by Bilinmeyen
“What is going on?” she asked.
“Gernot found Antius,” I said. “Or rather, Gaius Antius,” I answered.
“Gaius Antius?” she asked. “He found him? How is Gernot?”
“You will find out,” I whispered so none could hear. “You will go to him this evening.”
She nodded with a worried look on her face. “You are taking a risk.”
“Tiberius changed after I sent him the scroll,” I told her. “I need to know why. I need to capture Antius and find out what he knows. I’m doing what Augustus told me to do. I’m acting.”
“Augustus is out of Rome,” she said softly. “Should you wait for him?”
“I’m leaving you with a scroll,” I said, pressing it into her hand. “In it, I explain everything. Gernot will keep you safe, and when Augustus arrives, make sure he gets it.”
She hefted it, and nodded. “This is it. The final hill we must climb.”
“I hope so,” I said unhappily, worried for her.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
I rubbed my eyes tiredly, terrified of the journey ahead. “He is in Caesaria. Hiding, growing rich and fatter than ever. And so, love, I’m going to fetch him.”
“When?” she asked, her voice choking.
“This night,” I answered. “In an hour.”
She inclined her head, nervously clutching the letter. “Before you go, you will make me happy.” She handed the scroll to Flower, and took me into her embrace.
CHAPTER 28
I reported myself too sick for duty, and made my way to Forum Bovarium, avoiding crowds and ruffians. I snuck forward through muddy alleys, and came to a stable, where we were supposed to meet. I wore a plain tunic and cloak, and all our gear would be that of mercenaries. We would be taking a ship from Brundisium to Greece, and had to travel southeast from Rome. There would be a guide, money, and gear, and we had to hurry.
I waited, cursed, and fidgeted, stalking the two doorways to the stable. The night was filled with the gentle rustle of leaves as wind caressed olive trees, and crickets were playing their eternal song nearby.
And then, men appeared.
They came to the stable from both doorways, slinking in like shadows. One, a tall Roman in a glinting armor, led them.
Praetorians.
They all had shields and spears, well maintained killing things with sharp edges, and I cursed, because something had gone terribly wrong. I backed off to a stall, and they surrounded me. They stood before me, spears held my way, and the leader took a step forward, gesturing with his sword. “You have to come with us,” the man said with a commanding voice.
“Why?” I asked him. “Am I not allowed to spend time in a stable, Pretorian?”
He smiled softly. “We will ask you some questions, Guardsman. And we won’t do it in the stables.”
“What kind of questions?” I asked him doggedly, looking for a way out, but finding none.
“Harsh questions,” he said with a sneer, “They gave us an order to apprehend you and some others. There is a charge you are travelling to slay Augustus.”
I froze with horror. Such a charge would lead to execution block before I could explain, complain, or even fart. And then I feared for my friends, who would join me. So would my family, if they were found. Someone was trying to stop us, and gods know how they knew what we were up to.
I shook my head proudly. “I’m the man who stopped the slaying of the great man last time,” I said and pulled my sword. “I stopped it. And now, I’m riding to kill him? Who told you this?”
He shrugged. “I’m just a centurion, Guard. I get my orders from my Prefect. Ask him, when you see him. There will be an investigation. You will be allowed to answer the charges.”
“And how did you find me?” I asked him darkly.
He snorted as they spread around. “Your brother has been arrested. And the guide who was supposed to meet you here was not a very loyal creature.”
Gernot. They had found Gernot. And gods help me, perhaps the girls and my son, if Gernot had not been able to send them away. “Is he alive?” I asked, hoping the man would give me more.
“Everyone is still alive,” he snarled. “Everyone.”
I cursed him under my breath. He said everyone, and did that mean Cassia, and the others?
“I will not—” I began desperately, but the spears came close, and I had no chance to fight them.
“They will want to ask you questions,” he said resolutely, as they came so close, the spears hovered an inch from my chest. “They insist. They want you up in the Hill. You will come, or blood will flow. Simple.”
