by George Green
Severus made him stay in the room. ‘We’ll wander about,’ the centurion said, ‘see what we can uncover.’ He looked sternly at all three of them. ‘You lot stay put. No one knows us, but they’ll be looking out for you. If word gets out that you’re back then Blaesus will want his bear and you’ll be in the shit. He’ll kill you soon as look at you if he knows you’ve failed him.’ Serpicus wanted to argue but couldn’t; Severus was right. Even though they suspected that the bear was just an excuse to get to Drenthe, he didn’t doubt that Blaesus wanted it.
The arrival in Rome brought fears crowding into Serpicus’ mind, and confined to the room he found it worse. Up till then the numbness had filled him. Now it was as if the sight of the Seven Hills had unlocked his mind. Suddenly he was able to remember his children, not as the vague shadows they had been for the weeks of his journey, but alive and warm. He remembered how they felt in his arms, what their voices sounded like. For weeks they had seemed out of reach and he had been unable to even consider the possibility that they might be alive and that he might see them again. Now he was in Rome; if they were alive, then he would find them. If they were not, he would find the person who killed them. When Severus returned Serpicus interrogated him, made suggestions, accused him of not trying hard enough. The centurion kept his temper. He was asking questions anywhere he thought it was safe to do so. Blaesus was in Rome. A household slave had said that there were a woman and two children in Blaesus’ house who never went out, but the description would have fitted almost anyone. There was no sign of Cato, but the slave knew who he was.
‘He’s no ordinary spy,’ Severus said. ‘He’s Sejanus’ best man, about the only person that bastard trusts.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘If he dies, a lot of good men will be avenged.’
That night in his dreams Serpicus saw Antonia’s ghost, still beautiful but drawn and grey. She stood at the side of the bed and looked down at him as a nurse looks at a sick man. When he reached for her to tell her he was well, she shrank from him and vanished. He opened his eyes and saw nothing but darkness.
He lay awake for the rest of the night.
The next day Severus arrived with the news that it had been officially announced that the great soldier Consilius had died in Germany in an unspecified but undoubtedly heroic manner in the service of the Empire, and that there would be a games in his honour the following week.
‘I’d like to be there,’ growled Serpicus. ‘Toast his demise.’
‘Make sure he’s really dead,’ said Galba.
‘There’s more,’ Severus said. ‘Blaesus will be there, paying tribute to his valiant offspring.’
Serpicus’ head snapped upwards. ‘Blaesus?’
Severus nodded. ‘And if he’s there…’
‘Cato will be too.’
Severus nodded. ‘Perhaps.’
Serpicus thought hard. ‘It wouldn’t be difficult to get into the games, but we’d never get anywhere near Cato. There will be soldiers everywhere.’
Severus tapped a finger against the doorpost. ‘There is one person who gets to stand right next to Blaesus.’
‘Who?’
‘The man who wins the chariot race.’
They talked most of the night. Blaesus and Cato were well protected everywhere they went. Serpicus suggested a dozen places where a man might get close to them, but Severus knocked down every possibility. Serpicus knew Severus spoke the truth. By the time the dawn was breaking Serpicus knew that he must either race and win, or spend the rest of his life lurking in alleyways hoping that Cato or Blaesus would wander past unguarded. That afternoon he went to see Sextus, his old employer.
Every night in the dark of his room, as he lay between sleep and wakefulness, Serpicus saw Antonia. She stood still, watching him. He tried not to speak, but every night he did, and then she was no longer there.
Three days before the games they were in a tavern near the Forum where Severus knew the owner. Serpicus was drinking his wine well watered. Galba was not so temperate, but was still being careful. Decius wasn’t there. He said he’d drink for a year when Cato was dead and they were all safe, not before.
Severus arrived late. He’d stopped at the betting-shop to pick up a list of the men racing on the day of the games. The centurion put the much-used wax tablet on the table and yelled for a drink. Serpicus leant over and read the names.
