Camulod Chronicles Book 1 - The Skystone

by Whyte, Jack

  An open door appeared on my right almost immediately and I swung myself inside, into near-total darkness. It was a stable of some kind, full of straw and animal smells. I saw the dim outline of a ladder ahead of me, stretching up in darkness to a second level, but it did not attract me. I had not run far enough yet to hide, and the chase was too hot behind me. I flung myself into a dark corner by the door, pressing myself back into the wall behind an untidy sprawl of forks and shovels, and drew my sword. I listened to the running feet approach and come to a stop outside the open door, less than a step from me had the wall not been between us. There were two men, both of them breathing heavily. I held my own breath, feeling the pulse hammering in my throat, hearing the silence of their motionless pause grow and extend for an impossible length of time. As clearly as if I could see them, I knew they were standing side by side, peering into the blackness beyond the doorway where I stood. Gradually their breathing steadied and then one of them spoke.

  "What d'you think? He's in there?"

  The other's voice was a low growl. "Oh, he's in there, all right. No place else he can be. He didn't have time to go anywhere else. He's in there. "

  "I'll get help. "

  "No!" The command was barked, and I could imagine the expression of surprise on the first one's face. "You'll get no one. We'll handle this ourselves. "

  "Why? The others are around here somewhere. It won't take a minute to get them. "

  "We don't need help, you fool! Use your head, for once in your life. Don't you know who this whoreson is?"

  "No. " The voice sounded vaguely plaintive. "Who is he?"

  "I don't know his name. Nobody does. But you remember a few years ago we were all told to find a grey-bearded whoreson with a twisted leg?

  Nesca was offering ten golden auri. Remember? It must be at least five years. "

  "Aye, I remember that. No one ever found him. You think this is the same one?"

  "I don't know, but the whoreson has a grey beard and a twisted leg and he ran. You want to share ten gold auri with the others?" There was a short silence, then, "What if he's not the right one?"

  "If he's dead when we take him back, he's the right one. You think they're going to question a corpse? Let's go in and get him. " I took a deep, silent breath as they stepped into the doorway and stood there, so close to me that I could smell them. I could have reached out and touched them from behind the pile of fork handles between us.

  "It's dark, " the smaller of them breathed.

  His companion took one step into the gloom and crouched there, his head moving as he scanned the darkened space in front of them. He held a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. The smaller one moved forward, too, and noticed the ladder stretching upwards into the gloom. He touched the other's arm, nodding towards it. Neither of them so much as glanced behind in my direction. They were convinced that I would have sought safety in the darkness ahead of them.

  I looked hard at them in the light that fell through the doorway. The large one was the one with the apelike face. Neither of them wore armour of any description.

  Ape Face pointed to the ladder and signalled to his companion to go up, indicating that he would remain there, on the floor, and they both moved forward cautiously, scanning the shadows ahead of them. Then, apparently satisfied that I must be up above, the big one signalled again, more urgently, for the other to go up the ladder. The smaller man started to climb, slowly, using only his right hand, his sword clutched in his left, his eyes straining up into the gloom above him where he thought the danger lay. Ape Face stayed where he was in the middle of the floor, about four paces from me.

  I transferred my sword into my left hand and grasped the hilt of the skystone dagger in my right, my arm stretched across my body, not daring to unsheathe it lest the sound alarm them before I was ready. When the climber reached the eighth rung, I judged the time was right and launched myself like a lance, my left arm extended to cut down the distance between Ape Face and myself and my right whipping the skystone dagger out of its sheath. The point of my sword took the big fellow low in the back with all my weight behind it, and as he arched away from the stabbing blade I brought my right hand whipping round in an arc and plunged the dagger, point first, up into the softness beneath his chin, driving for the brain, killing him instantly. I released the sword immediately and kept on turning with the impetus of my swing, pulling the dagger free and dropping to my right knee as my right arm came back behind my head ready to throw.

