Fists of Iron: Barbarian of Rome Chronicles Volume Two

by Nick Morris

  “With Belua there is no room for second chances,” said Clodian pensively.

  Neo shrugged his shoulders. “Only the gods know what the future brings. And men do change. They bend their own rules if there’s a good enough reason.”

  “What of your future?” Clodian asked, catching him unawares.

  Thinking for a short while he answered, “I grow weary of my current life. I plan to return soon to Greece, to Thessaly, the place of my birth.” It felt a little strange sharing his plans with Clodian, as he’d never discussed this with anyone, even the few friends he had. “Before my family came to Pompeii, I grew up in a small village in the mountains, a quiet place where time seems to pass very slowly. I have a few cousins there, no one else. Of late I have felt drawn back there, and it’s where I plan to see out my days.”

  “Will you still tend to the sick?” Clodian asked, seeming surprised by his revelation.

  “I probably will.” Neo smiled to himself. “They say a rooster cannot stop its crowing. And you, what are your plans? Life will soon become very different for you. I’m sure that you’ve thought well about the time after your manhood ceremony.”

  “First,” said Clodian, walking to Orbiana’a side and holding her hand, “I will give Orbiana her freedom, and then…I will ask her to be my wife.” Orbiana blushed and slipped her arm through his. She looked so very happy.

  “I cannot say that surprises me,” said Neo, suddenly feeling old as he saw the way they looked at each other – a tender indifference to the rest of the world. He envied them.

  “After, I would like to train as a physician, like you.” Clodian’s words were said without hesitation or trace of self-doubt.

  Neo cleared his throat. “You are on the brink of becoming a very important man in Pompeii. And, I believe you to be a good man with a righteous heart. Rome needs such men. It will be a great sacrifice to turn your back on such a position with so much influence, and to take the road I have.” He searched the young man’s eyes, and saw only clear resolve. “Are you sure of this?”

  “My father’s road was never for me, and Rome needs men of healing too.”

  Discerning the honest confidence in Clodian’s words, he knew there was nothing more to say.

  Chapter 33

  THE DEEPEST CUT

  Flavia dabbed at her brow with a silk handkerchief. She felt angry, frustrated, and the day’s draining heat didn’t help. Two of the house’s retainers stood at a discreet distance away, armed with swords. Flavia understood the deadly game she played and took no chances. Akana sat opposite her in the shade of the garden’s lemon trees. No doubt Akana sensed her foul mood and appeared reluctant to speak.

  “So, the snake has failed and my step-son has returned to the city,” said Flavia.

  “Yes, I’m afraid so,” confirmed Akana nervously.

  “Time is very short and I’ll not be thwarted.” She could not keep the anger from her voice. “We must instigate our back-up plan. Immediately, do you understand?”

  “I’ll make contact today, and urge the need to act tonight.”

  “Urge!” shouted Flavia, losing control. Spittle flecking onto her chin. “You’ll tell them that if it’s not completed tonight, I’ll wear their fucking skin by sun-up tomorrow, and that of their kin too! Is that clear enough?”

  “Yes, very clear.”

  “Because if something should go wrong this time, I’ll be looking to blame someone, and believe me, those people will suffer very badly.” She saw the fear clearly etched on Akana’s face, the sweat beads appearing on her forehead, top lip and cheeks. You understand the consequences of failure, she thought, but regardless of tonight’s events your time in this world will soon be coming to an end…unsuspecting fool. A few more fucks and it’s the fishes for you, my dear. “Now go, and make sure you carry my words exactly as I have relayed them.”

  Akana tilted her head in abeyance, before quickly scuttling away.

  Jupiter’s cock! thought Flavia, I’ll be happy when that fucking boy is on the funeral pyre, and then I’ll deal with the trainer and physician.

  She wiped her brow, turning her attention to one of the retainers. She believed his name was Felix. Young and muscular, with mischievous eyes…and doubtless very willing.