‘“Alraic” is me,’ he said. ‘Marinus, Pollo, Junius.’ He tapped a finger on the table. ‘Good drivers, but beatable.’ He tilted the wax towards the candle. ‘What does that word say?’
Galba put a finger beside another name lower down the list. ‘Cassius? Which Cassius is that?’
Severus shrugged. ‘No idea,’ he said. He looked around. ‘Hey, Burrus,’ he shouted. A burly figure with thick eyebrows looked up from deep conversation with several disreputable-looking men.
‘What?’
‘The race in three days, the games for Consilius. Who’s favourite?’
‘Cassius,’ said Burrus immediately. ‘You might get someone to give you even money if you’re lucky. I’ll give you two to one on, seeing as it’s you.’
Severus managed to look both thoughtful and dim at the same time. ‘Which Cassius is that then?’
Burrus laughed and several of the men grinned with him. ‘There’s only one worth betting on. The man who won the games they held for that useless prick Claudius Appius.’
Severus leant forward. ‘I saw Cassius win that race. Tall, thin, fancies himself, dresses well. Arrogant bugger, but a bloody good driver.’ He looked at Serpicus’ face. ‘You know him?’
Serpicus nodded grimly, remembering a boy going under the wheels of his friend’s chariot. ‘Yes, I know him.’
Galba looked at him. ‘There’s history between the two of you. He’s an evil bastard. You’ll need someone there to watch your back.’
‘He’s got me,’ said a voice behind them.
They turned around. Decius stood behind them with a serious face.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Serpicus. ‘You aren’t on the race list.’
Decius pointed to the tablet. ‘Brutus. That’s me. I thought it would do him honour.’
Galba shook his head. ‘You’ve got to be…’
Serpicus put a hand on Galba’s arm. ‘You do Brutus great honour, and me. But you can’t be in that race.’
Decius looked about to argue, then his face crumpled and he was a boy again. ‘Why not?’
‘Come with me.’ Serpicus stood up, put an arm around his shoulders and led him outside. The streets were quiet. Serpicus sat on the low wall outside the tavern and motioned to Decius to sit beside him. Decius complied unwillingly.
‘Why don’t you want me there?’ he asked. ‘Don’t you trust me?’
Serpicus chose his words carefully. ‘Of course. I know that whatever happened, you’d be watching out for me.’ He paused. ‘But I remember two friends who used to race together, and I remember what happened to one of them.’
‘So do I,’ said Decius in a trembling voice. ‘I’d know what to look out for. It wouldn’t happen again, I swear it.’
‘That’s the point,’ said Serpicus. ‘I’d trust you to look out for me; I’m worried you’ll be looking after me so well that you won’t be looking out for yourself.’
‘But if I don’t do it then who will?’
Serpicus paused before answering. ‘Give your place to Galba.’
‘Galba? Why?’
Serpicus could tell that Decius already knew the answer.
‘Because he knows all the tricks, and he’s seen everything. He’ll see what Cassius is up to and stop him, and leave me to get on with winning the race.’
Decius started to speak and then stopped. Serpicus put a hand on his shoulder.
‘We’ve been through a lot together,’ he said. ‘You saved me on the Hinterrhein. Cato got the credit, but I know that if it wasn’t for you I’d be at the bottom of that mountain. I trust you with my life, always will. I won’t forget
how you stepped forward for me this time either. But I need a cynical old hand like Galba for this job.’ Decius looked at the ground and didn’t reply. Serpicus leant forward. ‘All right?’
Decius mumbled something he didn’t catch.
‘What?’
Decius looked up. ‘You make sure that Galba looks after you properly, and that you beat Cassius, or you’ll both answer to me.’
Serpicus laughed and pushed him so that he lost his balance and fell off the wall. Decius took Serpicus’ outstretched hand and let him haul him back up again.
‘Come on,’ said Serpicus. ‘I’ll buy you a cup of lemon water.’
* * *
The night before the race they all met to make sure that there were no loose ends. They ate bread and olives and drank some well-watered wine, and they talked until late. Then Severus stood up, stretched and yawned.