  The man on the ladder made a perfect target. His companion's death had come so suddenly and unexpectedly that he was caught completely by surprise. He teetered there, gaping at me lacking the presence of mind s even to shout and presenting the full breadth of his chest for me to aim at. I threw with all my strength, aiming for the centre of his chest. The skystone dagger made a silver streak and thudded into the hollow at the base of his throat, cutting his chance of screaming forever. His chin snapped downward against the hilt; his eyes flew wide and his mouth moved uselessly, making a wet, gurgling, choking sound. Then he fell slowly forward, bolt upright, crashing head-first to the floor. I was beside him almost as he hit the ground, pulling my dagger from his throat. I cleaned the blade roughly on his tunic and then scrambled to the body of his ape-faced companion, rolling him over without ceremony to retrieve my sword. My heart was hammering in my ears and I was ready for anything, fully expecting the noise of the killings to have been overheard. But the moments passed, and no one appeared in the doorway; I heard no shouts of alarm.

  My eyes had grown accustomed to the dimness by this time, so that the shadows were no longer quite so black, and the sprawled corpses appeared to be lit now by bright sunlight. I looked about me more carefully. There were bundles of hay piled in one rear corner of the stable and a tall heap of straw in the other. Apart from those, the place was empty. I reviewed my options and discovered, not to my surprise, that I had virtually none. I could stay there and hide, or I could try to run. My own companions were less than two streets away from me, still loading our wagon with hemp, but it might as well have been twenty miles. I was a marked man. The whole town would be looking for a grey-bearded man with a limp, and there were people everywhere. I might be able to hide my face somehow, but I couldn't possibly walk without limping. I had to stay there and hope for the best, which meant that I had to hide the bodies of Ape Face and his friend.

  It took me several minutes of strenuous pulling and hauling to drag them over to the piled bundles of hay and rearrange the stooks to cover them, and at every second I expected someone to appear in the open doorway to the midden. Finally I had them lying together and almost out of sight. I broke the binding of two bundles and scattered loose hay over their sprawling forms, and then I crossed the floor and scattered loose straw over the blood that lay puddled where they had fallen, stamping it down to soak up the moisture and scattering more fresh stuff on top of that. There was a lot of blood, and as I tried to hide it I was thinking ironically of my debate with myself on the morality of killing. Satisfied at last that I had done all I could to hide the signs of violence, and more conscious than ever of the door that gaped so widely onto the midden, I withdrew into the opposite corner from the corpses and crouched behind the pile of straw, my eyes fixed on the white rectangle of light. I did not even consider climbing up into the loft. I was trapped badly enough, there on the ground. This was one of the few occasions when I experienced no urge to vomit after violent action. That would come later, only after all danger was past. I had another sickness in my gut that told me I would have to wait a long time.

  I gave not a moment's thought to the possibility that one of my own men might unwittingly betray me to Nesca's people. My own soldiers were encamped a few miles from the town, in a clearing within sight of, but well hidden from, the road. The six men who had come into town with me were all farmers and all taciturn. They did not enjoy having to travel to the town and they had no trust in, or patience with, the people who made their
living there. If asked by any stranger about having seen a limping, grey-haired man, they would automatically assume I was in trouble, and they would deny any knowledge of me. At the same time, I hoped, they would start looking for me themselves.

  I had almost schooled my heartbeat to a moderate pace when a new danger set it to racing again. I had completely missed seeing the door that suddenly crashed open, spilling lamplight into the darkened stable and bringing my heart bounding in terror into my throat. It was flush with the wall I was crouching against, and made from the same rough planking. It was flung open with such violence that it crashed all the way back to the wall, missing me by inches, and then rebounded to mask me from the man who stepped through the opening, muttering under his breath. He crossed the open floor in eight great strides and busied himself with closing and barring the outside door, all the while keeping up a string of curses and imprecations.

