Broken Chariots

by J. G. Willem

  Exhibiting the dexterity of a much slighter man, the human colossus fitted both arrows into his bow at the same time. Notches to the string. Shafts diverging in a V shape, separated at the limbs of the bow itself by the width of the giant’s massive hand.

  Fifty feet.

  The bald, bearded Bobarius took a few deep, slow breaths to steady himself, running the index and middle fingers of his draw hand up the fletching. It was a gentle, intimate gesture, considering what he was about to do.

  All the while, the footsteps drew closer.

  Forty feet.

  The men weren’t talking. There was only the slap of their sandals on the polished floor and a breeze ruffling the leaves of balled trees lining the colonnade on the far side.

  Bobarius drew the string back slowly so the limbs wouldn’t creak.

  Thirty feet.

  He stepped out.

  Raised the bow.

  Lined up the soldiers.

  The footsteps ceased.

  Bobarius loosed.

  The arrows vanished from his bow.

  Before sword could be drawn or word uttered, before eye could comprehend what had come before it, each arrow found its mark with a heavy thwoomp.

  A clatter of steel on tile signalled the men’s falling.

  Bobarius jerked his head for them to come out. The coast was clear.

  Belbus rushed out behind his mighty archer to see the soldiers dropped in pools of orange light. Their torches guttered in the wind, licking at the marble.

  “Quickly,” Bobarius said.

  They dashed along the colonnade to where both sentries lay. From each body, an arrow rose tall and rigid, like saplings staked and made to grow straight.

  Before Belbus reached them, he knew something was wrong. One of them was twitching. One of them was gurgling. It might have been the same one. He couldn’t tell.

  Until he could.

  Belbus closed his eyes in frustration when he saw it.

  “Goddamn it...”

  Where he stood looming over the downed men, Belbus was joined by Bobarius, then Ursa, then Taurinus with his hostage.

  The archer hung his head, genuinely contrite. “Sorry, boss.”

  “When I asked you to bring the bow tonight, I asked you something else as well. Do you remember what it was?”

  The gurgling rose to fill their ears.

  Bobarius sighed. “You asked if I had lost a step.”

  “And what did you say?”

  “I said I hadn’t lost a step.”

  The gurgling continued.

  “Well, what the fuck do you call that, big guy?”

  He gestured to one of the soldiers; the arrow rising from his throat and blood pumping down the sides of his neck to pool around his head, staining the marble. His eyes bulged in his head and he clutched at the place where the arrow met his windpipe and he gulped like a caught fish for air but none came. The only air passing his lips was going out, bubbling through the blood filling his throat and lungs, punctuated every few seconds by a painful-sounding glottal stop.

  The other guard had been hit in the right eye and wasn’t quite as messy - or as noisy, for that matter - but still a bleeder. Still a problem.

  Belbus ran a hand over his face. “I’m pretty sure I said chest high. Lungs, if you can get ‘em. Not all the way through. No blood.”

  “That one’s not all the way through,” Taurinus said, gesturing with his head to the dead one shot through the eye.

  Taurinus stood idly with his knife to the living guard’s throat. He turned left and right, acting as lookout. His captive stared down at his dead and dying compatriots. He swallowed past the blade.

  “Thank you, Taurinus.” Belbus gave him a withering look.

  The gurgling continued.

  Bobarius sighed, deeply disappointed in himself. “I guess I have lost a step.”

  “It’s alright,” Ursa said, patting his arm. “You did really good, Bobarius. Really good.”

  She shot daggers at Belbus for being so insensitive.

  The bookie sighed. “I’m sorry, Bobarius. It was a good shot. It was... greedy of me to be so specific.”

  Taurinus gave his partner an encouraging nod. The big man grinned, relieved, not noticing that Belbus had almost choked on the words.

  The bookie shot Ursa a look to say, “Happy?”

  She poked her tongue out at him.

  “Give me a hand with these guys,” Belbus said to the archer.

  He slung the bow back over his head so it crossed the quiver in an X, then stooped to collect the dead man’s ankles while Belbus threaded hands beneath his arms.

