Gordianus The Finder Omnibus (Books 1-4)

by Steven Saylor

  It was even possible that Quintus Fabius himself had arranged to have his stepson kidnapped – a clever way to get rid of Spurius without drawing suspicion to himself. The idea was monstrous, but I had known men devious enough to concoct such a scheme. But if that were the case, why had he engaged my services? To demonstrate his conscientious concern by calling in an outsider, perhaps. To prove to Valeria and the rest of the world that he was quite serious about rescuing his kidnapped stepson. In which case, part of his plan for getting rid of Spurius would have to include the unfortunate death of the Finder sent to handle the tragically botched ransom …

  The journey seemed to go on forever. The road became rockier and rougher. The wagon rattled and lurched. My extravagant fantasies of treachery and death suddenly paled beside the imminent danger of being crushed if one of the heavy trunks should be pitched onto me. By Hercules, the wagon bed was hot! By the time the wheels ground to a halt, my tunic was as soaked as if I had taken a dip in the sea.

  The sail cloth was thrown back. I was chilled by a salty breeze.

  I had expected that we would return to the stable where I had seen Spurius. Instead, we were on a strip of sandy beach beneath low hills somewhere outside the city. The tiny cove terminated in boulders at both ends. A small relay boat was drawn up in the shallows. A larger vessel was anchored out in the deeper water. I sprang from the wagon, glad to breathe fresh air again.

  Cleon and his three companions hurriedly began to move the trunks from the wagon into the relay boat. ‘Damned heavy!’ grunted one of them. ‘We’ll never be able to move it all in one trip. It’ll take at least two – ’

  ‘Where’s the boy?’ I demanded, grabbing Cleon’s arm.

  ‘Here I am.’

  I turned and saw Spurius approaching from a group of sheltering boulders at the end of the little beach. In the heat of the day he had stripped off his tunic and was wearing only a loincloth. It was all he usually wore, if he wore even that; his lean, chiselled torso and long limbs were deeply and evenly bronzed by the sun.

  I looked at Cleon. His brows were drawn together as if he had pricked his finger. He stared at the boy and swallowed hard.

  ‘It’s about time!’ Spurius crossed his arms and glared at me. Petulance made him even more beautiful.

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to put on your tunic,’ I suggested, ‘and we’ll be on our way. If you’ll point the way to Ostia, Cleon, we’ll begin walking. Unless you intend to leave us the wagon?’

  Cleon stood dumbly. Spurius stepped between us and drew me aside. ‘Did anyone follow the wagon?’ he whispered.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Are you certain?’

  ‘I can’t be absolutely certain.’ I glanced at Cleon, who appeared not to be listening. The little relay boat was heading out to the larger ship with its first load, riding low in the water under the weight of the gold.

  ‘Well, did Pater send along a troop of armed guards or not? Answer me!’ Spurius spoke to me as if I were a slave.

  ‘Young man,’ I said sternly, ‘my duty at this moment is to your mother and father – ’

  ‘My stepfather!’ Spurius wrinkled his nose and spat out the word as if it were an expletive.

  ‘My job is to see that you get home alive. Until we’re safely back in Ostia, keep your mouth shut.’

  He was shocked into silence for a moment, then gave me a withering look. ‘Well, anyway,’ he said, raising his voice, ‘there’s no way these fellows will release me until all the gold is loaded onto the ship. Correct, Cleon?’

  ‘What? Oh, yes,’ said Cleon. The sea breeze whipped his long black hair about his face. He blinked back tears, as if the salt stung his eyes.

  Spurius gripped my arm and led me farther away. ‘Now listen,’ he growled, ‘did that miserly pater of mine send along an armed force or not? Or did he send you alone?’

  ‘I’ve already asked you to keep quiet – ’

  ‘And I’m ordering you to give me an answer. Unless you want me to make a very unsatisfactory report about you to my parents.’

  Why did Spurius insist on knowing? And why now? It seemed to me that my suspicions about the kidnapping were confirmed.

