by Bilinmeyen
“Won’t allow visitors,” he explained needlessly.
I nodded at Agetan and Bohscyld, who nodded, grunted and moved to the corridor.
“What’s this?” I heard, then a crash and a thump. I glanced inside the doorway and saw them dragging the man under a stairway. There were ripping sounds, as they stripped and tied him with the tunic’s remains, and it all happened so fast we had barely time to react. Rochus shrugged and moved in.
“Might as well, since you are not going to stop, no matter what.”
I pulled Eyes to me. “Go tell Marcus what we agreed on. And do try to avoid trouble.”
“Yes, sir,” he said happily. “It’s the first floor to the left.”
We entered the stairway, made our way to landing, dodging some cats dashing after a rat, and found a securely locked door. I pushed at it, Tudrus nudged it.
“Knock?” Wandal mouthed.
I pulled on a hood, took a deep breath, and kicked the door so hard it exploded in. I pulled my sword and stepped inside. The room was filled with fine furniture, expensive wall paintings, gold and silver strewn on a very long, red table, and the window shutters were closed.
Oil lamps illuminated the interior.
And there were men in the room.
Two guardsmen got up from a table, pulling swords in shock. One was the redhead of the second turma. He looked pale and sick, and I guessed I had wounded him badly. The other man was blond and thick-muscled, obviously drunk, and I knew he was another guard. The redhead took a step forward. “Who are you? I warn you,” he said, brandishing his gladius. “This is no place to rob. You’ll be found, hanged, and thrown to the fucking animals, if you don’t go!”
“I’m a fucking animal,” I said, and nudged down the hood. “Damned sure I am one. Remember me from the other night?”
He stuttered. The blond man cursed, stepping back. Rochus blocked the door with a drawn blade, and Tudrus, Agetan, and Bohscyld walked to the sides of the men. Brimwulf pulled his bow and an arrow, and walked slowly for the windows, keeping an eye on the nervous men. Wandal was near my back.
I pulled Nightbright and faced them. “You have a nice home here. Smells of treason, though.”
The redhead dipped his head, yet his eyes never left mine. “I’m Rallo. Just thought you should know my name, and remember it after. Will you give us a chance to fight?”
“Chance?” I asked him scornfully. “Like you gave me?”
“That was not our choice,” he growled. “Just a job.”
I grinned. “No chance for you, unless you speak. Who is Kleitos working with?”
“Who?” he asked, shaking his head. The blond man looked down, holding on to his sword, his lips moving in silent prayer. Rallo shrugged and straightened his shoulders. “There is nothing for us to say about Kleitos. We only follow orders, Raven. Only that. They tell us to kill someone, we kill someone. I don’t know who works for whom. Torture us, if you will, but you won’t get anything useful, because we know little.”
Tudrus grunted and nodded at the room. “What’s in here?”
Rallo lifted his shoulders. “Marcus’s house. Worth guarding? I know not. We don’t care for his scrolls, or words. He’s a servant, like we are.”
I stared at a stack of wooden tablets and heaps of scrolls laid to the side, some written on papyrus, others on cow skin, many on wood. There were heaps of them, possibly a hundred or more. “How much are they stealing from the Guard?”
He snorted. “Everyone steals. Everyone.”
I shook my head. “Nothing you wish to tell me to save your lives?”
Rallo breathed deep. “We gave our oaths. We die by them. But, I’ll tell you this. You’ll be sorry.”
I stepped forward. “See you at Woden’s table, Rallo.”
He roared and charged. The blond one whirled and rushed Brimwulf by the window. An arrow ripped to his chest, and he howled, spinning to the floor, the sword clattering. Rallo came at me, stabbing his sword for my throat. He fell to his side as Tudrus kicked him down. He climbed up at my feet, fumbling for his weapon, but Bohscyld stabbed his sword to his throat.
He died, gasping for breath like a fish on dry land.
I walked over him for the scrolls. I riffled through them, feeling lost at the jumble of writing. There were numbers, calculations, reports; so many it was hard to say what they were for. Some were written in Greek, others in Latin, and I could not begin to decipher most of them.