“Are you threatening my wife and child?” I snarled. “Threatening to hurt them?”
He shook his head. The man leered. “They will be found. We have your brother.”
They were, perhaps, safe still.
A large shadow rose behind one Pretorian. A fist swung. The soldier fell forward, the spear nearly impaling me. The others turned in surprise, and another one fell, his jaw probably broken by the cracking sound. I rushed the Centurion, whose sword whirled to stab me, but I grasped him, pushed him back, and he screamed, as Agetan’s sword was on his back. He howled as we fell and went limp, shuddering. Tudrus was attacking another man, and then pushed his blade into the man’s chest. Bohscyld was pummeling at two young praetorians so savagely, I saw a handful of teeth flying through the air. He left both on the mud and dust, bleeding, and got up, his beady eyes seeking trouble.
Wandal got in from the back door, cursing so loudly the horses were whinnying with fear. He was dragging yet one more unconscious, armored man, whose arm was broken. He looked at me grimly. “A nice pickle, Hraban.”
“They tried to arrest us, but we evaded them,” Tudrus said darkly. “They have our women?”
I resisted screaming with rage. I kicked the Centurion’s corpse, and shook my head. “I don’t know. They have Gernot. The bastard said they’ll be found.”
Tudrus was cleaning his sword. “But, we cannot find them either, right? They are well hidden.”
“Right,” I said hollowly. “Gernot will speak, eventually,” I added, and kicked the dead centurion again. “Bind the fuckers.” They bound the soldiers, and left them lying on their faces, broken, and beaten, as I contemplated on our choices. They turned to face me, and I took a shuddering breath. “We should trust the girls. Gernot got them to safety, and they should be hidden and alert.”
Tudrus was shaking his head, frowning with worry.
“What shall we do, eh?” Wandal asked.
I snarled. “We must go and find Antius. We’ll go, and sail through Helheim’s bloody rivers, past the gates of the dead, if we must, but this must end now.”
“We cannot go,” Tudrus said simply.
“Why?” I asked him furiously.
Tudrus nodded at his moneybag. “We don’t have the coin to travel. And your brother is taken. That guide of his was supposed to bring everything.”
I cursed and shook my head in despair. It had all been so hard already. Things had gone wrong in so many ways, and we deserved a break. Wandal groaned. “Maybe we should just go and tell Maximus everything. I bet that would be for the best.”
I cursed. “Betting won’t help at all.” I sat there, mulling over the issue. And then my face brightened. I turned to Tudrus. “Betting. Do you still have that bit of wood for the Elephant?”
“Huh?” he asked. “The Elephant?”
“The horse,” I said. “The Elephant. The day we tried to find the Snake Pit.”
His face brightened. He grinned, snapped his fingers, and Bohscyld rummaged in his pouch. There, still legible, was the bid we had made on the worst horse in Rome.
***
“It was years ago!” the bald man wept. “Years! We don’t keep records—”
I squeezed his hand so hard he whimpered like a baby, and many of the patrons of the nasty haunt turned, and some put a hand on a club. I pressed my face close to h
im, ignoring the threat of the patrons. “It has been years. And yes, you keep books.”
“Wait—” he cursed. I squeezed, and his teeth ground together.
“Check the books,” Tudrus said with an angry growl. He dropped the wooden marker on the table.
The man stared at it, then at our desperate faces, and made a wise decision. “I recall the beast won that day. So, you did as well.”
“I’ve never won anything in my life,” I told him happily, and he gave me a ghostly, pale-faced smile as he began counting a stack of coins for us.
***
We left Rome, disguised and armed, our weapons ready. We travelled the roads south and east, until we arrived in Brundisium, the great port city just across from Greece. There, we found men who knew the best ways to Judea, and took a ship across to Greece, and travelled to Dyrrhacium, took horses across to Thessalonica, and boarded a huge merchant ship to Selinous, where the ship watered for the trek across the sea to Caesarea. The ship stopped at Rhodes, and leaning on the mast, I thought of Tiberius, secluded and hidden in the island, a private person, harboring secrets. The ship sailed on, and visited the hovel of Patara. Sick of sea and anxious to find answers, we finally arrived in Caesarea Maritima.