  If there was no armed force, then Spurius might as well stay with his so-called captors, if only to stay close to the gold, or his portion of it. Perhaps his stepfather could be had for a second ransom. But if an armed force was waiting to act, then it would be best for him to be ‘rescued’ by me now, to allow the fishermen – for surely these Neapolitan Greeks were anything but pirates – to make their escape immediately, along with the gold.

  ‘Let’s suppose there is an armed force,’ I said. ‘In that case, your friends had better get out of here at once. Let’s suppose they get clean away. How will you get your share of the gold then?’

  Spurius stared at me blankly, then flashed such a charming smile that I could almost understand why Cleon was so hopelessly smitten with the boy. ‘It’s not as if I don’t know where they live, down on the bay. They wouldn’t dare try to cheat me. I could always denounce them and have every one of them crucified. They’ll keep my share safe for me until I’m ready to claim it.’

  ‘What sort of bargain did you strike with them? Nine-tenths of the gold for you, one-tenth for them?’

  He smiled, as if caught at doing something wicked but clever. ‘Not quite that generous, actually.’

  ‘How did you find these “pirates”?’

  ‘I jumped in the bay at Neapolis and swam from boat to boat until I found the right crew. It didn’t take long to realize that Cleon would do anything for me.’

  ‘Then the idea for this escapade was entirely your own?’

  ‘Of course! Do you think a half-witted fisherman could come up with such a scheme? These fellows were born to be led. They were like fish in my net. They worship me – Cleon does, anyway – and why not?’

  I scowled. ‘While you’ve been romping naked in the sun, enjoying your holiday with your admirers, your mother has been desperate with worry. Does that mean nothing to you?’

  He crossed his arms and glared. ‘A little worry won’t kill her. It’s her fault, anyway. She could have made the old miser give me more money if she’d had the nerve to stand up to him. But she wouldn’t, so I had to come up with my own scheme to get Pater to cough up a bit of what’s rightfully mine anyway.’

  ‘And what about these fishermen? You’ve put them all in terrible danger.’

  ‘They know the risks. They also know how much they stand to profit.’

  ‘And Cleon?’ I looked over my shoulder and caught him staring doe-eyed at Spurius. ‘The poor fellow is heartsick. What did you do to make him that way?’

  ‘Nothing to embarrass Pater, if that’s what you’re getting at. Nothing that Pater hasn’t done himself, with the prettier boy slaves, from time to time. I know my place, and what’s proper for a man of my station; we take pleasure, we don’t give it. Not like Caesar, playing boy-wife to Nicomedes! Venus played a joke on poor Cleon, making him fall in love with me. It suited my purposes well enough, but I shall be glad to be rid of him. All that attention is cloying. I’d rather be waited on by a slave instead of pursued by a suitor; you can get rid of a slave just by clapping your hands.’

  ‘Cleon could be hurt before this is over. He might even be killed if something goes wrong.’

  Spurius raised his eyebrows and looked beyond me at the low hills. ‘Then there is an armed guard …’

  ‘It was a stupid scheme, Spurius. Did you really think it would work?’

  ‘It will work!’

  ‘No. Unfortunately for you, young man, I have a vested interest not only in rescuing you, but in recovering the ransom as well. A portion of that gold will be mine.’

  Challenging him outright was a mistake. He might have offered to buy my silence, but Spurius was even more miserly than his stepfather. He waved to Cleon, who came running. ‘Is all the gold loaded?’

  ‘This is the last trip,’ said C
leon. The words seemed to catch in his throat. ‘The relay boat is loaded and ready. I’m going with them. And you? Are you coming with us, Spurius?’

  Spurius scanned the hills above the beach. ‘I’m still not sure. But one thing’s for certain – this man will have to be silenced.’

  Cleon stared plaintively at Spurius, then glanced uneasily at me.

  ‘Well,’ said the boy, ‘you have a knife, Cleon, and he doesn’t. It should be simple. Go ahead and do it. Or do I need to summon another of the men from the relay boat?’