“Agetan, Bohscyld,” I said. “Go to the street. If, hopefully when, Marcus arrives, make sure he doesn’t get cold feet and runs away. If he has company, follow them in. The rest of us will wait.”
“And how will we make that one speak?” Tudrus asked, toeing the two men. “These two were afraid to betray their masters. If Marcus is like that, we will be left holding our dicks.”
I nodded grimly. “You can leave. As for me, it’s past time to worry. And Marcus will speak, even if we must break each of his fingers,” I said. “He will know things.” I nodded towards the scrolls. “Some might be very interesting. And, if we are lucky, this Marcus will know a lot. Perhaps names.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Rochus asked softly. “Can’t you see how far off-course this ship is sailing?”
“I am committed,” I said miserably. “But, you can go.”
Tudrus was nodding. “I hope you know what you are doing. But, I’ll prepare a chair and some ropes. Brimwulf, keep an eye on the street.”
Rochus cursed. “I’ll stay.”
The archer’s eyes flashed, and I could see he was worried as well. And so was I.
***
I sat on the desk, playing with a dagger, trying to remain calm. An hour passed, and I was about to get up, when Brimwulf rapped his knuckles on the window shutter. “A man rushing down there. He’s alone.”
I nodded grimly. “Probably thinks his guard is busy saving all his treasures. Didn’t bring more men. Good.” We all stared at Brimwulf.
“He is frowning, looking up,” he said. “The house is not on fire, and he’s confused. Perhaps he smells a trap.”
We waited.
Brimwulf breathed deep. “He’s coming. Agetan’s moving.”
Time ticked by slowly as we waited. Finally, there were steps in the corridor, then someone was coming up. The noise stopped, and then the sound of footsteps faded, until a man shrieked and went silent.
Tudrus was holding his face. “I hope they didn’t kill the bastard. They cannot pet a dog without bruising it.”
“I pray they didn’t,” I said, and we turned to see the twins hauling up an unconscious man. His hawk-nose was broken, it was clear, but he was breathing. We tied a rag around his eyes, and I contemplated on my promise to Ares. He wanted to kill the man. We needed him alive. He could be the key to everything. I’d make his squeal. And I’d no longer have to hurt Cassia.
“Strap him in,” I said, and Tudrus pulled a heavy, sturdy chair to the middle of the room. We tied him up, Brimwulf staying by the window. Rochus was by the door, and I fetched a mug of water. I took a deep breath, and poured it over his head. “Play along, friends,” I said.
He slowly sputtered to life, began to pant, spitting water and blood out of his nose. The lover of Kleitos wasn’t too brave right at that moment.
“In the name of gods, what is this?” he shrieked. I pressed the dagger to his face, and he froze, panting. “Robbing me is a bad idea,” he managed softly, but went very quiet as the blade drew blood.
“We—” I began to ask, but he sobbed and squirmed.
“Where are Rallo and Cyneric?” he asked with a small voice.
I snorted. “They are here. We, some of us decided to relieve you of all the riches you possess, my friend. Rallo has been telling us of it, and that’s why we are here.”
“Rallo?” he breathed. “Why would Rallo do this? He gets paid so well! Answer me, Rallo!”
I pushed him. “Shut up. No man is paid enough, when there’s more to be had,” I expl
ained. “And we want more.”
He was shaking his head, the blade hovering near his face. “I have nothing to give. This is it,” he wept, and then I moved the dagger to his neck.
“Oh, we will take what we can from this place,” I said. “Then, we shall take something else. You’ll help us. Tell me, are any of those scrolls worth anything?”
“No!” he squealed, and I pressed the blade deeper to his skin. It opened up, blood trickling from the nick. He went on, his voice shaking. “They are just documents.”
I chuckled. “Yes, and that’s curious. Rallo has been wondering about that. Why not keep things like these in the Block? Why not? Why keep them here, and protect them with men of the Guard, eh? They must be valuable. Sensitive? No?” I grasped a finger of his. “There is something you wish to hide. A lot, I bet.”
“You don’t know who you are playing with here,” he whispered, trembling with fear.
