Altar of Blood: Empire IX

by Anthony Riches

  ‘I’ve already—’

  Julius’s interruption was gentle but insistent.

  ‘I know. You had to tell the Legatus the whole sorry story, and worse than that, you had to tell Marcus.’

  Legatus Scaurus and his officers had been delayed in their arrival at Marcus’s house on the Viminal hill until well after dark, caught up in the myriad tasks occasioned by getting two cohorts settled into the city’s transit barracks after their long journey back from the empire’s eastern frontier. Surprised to be greeted by the First Spear’s wife rather than the lady of the house, their bemusement had turned to horror as Annia had haltingly related the story of what had happened while the Tungrians had been away from Rome. After the first initial stunning blow, literally staggering Marcus with its stark horror, his recovery had been as swift as it had seemed complete, on the surface. Taking a seat in the house’s atrium he had composed himself, taken a deep breath and then looked up at his wife’s friend, his face a stone-like mask, asking only one question.

  ‘How?’

  Julius clasped her tighter, stroking her tear-stained cheeks.

  ‘I need to hear it again. I need to know every detail, because I need to know what he’s going to do, once he’s thinking straight again.’

  Marcus had listened to Annia recount the events of the previous year in grim silence and, when her tale was done, had stood without speaking, walking out into the Roman night.

  She was silent for a moment.

  ‘And if I tell you? If I scoop all that … shit up and pour it over myself one more time?’

  ‘We’ll never speak of it again. Not that we’ll need to.’

  Annia sighed.

  ‘No. The little one will remind us every time we look at him.’

  ‘So …?’

  She sighed again, and then began to tell the story that had shattered their friend’s life once again.

  The circle of men tightened, the biggest of them spitting imprecations at their intended prey.

  ‘I’m going to cut off your prick and stuff it into your fucking mouth!’

  ‘No, you’re not.’

  All eyes turned towards a heavyset, bearded man walking up the street, his voice grating harshly in the night air despite the matter-of-fact tone of his roughly accented Latin.

  ‘All you’re going to cut are your losses. Now get out of my sight before this all gets much worse for those of you who are left alive.’

  The big man turned to face him, reckoning the odds as the newcomer stopped six feet from him, flexing muscular arms and clenching his fists. In the background the choking sounds from the robber frantically struggling for breath through his ruined throat ran to their natural conclusion, and he fell silent. A series of sobs and groans from the darkness of an insula’s deeper shadow, into which the gutted member of the gang had staggered after incurring his horrific wound, told their wordless story of his plight.

  ‘Or what?’

  ‘Or we take your ears.’

  The robbers spun to face a new threat from behind them, a pair of men with daggers and the look of knowing how to use them. The older of the two grinned at them and waggled his knife at the nearest of the robbers with a smirk.

  ‘My mate here’s from Dacia, see, and everyone knows those barbarian bastards are cannibals. He’s got a fondness for ears, see, and you’ve all got ears, which means he’s got a hard-on like a donkey’s meat stick at the thought of it.’

  The gang’s new leader shook his head in amazement.

  ‘What the fuck …?’

  His incredulity was cut off by a third voice, so hoarse from a lifetime of shouting at soldiers that it was little better than a harsh whisper. Its owner stepped up alongside the bearded man, the moonlight revealing a spectacularly battered face, as he raised a massive, scarred fist and grinned happily at them.

  ‘First we’ll beat you dumb fuckers senseless, then we’ll cut you up badly enough that none of you will ever get a woman to look at you again without showing her the weight of his coin first. Or you can fuck off. Now.’

  He watched impassively as the robbers vanished into the street’s shadows, stepping forward to look at the blood-spattered aristocrat with a slowly shaking head.

  ‘Sorry to have spoilt the fun, little brother, but you looked to have bitten off more than you could get in your mouth. And now you’ve spilled some blood let’s have you away home, shall we?’