  Quietly and carefully, my heart still pounding in my throat, knowing that he could turn and see me at any second, I stood up and stepped around the open door into the short passageway beyond, hoping against all hope that the place I was going to would be empty. It was — empty and almost dark. The only light came from two lamps and a few narrow cracks between the boards of the shutters that sealed the single window. The door leading to the street was solid-looking and solidly barred. The place was a chandler's shop, cluttered with clay lamps of all shapes and sizes and amphorae and smaller jars of oil. It smelled pungently and aromatically of oils and camphor. To my left, a set of dangerous-looking steps led up to another loft, where the owner obviously lived. I crossed the room quickly and pressed my eye to one of the cracks in the shutters. There was chaos in the street outside; people were running in every direction and the scene reeked of panic. As I watched, I saw an old, grey-bearded man being hauled bodily across my line of sight by two hulking bullies. I had time to see no more, for from behind me came the roaring voice of the shop owner, arguing with someone. I looked again for somewhere to hide as I heard a slamming noise from the stable at the rear and the quick, angry sound of approaching footsteps. I moved quickly and tried to conceal myself behind the rickety steps in the corner just as the man came back into the room.

  He was big — tall and broad-shouldered — so that he had to stoop coming through the doorway. As he began to straighten up, he saw my feet and froze for a heartbeat, and then he straightened up completely, eyeing me warily. He made no sound, and I saw that he carried no weapon. He looked me straight in the eye, and then his gaze dropped to my left knee. I remained motionless, my hand on the hilt of my sword. Unhurriedly, he closed the door behind him and moved two steps into the shop, coming to rest facing me with his buttocks resting against the small counter that held many of his wares. There was no fear in his eyes. The only sounds came from the street outside, where one woman screamed above the general noise, her voice ululating like a demented owl's. When he spoke, his voice was deep, and clearer than I would have expected.

  "There's a lot of grief out there, " he said. "I hope you're worth it. " I reached into my tunic with my left hand and pulled out a heavy purse. I tossed it onto the countertop beside him, where it landed with a solid, full sound.

  "The price on my head is ten gold auri, " I said. "There's at least that many in that bag, perhaps a few more. That presents you with an important choice. You can yell for help and die now, or you can pretend to help me and claim the reward later, hoping you'll get it. My guess is you won't smell it, once I'm taken, and you won't get what's in the bag there, either. "

  His face was expressionless. "There has to be a third choice, one where I keep the money. What is it?"

  I told him. "There's a ropery, about two streets from here. You know it?" He nodded. "I know it. "

  "Well, my men are there, loading a wagon with hemp. They don't know what's going on. Bring them here, to your back door, the one you just closed. Once I'm safe in the wagon, covered up, we'll leave, and you can keep the purse. "

  "Ten gold auril Do you take me for a fool? You'd leave me choking in my own blood for a tenth of that. A twentieth!"

  I shrugged. "I wouldn't. The money's not important. I can't expect you to believe that, but nevertheless, it's true. I carry it with me in case I ever find the opportunity to buy iron. "

  He was glaring at me sceptically. "Iron? You buy iron with gold?" I nodded my head. "That's right, I do. Raw iron. Ingot iron. At least I would, if I could. But iron ingots are becoming more hard to find than gold auri. " I could still see doubt and disbelief in his face, and I shrugged.

  "Take my word for it. We're going to have to trust each other, I fear. " He was silent for a spell, looking me straight in the eye with a speculative glare, then, "Look, stranger, I don't know who you are and I don't want to know, but nobody is worth ten gold auri, that's too ridiculous for words. "

  I nodded to the pouch. "Count it. "

  "Oh, I believe it's there. That's a heavy little purse, and you didn't pack it with flat stones knowing you'd be meeting me. But what I'm wondering is this: what did you do to Quinctilius Nesca that makes your hide worth ten gold auri?"

  I could have lied to him, but something in his expression prompted me to tell him the truth.

  "I broke his favourite nephew's face and carved my initials in his chest."