“I’ll give you one chance to tell me,” I said, and held on to the finger, moving the dagger on top of it. “Or ten. You choose. Don’t make me take them all off. I’ll just move to your prick and toes next. The Prefect won’t like a prickless man, Marcus.”
My friends were looking on, incredulous. I was the sword of Tiberius, and it had led us from being warriors into being murderers. And Marcus, a weak man, was about to get tortured. I felt darkness creeping in my soul, but there was no going back.
He shuddered. “Kleitos has a lot of power. He’ll find you.”
“Kleitos,” I said softly, “might be too busy paying us to kill us. Kleitos has a lot of secrets.”
“Kleitos does have a lot of secrets,” Marcus agreed softly, his finger trembling with the touch of the dagger.
“What do you have?” I asked him, and he was shuddering with indecision. He was swallowing, shaking his head.
“I must not,” he whispered.
I cut.
The blade went to the bone, and Agetan clamped a hand over his mouth as he screamed with pain. I kept the dagger there, until he stopped thrashing. “What do you have? Who is his master, or mistress? You still have ten fingers, though this one won’t probably extend ever again.”
“Mistress?” he said with shudders, as Agetan released his mouth. “Livia, of course. His master is Augustus. And—”
I growled him silent. “There are rumors. Fat rumors of a conspiracy,” I said bluntly. “Does he belong to a conspiracy to murder Tiberius, and who is he working with? Julia? Someone else? There must be someone else. He is dumb as a mule.”
He went still. His face didn’t move as he frowned. He spoke, his voice resigned. “Tallo is dead, right?”
I cursed and shrugged. “Tallo is dead. And I want the answers, or you’ll join him.”
He was sitting very still and silent. The blade was in the bone of his finger, and I kept it there, as blood dripped on to his lap. “I don’t know.”
“I’ll take the hand, Marcus.”
“Will you try to squeeze him for money?” he asked desperately. “He might pay you.”
“We will,” I said. “We will, indeed.”
He gave up, clearly loathing himself. “Kleitos has a powerful mistress,” he said desperately. “Though I do not know her name. Julia? The daughter of Augustus? Could be. And, yes, I know he has been involved in a murder that took place in the family. He bragged about it.”
“That of Drusus?” I asked, and the man went shockingly quiet.
I pressed the knife on the wound.
“So he claimed,” Marcus said thinly, in pain. “But, only Kleitos knows who this mistress is. And he has told me nothing of his potential allies. He occasionally meets with men who seem odd and out of place, but I am just his servant. I manage his stolen assets, not his secrets. He shares nothing like that with anyone.”
“And the scrolls?” I asked, horribly disappointed. I saw the face of Rochus, and it was gaunt with fear.
Marcus nodded his head around, as he was not sure what way he was seated. “What’s in these scrolls are deeds. Things we have bought with the money he has stolen from Augustus. He has a lot of money. Much more than they would pay a man like him. It is true he is very rich, but perhaps not clever enough to make such money unless he deals in some shit I know nothing of. There are some personal scrolls of his, somewhere in the pile. A few of them. At least one. He had them before I began working for him. But, he wouldn’t write anything incriminating about his part in such conspiracies down. He is not that stupid. But, as I said, he did tell me his mistress had a hand in the murder of Drusus. That is true. No evidence, though. I don’t know anything about anyone else.”
Only Kleitos would know names. Would he come to us?
We needed more. “Tell me,” I spoke to him. “What does Kleitos do in his spare time? Will he be here today?”
Tudrus rubbed his face, knowing we had moved from very thin ice into a freezing river. I growled away his horror, and pushed Marcus.
“Fucks me, sometimes,” he answered crudely and screamed as I took his next finger, pushing the dagger to the bone. He calmed down quickly enough, and spoke, panting. “Kleitos? He rarely rests. He has things to manage. He protects his many assets. He isn’t overly clever, but curiously knows how to manage his businesses fairly well. Suspicious nature is good in that sort of work. Sometimes he comes here, but lately, not so often. I don’t know. He is tired of me, maybe.”
I cursed. Kleitos might not come there, possibly for days. I leaned forward and spoke into his ear. “What kind of businesses does he own?” He flinched away from me, but calmed when the dagger scraped the bone.