  Marcus nodded silently and turned away, looking down at the dead man whose throat he’d punched in before nodding and lifting a hand in recognition of the fact that his friends had saved him from the gang’s violent revenge. The man with the battered face impassively watched him head back down the street the way he’d come, speaking to the bearded soldier next to him without taking his eyes off their friend.

  ‘What are we to do with him, Dubnus? I know he’s always been reckless, but this?’

  His comrade nodded slowly.

  ‘He’s out of his mind with it, Otho. Your saw his eyes, not a flicker of emotion. Come on, and bring those idiot watch officers of yours with you. Knowing our luck he’ll find another gang round the corner and we’ll have to do the whole bloody thing again before we get him home.’

  They followed the lone figure at a sufficiently close distance to deter any further attack, Dubnus watching his friend walking through the darkened streets with a troubled expression.

  ‘Look at it through his eyes. His family murdered, him forced to run as far as the Wall and find his feet as an officer in the biggest tribal rebellion for decades while the emperor’s men hunted him like a dog, fighting in Germania, Dacia, Parthia, and now …’ He shook his head in evident disbelief. ‘And now this. You have to wonder how much more he can take without losing his mind completely.’

  Otho laughed mirthlessly.

  ‘You think this looks like he’s sane? You’re his closest friend, but even you can’t believe he’s got a firm grip on himself.’

  Dubnus grimaced.

  ‘Since the first day I met him he’s always been as taut as a loaded bolt thrower. I hoped he’d find some peace once we’d settled accounts with the men who slaughtered his family, but this …’

  His comrade nodded.

  ‘He’ll keep on finding ways to provoke men to attack him, so he can put them down and take their lives to no good purpose. And soon enough he’ll go too far, and find himself in shit too deep for you and me to pull him out of. Are you willing to die alongside him?’

  The big Briton shrugged.

  ‘He may be blinded by his rage, but he’s still my brother. And yours. Uncle Sextus may be a long time gone, but I still live by the rules he gave us. If one of us is threatened then it’s a threat to all of us. So if my brother Marcus chooses to throw himself up the palace steps with a sword in his hand I’ll be there to fight and die alongside him.’

  Walking behind them, the older of the two soldiers leaned closer to his comrade, muttering in his ear.

  ‘Well, I fucking won’t.’

  The Dacian Saratos looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

  ‘Is cow’s shit you talk. You make promise to soldier called Scarface, before he die. You promise to guard he life with you life.’

  When Sanga remained silent he opened his mouth to renew the discussion, only to close it again as Otho growled at them over his shoulder.

  ‘You two belong to me, you pricks. The Prince here,’ he gestured to Dubnus, ‘gave you both to me, which means I own the pair of you. And if I say we’re going to take on every stinking guardsman in the city for the sake of that man, you’d better not be stupid enough to question my order. When he comes back to us from the dark place his mind has gone to, he’s going to find me, and Dubnus, and you two, guarding his back. And that’s all there is to it.’

  ‘We made the mistake of thinking that because you’d been ordered to the east by the emperor’s chamberlain, then we were under the throne’s protection. And it all seemed safe enough, for a few weeks. There were always
one or two of Cotta’s men around the place, just keeping an eye out for us, and the local gang knew to keep their distance for fear of what he’d do to them if they didn’t.’

  Annia stopped speaking, and after a moment Julius prompted her.

  ‘And then?’

  ‘It was on the day of the Agonalia holiday to Janus, in Januarius. I was cutting up onions in the kitchen and looking out of the window when the gate banged opened and Cotta’s man came staggering back through it as if he’d been thrown. For a moment I thought it was the gang that used to control this street, come for revenge after the way Morban and his men treated them last year, but then a Praetorian walked through the gate and I knew that it was something worse than that.’

  She was silent again for a moment.

  ‘I hurried out into the garden to find half a dozen of them, armed and armoured and led by a centurion. At first I couldn’t work out why the Guard would have taken any interest in us, unless they’d come for revenge on Marcus for what he did to their prefect, but then I saw him.’

