by George Green
The centurion laughed dismissively. ‘If you aren’t going to kiss him, then let’s get going.’
The soldiers formed two ranks with Serpicus between them. A messenger came running down the stairs and across the sand to the centurion. ‘Bring all of them.’
‘Including the dead one?’
‘All of them.’
The centurion looked down at Galba and shrugged. ‘Bring him.’
‘He’s dead,’ said Decius, standing in their way. ‘You can’t…’
The nearest soldier, a dark and scarred veteran, brought his closed fist up backhanded, snapping Decius’ mouth shut and knocking him backwards onto the sand. A thin dark line of blood flowed from the corner of his mouth.
‘All finished?’ said the centurion. ‘Good.’
The soldiers lifted Galba’s body carefully off the ground and the little procession headed for the steps to the Senator’s box.
‘Careful, boys,’ someone in the crowd shouted. ‘He drove well.’
‘He did,’ shouted a deep voice that Serpicus recognized. ‘He’s done nothing wrong. Where are they taking him?’ Ox never had trouble in getting people’s attention. A chorus of voices agreed with him. Serpicus looked around. The crowd was paying attention to them now. There was nothing else in the arena to watch except them, it might lead to something interesting, and some of them wanted the chance to cheer Serpicus when he received the winner’s laurel wreath. Several voices called out to Serpicus and one man held up an overflowing handful of money and tossed a coin to him with a shout of excitement. The centurion picked it up and handed it to Serpicus. ‘I had a fistful of money on you at seven to one to win,’ he said. ‘They’re likely going to get me to kill you, but if they don’t then I’ll buy you a drink myself when this is over.’
Serpicus looked to see how Decius was doing. The young man was walking up the steps with his head held high. Not bad for a youngster who’s probably about to die, Serpicus thought.
They got to the top of the stairs and walked into Blaesus’ box. Serpicus could hear footsteps behind him and excited voices. The crowd was following, eager to see what would happen, and the Captain of the Guard barked orders. The guards crossed their spears and held the crowd back.
The soldiers put Galba’s stretcher on the ground. Blaesus was still in his chair. Cato appeared behind the Senator. He gestured to the centurion and Serpicus felt his arms grasped and pinned behind him. Cato moved to one side to come forward.
With the force of a blow, Serpicus saw Antonia, standing in the shadow at the back of the box.
The soldiers behind Serpicus had his arms held so tightly that he felt if he moved even slightly his shoulders would dislocate. Decius was in a similar grip, and his face was tense with the effort of not showing his pain.
The crowd pressed up against each other. Something was, it seemed, about to happen. They leant forward with interest.
Cato stood in front of them, his hair freshly pomaded and his clothes spotless and finely made. Not an ordinary spy at all. He looked nothing like the morose character who had stood on the dock at Genoa. Serpicus could smell the scented oils on the dark man’s skin from where he stood. Serpicus looked at him and thought of Galba, Drenthe, Severus, Brutus, and all the others who had died or lost everything they had because of his intrigues. Serpicus’ fists clenched.
In his right hand Cato held a scroll like a baton. He gestured with it and Antonia came forward from the shadows at the back of the box until she stood slightly behind him.
And then Serpicus saw more movement in the place where she had come from. Two slaves were standing in the shadows, and each was in charge of a small child. The slaves had them held tight and a hand over each child’s mouth, but one of the children wriggled an arm free and reached towards him before the slave could pinion it again. The sight punched his heart. He made himself look away.
Antonia was as groomed as Cato was and there were gold threads twined into her hair. Seeing her alive filled Serpicus’ chest and stopped his thoughts; all he could think was that he preferred her without colour on her face and in simple clothes, but she looked impossibly beautiful to him. Blaesus sat back in his chair and watched her, his thoughts written on his face. Serpicus wanted to look away but his head wouldn’t move and his eyes refused to close. Cato saw it, and, with a malicious curl of his lips, held out a hand to her. She took it and came forward to stand beside him. Cato indicated that she should sit down. He nodded to the soldiers that they should release their prisoners. Then he stepped forward until he was only the length of Serpicus’ arm away.