  Pushing her earlier misgivings aside, she consoled herself with plans for the rest of the afternoon.

  Clodian coughed outside Belua’s room.

  “Come,” a deep bass replied.

  He brushed the hanging drape aside. Belua sat on a bed that looked too small for him, methodically sharpening a knife with a wet-stone. The dagger looked new, a likely replacement for the one he’d gifted to himself. A sheathed gladius rested against the wall, within easy reach.

  “A fine morning,” Clodian ventured. Discussion between the two of them had been cursory and restricted to only practical matters since they’d returned to the city. He wanted to say so much, to try to undo his foolishness in some way, but he’d been too wary to say anything specific, afraid of the response he’d receive.

  “Is it,” said Belua, not looking up.

  He stood there, feeling awkward for what seemed a long time, before deciding to take the plunge.

  “Do you ever intend speaking to me as you once used to?”

  Belua raised his head, his expression flat, tired. There were dark smudges under his eyes.

  “What does it matter? Your manhood ceremony is almost upon us. After, you’ll be able to banish the witch and hire an army of guards to protect you, if you so wish.” He cleared his throat, turning his attention to the edge he was putting on the blade. “Then, my contract with your father will be fulfilled and there’ll be no reason for us to speak at all.”

  Clodian felt a hard knot form in his chest. “You never told me about Prudes’ funeral. I would have liked to have attended, and Orbiana, too.”

  “I saw no reason. It was a quiet ceremony in the gladiator cemetery, as Prudes would have wanted.”

  “Was anyone else there?”

  “Just Zamura…and me.”

  “How is she?”

  Belua took a long time to answer. “She loved him, and I believe she was special to him, too. She plans to leave the city…it has too many memories for her. I asked her if she needed anything and she told me that the one thing that she desired now waits for her in the next life.” He paused again. “She is young and has enough money to start afresh, somewhere else.”

  “And, what of our friendship?”Clodian knew he had to ask, before his building emotions stopped him getting his words out.

  Belua fixed him with a look that was tinted with sadness as well as resolve. “Yes, we were friends,” he agreed, “but there are some things that cannot be unwoven. Prudes was as a brother to me and his death…his death will always stand between us.” His voice thickened and he turned back to his blade.

  “I understand,” said Clodian, his mouth trembling. “Yet, I want you to know that I would give anything to bring Prudes back to us, even to the forfeit of my own life. He was also a special friend to me.”

  When Belua looked up, the gently swaying drape marked Clodian’s silent departure.

  His father called to him again, but he could not make out the words.

  They were in the garden at the villa; the place his mother loved so much. He looked around, hoping to see her too, but she wasn’t there. He looked to his father again and smiled. He looked well, strong. Clodian started to weep, happy that he was healthy again. The tears freely coursed his cheeks but he didn’t care, they were joyful tears.

  His father was calling to him again and waving his arm. He tried to cross the garden to him, but although his legs were moving he barely got any nearer. It was if the ground was moving with him.

  “I love you father, and miss you. Is mother there with you? Tell her I sorely miss her too,” he shouted, then repeated himself, and again and again. He surely hears me, he told himself, in this strange, familiar place where the very ground keeps us apart. Hi
s father was calling again and was urgently waving both arms.

  He made his legs work harder and he slowly edged forwards, his father’s words becoming a little clearer. He was surprised to see that his father’s face looked worried, desperate even. He pushed his muscles harder, and it felt as if he was walking through mud up to his thighs. Then, he recognised the words, “Beware the viper in your bed! Wake up my son, wake up!”

  His eye-lids flashed open.

  Orbiana rested one hand on his chest as she targeted the ivory hair-pin on his right eye. Her own eyes looked wild, her teeth clenched tightly together. Her hand flexed downwards and he knew that he’d be unable to avoid it.