  One of the guardsmen had nodded to the centurion, looking pointedly at the house, and the officer had promptly barked out an order, pointing at two of his men and telling them to search the building.

  ‘He was dressed and armed like the other praetorians, but he wasn’t one of them, that was obvious from the way that the men around him were careful not to get in his way, or even touch him. He might have been wearing their uniform, but he was clearly their master. He stepped forward and looked me up and down with those dead eyes, drinking in every detail of my body with a single long glance in a way I used to see occasionally in the brothel when a particularly depraved client came looking for enjoyment. He was like a racehorse trainer assessing a potential purchase in the sales ring, calculating whether the beast would repay his investment. I met his eye for a moment …’

  She shivered in her husband’s arms.

  ‘I knew exactly what he was looking for. Something to spoil. Something pure and untouched, that he could ravish and leave soiled. It would have been better if he’d found what he was looking for with me, the gods know I’ve been used often enough for one more not to have made any difference, but perhaps something in my face put him off. I knew only too well the sort of man he was, and my disgust must have been obvious. And then he saw Felicia, and that was that.’

  In her mind’s eye Annia conjured up an image of her friend as the younger woman had emerged from the house with the ghost of a quizzical smile, clearly shaken by the soldiers’ unexpected appearance.

  ‘Can I help you … Centurion?’

  The detachment’s officer had deferred to the man in the midst of their armoured throng, instantly confirming Annia’s suspicions as to his identity. Stepping forward with a grin, he’d pulled off his helmet to reveal his true identity, nodding to the mistress of the house as his gaze devoured her body in one long sweep from head to feet.

  ‘Your forgiveness for this intrusion, madam. My chamberlain told me that a famous gladiator was recently buried here, and as Rome’s most devoted follower of the sport, I was naturally drawn to pay homage to his memory.’

  Felicia had bowed deeply.

  ‘No apology is needed when so eminent a man honours my home with his presence. And you have me on the horns of a dilemma, Majesty. On the one hand your desire to pay your respects to a great man is not one that I can in conscience obstruct, even without consideration of your exalted status, but—’

  The emperor had laughed in a conspiratorial manner, leaning closer to her.

  ‘That nonsense about not burying the dead within the walls of the city?’

  He’d waved a dismissive hand.

  ‘He won’t be the first great man to have been honoured with interment inside the city, and I see no reason why this shouldn’t be an exception to the rule. The man buried in your garden was the champion gladiator when I was a younger man, and I took great inspiration from his exploits.’

  A wistful tone had crept into his voice.

  ‘Someday I hope to emulate his achievements …’

  He’d turned away from the amazed women, pointing to the mound of earth under which the gladiator had been buried, after his last, climactic fight in the Flavian Arena.

  ‘Is that his last resting place?’

  Not waiting for the answer he’d walked across the garden to stand in silence before the grave, the Praetorians casting knowing glances at his back and eyeing up the two women while they waited in silence for him to rouse himself from his reverie. At length he’d turned back to face them, wiping a tear from his cheek.

  ‘Truly inspiring. For such a master of his art to be buried here, so close to the palace, is quite inspiring. And so convenient.’

  The emperor’s gaze had returned to Felicia, and Annia’s heart had sunk as she saw that same cold-eyed appraisal play across her friend’s face and body once again as he stepped closer to her.

  ‘So handy for me to come and pay my respects whenever I feel minded. And whenever I feel the need to honour you, my dear, with my presence in your bed.’

  Felicia’s eyes had widened in shock, but before she’d been able to speak, Commodus had continued in the same light, conversational tone.