‘So, Serpicus, you live still.’ His voice was cultured and mocking.
‘Yes,’ Serpicus said, his voice harsh through the thick dust coating his throat. Cato reached out and turned his face to one side with a finger.
‘You have my mark still, I see.’
Serpicus grimaced. ‘I never travel without it. It helps me remember.’
Cato glanced at Antonia and then back at Serpicus with a slight smile. ‘So,’ he said slowly. ‘What am I to do with you?’
‘He won the race!’ came a deep voice from the crowd nearby. Other voices agreed. ‘Give him the wreath!’ Serpicus didn’t turn to look, he didn’t need to. Ox was still on his side.
Cato looked amused. ‘It seems that even criminals have their supporters. I suppose there will always be those who will bet on lost causes.’
Decius raised his head and spat bloodily on the ground at Cato’s feet. ‘Put us on trial!’ he gasped hoarsely. ‘If you say we are criminals, put us on trial, and listen while we tell the world about your crimes.’ The nearest soldier put a hand on Decius’ shoulder and held him still.
Cato’s expression didn’t change. He leant forward and tapped Decius on the chest with the scroll. ‘You miss the point of the justice system,’ he said cheerfully. ‘It will be you on trial, and therefore it will be your crimes that will be discussed, not mine.’
Serpicus still couldn’t take his eyes from Antonia. He told her once that it didn’t matter what she had done, but it was a lie. It mattered. He cared too much. He had been jealous, the one thing he swore he would never be. He had doubted her, hurt her more than he thought he was capable of doing. But now, looking at her standing beside his enemy, dressed and made up so that she hardly looked like herself, he knew that he loved her and he knew that only loving her mattered. And he knew that something had changed between them, and he had lost her.
So Serpicus stared at what he had lost and didn’t speak, and Cato smiled and played with him as bored children play with a captive animal, waiting with a shine in their eyes for the moment that the creature shows weakness and so invites the cruelty they intend.
Cato opened his mouth to speak again, and then lifted his head with a slight show of annoyance at a disturbance in the crowd around him. Decius turned to grin at Serpicus. ‘Sounds like Ox has been having fun,’ he whispered. Blood flecked his lips.
‘What’s happening there?’ Cato gestured irritably to an officer nearby, who took four soldiers and pushed his way into the crowd.
Everyone in the crowd turned to see what was going on, including the guards watching. Serpicus saw Decius move sideways and then take a silent step past the soldier between him and Cato. Concealed in his hand was the sharp knife that every charioteer carried.
Cato was looking in the opposite direction and wouldn’t have seen Decius coming. His fist gripped the knife tight and his body tensed. Cato was a dead man.
As Decius’ hand drew back for the killing thrust his wrist was held. Decius turned, desperation on his face, to see Antonia close beside him. She didn’t speak, but held his wrist fast. A fold of her dress hid both their hands. She stood pressed against him. Their eyes met and Serpicus saw him hesitate. To kill Cato Decius would have to kill her first. He glanced back at Serpicus, desperation in his face. ‘No,’ she whispered, and released him. The fabric of her dress fell to her side, and his hand was empty. The dagger was gone.
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‘Hey!’ The guard realized with a start that Decius was no longer there. With his shoulders slumped Decius allowed himself to be pulled back and shoved towards Serpicus.
‘Why did she stop me?’ said Decius in a broken whisper.
‘I don’t know her any more,’ Serpicus said softly. He watched with something like fascination as she leant forward to speak into Cato’s ear. Cato listened, looking at Serpicus, and then smiled, in a way that made Serpicus know that he was the subject of her suggestion, and that whatever she was saying pleased Cato because it meant unpleasantness for him.