  "You what?" There was laughing disbelief on his face now.

  "You heard me. "

  "Aye, I heard you. " He shook his head. "Who was his nephew?"

  "He still is — I didn't kill him. I just put my mark on him. Caesarius Claudius Seneca. "

  His eyes grew round. "The crazed one? Him? He's Nesca's nephew?" I nodded. "Aye, or his cousin. They're related. " He frowned. "But isn't he the Procurator?"

  "He was. He's disappeared. But he was here before, about six years ago, visiting on business for the Emperor. That's when we — met. " He shook his head again and then moved suddenly to the window. I tensed and jerked my dagger out, prepared to throw it, but he merely put his eye to a crack as I had done and made no move to open the shutters. I relaxed slightly, and after a few seconds he turned back to me.

  "You haven't a hope of getting out of this town today. Not a chance. They're searching door to door, and the less luck they have the harder they'll look. Nesca's a powerful man and a bad one to cross. He won't stop looking for you until he's tossed this whole town upside-down. You're safe here, for now at least. They've already been here. That's why I shut up shop, and why I knew who you were the minute I saw you. How did you get in?"

  "You passed me on your way to close the back door. I slipped in here while your back was turned. "

  "Just as well you did. They came there, too, while I was shutting up —

  the same ones who had searched the front here earlier. I sent them packing. "

  "They searched the stable?"

  "Not thoroughly, just had a quick look. I told them there was no one there and I was still angry at them from the first time, so they believed me. Why?"

  I decided to hold my peace and said nothing.

  "Hmmm, " he said, tapping a thumb-nail against his teeth. "You're a lucky man. "

  I grimaced. "Lucky? You think so? Why?"

  "Got away from them, didn't you? And you finished up here. "

  "That makes me lucky? I suppose it does. "

  "It does, friend. That makes you lucky. "

  He was hinting at something, but I didn't know what.

  "How? I don't follow you, "

  He picked up the bag of gold and opened it, pouring a stream of coins onto the countertop. One of them he picked up and held towards me, between finger and thumb. "Because of this, " he said. "And because I hate Quinctilius Nesca's lard-filled guts because of this. " I said nothing, waiting for him to continue. He flipped the coin. "If I'd had ten of these, six years ago, I could have kept the business I had for five years before that gross slug came into my life. I borrowed some money from him and then lost my venture. He took everything I had. Even my wife. Not that she
went to him. She just left me. Couldn't adjust to the pauper's life. " His big fist closed suddenly over the gold coin and he scowled. "This Seneca, Nesca's cousin. It never occurred to me the Procurator might be the same man. What does he look like?"

  "Why do you ask that? Have you seen him?"

  The big man shook his head. "I don't know. I may have. You said he was here in Britain six years ago. That's when I had my trouble with Nesca, and he had a fellow with him at that time who caused a deal of trouble around here. I'd never seen him before, and neither had anyone else. But he was a really unpleasant bastard, handsome as a god and evil as a snake.

  " He jerked his eyes away from mine and moved towards the window.

  "That sounds like Seneca, " I said. "He was always good to look at, providing you didn't look too deeply. Did he offend you personally?"

  "Aye, you might say that. " His voice was low and deep in his throat.

  "You might indeed. " He moved back to the small counter he had been leaning against and began to smooth his thumb over its wooden surface, concentrating tightly on the grained pattern of the wood. "I had a son, a boy of five. He disappeared, and we never saw him again. Wolves, we were told, or a bear in the woods. Stupid to say the boy knew he was forbidden to go into the woods. He was gone. My wife was, too, soon after... " His voice choked into silence, and I saw his shoulders shake, but then he went on. "Later, months afterward, I found out that there were five young boys went missing that summer. Five of them. And it worked out that they all disappeared while Quinctilius Nesca's unpopular houseguest was in residence. And there were witnesses who saw the houseguest with two of the boys just before they were reported missing... Seneca. His name was Seneca...