by George Green
Cato smiled into Serpicus’ face while he waited for his prisoner to realize what he meant. It took a moment.
A heavy red curtain fell across Serpicus’ eyes. A huge bubble of pressure expanded in his head. He fought to control it. Cato was lying. Antonia had said nothing, nothing had happened…
Then the curtain fell back and he fought to control his breathing. Cato watched him carefully.
‘Your children, Priscus, wasn’t it, and the other? The little girl?’ Serpicus said nothing, although the blood flowed through him as water flows through a storm drain. Cato shrugged and went on. ‘Lovely children, most amusing, bright, intelligent, almost good-looking for barbarians.’ He paused and showed his teeth and Serpicus knew what was coming. ‘And of course your wife, well, what a delightful creature she is, no? You are a lucky man, anyone could see that. Those eyes, that lustrous hair, what man would not want her? That beautiful skin…’ His voice tailed away and he paused. Serpicus prepared himself as for a blow. Cato had a habit of hesitating just as he was about to drive the nail in deepest. The blood pounded through Serpicus’ forehead. It was as if a sword was spinning in the air above his head and all he could do was wait for it to fall where it would. She said nothing, she said nothing…
‘And of course, the tricks she knew!’ He raised an eyebrow and spoke slowly, as if his thoughts were far away. ‘One had to admire her professionalism. Like an Egyptian whore on heat, working her way in pairs through three cohorts of athletic young legionaries and all the way back down the line until every man was worn out, and she was screaming for more throughout. You are indeed a lucky man to have had all that for yourself.’ He stood up, and his voice became wistful. ‘Or should I say, you were.’
The sword fell and Serpicus felt its point scythe into his heart. Cato went to the table and poured a cup of wine. He let Serpicus absorb what he had said, let him pick it up, examine it, roll it around in his hands. Let him take a good look at how his life had just run up against the lip of a cliff.
It wasn’t true. Couldn’t be.
‘You lie,’ Serpicus whispered. There wasn’t time. Cato was already in Genoa when Serpicus arrived, so he couldn’t have… but someone else could have given her to the soldiers. Cato could be embellishing something he hadn’t seen himself, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t happened.
‘You think so?’ Cato asked. ‘Which bit? All of it?’ He took a sip of wine. ‘I can produce the men I mentioned if you want, most of them serve in this very legion.’ He took another sip. ‘Fortuitously enough in fact, I believe both the guards outside were amongst those most entertained by your wife, shall I call them in to tell you about it?’
A great burning fist was crushing everything inside Serpicus’ chest. He knew Cato must be lying. He knew Cato wanted him to ask, was waiting for him to ask, and Serpicus knew that he must ask, must know, and Cato knew it. So Serpicus asked.
‘What have you done?’
‘Done?’
‘I was promised…’
Cato’s eyes suddenly hardened. ‘I promised nothing.’
‘They were not to be harmed. Promised, by Blaesus. He speaks for Rome, for the Emperor.’
Cato shook his head. ‘I am charged to protect the State. Promises – even those made by the uncle of the Emperor’s Partner, and of course we have only your word for that – mean nothing when the security of Rome is threatened.’
‘Threatened?’ Serpicus felt as if he was living in a dream. He knew what had happened, that it was too late, and yet he was incredulous, arguing as if the situation could still be saved. ‘In what way did I threaten the State, and how much less did a woman and two small children?’ He laughed, feeling the skin on his face tear. ‘I trap animals for a living. All I ever wanted was to be left alone, all I ever did was what I was told to do.’ He realized he was trying to reason with Cato and hated himself for it, but there was nothing else he could do. ‘I was told to fetch an animal for Blaesus and my family would be looked after.’
‘Well,’ Cato said. ‘In a manner of speaking they were.’ A thought struck him. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot. It occurred to me that you might not believe my story, so I brought this for you.’
He pulled something out of his pocket, unlooped a leather thong and placed it over Serpicus’ head.
Serpicus knew what it was without looking.
Cato waited. ‘Nothing to say? After I brought that half-way across the Empire to give to you?’ He leant forward with an air of concern. ‘It is the right one, isn’t it? Not another one like it in the world, the only one that matches yours, am I right?’