  “Still don’t know what we’re gonna do about this blood...” he muttered.

  “Oh, be quiet!” Ursa hissed, crouching to collect the dropped torches. As she did so, she noticed something on the walkway up ahead and froze.

  In the pale moonlight beyond the flickering glow of the torches in her hands, Pistrus had stepped out onto the colonnade and crossed to the edge.

  Fully nude, and not noticing the commotion off to his right, the half-asleep charioteer began urinating into the bushes.

  Ursa’s eyes grew to twice their size as she watched him, unmoving. The others quickly noticed how still she had gone and turned to see what had stilled her. She breathed quickly through her nose, short and sharp.

  Behind her, Belbus and Bobarius were frozen halfway between the still-gurgling guard and the edge of the colonnade, getting ready to hurl the body they were carrying into the bushes.

  No one moved a muscle.

  No one dared a breath.

  The breeze rustled through the leaves and Pistrus stood there like the lord of all creation, naked as the day he was born, bathed in moonlight, pissing into his immaculate bushes that slaves would need to tend in the morning.

  He hadn’t noticed them yet. Maybe he wouldn’t.

  He was still pissing though.

  It was the longest piss Ursa had ever seen. A strong and steady flow to rival that of even his own horses.

  He pissed and yawned and arched his back and they remained frozen in the postures they had been in when they saw him.

  Finally, the stream weakened and reduced to a dribble. Pistrus shook himself dry, then turned and walked back inside.

  Ursa closed her eyes and let out a sigh of relief. Behind her, Belbus and Bobarius and Taurinus did the same.

  Jove, that had been close...

  Just as Pistrus was about to disappear from view, a voice called out, “Hey!”

  To be fair, the guard only got the first letter out before Taurinus jammed the knife so hard into his throat he drew blood without slicing.

  Still, it was enough.

  Pistrus turned, suddenly alert. When he saw the intruders and the fallen guards, he grew even more so.

  “Guards!” he called.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Taurinus said, and slit his captive’s throat out of anger, spraying blood all over Belbus and Bobarius and the dead man.

  Recovering from the momentary shock of both being discovered and being splattered with blood, Belbus shouted, “Run!”

  Taurinus dropped the guard.

  Ursa dropped the torches.

  Belbus and Bobarius dropped the body and all four of them bolted.

  Belbus was limping and not running and no one saw him limping and not running. With each passing second, he fell further and further behind.

  “Help!” he called. “Help!”

  Bobarius looked over his shoulder and saw the bookie growing smaller. His eyes flared with concern. Not giving it a second thought, the giant doubled back. He collected the bookie in both arms like a damsel in distress and turned and kept running.

  Behind them on the colonnade, the throat-cut guard dropped to his knees, gurgling and clutching his bleeding neck. He fell forward onto the throat-shot guard, pushing the remaining air from his lungs and sending his eyes bugging even wider. Both of them gurgled and clutched their bleeding necks and Pis
trus just stood there, stark nude and stunned, watching.

  *

  On a quiet road in Rome that night, there was a tavern with a lamp burning in the window. It was not burning hot or very bright, but it held a dim and steady glow against the night.

  The four of them huddled around a table up the back, nursing cups of undiluted wine. Smears of blood clung to the edges of Belbus and Bobarius’ faces; a result of their hasty cleanup in a horse-trough on the outskirts of the city.

  Belbus had already chewed Taurinus out enough over it, and they went unnoticed in the shadowy corner of the tavern. The only other patrons were folk much like themselves. Quiet. Hunched over their drinks. Not interested in anyone else’s business and not wanting anyone to show an interest in theirs.

  No one was here at this hour because things were going well.

  Belbus scratched at the dried blood in his hairline and flecks of red fell onto the table. He quickly brushed them away, looking around to see if anyone had noticed. No one had.

  All four of them took a drink at the same time.

  “Well...” Belbus said. “That got out of hand.”

  No one spoke, but a general hum of agreement went around the table.