“Many!“ he yelled. “Taverns, whorehouses, bakeries, gold smiths, gladiators—”
I grabbed his chin, as a spark of hope lit in my mind. “Does he own a ludus?” I asked and held my breath.
The man slumped. He took a deep, ragged breath. “Yes. It’s his favorite business.”
“Snake Pit?” I asked him.
“Yes,” he said. “But—”
“But, it recently moved,” I added. “It moved, and now it is located elsewhere. Does he visit the place?”
He cursed. “He does. He goes there every night after his duty in the Guard.”
“But, not here?”
“I told you,” he said with tears. “He is bored of me. Sometimes he does come here, often not. But, he does go to some of these businesses daily. There are many things to manage in a ludus. He then goes to some others, before he decides if he will come to me, or go to some other man-whore of his. He claims to love me.” At that, he visibly gathered his bravery, and grew a pair of balls. “I won’t tell you anything more. Take the fingers.”
I punched him, Agetan grabbed his mouth, and I cut off his middle digit. When he woke up, he was crying and pained. I hardened my heart to his horror. He was an accomplice to murders, thievery, and killings, and gods knew what else. “Where is the Snake Pit?” I asked him. “And does he go there every night?”
“I told you he does,” he sobbed. “It’s in the valley of Quirinalis,” he gasped, his hand shaking with fear. I smelled piss, and guessed he would not lie any longer. “He has a ludus near the temple of Flora and Quirinalis. A brick thing. Snake Pit is there now. The locals don’t like it, but we paid well—”
“And who leads it?” I asked him. “They hire new gladiators?”
He nodded unhappily. “They hire. Thracians.”
“Dacians?” I asked him.
He sobbed. “Yes. Dacians.”
“Istros?” I asked him. “Is there a man named Istros there?”
“I’d have to check the scrolls,” he said, and before I could move the dagger, he nodded. “There is a man by that name. Snake Arm. Some of his clansmen have similar tattoos.”
I looked at my friends. They were grinning. I went on. “You said he occasionally meets up with men you think are odd or out of place. Is there a man called Antius? A fat bastard. Huge.”
He froze. “Who are you?” he asked, frightened.
“There might be a man like that,” he answered. “I’ve seen one. Few days ago in the ludus. I don’t usually go with him, but did that day. Though he is not called Antius. No. There are many fat men in the world. Might not be the same one.”
I got up and glanced over at Tudrus and Rochus. I pulled them after me to the side and leaned on them. “How many hours until the night?” I asked them.
Rochus squinted out the window. “Some few. We have duty, remember? We are already breaking the rules. You are not thinking about ambushing Kleitos?”
“We’ve come this far, Cherusci,” Tudrus said with a grin. “Might as well go out blazing like a pyre.”
“We’ll go there,” I said. “And leave the bastard here trussed up.” I looked at Agetan. “Take every scroll with us. Every single one. Leave the wooden ones. Throw them into a sheet, and we will carry them. We’ll take them to the tavern, and then we go find the ludus.”
Rochus held his face. “You are fucking mad. You are ruining this.”
Wandal laughed. “Woden loves him. Perhaps it will go well.” The Quadi were nodding, and Brimwulf, keen to get Mathildis off the Palatine, was smiling.
I bowed my head, sucking in a shuddering breath. “Kleitos will speak. Take writing equipment as well as the scrolls,” I said darkly. “He’ll be signing and writing a confession, if things go well. He is our only hope.”
CHAPTER 15
The sign outside the large, gated house depicted a coiled serpent. I was staring at it from the shadows of a temple of Flora. The area was a curious mix of the old and new, with marble fountains and ancient, brick houses, some wooden, in the valley. Water was running down the street, and darkness had nearly descended as Sunna disappeared beyond the horizon.
I squinted, trying to see the insides of the place. There was clanging sound from the compound, as someone was hammering something, and there were a few lights beyond the gate. I could see a large, open yard, with a beaten ground. There were porticos surrounding the yard, and perhaps barred rooms underneath. At the far corner, there was a squat building with two stories.