Serpicus was waiting for his heart to break in two as it must and let him fall insensible to the floor, but somehow it kept on beating. The amulet hung like a stone around his neck, pressing against his chest and stopping his breath. He was cold, colder than he had ever felt before, and he realized that he no longer felt any pain from the burn on his face.
‘Listen to me, Roman,’ he said softly. He could hear the skin cracking more as he spoke.
Cato tipped his head to one side in a parody of attention. ‘I hear you.’
‘I have one thing to say to you now, and then I will never speak to you again except at the moment of your death.’
Cato smiled and picked up the cup. ‘Then you definitely have my full attention. What can it be that is so momentous?’
Serpicus took a breath and waited for it to flow out of him. It felt cold in his mouth, sharp against the metal of the blood and the tar of the burnt skin. A calmness filled him.
‘You should kill me now.’
Cato looked amused. He took a sip of wine. ‘Why should I do that? Just when we were having so much fun together.’
‘You should kill me now, because I will tell you nothing more except this: that if I ever leave this tent alive then I will dedicate every moment I live, every breath I take, to hunting you, until you are under my sword, and then I will speak my wife’s name to you and it will be the last thing you will hear.’
Cato seemed to smile, then the hand with the goblet smashed hard against Serpicus’ mouth. Blood poured down his chin. Cato pulled a small leather bottle from his belt, unstoppered it and forced the neck between Serpicus’ lips. Then he grasped Serpicus’ mouth and jammed stiff fingers into his cheeks, forcing his mouth open. The pain from his face was beyond anything Serpicus had ever felt.
‘Oh, you will tell me things,’ Cato said softly, tipping a bitter liquid into Serpicus’ mouth. Serpicus managed to spit some of it out, but he had no choice: swallow or choke. Most of it went down his throat. ‘You will tell me everything I want to know, and then you will beg me to kill you, and when I have heard enough begging I will oblige you.’ Cato tossed the empty bottle aside and started to scratch lines on the wooden table with the point of the Persian knife that Serpicus had stolen. ‘Just as I did with your wife.’
Again, Serpicus waited for his heart to break, again somehow it still continued to beat beneath the heavy ice within him.
The sound of voices came from outside and the flap of the tent was pushed inward. A centurion entered. He saw Cato and hesitated.
‘Yes?’
The centurion looked about to speak, and then saw Marcus sitting in the shadow. An expression of relief crossed his face as he turned from Cato and saluted Marcus.
‘What is it?’ asked Marcus, standing and walking forward into the light.
‘A fire has broken out on the east side of the camp, sir.’
‘Fires don’t just break out, centurion. Someone starts them.’
Cato glanced at Serpicus and laughed harshly. ‘Friends of yours?’
Marcus ignored him. ‘How serious is it?’
‘Five tents are beyond help,’ said the centurion. ‘Next to the horse feed store, which is burning as well.’
‘Coincidence,’ murmured Cato. ‘Or, I wonder, perhaps a diversion?’
Serpicus was wondering the same thing himself, but since Cato had forced him to drink his mind wa
s a dull edge.
Marcus snapped a narrow-eyed look at Cato and then fired orders at the centurion. ‘Get the fire put out. Save what you can but douse the fire without wasting time. Double the guard all round and triple it on the side facing the village. Warn the pickets to be extra vigilant. They may still be here in the camp. Take them alive if you can, but don’t let them escape.’
‘Sir!’ The centurion was already leaving through the tent flaps before his salute was finished. Marcus started to follow him and then stopped.
‘I’m going to the west side. It’s probably just a nuisance raid, but if they do attack it’ll be from there.’ He looked at Serpicus, hesitated for a fleeting moment and then ducked through the flaps. The sounds of men shouting and running came through the gap.
