The Leopard Vanguard

by T. A. Uner

  {III}

  Paullus loaded his cart with the new fabrics he had purchased while his oxen waited patiently. The sun began its slow descent from a red sky while a warm breeze tickled his beard. He thanked the merchant who sold him the fabrics, and with his heavy load secured safely in the cart, he climbed up on the bench and urged his two oxen forward.

  “Both of you were so patient today,” Paullus said to the creatures. “I shall have to find you both a worthy treat. He smiled as he thought of the new pavilion that would showcase Tullus and Celestra’s act. Paullus felt a sense of pride at what Tullus had accomplished in such a short time. He thought about what he said to Tullus the other day about the baggage cart. Should he tell Tullus about the gold? Perhaps, someday he would. And then there was the dangerous item buried beneath it.

  The cart slowly made its way through crowded streets as Paullus sought to leave the city before the skies darkened. He passed by a bathhouse and decided to clean himself before returning home. He paid the bathhouse attendant an extra 10 denarii to watch his cart. Paullus undressed and entered the pool. The warm water felt good on his skin and he dipped his head into it to cleanse his face. After cleaning himself in the bath house he dressed and returned to his cart.

  “A man told me to give this to you sir,” the attendant said, handing him a yellowed parchment with a wax seal affixed to it. Paullus took it and broke open the seal. The parchment was blank inside except for a small drawing in the center. Paullus squinted to take a closer look at the drawing: it was the crest of a black scorpion poised above two crossed spears. Paullus crumpled the paper and stuffed it inside his tunic. He knew he was under watch but that did little to change his situation. Paullus climbed up onto the bench and the oxen trudged forward, sticking to the main road so he would have the cover of other Roman citizens nearby.

  He thought about the scorpion seal on the parchment and realized his only hope was to lose himself in the forest outside the city. The cart clattered along the road until he came upon a beggar blocking his path.

  “Coin for a blind man?” the beggar asked, extending a hand, his face shrouded under a hooded cloak. Paullus thought this strange since Rome was in the middle of summer but he tossed the beggar a brass sestertius coin.

  “Now, please let me pass.”

  The beggar eyed the coin, scoffed, and then tossed it away. “You always had a softness for the downtrodden Paullus.” The man lowered his hood and Paullus gazed upon a face from his past.

  “Camus Scorpio, I’d hoped to never set eyes on you again.”

  “So kind of you to say so Paullus,” Scorpio replied uncouthly, “but we have unfinished business…you and I: a fortune in gold you stole from me.”

  Paullus heard footsteps behind him and soon his cart was surrounded by a small group of men armed with swords, dirks and spiked clubs. Next to one of the men a Black Panther growled, slaver dripping from its mouth, revealing a sharp set of teeth.

  “That gold never belonged to you Camus, but your greed always did seem to get the better of you.”

  Scorpio flashed Paullus a rancorous look. “I’ve been waiting years for this day Paullus.”

  Scorpio turned toward a spindly man with long matted hair. “Wound him, but make sure you don’t kill.” The man hurled a dagger at Paullus’ feet. The blade whizzed past Paullus’ leg before embedding itself into the bench. Paullus leaped off the cart and ran towards an alleyway. He ran as fast as his legs could take him, behind him he heard Scorpio’s curses, and the pounding footsteps of his pursuers. An arrow whistled past Paullus’ ear. Despite his age Paullus pulled away from his pursuers as the loud footsteps and catcalls of Scorpio and his men faded behind him.

  Paullus passed by various shops flanking the alleyway and ducked behind a butcher’s stall were slabs of meat hanging on hooks were on display. He spotted a niche doorway near the stall and hid under a shadow that shrouded the entranceway of a building. A few moments later Scorpio and two of his men ran past him. One of the men–the one with the black panther–looked around desperately while Scorpio barked orders at him and the man with the club. The panther growled and tilted its head toward Paullus’ hiding spot. A few tense moments elapsed before the panther took off behind the large man down another alleyway across from where Paullus hid, while Scorpio and the man with the club continued their original course. Paullus’ heart beat franticly against his chest while he backtracked from his hiding spot. A butcher in a bloody apron shot him an incredulous look.