Instead of answers, we found the Jews had rebelled, tired of the many past wrongs, and Herodean dynasty and their Roman allies were in a war.
CHAPTER 29
“We are so lost,” Turdus said, as he stared over the green and brown coast. The sailors had hailed a ship headed the other way, and learnt of the Jewish rebellion.
“We are,” I said tiredly. “We are indeed.”
It had been a long two weeks. Actually, it had been two days short of two weeks. The captain was convinced the gods had favored him, his sacrifices had been heard, and we had paid him extra for his special relationship with Poseidon. The man was a Greek, his crew Syrians and Egyptians, and cook a bastard, since the porridge we had been consuming for the duration of the trip from Rhodes to Caesarea Maritima had given us all cramps and diarrhea. The porridge or the water, I thought, but we had all made oaths to drown the cook in a well, if we found him ashore.
Providing we were not captured ashore.
“What shall we do once we dock there?” Turdus asked, worried.
I could see why he was nervous. Caesarea Maritima was the wonder of harbors. The two gigantic piers were guarded by elaborate break walls, and rumors said the piers had been built with materials, which hardened underwater, imported from Italy. The vast, ordered city built to honor Augustus spread in glorious rows behind it. Warehouses, shops, streets as symmetrical as parading legions, and theaters and hippodromes glittered in the light of Sunna. The walls and the fortresses, which whispered of the power and generosity of the dead Herod looked ominous.
It would be a lawless land with the rebellion, but the city was well guarded and orderly. If whoever had commanded the praetorians to arrest us had sent messages ahead, there would be men waiting for us. But, if Gernot had succeeded, perhaps we would also have allies.
In any case, we would have to find Antius, and in a war-torn land, it might not be a simple task.
“We will ask around for this Sabinus, the tax collector,” I said, shivering in the cold sea air. “Then we shall find a way to Antius.”
“You think this Istar is there as well?” Wandal mused. “Ulrich. It would be perfect.”
“Nothing about this is perfect,” Tudrus said. “You said Antius would go to Jerusalem with this Sabinus. Is Jerusalem on the coast?”
I shook my head. “I was asking the sailors. It’s some seventy-five Roman miles southeast, he said. Less than a day’s hard riding, I guess, if we find horses.”
“There are legions in the city,” Tudrus said, as the ship approached the harbor. Indeed, cohorts of Roman soldiery were marching, and it was clear there was something going on with the Roman military. Men were praying around us, thanking the gods, the captain was cursing the taxmen well in advance. He would have to struggle with them next, and no god would help him that time.
“There are,” I said. “6th Ferrata, 3rd Gallica. Despite the name, the latter recruits here, the former in Italy and Spain.” I nodded towards the great forts. “And there is one more in Jerusalem. It’s the 10th Fretensis, which they say was once famous 10th legion of Julius Caesar.” I spat overboard and hoped gods would give us their blessings. “There are thousands of local or mercenary troops as well. Nabateans, Parthians.”
Tudrus agreed. “They say it’s a cauldron of rival nations and bloodied, hurt feelings. Sounds like home.”
“Except it’s not, eh?” Wandal said.
Agetan and Bohscyld were frowning, as they eyed the huge, smooth walls of the city, and I knew it would be very hard to ride out of there, if we were challenged. Impossible, I thought.
“What is the cause of the rebellion?” he wondered.
“Politics,” I told them. “Herod is dead, and he was apparently not a beloved king. They want a Jew to lead them, but Rome gave the crown to an Idumean, which is not exactly a Jewish tribe, I think.” I had been listening to the sailors, who were so bored, they kept reciting the same stories over and over again. “Herod had been raising heavy taxes, giving honors to many, and then betraying his promises, building and tearing down when it suits him. Now that Archelaus, his son is in Rome to petition for the crown, but the Jews don’t want him here.”