  Cleon looked miserable.

  ‘Well? Do it, Cleon! You told me you once killed a man in a brawl, in some rat-infested tavern down in Pompeii. That’s one of the reasons I chose you to help me. You always knew it might come to this.’

  Cleon swallowed hard and reached to the scabbard that hung from his belt. He pulled out a jagged-edged knife of the sort fishermen use to gut and clean their catch.

  ‘Cleon!’ I said. ‘I know everything. The boy is simply using you. You must know that. Your affection is wasted on him. Put down the knife. We’ll think of some way to rectify what you’ve done.’

  Spurius laughed and shook his head. ‘Cleon may be a fool, but he’s not an idiot. The die is cast. He has no choice but to follow through. And that means getting rid of you, Gordianus.’

  Cleon groaned. He kept his eyes on me but spoke to Spurius. ‘That day on the bay, when you swam up to our boat and climbed aboard, the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you’d bring me nothing but trouble. Your mad ideas – ’

  ‘You seemed to like my ideas well enough, especially when I mentioned the gold.’

  ‘Forget the gold! It was the others who cared about that. I only wanted – ’

  ‘Yes, Cleon, I know what you really want.’ Spurius rolled his eyes. ‘And I promise, one of these days I’ll let you. But right now …’ Spurius waved his hands impatiently. ‘Pretend he’s a fish. Gut him! Once that’s done, we’ll climb into the relay boat and be off with the gold, back to Neapolis.’

  ‘You’re coming with us?’

  ‘Of course. But not until this one is silenced. He knows too much. He’ll give us all away.’

  Cleon stepped closer. I considered fleeing, but thought better of it; Cleon had to be more used to running on sand than I was, and I couldn’t stand the idea of that jagged knife in my back. I considered facing him head-on; we were about the same size, and I probably had more experience at fighting hand to hand. But that didn’t count for much as long as he had a knife and I didn’t.

  My only advantage was that he was acting without conviction. There was heartsickness in his voice whenever he talked to Spurius, but also a tinge of resentment. If I could play on that, perhaps I could stave him off. I tried to think of a way to exploit his frustration, to turn him against the boy or at least keep him confused.

  But before I could speak, I saw the change in Cleon’s face. He made his decision quite literally in the twinkling of an eye. For the briefest instant I thought he might lunge at Spurius, like a cur turning on its master. How would I ever explain to Valeria that I stood by helplessly while her darling son was stabbed to death before my eyes?

  But that was a wishful fantasy. Cleon didn’t lunge at Spurius. He lunged at me.

  We grappled. I felt a sudden burning sensation run down my right arm, more as if I had been lashed by a whip than cut by a blade. But a cut it must have been – as the world spun dizzily around us I glimpsed a patch of sand spattered with blood.

  We tumbled onto the ground. I tasted gritty sand between my teeth. I felt the heat and smelled the sweat of Cleon’s body. He had been working hard, loading the gold into the relay boat. He was already tired. That was a good thing for me; I had just enough strength to fend him off until a figure came running from the boulders at the end of the beach.

  One instant Cleon was atop me, crushing the strength from my arms, bringing his blade closer and closer to my throat; the next moment it seemed that a god had snatched him by the back of his tunic and sent him soaring skyward. In fact it was Belbo who plucked him off me, lifted him into the air and then slammed him to the ground. Only the lenient sand prevented him from being broken in two. He managed to hold on to his knife, but a sideways kick from Belbo sent it flying through the air. Belbo dropped to his knees onto Cleon’s chest, knocking the breath out of him, and raised his fist like a hammer.

  ‘No, Belbo, don’t! You’ll kill him!’ I cried.

  Belbo turned his head and gave me a quizzical frown. Cleon flailed like a fish beneath the weight on his chest.

  Meanwhile, Cleon’s three friends clambered out of the relay boat. So long as it was Cleon against me, they had stayed where they were, but now that Cleon was down and outnumbered, they came to his rescue, drawing their knives as they ran.