‘So, alone together at last,’ said Cato. He walked behind his captive and drew the point of the Persian knife down the back of Serpicus’ neck, hard enough to draw blood. Serpicus felt it as if it happened to someone else. ‘What do you think? Is it just a pointless raid? Or will your friends wait for us to be occupied on one side of the camp and then attack on the other?’ He leant around so that he could see Serpicus’ face. ‘Oh, sorry, I forgot, you aren’t speaking to me. That’s a firm resolve, I’m sure you won’t break your promise.’ He leant close. ‘Not even nailing your balls to a tent pole and hanging you up like a flag will open your lips, of course not.’ He tapped Serpicus’ ear with the blade. Serpicus heard it like waves in a sea-cave. ‘Of course not.’ He leant closer still and almost whispered. ‘But I have an entertainment for you that might change your mind.’
The dark clouds in Serpicus’ mind thickened and closed around him, and he heard nothing more.
* * *
When the clouds parted again and Serpicus opened his eyes, every object was indistinct, as if the world vibrated as he looked at it. He was still sitting in the same chair, but he had been turned around and moved into the deep shadows at the side of the tent.
He couldn’t move his head, but by looking down he could see that the ropes around his arms had been removed. He tried to clench a fist and nothing happened. He told his legs to move, but they remained still. The ropes were now unnecessary: he could not move his limbs.
He could feel that the drug was still inside him; his mind seemed clear but he couldn’t concentrate. Everything he looked at was now surrounded by a strange vibrant light, like a skin.
He blinked and bit his lip hard. The clouds in his mind were still there. He felt nothing from his lip, although he could taste the salt metal of his own blood. He felt no pain from the burn on his face or the blows Cato had given him. The drug had removed all feeling.
The heavy chair he sat on was now facing into what looked like Cato’s private quarters. A single low torch illuminated the room. The light barely reached the thin curtain dividing the room from the area in which Cato had interrogated him. He was sitting immobile in complete darkness.
A large draped bed was at the centre of the room, surrounded by cushions and rugs, and at the end was a low table supporting two wine cups, a small jug and a bowl piled with fruit. Serpicus wondered if this was the entertainment that Cato had mentioned; if the chair had been deliberately placed in this position so that he could see the food but not get to it.
And then he found out.
Cato pushed a curtain aside and sat on the bed. He had taken off his armour, and wore only a short light tunic like a boy. He picked up both the wine cups and sipped from one of them, rolling the wine around his mouth and then swallowing with intense satisfaction. He looked in Serpicus’ direction with a strange expression, almost grave, and then lifted the wine cup slightly in a toast and drank from it.
Then the curtain parted on the other side of the bed and a woman came in, wearing a similar short tunic. Her face was turned away from the man sitting still in the dark, but then Cato stood and carried the wine cup around the bed to give it to her. She turned to take it, smiled, and Serpicus saw her face.
The clouds in his mind parted to let a light burst through them like a spear passing through water, and a great hand reached down with the spear and seized his vitals and dragged them out through his throat, choking the scream that rose inside him.
She turned, smiled at Cato.
Serpicus closed his eyes, squeezed them hard and opened them again. She glowed with the strange light that the drug surrounded everything with.
She was looking directly at him, just as Cato had done, but could not see him. Serpicus strained helplessly against his invisible bonds. He was almost close enough to touch her and he could not even tell her that he was there.
And then Cato leant forward and took hold of the front of her tunic. Very slowly, very deliberately, he pulled it down and away from her, until she stood naked in front of him. She stood still, her eyes and her mouth both just open as he moved around her, running his hands lightly over her skin.
Serpicus waited for her to produce a knife, kill him, stab him again and again until he was a bloodied husk.
Nothing happened, just an eternity of watching as Cato caressed her.
Which is how for a few moments Serpicus knew that it was a dream, a confection of the clouds in his mind. She did not kill him; therefore it could only be a dream. It could be nothing else.
Until Cato slid his hand over her hip and down her thigh and brought it up again across her belly, and as his lips touched her breast she sighed and let her head fall back so that her hair hung free down her back, and Serpicus knew that sigh, felt it cut through him like a ragged blade, and knew – knew, beyond doubt, as he knew he lived and loved her – that it was no dream, that she was real, knew that he must move and was helpless, must scream and could not.