“What is that land called?” Tudrus asked.
“The captain called is Samaria, and Judea is to the south,” I answered. “Troubled land.”
The ship was docking, and out there at the end of the pier, a vast number of soldiers stood. They were local troops mostly, but also some Roman legionnaires. Three centurions, with their horsehair helmets, were conducting a search, and my chest tightened with worry.
“Relax,” I told them and myself, and we got ready to disembark. “We are mercenaries, out to look for work in Herod’s army. That’s all we are. Don’t give our names to them.”
The ship docked, and we, carrying our gear, bearded and dirty, with greasy hair and unsteady from our rolling journey, made our way to the tax station. Men looked up at us, and one, a robed local, with bulbous, greedy eyes, addressed us suspiciously. “Anything to tax?”
I snorted. “Do you tax salt? Then tax our skin. It’s crusted with it.”
The man looked at us shrewdly. “Nothing to tax? Do you have no money or possessions?”
“We only have the weapons we carry,” Tudrus answered. “Hoping to find some work. We are from the north.”
He was nodding, and waved a centurion over. The man was bored to death, slouching over another table, and made the supreme effort to move our way. He leaned closer to the man, who was whispering urgently, and nodded at us. They were speaking for the longest of times, and the boredom in the Roman’s face was evaporating quickly as he looked us over. His long look lingered in our spears, in our swords, and sandals.
People were leaving the line behind us, going to others. Some were muttering angrily, others casting careful looks at us, smelling trouble.
A cavalcade of soldiers was passing, and I prayed for luck. I prayed Gernot had managed all the many requests I had made.
The centurion straightened his back. “Is your name Corvus?” he asked, rubbing his chin. “From Rome?”
I tensed, felt a thousand lies flit through my mind, and decided I could not escape the fate. “I’m—”
“Finally here!” a man yelled from behind the Centurion, who was so startled, he dropped his wine stick to the dust. “Finally here, you rotten bastards.”
I squinted in the beating sun and shimmering heat and tried to catch the face of the man.
I made a meowing voice, one of surprise and hope. “Lord,” I told him.
Gernot had succeeded.
It was Gnaeous Calpurnius Piso the Younger, the man who had led the Parthian and Syrian horse archer auxilia in Germania, and my friend.
“Do you … know him?” a
sked the Centurion. “This man?”
“These men,” the Prefect of the auxilia spat, “are my personal servants, sent by my father, last year’s Consul Piso. You have heard of him? Yes, you have Centurion. My father sent them, and they are being taxed?”
The Centurion spat with a token of resistance. “Are their names Corvus, Tud—”
“Their names are not Corvus or Tud. They are my men. And I know your Legate,” the horsed man said, with such seething resentment, the Centurion, and even a nearby dog, took a step back. “Get behind me, you apes. I have been waiting for you for ages. Took your sweet time, didn’t you?”
“What is the purpose—” the Centurion tried once more bravely.
“They are here to bring me coin,” the prefect said scathingly. I lifted to pouch with our dishonest winnings and jingled it. The Centurion cursed softly and shrugged.
“Very well, Lord,” he answered. “I will make a note—”
“Make a note of my back turning, you dog,” the Prefect said and rode away.
Wandal pushed me, and I twitched and walked after the man, giving the Centurion a warm smile. He grabbed his stick, and marched away with such gusto he nearly tripped on a stone. I walked after the rogue, who was singing some obscene military song, apparently having forgotten about us.
I cleared my throat. “I—”
“Give me the pouch,” he growled. “They are looking on. And look fucking humble.”
I cursed, and ran next to his horse, coughing in the dust as we entered the city, heading for the citadels and forts south of the city. I handed it up at him, he grinned, grasped it, and waved his hand as if he would dismiss a mangy dog, and I resisted the urge to spear his horse to make him less arrogant. He looked down at me, behind him, then forward. “I got your message. So happy you decided to visit me after all. Alas, the times are a bit rough here.”