  Then his face was drenched in blood. More blood pumped onto his chest and shoulders, and the weight of Orbiana’s hand was gone from his chest. He frantically tried to clear his vision of gore, hurriedly swinging his legs off the bed to stand.

  The rich coppery stench of fresh blood filled the room. His foot nudged something heavy on the floor by the bed. He looked down.

  Orbiana lay dead, her neck skewered by a broad dagger. Her right wrist, still holding the long hair pin was snapped at an obscene angle. Belua knelt by the body, covering it with a white drape. The blood seeped through, shaping Orbiana’s broken head.

  As he dropped to his knees he felt Belua’s arms wrap around him.

  He cried out the only words that came into his mind,”Why!...Why Orbiana?...Why?”

  Chapter 34

  PROPOSITIONS

  Zamura tried not to look back at the city, as it would only make her feel worse. She fought back the tears that seemed to come unbidden throughout the day, and the night too when she woke. Her heart seemed to break afresh each day. She hoped that leaving the city and the passage of time would heal the wound in her soul and lessen the pain.

  “We should make excellent time leaving the city this early,” said Vespillo, sat at her side holding the reins. He was an ex-soldier and friend who’d agreed to safely accompany her south to Salernum. Never one of her customers, she’d met him when he’d married one of the young whores she’d befriended at the lupanare. He had a genial nature and she’d always liked him. She trusted him enough to accompany her alone on the road.

  “Good,” she answered, the small wagon containing her belongings shaking her bones as it rattled along the stone road. She’d never been to Salernum, but she loved the sea. The coastal town would suffice to begin with; to try to forget and start anew. She’d told Belua her whoring days were finished, and meant it. Perhaps she’d turn her hand to dress making, as she always been handy with a needle and thread? She certainly didn’t lack for coin, but she knew that she’d have to keep herself busy, or her despondent heart would wear her away, and Prudes would not have wanted that.

  “It seems we’re not the only ones taking the road at this ungodly hour,” quipped Vespillo, slowing the one horsed wagon.

  Her reverie broken, Zamura looked up from her lap to the road ahead.

  Two mounted figures walked their horses slowly towards them. As they drew nearer Zamura recognised one rider.

  “It’s quite an event to see you abroad at this time of day,” said Zamura dryly.

  “To see you in all your glory is certainly worth my trouble I assure you,” replied Gordeo.

  The procurator was accompanied by a sturdy individual with the look of a gladiator. It was a look she recognised easily enough. And, Gordeo was not a man to risk his well–being in any way. “A man never short of smooth words, as always,” she stated, feeling annoyed at being delayed, even briefly.

  “May I have a word with you, before you bid the city farewell,” Gordeo asked.

  His clothing revealed blotches of dark sweat even at this cool hour. Zamura winced a little as she recalled the times that she’d lain with him, how she’d mounted that great tub of fat when he’d paid good coin to fuck her. Never again.

  “How did you know I was leaving?”

  “Come now Zamura, such naivety is so unlike you.”

  “What is it you want?” she enquired bluntly.

  “I would prefer to speak of it privately. Perhaps your slave could take a short stroll and my man too.”

  She felt Vespillo stiffen at her side. She placed a calming hand over his.

  “Vespillo is no slave and you’d be wise to choose your words more carefully”

  “I meant no offence,” stated Gordeo, sounding fairly sincere. “I’m never my best in the mornings as you well know, and I would be very grateful if you’d grant my request.”

  She studied his face, his double chins wobbling slightly as his mount skipped skittishly sideways. She saw no subterfuge there.

  “Would you mind?” She addressed Vespillo, who responded by handing her the reins. Jumping down he walked off a short way to stand arms akimbo looking back at the city. Gordeo’s man dismounted and led his horse away, towards Vespillo. She wondered if the two men knew each other.

  She met the procurator’s look, feeling too numb inside to really care what he had to say.

  “I believe you are aware of my fondness for you,” Gordeo began, his voice having a tentative edge. “And, I’m very aware of the loss you have recently suffered. Yet, I have an offer I’d like you to consider; an alternative to leaving, and one that might make your grief a little easier to bear.”