  Paullus stopped near a wizened-looking basket weaver who started pushing his wares on him. Ignoring the basket weaver’s overtures Paullus looked around to check for any further pursuit. When he felt confident that his pursuers were outwitted, Paullus considered his next move. Across from where he stood his oxen waited for him with the cart, but he knew it would be unwise to approach them. Scorpio had probably left a scout in the vicinity to watch for him in case he returned. Knowing that every moment he spent in the city increased his chances of detection Paullus slowly inched his way along the side of the road. He cursed his luck as the streets were practically deserted of people, hurting his chances of blending in with them. When Paullus turned his head around to check over his shoulder he didn’t see the large foot in time to avoid it. He tripped over it and fell face-first against the dusty road.

  “Thought you could outsmart Evol Mur did you?” said a gruff voice. Paullus stood up and eyed the lanky, long-haired man in front of him. Moments later he felt a small knife embed itself into his ribs. The pain shot through the right side of his body and he clutched the bloody wound.

  “You fucking idiot,” said another voice. “Camus told us not to hurt him.” Another man appeared behind Evol Mur. He wore an unwashed tunic. Paullus didn’t know which was worse: the pain of his injury or having to endure the second man’s body odor.

  “You shut up,” Evol Mur said. “He’s mine and I mean to collect the reward. While the two men argued over his fate, Paullus carefully removed a small knife from inside his tunic. With a surge of strength only the Gods could bestow he sunk the knife into the neck of the foul-smelling newcomer so quickly that Evol Mur could only watch in horror as blood splattered across his face. Paullus pushed the dead man into Evol Mur and the two men toppled to the ground like felled trees.

  Paullus grasped his ribcage and he felt his warm blood stain his fingertips. He ran as fast as he could while trying to force the pain from his mind. He needed to think quickly if he was to evade his pursuers. Across the street was a horse cart filled with barley. Looking around he saw no sign of pursuit. Thanking Fortuna, Paullus snuck around the back of the cart to avoid the cart driver and slid in between two clumps of barley. Once hidden, he tore off a piece of his tunic sleeve and wrapped it around his wound. The blood created a crescent-shaped stain on the cloth, but it helped stem the blood loss. Peeking through a hole in the wooden board surrounding the bed of the cart, Paullus saw Evol Mur looking for him, the front of his tunic marred with fresh blood stains. The cart driver urged the horses forward and Paullus breathed a sigh of relief as he was whisked away from his enemies.

  {IV}

  The cart bounced through the street while Paullus struggled to keep conscious. Above him the sky faded into a dark violet hue as Paullus eyed a crescent moon shining down from the heavens. Despite the makeshift bandage over his wound, Paullus realized he was bleeding again as the front of his tunic was drenched in blood. Knowing he didn’t have the strength or time to locate a Medicus only made him more determined to reach the Troupe’s camp so he could see his friends one last time.

  Paullus thought about his predicament: the unexpected appearance of Camus Scorpio didn’t surprise him much. He lived with the fact that one day he would have to face the ghosts of his past. Paullus accepted his impending death with serenity. He knew Scorpio wouldn’t rest until the gold was recovered. Scorpio’s henchmen would be scouring every inch of Rome and the countryside looking for him. And then the other item buried beneath the gol
d. The thought of that falling into the wrong hands was disturbing. Tullus must be told the truth.

  The cart came to a stop and Paullus heard footsteps as they made a crunching noise up on the dry, rutted earth. He tried shifting his weight away from his wound but the pain only increased while his breath became shallow.

  “Who are you?” The driver said. Paullus looked into the incredulous eyes of a young man with a gaunt face.

  “Forgive me. I am a humble traveler hitching the last ride of his life,” Paullus said. His eyelids fluttered.

  “You’re wounded,” the man said as he eyed the thick bloodstains on Paullus’ tunic.

  “I apologize for the mess I have made of your barley,” Paullus said. He coughed into a bloody fist. “I have denarii inside my money pouch. You may take it in return for the trouble I have caused you.”