‘I’m going to stretch my legs before bed,’ he said.
Galba stood up. ‘I’ll walk with you to the end of the street,’ he said, grinning at Serpicus. ‘There isn’t enough wine in this piss he’s giving us to put a man to sleep, I’ll have to try fresh air and exercise.’
‘If you aren’t back very soon I’ll send Decius to pull you out of the tavern,’ Serpicus replied.
‘I’ll be back,’ Galba said.
Severus opened the door and went out. Galba followed. Serpicus stepped out behind them to take a lungful of night air. The small warm room had left him hot and uncomfortable. He leant against a wall and watched Galba and Severus walk off up the street.
There was no moon but the sky was clear and the stars were clearly visible. He and Antonia had spent many nights looking up at them. For a moment time spun, and he was going to turn around, go back into his house and she would be there.
Then he heard a voice from the top of the street, familiar but unknown, the sound carrying to him clearly in the night air.
‘Hello, old man. Remember me?’
Serpicus looked up the street. Galba and Severus were just indistinct shapes in the gloom. There were other shadows near them. Serpicus heard a dull thud, followed by what might have been a breathless cry. Then he heard Galba’s urgent voice.
‘Serpicus!’
As Serpicus sprinted up the street he could see through the gloom that someone was lying on the ground, and that several men were struggling fiercely nearby. He could hear muffled shouts and there was a brief cry of pain.
The nearest man was standing with a club upraised, looking for an opportunity to strike. He had his back to Serpicus and Serpicus didn’t know him. He kicked the man as hard as he could in the back of the knee. The man went down with a scream. Serpicus jumped over him and threw himself onto the other man, bearing him to the ground as he shouted Galba’s name.
The reply came from nearby to his left. ‘Serpicus, over here!’ Galba sounded as if someone had him by the throat.
As the man under him fell to the ground Serpicus snatched a hank of the hair on the back of his head and smashed his face onto the cobbled street. The man let out a deep grunt of pain and lay still. Serpicus felt a hard blow across his shoulders, and he threw himself sideways. His hand slapped down to stop the fall and he felt the unconscious man’s club on the ground under his hand. He snatched it up and swung it across as his attacker followed up the first blow. The club hit the man’s jaw. The impact snapped his head back like a boxer receiving an uppercut. Serpicus rolled away to avoid the man’s tumbling weight and jumped up.
A big man was standing in front of him, one foot advanced, his arms outstretched. Serpicus glanced around to make sure that no one was behind him. It was too dark to see who was on his side.
‘Galba?’
‘Here.’
Serpicus could see three men hacking and kicking at each other as they rolled around on the ground. Galba was one of them, and seemed to be putting up a good fight. The big man was between them and Serpicus.
Serpicus called out again as he started to circle round.
‘Severus?’
‘Careful, the old bastard is at your feet,’ said the big man with an unpleasant laugh. Serpicus glanced down. Severus was lying on the ground in front of him, unmoving.
‘Why?’ hissed Serpicus, looking up.
The big man laughed again. ‘I’m sad you don’t remember me.’ He took a sideways step and moved into a patch of moonlight. Serpicus could see that one side of his head was almost smooth, and recognized him at once. It was the man called Josef who had led the attack on them after they left Genoa. The man who had lost an ear to Severus’ sword.
‘What do you want?’ Serpicus said.
The man laughed again. ‘Don’t worry about me,’ he said, gesturing at Severus. ‘I’ve got what I want.’ The big man stepped back and leant over the three struggling men. His fist slammed downwards and the struggling stopped abruptly. He stood up and looked at Serpicus.
‘The old man took my ear,’ he said. ‘Now we’re even.’ He spat on the ground near Severus. Serpicus took a pace forward and the man raised a hand in warning.
‘I was forbidden to kill you when we attacked you on the road,’ he said. ‘Now I can do as I wish. Do not cross me now.’
Serpicus hesitated. ‘What do you mean, forbidden?’ he asked.
The man laughed. ‘You were to be allowed to escape. You and Cato only. The rest were to die.’