  “Thank you for coming back for me, Bobarius. You’re a good friend.”

  The giant gave a bashful smile.

  “And I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

  “It’s okay, Belbus.”

  The bookie sighed. “That’s it, then. That’s the only chance we had of catching him by surprise. He’ll double the guards now. Probably chain Chimera to his nipples or something...”

  Across the table, Taurinus and Ursa visibly withdrew, scrunching their noses up.

  “His nipples?” Taurinus said.

  “Yeah, so if she moves, he’ll feel the tug.”

  Taurinus thought about it. Saw what he was going for. Ursa stuck with her initial reaction.

  The bookie stared down into his wine. He shook his head, baring his teeth ever so slightly. It was killing him to get this close and have to retreat, to compromise, or at least consider compromising.

  Ursa watched him for the longest time. Saw the frustration etched into his face. The longing. The regret. She saw him pressed up against the edges of his understanding, hemmed in by limitations he could not see or would not acknowledge.

  “There is the way you want the world to be, Ursa,” he had confidently said to her that morning, “and there is the way the world is. I promise you’ll have a better time of it if you cease wishing for things to go a different way than they do.”

  She decided it wasn’t a good time to throw that back in his face.

  At last, she said, “I might have an idea...”

  *

  The following day as Pistrus was being served breakfast, he was served something else. Something he hadn’t been expecting. He looked up from the missive to Auribus, who had hand-delivered it.

  “This is a joke, right?”

  Auribus raised his eyebrows. “I don’t know, sire. Of course I didn’t read it.”

  Pistrus scrunched his face in anger as he scrunched the papyrus in his fist.

  “Sons of bitches,” he said. “Those whoreson plebeian sons of bitches.”

  “What is it, sire?”

  For a long moment, the charioteer did not reply. His eyes were shut and his face was turned away and his hand was closed so tightly around the missive that it turned his knuckles white.

  “This is a court summons. Belbus is suing Vipera for breach of verbal contract.”

  Part VII - Before the Twelve Tables

  The plaintiff, Belbus, sat at a table on the left side of the courtroom.

  The defendant, Vipera, sat on the right.

  Where the judge would sit sat no one.

  After their initial hearing with a magistrate, they had been excused while a judge was selected. When one had been selected, both parties were summoned back in. Now, they sat in eager anticipation; not just of the revelation of the judge, but of justice.

  With Vipera sat Pistrus and the lawyer defending her.

  With Belbus sat Ursa and the lawyer advocating for him.

  Other than those few, and the bailiff standing by a door in the far wall, the courtroom was empty.

  The lawyer defending Vipera was a tall, charismatic man named Pavus. Handsome. Undoubtedly wealthy. In the prime of his life. A favourite of judges and magistrates all throughout the city.

  The lawyer working on behalf of Belbus was a short, long-nosed gentleman. He had a nervous energy about him, and did not strike the bookie at all like the type of man who excelled in rhetoric or oratory. The type of man who had no problem being the centre of attention, holding forth in great, substantial monologues. He struck Belbus more as a hermit who spent his days and lamplit nights poring over scrolls. A librarian, perhaps. More academic than lawyer.

  He also happened to be Ursa’s father.

  Strixus was his name.

  He busied himself studying a long papyrus scroll that Belbus assumed was an outline of the case or some kind of legal manual or applicable precedent. The bookie didn’t know. Couldn’t read.

  Strixus squinted to make out the words, even with the sunlight shining full upon the page, illuminating it perfectly. This did not fill Belbus with confidence, given his age. He had been old when Ursa was born, and hadn’t gotten any younger in the meantime. A ring of grey hair encircled the smooth, liver-spotted dome of his head. A full, ash-coloured beard reached his collarbone. He gripped the parchment with feeble hands, tremulous at times, the wrinkles deepening around his eyes as he narrowed them.

  Belbus ran a hand over his face, knowing he was doomed.