  “We can discuss that later,” the man said. “First we must get that wound taken care of. My wife should be able to assist,” he said before climbing back onto the cart. Moments later the horses picked up speed and they started moving again. Paullus stared up at the stars once more. They gleamed back at him from the heavens like tiny silver coins and he wondered if this would be the last sight he saw before the cart rumbled to a stop again. Paullus heard the man’s voice call out to someone, but his head was spinning; he lost consciousness.

  In his delirium he attempted to evade Camus Scorpio’s men. They wore chain mail decorated with various Scorpion signets that leaped out at Paullus. He felt the Scorpion’s telson seeking him out like an insane murderer bent on spilling his blood. “You cannot hide from me Paullus,” said Camus Scorpio, “you cannot run from your past.” Paullus tried hacking away the telson with a sword but every time it grew back larger than before.

  Bellowing laughter followed him as he eyed his wound. It bled profusely while Paullus gasped for breath, then, to his horror, a black scorpion slithered out of it. It looked up at Paullus before its head transformed into the face of Camus Scorpio. “You cannot run from your past,” he repeated.

  Paullus’ eyes slowly flickered open. The dream made his fists clench while a line of sweat ran down the side of his head and settled inside his ear. As his eyesight slowly adjusted to his surroundings, Paullus found himself looking into the face of a plump, young woman.

  “Water,” Paullus said. The woman nodded and Paullus felt cold drops of water slide past his lips; the refreshing drink parched his dry throat.

  “You’ve lost a lot of blood,” the woman said. “Who did this to you?”

  “Thank you for your kindness,” Paullus replied, carefully avoiding the woman’s question while attempting to sit up, “but I really must be leaving.”

  The woman put her hand on Paullus’ chest and gently pushed him back until his head once again rested against the pillow. “You must rest; if you move around it will disturb the dressing on your wound, and, you will bleed to death.”

  “I’m dead already, my dear,” Paullus said. He muffled a cough with his fist while the muscles in his arm felt as if they had been stretched on a torturer’s rack. “If I don’t return to my friends, they will start worrying about me.”

  Paullus’ head started spinning again and the woman called out to a young boy with dark hair. After poking his head through the doorway the boy disappeared and returned with a cup and flagon. The woman poured the liquid into the cup and forced it down Paullus’ throat. It tasted sour. His eyelids grew heavy before he drifted off to sleep. Paullus awoke again. Outside the window of his room morning rays filtered through the shutters while a songbird chirped a soft melody. He felt no better than last night and when he looked up the woman was gone. Instead, the young boy sat in a wooden chair across from his bed.

  “Help me up, child,” Paullus said in a raspy voice.

  The boy remained silent; Paullus wondered if the child was deaf.

  “Didn’t you hear me? Please…help me up from this bed.”

  The boy’s eyes widened anxiously. “My mother told me that you shouldn’t leave your bed. If I help you up from the bed she will whip me.”

  Paullus laughed and felt the pain in his ribs spike through his chest. “What makes you think I won’t whip if you don’t do as I say?” he said.

  The boy looked at him worriedly again and Paullus wondered if the boy took his foolery to heart. He stood up from his chair and inched closer to Paullus with a cautious look on his face. “What do you want me to do?” he asked nervously.

  “Bring me a wooden stick, or staff, and hurry.”

  The boy rushed out of the room and returned with a thick tree branch. Paullus grasped the branch and slowly lifted himself from his bed while the boy threaded his arm through Paullus’ arm and helped him out of the bed. Paullus inched away from the bed and sat down on the chair before asking the boy to bring him his belongings. The boy attentively brought him his clothes and helped Paullus slip on his sandals.

  “Now, child, what is your name?”

  “Trophus.”

  “Trophus, my friend, where are your parents now?”

  “My mother left for the market to get vegetables for a stew she was going to cook for dinner. My father is a trader; he is usually away during the day.”

  “Trophus,” Paullus said calmly, “we must find my friends.”