The disturbance in the crowd was getting closer. The Praetorians who had gone to see what the matter was were officiously escorting a man in the cloak of an Imperial courier back towards them. The noise of the crowd became louder, more excited. The message that the courier carried had, as such things somehow always are, been discovered and shared before it was even delivered.
Blaesus got up heavily from his chair and moved forward. He might be content to let Cato deal with the chariot race and the German criminals, but an Imperial courier was a matter for a senator.
Cato’s eyes narrowed. He was still listening to Antonia but with less attention. He raised his arm in an automatic greeting to the courier.
Antonia turned away from Cato and towards Serpicus, and their eyes met. A breeze spread her hair out as if it was on a pillow and for the first time she smiled.
It was the same smile she gave him the day they were married, when her hand was in his, as they hung the two halves of an ivory amulet around each other’s necks. Serpicus saw her face relax, and without seeing what had happened he knew what she had done.
Cato leant forward as if he were suddenly very tired. His left hand went to his side and his right reached out to the nearest soldier for support.
The soldiers finally managed to manhandle the courier through the crowd. The man shook himself as if covered in dust and held out a scroll emblazoned with the Imperial seal. Cato looked at it for a moment as if he had no idea what it was, and then dropped to one knee. A red stain appeared between the fingers of his left hand and blood flowed down the side of his tunic. The Captain of the Guard snapped an order and his men surrounded the Imperial messenger. A woman in the crowd screamed and the edge of the crowd moved as those in front tried to get away and those behind surged to see what was happening. Blaesus stepped forward and then recoiled as Cato put a blood-covered hand onto the ground to support himself. The Praetorian centurion saw the blood and jumped forward, drawing his sword. He ran up the three steps and knelt beside Cato. The dying man whispered something to him and then rolled slowly sideways onto the marble floor and lay still. Blood flowed slowly across the stone from beneath his body.
‘No!’
Serpicus supposed he must have shouted, although the sound seemed to come from a long way off. He threw himself forward. His captors came after him but got in each other’s way. Serpicus leant sideways to avoid a stabbing thrust from the nearest soldier and hammered with his fist on the man’s forearm while wresting the sword from his deadened fingers.
The centurion jumped up and slashed at Serpicus. He pulled back, but not enough, and the edge opened a deep cut in his shoulder. Serpicus shouted with pain and lunged forward. The centurion reached out to seize Antonia by the arm and pulled her between Serpicus and himself. Serpicus hesitated, and in that moment she turned and stabbed at the centurion’s face with the knife.
The centurion cried out and seized her wrist to pull the knife away. Blood poured down his cheek and neck.
He cursed and drove his sword deep into Antonia’s side.
Several in the crowd cried out. She made no sound. The centurion pulled his sword free and she sank slowly to the ground. He stepped back and two of his men moved to stand between him and Serpicus.
Serpicus ignored them. He dropped the sword and knelt by Antonia. Her eyes were closed but as Serpicus’ hands lifted her head he felt the faint pulse of life in her neck.
‘Why?’ he said.
‘It had to be done,’ she breathed.
‘It should have been me.’ Tears streamed down his face. She coughed once and a thin trickle of blood seeped from one corner of her mouth and ran across her cheek into her hair. She moved her head slightly from side to side. Serpicus wiped the blood from her face with his hand. ‘Would you not have lived for me, for us?’
Her eyes opened. She reached up and touched his face with a finger that trembled as it traced a faint line on his cheek.
‘Once I knew you doubted me, what was there left for me to live for?’
He tried to say something but couldn’t speak. Her hand dropped from his face and she pressed her palm flat against his chest.
‘I see you,’ she said. She coughed, the sound rattling in her chest. ‘I know you understand now, how it was for me. But you can only break a cup once.’ Her hand fluttered against his skin. ‘I know you loved me. I know that you believed in me, once. That is enough.’ Her hand dropped away from him and her gaze held him with an intensity, that contrasted with the fading whisper that was her voice, as if she was funnelling her last strength into her eyes. ‘I never doubted you.’
Then her eyes closed and the pulse against his fingertips died away.