‘Cato?’
The man nodded. ‘Very cosy, just the two of you heading for Germany.’ He turned to the other men nearby. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We’re done here.’ He backed down the street, watching Serpicus. The two men got up, panting. One of them went immediately after Josef, the other launched a vicious kick at Galba on the ground before leaving as well.
Serpicus heard running footsteps behind him. He spun round, his arm upraised. Decius came to an abrupt halt in front of him.
‘I brought your sword,’ he said. ‘What happened?’ He looked around and saw Severus and Galba on the ground. ‘Are they…?’
‘Of course I’m not,’ said Galba hoarsely, pushing himself up slowly onto one elbow. ‘Help me up.’ Decius went to help Galba. Serpicus knelt by Severus. He put a hand on the centurion’s shoulder and rolled him over.
The lined face was twisted with pain. A wood-handled knife protruded from his side and both his hands were wrapped round it.
‘Pull it out.’ Serpicus hesitated. ‘Please. I can’t.’
Serpicus took the handle in his hand and pulled it out, as straight as he could in one motion. Severus gave a gasp of pain, then relaxed. Serpicus put a hand on the centurion’s tunic and it was wet under his palm. He lifted his hand. It was dark with blood in the moonlight.
Severus lifted a hand and wrapped tense fingers around Serpicus’ wrist.
‘It’s all right,’ Serpicus said. ‘We’ll get you a doctor.’
Severus shook his head. ‘Don’t waste his time, or mine,’ he said with difficulty. The grip on Serpicus’ wrist tightened. ‘You do what you talked about, and I don’t mind dying.’ His voice grew fainter. ‘I’ll be waiting for the bastards in Hell. You might like to tell them that before you kill them.’
The scarred fingers slackened and then released their hold. His head fell back and a long rasp of breath flowed slowly from him.
‘Is he all right?’ said Galba. Decius had got him to his feet and supported him as he limped over, holding his hand across his torso.
‘He’s gone,’ said Serpicus.
Galba coughed and spat dark blood. ‘The bastards jumped out of the shadows as we got to the corner. Severus pushed me out of the way and they got him. Then they came for me. If you hadn’t come along I think I’d be lying there beside him.’
Decius was looking down at Severus. His voice shook as he said, ‘Who were they?’
‘The men who attacked us on the road from Genoa. Though I don’t suppose they followed us all the way to Gelbheim and back. The person who sent them after us in the first place no doubt told them we were here.’
Galba coughed again and Decius staggered as he took his whole weight. Serpicus saw his tunic darkening under his palm.
‘He’s wounded, put him down.’ He looked around. ‘No, let’s get him home, we’ll have a look at him there.’ They carried Galba quickly back down the street. His breathing was hoarse and he didn’t speak. They got into the house and laid him out on the bed. Serpicus pulled his friend’s tunic aside carefully.
A deep wound under his ribs seeped blood.
Decius brought water and cloths, and they cleaned him up. They put a thick pad over the bleeding and bandaged around him as best they could.
Serpicus stood up and surveyed the result. He nodded with satisfaction. It was the best they could do. He took a step towards the door.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Decius.
Serpicus looked serious. ‘I’m going to report that some poor bastard’s been murdered in the street.’
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The sun was rising by the time Serpicus got home. Galba was stretched out on his bed. The Thracian was conscious. His cheeks were pale, with a high spot of colour on each one. He was sweating, even though the house was cool. There was no sign of Decius, although he seemed to have done a reasonable job of swathing Galba in bandages before he left.
Galba opened his eyes as Serpicus came in and reached for his dagger. When he saw who it was he sank back on the pillow gratefully.
‘Where is he?’ asked Serpicus. ‘I told him to stay here.’ Galba cleared his throat with difficulty, as if there was hardly any air in his lungs. ‘No you didn’t, I was there. I told him to go and do a job for me. He’ll be back in a minute. Don’t shout at him, it isn’t his fault.’
The door rattled open and Decius came in, panting for breath. Serpicus stood up.