  The boy looked at Paullus concernedly. “Are you sure it’s safe for you to travel? My mother told me you were ill. Why would you want to go?”

  Paullus admired Trophus’s compassion and smiled warmly at the boy. “I am trying to evade dangerous men. If I stay here, you and your family will be in danger as well. Is there a cart nearby…with horses? I must get away.”

  Trophus took Paullus’ hand and led him out of the house until they came upon a meager wooden stable with a thatched roof. After disappearing inside the stable, Trophus emerged with two bridled horses and led them by their reigns toward a small cart sitting next to the stable. “These are our two best horses,” Trophus said.

  Paullus nodded and took the reins in one hand while putting the weight of his body on the tree branch for support.

  “Follow me,” Trophus said as he led Paullus toward the wooden cart. Paullus watched Trophus produce a harness from the bed of the cart. He took the reins from Paullus and gently coaxed the horses backwards while carefully positioning them so their hindquarters were in front of the cart. He handed the reins back to Paullus before harnessing the horses. After the horses were hitched to the cart Trophus helped Paullus up on to the bench and they were on their way.

  The afternoon sun beat down on them mercilessly as they slowly made their way through the woods. The trail was rough and Paullus felt the pain from his wound spike through his body every time the cart hit a bumpy patch. “Here, I want to give you this,” Paullus said as he reached into his money pouch and dropped five silver coins into Trophus’s palm. The boy stared at the coins strangely, as if he had never seen currency before. Trophus shook his head and handed the coins back to Paullus.

  “My mother told me that we should always help those in need.”

  “Your mother is a woman of admirable character, but I insist. You can use the money to buy supplies to get you through the upcoming winter,” Paullus said. Despite Trophus shooting him a furtive glance, Paullus forced the coins back into the boy’s hand. “You are a fine boy Trophus; I predict you will grow into a fine man.”

  “Why are those men after you?”

  Paullus grinned while clutching his ribcage. “It is a long story, dating back from a time long before you were born.” Paullus felt another sharp pain shoot through his chest and when he looked down a wet patch of sticky brown blood had formed on his bandages. Trophus saw the bloodstain and stopped the cart.

  “We must get you back to the house.”

  Paullus shook his head. “There’s no time for that,” he insisted, “please Trophus, we must continue.”

  The boy looked at Paullus guiltily, before urging the horses forward. Above them the sky darkened as the sun made
its descent toward the horizon. Paullus felt dizzy. They came upon a fork in the road and the cart stopped again. “Now where?” Trophus asked.

  Paullus retraced the directions in his mind and pointed. “Take the right path.” Trophus nodded before pushing a water flagon into Paullus’ hands. The cool water tasted sweet but did little to quench Paullus’ thirst.

  The cart trudged along the path while Paullus struggled to stay in his seat. A chill crept up his chest and gnawed at his body like a vulture while his forehead simmered. The brown bloodstain stretched out until it spread along the side of his tunic.

  If only Trophus could get him back to the Troupe. He could die amongst friends.

  “I see something in the distance,” Trophus said excitedly as he pointed to a cluster of yellow campfires emanating within a sparse grove five hundred paces ahead of them.

  “That’s it; my friends are in that camp,” Paullus said. “Follow the path to the campfires Trophus, we’re almost there.”

  Eight/Octo

  Tullus held Anna’s sleeping body in his arms and dreamed of the future.

  A boy with sandy hair ran toward him. Tullus held the boy in his arms and embraced his little body while the child looked up at him with indigo eyes and giggled. “Father, why are you so sad?”

  “Why do you say that my son?” Tullus replied while the child touched his cheek with small pudgy fingers.

  “You look so…serious.”

  Tullus laughed, “You will make a fine oracle one day. But first, you must study your lessons.”

  “I don’t want to become an oracle, I wish to become a King like you and perform in front of people.”

  Tullus laughed again. “I am only a King in name child. A real king rules a kingdom. I only have Celestra and she rules herself most of the time.”

  “But you are famous,” the boy insisted, “and people love you, and–”

  “That’s enough questions for your father today, little one,” said a stern female voice.