  He looked over at the defendants. Vipera sat checking the nailbed of her left index finger, as though it were the most interesting thing in the room. Pavus leaned over and whispered something in her ear. She giggled. Slapped him playfully on the arm.

  Sly dog, Belbus thought.

  Pistrus, the closest to him, caught Belbus looking. He didn’t quite glare, but he held the bookie’s gaze without blinking.

  “You think you’re pretty clever, don’t you?”

  “Me?” Belbus said, playing coy. “Reasonably, I guess. Enough to know when I’ve been cheated.”

  “This won’t turn out how you think it will, you flea-ridden alley cat.”

  “No? Strixus here seems to think we’ve got a pretty strong case.”

  The old lawyer looked up, startled by the mention of his name. “Hmm? What’s that?”

  “I was just telling Pistrus here you think we have a pretty strong case.”

  “Oh,” said Strixus. “Yes. Yes, we do. Quite a strong case. Quite strong. But, naturally, a large amount depends on the judge, so... as with all things, we’ll just have to wait and see.”

  He calmly returned to his scroll.

  Belbus’ smile vanished. Wait and see?

  “He’s right,” Pistrus said, with a shit-eating grin he couldn’t quite contain. “A large amount does depend on the judge.”

  The charioteer turned back to face the empty chair at the end of the room, whereupon would soon sit the aforementioned judge. There was something casual about his demeanour Belbus didn’t like.

  The bookie spun around in his chair, hissing at Strixus, “Why’d you bring up the judge?”

  Strixus frowned, not understanding. “Because it’s true, dear boy. This is the house of truth.”

  “There’s a difference between omission and outright lying.”

  “Only to some, dear boy. Only to some.”

  Ursa leaned forward from the other side of Strixus, gesturing with a raised open palm for him to settle, like one might soothe a horse.

  Belbus stopped. Took a breath.

  He was about to open his mouth again when the door beside the bailiff opened and out stepped the judge. A very distinctive-looking judge. One known the city wide for his resemblance to a carrion bird. Hook-nose. Beady, darting eyes. Sharp chin. Pointy ears. No b
eard to speak of, but a mole on his upper lip and jowls that hung so slightly below his jawline.

  Belbus felt his blood turn to ice.

  Not because of the man’s appearance, but because of who that appearance was attached to.

  Senator Immussilus.

  “Wait a minute,” Strixus said, lowering his scroll. “Isn’t he the one who...?”

  “Yep,” Ursa said, sharing a disbelieving glance with Belbus. “They can’t do this. Can they?”

  “No, they most certainly cannot.” Strixus rose. “Excuse me, senator...”

  The judge, who was in the process of adjusting his pristine toga and sitting down, barely even raised his head. “In this room, you will address me as ‘judge’ or ‘Your Honour.’”

  His tone was weary, uninterested.

  “Excuse me, senator, but I will do no such thing.”

  Now the judge met his eyes, enraged by the lawyer’s impudence. “What did you say?”

  Strixus clarified, “I will not address a man as judge in a case where he bears a connection to a party to the accused. That, sir, is an offence which cannot stand.”

  Belbus, much like Senator Immussilus, was surprised by the old man’s conviction, though in a decidedly more pleasant way. He glanced at Ursa, who was beaming, unable to hide how proud she was of her father in action.

  Pavus rose also, chuckling to himself. “Please, Strixus, spare us the antics of a mind in atrophy. You embarrass yourself.”

  Strixus scoffed at the insult.

  Pavus continued, “What relationship do you accuse the judge of bearing to my client?”

  “Not your client specifically. I am referring to the man sitting on your left. He is a party to the accused, and has a pre-existing relationship with the judge that may sway his vote.”

  Pavus’ eyes shot to Pistrus, who betrayed nothing.

  “What relationship?”

  “As I understand it, the man on your left has promised his daughter to the judge to marry. Only if he were related to the accused by blood would it be more egregious.”

  Once again, Pavus gave Pistrus an accusatory glare, asking, “Is this true?” with his eyes.

  Pistrus shrugged. “It is a coincidence, nothing more.”