she didn’t want to be there? It even crossed his mind that he might have to kill her himself. If she insisted on running, then his crime against Caracalla would be revealed, and soon after that he would be dead himself. But he quickly dismissed that idea. He hadn’t been able to let her die before, and had killed Daya to prevent it. He would not kill her now, not after that.

  ‘I’ll come home with you, Silus,’ she said.

  Silus breathed out a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you. It’s late. We will sleep. And in the morning, we’ll talk.’ He held out his hand. Tituria hesitated, then took it, and he led her back towards the Subura.

  * * *

  When Silus awoke, he ached. He had slept uncomfortably, although the straw mattress which was new and therefore free of bedbugs and fleas was no worse than he was used to, and in fact better than many of his beds when he had been on field missions in Caledonia. But he had a crick in his neck, a dry mouth and a banging headache. A heavy drinking session followed by a foot race across the city was probably not the healthiest way to spend an evening.

  He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the wooden frame creaking as he did so. He pulled the curtain separating the bedroom from the rest of the apartment aside, and blinked in the sunlight that shone through the small window. Tituria, Apicula and Issa were curled up together on the mattress in the main room.

  Apicula was awake, and she gave him a look which Silus interpreted as an apology for not having risen earlier, but as her arm was trapped beneath the sleeping girl, Silus gestured that it was no matter. He rubbed his face hard to get his circulation moving, and then poured himself a cup of water from the jug on the table. He downed it in one, then drank a second more slowly. He used the chamber pot, then tipped the contents out of the window before the smell stunk up the apartment too badly. He knew he had been drinking a lot last night, but by Vulcan’s arse, what had he been eating? Some curses came from below, but he ignored them. Getting covered in the slops from chamber pots was apparently an occupational hazard of going for a walk in Rome.

  Tituria stirred, stretched, slowly opened her eyes, then sat up with a gasp. Apicula sat up next to her and put a comforting arm around her shoulder. For a moment the little girl seemed unable to catch her breath, her respiration panicky, rapid and shallow. Then she swallowed and got herself under control. She looked up at Silus with big wet eyes.

  He was glad that she had fallen asleep straight away the previous night – he had been in no state to have a coherent conversation. Although he didn’t relish the prospect of the talk any more this morning than he had the previous night, he at least felt less muddled in his thoughts, and was less likely to say something stupid.

  He passed Tituria his cup of water, and she sipped at it.

  ‘Apicula. Go and get us something to eat for breakfast. Take your time.’

  She pulled on her tunic and a pair of sandals and took the coins Silus offered. She kissed Tituria on the top of the head, and then left Silus alone with the little girl.

  Tituria sat on the mattress, her knees pulled up under her chin, hugging her shins. She looked at Silus expectantly.

  Silus picked over the words he would use, knowing that he would have to lie, and lie well. He barely knew this girl, she had spoken very little since he had taken her from her home, and yet her eyes were alert and shone with intelligence. He knew the question she wanted answered was very easy to ask and very hard to answer. The simple interrogative: why?

  ‘I am a foreigner in Rome,’ he began, stating the obvious. ‘You can tell from my accent and my looks that I wasn’t born here. I come from Britannia, where I was with the army. I don’t understand much about politics in Rome. In fact, you probably know way more than me about the subject.’

  Tituria said nothing. Issa nuzzled up to her, and she stroked the little dog’s muzzle absently.

  ‘There is a war going on in Rome right now. It may not be obvious. There may not be soldiers fighting in the streets, or sieges of forts. But people are dying all the same. Men are being asked to choose a side.

  ‘Your father I think was a powerful and rich man. He was also honourable. His opinion was respected. It mattered. I think your father chose the wrong side. Or chose no side at all, which might be worse, as he would then have the protection of neither.’

  ‘Who ordered him to be killed?’ asked Tituria.

  ‘I don’t know,’ lied Silus.

  ‘Who sent you to save me? Did my father’s message to Geta get through?’

  Titurius was sending a message to Geta? That was news, and would be useful to Oclatinius, if there was any way he could tell the spymaster without revealing his own crime. It also gave him a helpful reason for his actions that he could tell Tituria.

  ‘I don’t know. My boss sent me to rescue you all.’

  ‘Why only you?’

  ‘He sent others. They were coming behind me. I just got there first.’

  ‘Why do I have to hide? Why can’t Geta protect me?’

  ‘Because I don’t know who wants you dead, and I don’t know why.’

  ‘Why do they want me dead? My whole family? Why not just my father?’

  ‘I was hoping you could tell me.’

  Tituria looked away, and her eyes filled with tears.

  Then she said, ‘Might it be my fault?’

  ‘Why would you say that?’

  ‘Because I saw something. Something I shouldn’t have. Something bad.’

  ‘What was it, Tituria?’

  She shook her head. ‘I can’t say. If that was the reason, then telling you might put you in danger too.’

  ‘Tituria, do you trust me?’

  Tituria looked at him for a long moment. Then she said in a small voice, ‘Yes.’

  ‘So tell me. Then we can decide what to do.’

  Tituria took a breath.

  And there was a loud knocking.

  Silus looked at the door in alarm. It couldn’t be Apicula. She wouldn’t need to knock. And there was no one else he trusted.

  ‘Get in the bedroom,’ he hissed. ‘Under the bed.’

  She scurried into the small room, looked at the bed and hesitated. She turned to look at him, uncertainty on her face. He had no time to ask why.

  ‘Do it, now! And keep quie
t. Both our lives depend on it.’

  Tituria shuffled under the bed, and Silus pulled the curtain across, then opened the door a crack and peered out.

  Oh, shit.

  It was Oclatinius.

  He opened the door wider, and stood in the doorway.

  ‘Sir, this is an unexpected pleasure.’

  ‘The day I become predictable is the day I should retire, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Well what, sir?’

  ‘Well, are you going to make me stand on your doorstep like some supplicant client begging his patron for a handout?’

  ‘No, sir. Please come in. But I warn you, it is not what you are used to. And I have precious little to offer – I have just sent my slave for supplies.’

  ‘Your good company will suffice, Silus.’

  Silus stepped aside and let Oclatinius enter. The spymaster looked around him, taking in the cracked walls, the peeling paint, the tiny window, the splintered wooden door.

  ‘Aren’t you going to show me around?’

  Silus thought he was joking, given that the apartment was only a few square feet, but Oclatinius just raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Well, sir, this is the area where my slave sleeps, and where I eat and dress. And behind that curtain is my bedroom.’

  ‘Let me see.’

  Silus hesitated. ‘Sir, it is just a bed and mattress.’

  Oclatinius glared at him. Silus’ heart started to thump, but he kept his expression neutral. The old spy was a master of reading faces. But Silus had also had training in how to make a lie convincing, and how to master his emotions. He pulled the curtain back to reveal the wooden bed with its mattress and scruffy unmade sheet pulled halfway down. Oclatinius glanced in, then looked away, uninterested. He walked to the window and looked down into the street far below, already thronged with the usual crowds shouting, pushing and fighting. Silus let the curtain fall back into place with a suppressed sigh of relief.

  ‘Lovely place you have. I can see why you want to spend so much time here.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. Do you have a mission for me?’