  “Go on,” she prompted.

  “Would you consider living with me?” His face was very red, his expression very serious.”

  “I’d have thought that you have enough women to fill your bed,” she responded, smiling glibly, well aware of his harem of attractive bed-companions, although she doubted that he’d be able to satisfy them, such was his size. He was a fat man getting ever fatter.

  “You mistake me, I meant as my wife,”

  Despite the flatness of her feelings, she was shocked, and it showed on her face.

  “I would of course relocate my...companions. You would have no need to visit the city, as I understand it has many sad memories for you. Eventually, I plan to leave Campania and retire somewhere where our pasts would be only our business.” He nervously cleared his throat. “I’ve always regarded you as a rare woman as well as a great beauty, despite your profession. I also knew that someone like me had no chance of winning your affections while Prudes was alive. I would have waited as long as was respectful after his death, but, I discovered that you were leaving and knew this would be my only opportunity.” He paused, seeming relieved that he’d said his piece. “And there it is.”

  She studied his chubby, flushed face and recognised an honest vulnerability that she’s never witnessed in her former patron before today. She could hurt him with her answer but she did not have it in her, probably never had.

  “You surprise and honour me, Gordeo,” she began. “But, there is no place in my life right now for another. Perhaps one day?”

  “A pity,” said Gordeo. “Perhaps one day you’ll return?”

  “Maybe?” She lied.

  “Well then, I’ll detain you no longer,” said Godeo, the vulnerability replaced by his usual business-like expression.

  “I hope you find what you are looking for?” she ventured, her tone softer.

  “Who knows,” he replied, guiding his mount away, towards the city.

  He negotiated the last step, his chest wheezing like an old bellows. He was soaked in sweat and his face was the colour of cherries. Feeling light-headed, Gordeo swayed unsteadily as he walked the short distance to Belua‘s room.

  “And for what do I owe the pleasure?” Belua asked, filling the doorway. He must have heard his laboured breathing and awkward foot-steps, and had come to investigate.

  “Pray, let me sit a while...to get my breath.” Belua pointed him to the room’s only chair. Belua walked to stand by the open window, arms folded. His face was stern, wary. Not surprising in light of what’s transpired, admonished Gordeo.

  “Well?” Belua prompted.

  “No offer of a cup of Falerian?”


  “You’re out of luck.”

  “I see,” said Gordeo, moistening his lips with his tongue.

  “I have water.”

  “No thank you. I’ll give that particular poison a miss.”

  “Out with it then, before I take root,” prompted Belua, his expression unyielding.

  “Very well, I’ll get straight to the point,” Gordeo said, feeling more than a little nervous. “I understand that Clodian’s manhood ceremony takes place tomorrow.”

  “It does,” confirmed Belua, his brow creasing. Gordeo knew that he was on sensitive ground and would have to choose his words very carefully.

  “I come with a proposition from his step-mother.” His face felt hot again.

  “So now you do her bidding,” said Belua, his words clipped.

  “I have no choice,” he responded, “not if I want to sleep at night.”

  “Others are not so lucky.”

  “I know.”

  “The woman is a snake and needs to be crushed like one,” said Belua with feeling. He began to pace around the room, rubbing his knuckles. Like a great wolf, thought Gordeo.

  “I agree with you on both counts. But, she has asked me to be the intermediary between herself and you and Clodian.”

  “The inter…what?”

  “The go between.” He paused a moment to collect himself. “Will you listen?”

  “Go on.”

  “I have my own sources and I’m aware of the attempts on Clodian’s life, and who has plotted them. I also know how committed you and Neo are to his continued safety and welfare. Prudes’ death was terrible and the girl-”

  “Get on with it before I fucking scream!” interjected Belua, his anger getting the better of him. Startled, Gordeo flinched back in his seat.