Soon, the passage opened into a vast circular cave with several ropes hanging down from a pulley mechanism that sprouted from the ceiling. The ropes were attached to the floor, which itself appeared to be a giant disc of grated iron.
“Here we are, Master. The Oubliette. This is where the current crop of failures are.”
Hain folded his arms. “Open it.”
Several cries rang out from below as Truli moved over to a rusty-looking crank handle that stood in front of the wall and began to turn it in slow, deliberate circles. The ropes sprang to life, and the disc began, very slowly, to move.
Hain waited until the pit was half revealed before he made for the edge. There, glaring down at a horde of frightened, disturbed, and half-despairing faces, he reached into his robe and produced a roll of battered parchment. As he did so, several of the boys cried out for mercy.
“You will be silent or I will command my guards to pour boiling tar down onto you,” Hain snapped. “You will also listen to me VERY carefully. I am about to read out several names from this list. If your name is called out, you will prepare to climb up from the pit in your chains. Then you will follow me. Those whose names are not called will remain—any attempt to escape will be met with death dealt swiftly by my hand. Anyone who doesn’t fully understand my words can KEEP ON SHOUTING.”
Silence descended on the Oubliette; scores of hopeful eyes turned upward.
Drin Hain unfurled the parchment and, to Truli’s surprise, ordered a ladder to be lowered into the pit. Then he began to read out the names.
Several minutes later, a line of four boys was dragged through the dungeon catacombs. Each was connected to the others by a stout chain, so when one staggered and fell, they were all pulled to the ground.
Drin Hain marched along ahead of the slaves, occasionally barking orders or requesting directions from Jailer Truli, who knew the maze of tunnels better than anyone else.
When the group was finally clear of the dungeons and had emerged into the weak sunlight of the arena floor, Hain instructed his own guards to take over for Truli, and the boys found themselves led into a part of the arena they were not at all familiar with. Several flights of stairs dropped away beneath them and, finally, they arrived at a grand doorway that overlooked most of the arena’s vast interior. Two sentry guards stood on duty outside.
Hain announced himself to one of the men, who nodded and led the group into a large and ornately decorated room. Plush, red curtains hung from golden rails and several statues occupied the floor space between the door and a raised dais that supported a great arched throne. Upon the throne sat a man the slaves recognized immediately.
Slavious Doom was an imposing figure, his dark hair and beard framing a face that never looked anything less than pure evil. He didn’t get up from the throne when the slaves were paraded before him.
“Drin?” he said, an inquiring expression on his face. “What is the meaning of all this? Unless I am very much mistaken, these are NOT the escaped slaves I ordered you to find . . .”
Hain inclined his head slightly.
“Kicking down doors and raiding houses are jobs for brainless servants, my lord. Your guards have already been dispatched to search Avellino. In fact, I understand the slaves evaded them in the sewers beneath the town. They are faster and smarter than we suspected, and will be halfway across Campania in a matter of days. My time is better spent elsewhere . . .”
He turned to indicate the line of boys beside him, some of whom were barely able to stand.
“On your left, my lord, we have Ruma the Etrurian and Argon the Gaul. Then we have Teo and, on your right, Gladius the Calabrian. My spies inside the arena inform me that these slaves were all close companions of Decimus Rex and the boy Olu. They were seen talking together during the trials, and they all shared a section in the holding cells.”
Doom’s expression remained cold. “And?” he snapped. “What of it?”
“My plan is to announce the execution of these boys, at a memorable location, with a second announcement that their fates can be altered if Decimus and his friend hand themselves in to our guard patrols. The Suvius Tower will be a good, strong location, as it is visible for miles around. We can stage the executions there, but also lie in wait for the young . . . heroes.”
As a wave of comprehending horror washed over the gathered slaves and they began to dart terrified glances at one another, Drin Hain continued to outline his plan.
“I have it on good authority that the Calabrian was closest to Decimus during the trials. Therefore, his execution alone should bring Decimus out of hiding; the others will be . . . a bonus entertainment. I take it that all of these children are expendable, my lord?”
A sick smile spread across Doom’s sharp features.
“They are indeed, Drin,” he said. “They are indeed. Your thinking, as always, is inspired. You may proceed with your plan.”
CHAPTER III
THE HARBOR
Decimus and Olu had been traveling through the aqueducts for three days, feeding on the sort of scraps that even the rats wouldn’t touch and sleeping beside rivers filled with the foulest stench imaginable. At one point they had come upon a vast network of different tunnels but, without the slightest clue as to which way they should travel, they ended up selecting their path largely at random.
However, finally, it seemed that they had hit a lucky break.
“It’s a harbor,” said Olu, squeezing his face against the bars of the wall-mounted grate they had found. “I can see five, six, maybe even seven ships! We can escape, we can get away from Doom! Ha-ha! This is fantastic!”
“I agree,” Decimus muttered. “The only problem is that we don’t actually have the first idea about where we are. Those ships could be going ANYWHERE!”
“So?” Olu looked amazed at his friend’s attitude. “Anywhere is better than the arena, surely?”