And so Serpicus watched in silence while they lay and moved on the bed together, heard the familiar sounds she made and the soft words she used, saw everything. Watched with tears flowing down his cheeks, watched and waited for the clouds to close and release him, to tell him that it was his imagination, while knowing beyond doubt, beyond truth, that it was real.
* * *
After a lifetime had passed, Serpicus opened his eyes again. A huge numbness was gathered in his chest, a paralysing clenched hand that went beyond pain into something that there were no words for. His mind was empty, as if nothing had ever happened to him.
Cato stood in front of him.
His enemy. He knew that.
The Roman put a grape into his mouth, then reached out and put one between Serpicus’ teeth. Serpicus felt a flicker of feeling in his lips. The drug seemed to be wearing off. He waited. Cato turned his back to reach for wine, and Serpicus tried to move. His limbs were still too heavy to lift, but he could move some of his toes and the thumb of his right hand. Cato turned to face him again. Serpicus relaxed. It was simple. He would wait until his powers returned, and then he would kill Cato. There was nothing else in his life.
Cato reached out and pushed Serpicus’ slack jaw upwards until his teeth split the grape and juice spilled down his chin. Cato ate another and glanced over his shoulder at the disarranged sheets behind him.
‘I never knew barbarian women had it in them,’ he said. ‘When you’re dead I think I may marry her.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘Or perhaps I’ll just have her until I grow bored and then give her to my house slaves.’ He gestured to Serpicus. ‘What do you think?’
Serpicus struggled until his mouth opened enough to let words escape. ‘Why… why do you hate me so much?’
Cato looked mildly surprised. ‘Hate you?’ He thought for a moment. ‘Do I hate you? I suppose it might look like that, though I wasn’t really aware of it until now.’ He tapped his chin with a finger. ‘Not so much hate, actually, as just annoyance. You wife, your children, your friends, your…’ he leant into Serpicus’ face… ‘self-satisfaction, it irritates me. And I don’t like being irritated.’ He stood up again. ‘And so, I now have your wife, I have your children, and I’ve killed most of your friends.’ He smiled. ‘And I h
ave to admit, I do feel an awful lot better.’
Cato’s voice was becoming indistinct, and Serpicus couldn’t see properly. He was confused and didn’t know what Cato was talking about. Strange images passed through his mind. He remembered his burnt face. He remembered the pain and wondered where he was. He was suddenly unutterably tired. His mind was full of smoke. He stopped listening and allowed the exhaustion to flow through him. He closed his eyes, just for a moment.
He had no idea how much time had passed. He thought he heard a cry of surprise, and then felt the wind of someone running past him. His face hurt. He could feel again, though it didn’t seem important. There was something he needed to think about but his thoughts wouldn’t cohere long enough to remember what it was. He tried to open his eyes but couldn’t. There was a distant thud and sounds of a scuffle, and then he heard a whisper, felt breath on his cheek. A familiar voice said, ‘Gods, what have they done?’ Strong hands lifted him. ‘Can you walk?’
‘Of course I can,’ Serpicus said, his voice a soft croak. ‘I’ve been able to since I was three.’
A dirty thumb pressed against Serpicus’ eyeball and lifted up the eyelid, a feat beyond its owner. ‘He’s completely gone to Hades,’ someone hissed. ‘Get him out of here, fast as you can. We’ll watch your backs.’
‘What about the Roman?’
‘Kill him,’ Serpicus shouted, but no one heard.
* * *
It was still dark when Serpicus woke up again. He had memories of being surrounded by shouting, of screams of pain, of being forced to run when all he wanted to do was sleep, of falling several times, of freezing water, and then being dragged to his feet again just as he had organized the water into a comfortable place to rest and made to run some more.
Serpicus opened his eyes slowly. He was indoors, lying on a bed. He had no idea how he had arrived there. His wounds were bandaged and the pain was less than he expected. There was some ointment on his face. His thoughts were splashing around in his head like drunken otters; he couldn’t get two of them to go in the same direction for more than a moment. Nothing mattered very much, anything troubling him was a long way away. He was warm, it was quiet, he needed no encouragement to go back to sleep. Which should have been enough to tell him that Brutus and Galba were likely to walk in at that moment. Which they did.