Serpicus reached for the sword. The two soldiers standing between him and the centurion braced themselves. Behind them Serpicus could see the centurion striding to the back of the box, where he also saw the two small figures held by the slaves and he knew what the centurion intended. Cato’s last order had been for revenge, revenge on his whole family. Serpicus saw the sword raised over them and opened his mouth to shout, knowing it was too late.
Something flashed in the sunlight and the centurion’s arm halted at its highest point. A woman screamed, a single sound, loud and shrill. The centurion made a choking sound and staggered. His arm dropped to his side, and he fell slowly backwards.
A small bone-handled knife protruded from where his neck joined his shoulders.
Everything stopped moving.
Serpicus spun round, looking to see where the knife had come from. A legionary shouted and several soldiers ran forward. Snake’s arm moved like his namesake and the legionary who had shouted fell backwards with a choking cry. A moment later the other two were also bleeding on the ground. The crowd shouted with alarm and fought to get away.
‘Stop!’ shouted Blaesus above the noise. The soldiers who were pushing their way past people to get to Snake hesitated and looked back, confusion on their faces. Ox grabbed Snake by the collar and shoved the Cretan behind him. He hissed an order to one of his men and in a moment Snake was nowhere to be seen.
The Imperial courier was standing alone, waiting. Blaesus stepped carefully around the bodies in front of him and held out a hand for the scroll. The messenger didn’t move. Blaesus blinked with surprise then recovered his composure.
‘I am Blaesus.’
The messenger looked at him for a few moments, then turned to the Captain of the Guard. He unrolled the scroll and showed it to the Captain. ‘You recognize this seal?’ The Captain nodded. The messenger began to read.
‘The man Aelius Sejanus, who has been promoted and repeatedly honoured by the Emperor and appointed by Him as His Regent, acting for Him in all things, is hereby pronounced a traitor and an enemy to Rome. His treachery…’
The rest was lost under a gale of excitement and surprise, which spread the news around the arena like the dry sand that a breeze blows across the stone floor of a beach-front villa. The messenger waited calmly until he could be heard again and then continued.
‘His treachery is the more vile because of the ingratitude it contains, as well as the offence it represents to the person of the Emperor and so to the people and city of Rome. His position is dissolved and his power ended in all its aspects, his lands and possessions are forfeit. His person is to be placed under immediate arrest, along with all those who have served him and whose names are attached, and held to
await trial.’
Blaesus stiffened, caught between bluster and fear. Then the messenger made up his mind for him by directing the Captain to arrest him. The messenger waited, and then continued.
‘The friends of Sejanus are the enemies of Rome. This is the word of Tiberius.’
The rest was confusion. Men shouted, cheered, cursed, circling each other in a storm of argument and fear.
At the centre of the storm a man sat on the ground with his wife’s head upon his lap and his friends lying beside him. Two children held onto him as if he were a raft in a flood. The maelstrom circled above them and they heard none of it.
Chapter Forty
Serpicus stood near the top of a low hill outside the city walls. Smoke coiled upwards from three dying fires in front of him, emerging slowly from between the smouldering wood lying in the ashes, then reaching swiftly upwards into the early-morning sky as if it sensed its freedom.
He stared at the ashes for a long time, thinking of his friends. Antonia and Galba, gone. Brutus and Drenthe, gone.
Before the fires were lit Decius had stepped forward and put something between Galba’s hands, lifting his stiff fingers and replacing them carefully on top of it. For a moment Serpicus hadn’t known what it was, then he recognized Brutus’ battered leather cap.
While the fires burned Decius and Snake waited a little way off, leaving Serpicus to his thoughts. As the smoke calmed they came to stand closer.
‘What will you do now?’ Snake asked. Serpicus took a deep slow breath. The dawn air was sharp and clear.
‘Go back,’ he said.
‘Where to?’
‘Gelbheim.’
‘What will you do?’
‘Help rebuild it.’
‘I mean, how will you live?’