“I want to go home, Olu . . . and considering that my home is in Tarentum, there’s a good chance we’re going in exactly the WRONG direction.”
Olu turned to face his friend. His expression was stern.
“You can’t go home, Decimus. Not now; probably not ever. Our parents got us into this, remember? Your trials are paying for your father’s debts. Don’t you think Doom’s warriors are likely to be keeping a constant watch on your hometown? Going back to Tarentum right now is just unthinkable. We need to get as far away from Doom as possible. We must get beyond his reach.”
Decimus fought back the urge to argue; he knew deep down that Olu was right. There really was no going back home—at least, not yet.
Returning his attention to the grate, Decimus put his hand around the bars and beckoned for Olu to do the same.
“Do you think we can wrench this off?” he muttered. “I think it would be better to go now, in the darkness, than to wait until morning light. The entire harbor will probably be crawling with merchants by then.”
Olu nodded, closed his own fists around the grate, and gave it an experimental tug.
“It feels pretty sturdy to me,” he admitted. “Let’s both pull on the count of three. One, two, three, GO!”
The two slaves pulled on the bars with all their might, but the grate didn’t give an inch.
“We need to find another way out,” Decimus muttered. “There’s no other choice. We’ll just have to go back to the last set of steps we passed and up through the opening beside that caved in section of tunnel.”
“Yeah, but we can’t—that would take us right onto the streets . . .”
“So? We’ll have to brave them.”
Olu spun around.
“Are you crazy?” he gasped. “We’ll be spotted in minutes!”
“Do you have a better idea? Besides, it’s dark outside—that should give us half a chance. C’mon!”
It was dark in the coastal town of Formiae, and a gentle breeze was blowing. The guard patrols on these narrow streets were few and far between, partly because there was seldom any tr
ouble that the locals couldn’t sort out, but mostly because even the most dedicated watchmen could be persuaded from their duties by the sounds of merriment. Moreover, the kind of fights that started in harbor towns between rowdy sailors soon turned into large-scale brawls that most common guards would do anything to avoid if at all possible.
Decimus and Olu had been watching a particularly loud and obnoxious pair for the better part of an hour. Their duties seemed to consist of walking up and down the main harbor stretch, glancing occasionally at the line of mostly unmanned ships, and then taking a ten-minute break.
“They’re back,” Olu whispered, pointing to a doorway some distance from their hiding place in the garden of a small temple overlooking the harbor. “As soon as they get ‘distracted’ again, we can make our move . . . hang on, they’re going inside.”
“Right,” said Decimus, but he wasn’t really paying attention to the guards. His eyes were fixed on the long shadows being cast by the impressive collection of ships that dominated the harbor before them.
“I wish I knew where we were,” he muttered.
Olu hadn’t taken his own eyes from the lighted doorway.
“We’re somewhere on the border of Latium,” he said.
“What?” Decimus turned to his friend, visibly shocked at the revelation. “How can you possibly know that?”
“I don’t,” Olu admitted. “I’m guessing, but I’ve been to Latium before—a place called Caieta—and the guard’s armor was very similar. I bet we crossed the border between Campania and Latium while we were in the aqueduct. Decimus . . .”
Olu reached over and slapped the young slave on the shoulder.
“What?”
“They’ve gone back in. Time for us to move!”
The two friends detached themselves from the temple garden and began to run for the nearest ship, ducking and rolling several times when a doorway opened and a party of rowdy sailors spilled out.
Scrabbling in the dirt, Olu managed to drag himself behind a small collection of barrels mere seconds before one of the sailors made a loud and worrisome remark to his companions.
“What was that?”
Three of the revelers continued to stagger toward the next inn, but one wandered over to join his swaying mate.
“I heard something; I think I saw something, too.”
Olu tried to peer out from his new hiding place without attracting any attention, but he couldn’t see Decimus anywhere. Still, he thought, with any luck those two sailors can’t see him, either.
“Thieves, I’ll bet, tryin’ to get on a ship.”
The first sailor began to lurch in Olu’s direction. His companion tried to do the same, but quickly collapsed into the dirt. As Olu slowly moved himself even farther behind the barrels, he saw the sailor flop about in the dirt and attempt to get up several times before he finally passed out.
Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the first, who was advancing on Olu’s position with surprising speed, and now seemed to be armed with a short sword. He had to get away.
Olu leaped to his feet and ran, but he stumbled across a barrel that had fallen over behind the others and crashed to the ground in a heap. The sailor was on him in seconds.
“You there! Hold up, thief!”
The sailor charged forward, but Decimus emerged from the shadows, clearing the barrels in one swift jump and landing heavily on the big man’s back. Olu looked on in horror as Decimus snatched the sailor’s head and twisted it with all his might. The sword clattered to the ground, and the sailor hit the dirt with a dull thud.
“W-what-what—”
“You’d have preferred he ran you through with his blade?” Decimus snapped. “Now come on, we need to move him before that other one wakes up, and then we must get on a ship! There’s no time for shock, do you hear me? There’s no TIME!”