  ‘Oh I know, I’ve heard all the half-hearted objections so many times. You’re a respectable married woman, but your husband is away doing my bidding, a very long way away, and here you are, with your own needs. And besides, what woman could fail to be honoured by the prospect of coupling with Rome’s first citizen? And in case that fails to persuade you, consider this …’

  He’d leaned closer, speaking quietly in her ear, though not so softly that Annia hadn’t heard every word, just as she had little doubt he had fully intended.

  ‘There is, of course, the inevitable consequence of rejection to be considered. Your emperor, it has to be said, is not a man for whom the word “no” is acceptable. Having been somewhat overindulged from an early age, it would be fair to say that my ill-temper can be quite prodigious upon being faced with a refusal.’

  He’d turned to look at Annia as he spoke, his expression as empty as before although a bestial look had crept over his face, as if in reality he hoped for nothing more than to see through the threats he was muttering in her friend’s ear.

  ‘Your companion here looks a little … used … for my tastes, but I’m sure she would make an entertaining diversion for my bodyguard. If you provoke me to it, I’ll have them fuck her until she bleeds, here, where her cries of protest and pain can be heard by your neighbours. And then there are your children to consider. It was a boy for you, my dear, and a girl for your friend here, if I’m correctly informed?’

  Felicia had nodded, a look of horrified resignation starting to settle on her pale features.

  ‘It would be a shame for their young lives to be snuffed out in the brutal manner that might be required to cool one of my rages. Now, what else did Cleander tell me …?’

  A pair of guardsmen had emerged from the house, one pushing the boy Lupus before him at the end of a stiffened arm, the other shepherding the German scout Arabus, left behind by Marcus to protect his wife and child, at the point of his sword.

  ‘Ah yes, that’s it. The German and the boy from Britannia. I’ll prove just how serious I am, Madam, by the simple expedient of allowing you to choose which of these two shall live to see the sun set tonight.’

  ‘Surely you can’t be serious—’

  He’d nodded solemnly, his blank-eyed certainty silencing her in mid-sentence.

  ‘Serious? Oh but I can. Deadly serious. Long experience of these matters has proven to me that a practical demonstration is so much more effective than any number of threats, no matter how serious they might be in nature.’

  He’d nodded to the centurion who, without any change in expression, had drawn his dagger and walked across to the pair of captives.

  ‘So, Madam, choose which of these two should die and which should live.’

  Felicia had lo
oked over at Annia with an anguished expression, shaking her head slowly.

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘But you can. And you will. Because if you don’t I’ll just have them both put to the sword and then, just to reinforce the lesson, I’ll make you choose between your own child and your friend’s daughter in just the same way.’

  Annia had looked across the garden at the pair of captives to find Arabus staring back at her with a weary, knowing look, nodding at her in acceptance of his fate. Knowing that a choice had to be made, before Commodus followed through with his threat to their children, she had spoken out loudly, staring hard at Felicia in an attempt to persuade her to see the only way out of the situation.

  ‘Arabus.’

  Felicia had started at the man’s name, looking first at Annia and then turning her head to stare helplessly at the German.

  ‘Yes.’

  Commodus had grinned, nodding delightedly.

  ‘Yes? Yes is no good to me. You have. To say. His name.’

  Felicia’s face had turned to face the emperor’s with a sudden hardening of her expression, her voice soft in the silence.

  ‘Arabus.’

  While his face had been suddenly beatific, exultant in his breaking of her will to his own, the emperor’s command to the waiting centurion had been issued in a matter-of-fact tone that told both women how accustomed he was to ordering the death of his subjects.

  ‘Kill the German.’

  She felt Julius shake his head behind her, his voice incredulous despite already knowing the story’s outcome.

  ‘They put an innocent man to the sword? Just like that? There was no hesitation? No sign of—’

  ‘Remorse? None. It didn’t feel like the first time the order had been given. The bastard cut poor Arabus’s throat with his dagger and then wiped the blood off on Lupus’s tunic.’

  ‘Would you know any of them if you saw them again?’

  ‘Only the centurion. He had a scar through one eyebrow and down his cheek.’