Olu raced after his friend, the scene playing over and over in his mind. He couldn’t believe how strong Decimus had grown since they’d met on the first day at the arena. Evidently, the numerous trials, battles, and ferocious combats had turned his friend into a formidable warrior. Together, they headed for the nearest ship, dragging the body of the sailor along with them and trying to keep to the shadows.
“Leave him there,” Olu whispered as he and Decimus deposited their victim behind an untidy heap of tangled fishing nets. “With any luck, they won’t find him until morning.”
Decimus nodded, returning his attention to the ships in the harbor.
“The third ship,” he said. “That’s the one we need to get on. I was watching them all from the temple garden, and the others have skeleton crews still manning them. I haven’t seen any movement on the third one at all.”
“What type of ship is it?” Olu wondered aloud, squinting at the distant shape. “I’m useless at ships. Don’t know the first thing about them.”
“Me neither,” Decimus admitted. “But it doesn’t really matter—the only thing that matters is whether or not we get discovered on board. So let’s find ourselves a good hiding place.”
“You can try, boys,” said a voice behind them. “But not before we’ve handed you in to the guards and made some nice Denarii.”
Decimus and Olu both turned very slowly, but they couldn’t see anyone around them. A grim silence settled in the shadows as the two slaves looked left and right, down at their feet and, finally, up at the ship that was outlined above them. Unfortunately, they saw the two smiling pirates leaning over the deck of the ship too late to avoid the net that was quickly dropped on top of them.
Olu struggled wildly with the heavy ropes, but Decimus knew enough about fishing nets to know that struggling would just get them more entangled, so he relaxed and quickly urged Olu to do the same.
A few seconds later, the pirates were standing beside them, their eyes reflecting the gleam of coins they could already imagine filling their pockets.
“Up,” said the first pirate, dragging Decimus and Olu onto their feet. “Me and me mate here will share your reward money . . . the others’ll be sorry they went ashore when they see what they missed out on.”
“Slump down,” Decimus whispered to Olu. “Make yourself as heavy as possible—dead weight! Dead weight!”
The first pirate soon realized he didn’t have the strength to lift the net and both boys together, so he motioned to his companion to help. Combining their efforts, they managed to drag the pair upright, but not before Decimus had used the delay to loop one square in his own part of the net over the giant mooring ring that tethered the boat to the harbor.
“Move!”
The pirates dragged Decimus and Olu forward, but soon realized that they couldn’t progress any farther than a few feet. The larger of the two men immediately assumed that Decimus was holding himself back; he reached through the net and grasped the young slave by his throat, shaking him vigorously before moving on to Olu and repeating the action.
“NOW MOVE YOURSELVES!” he boomed as the other pirate joined him in a renewed effort to drag them away.
Again, the boys staggered a short distance before coming to an abrupt and immovable halt.
“Net must be snagged on something,” said the first, but as he went back to investigate, Decimus grabbed his arm through the net and threw all his weight into the man. Sensing the point of the attack, Olu charged into his friend’s back, giving the young slave enough momentum to drive the pirate over the edge of the dock. The big man toppled backward and plummeted between the ship and dock, with Decimus and Olu tumbling after him. Realizing that his companion and the highly valuable slaves were all going over the edge, the second pirate dived after them. He grabbed the end of the net and was dragged along for the ride.
The first pirate met a terrible fate; he had fallen onto a pole that jutted from the water.
Decimus and Olu were caught in the net, which was both good and bad news for them. The good news was that Decimus had hooked the net firmly to the mooring ring, so there was no chance of them
falling. The bad news was that the second pirate had managed to hang on to the outside of the net, and had produced a dagger, which he was using in an attempt to cut through the ropes.
“Punch him!” Decimus cried at Olu, trying to spur his friend into action. “Shake him off!”
“I can’t!” Olu yelled, moving his arm as the pirate’s knife blade missed the rope and cut into him. “I can just barely hold on as it is!”
Decimus let go of his side of the net and leaped onto Olu’s back. The skinny slave gasped in surprise and fought to hold onto the ropes as Decimus climbed over him and, grasping the net tightly in both hands, drove himself forward and slammed his forehead into the face of the struggling attacker.
A spray of blood flew from the pirate’s nose, and he dropped the dagger. This time, however, Olu’s reactions were just as quick as those of his friend. The slave reached through the net, caught the dagger, and plunged it into the leg of the pirate.
“Argghhhh! You little—”
He didn’t finish the curse; Decimus slammed a fist into his jaw and he fell into the water.
Decimus faltered for a moment and lost his grip on the net, but Olu grabbed hold of him.
“Wh-what now?” the skinny slave whispered.
Decimus took a few seconds to catch his breath.
“We cut ourselves out of here and climb back onto the dock,” he muttered. “Then we should try and sneak aboard the third ship, like we planned; I certainly don’t want to take on more pirates from that crew.”
CHAPTER IV
THE SUVIUS TOWER
Argon the Gaul looked down at his bruised, swollen wrists, and winced. A series of ropes, chains, and buckles had taken their toll on his flesh, and they conspired with the scars and burns on his back to form a detailed map of agony.
Stowaway Slaves Page 2