  I got to my feet and ran after Cleon’s knife. I picked it up, feeling queasy at the sight of my own blood on the jagged blade. Belbo was back on his feet, his own dagger drawn. Cleon remained flat on his back, gasping for breath. So, I thought: three against two, all parties armed. I had a giant on my side, but my right arm was wounded. Did that make the odds even?

  Apparently not, for the fishermen suddenly stopped in their tracks, bumped against one another in confusion, then ran back to their boat, calling for Cleon to follow. I basked for a moment in the illusion that I had frightened them off (with a little help from Belbo, of course), then realized that before they turned and ran they had been looking at something above and beyond me. I turned around. Sure enough, Marcus and his men had appeared atop the low hills and were running towards the beach with swords drawn.

  Back in the relay boat, two of the fishermen scrambled for their oars while the third leaned towards the beach, crying for Cleon to join them. Cleon had managed to get to his hands and knees but couldn’t seem to stand upright. I looked at Marcus and his men, then at the fishermen in the boat, then at Spurius, who stood not far from Cleon with his arms crossed, scowling as if he were watching a dismally unfunny comedy.

  ‘For the love of Hercules, Spurius, why don’t you at least help him to his feet!’ I cried, then ran to do it myself. Cleon staggered up and I pushed him in the direction of the boat. ‘Run!’ I said. ‘Run, unless you want to be a dead man!’

  He did as I told him and went splashing into the surf. Then he suddenly stopped. The relay boat was pulling away, but he turned and stared at Spurius, who gave him a sardonic stare in return.

  ‘Run!’ I screamed. ‘Run, you fool!’ The men in the boat called to him as well, even as they began to row rapidly away. But as long as Spurius met his gaze, Cleon remained frozen, struggling to stand upright in the waves, his face a mask of misery.

  I ran to Spurius, put my hands on his shoulders and spun him around. ‘Get your hands off me!’ he snarled. But the spell was broken. Cleon seemed to wake. His face hardened. He turned and plunged into the waves, swimming after the relay boat.

  I dropped onto the sand, clutching my bleeding arm. A moment later Marcus and his men arrived on the beach brandishing their swords.

  Marcus satisfied himself that Spurius was unharmed, then turned his wrath on me. ‘You let one of them escape! I saw you help the man to his feet! I heard you telling him to run!’

  ‘Shut up, Marcus. You don’t understand.’

  ‘I understand that they’re getting away. Too far out now for us to swim after them. Damn! Just as well. We’ll let them reach the bigger ship and then the Crimson Ram can take care of the lot of them.’

  Before I could puzzle out what he meant, Belbo let out a cry and pointed towards the water. Cleon had finally reached the relay boat. His friends were pulling him aboard. But something was wrong; the heavy-laden boat began to tip. The experienced fishermen should have been able to right it, but they must have panicked. All at once the relay boat was upside down.

  Marcus snarled. Spurius yelped. Together they cried, ‘The gold!’

  Farther out, the fishermen on the larger ship were scrambling to set sai
l. They seemed awfully quick to abandon their friends, I thought, then saw the reason for their hurry. They had been able to see the approach of the warship before those of us on the beach could see it. It was the crimson warship I had seen anchored in the water off Ostia. The bristling oars sliced into the water in unison. The bronze ram’s head butted the spuming waves. The Crimson Ram, Marcus had called her. As soon as she came into sight around the bend of the cove, Marcus gave a signal to one of his men back on the hill, who began to wave a red cape – a signal that Spurius had been rescued and the action against the pirates could commence.

  It seems impossible that what came to pass was intended by anyone; but then, that might describe everything about the whole disastrous affair. Surely the Crimson Ram meant to outflank the fishing vessel and board her to recover the gold. A warship should have been able to achieve such a capture with ease. But there was no accounting for the actions of the hapless fishermen. Just as their fellows in the relay boat had panicked, so did they. When the Crimson Ram moved to draw alongside, the fishing vessel seemed to turn as if intent on deliberate self-destruction, like a gladiator impaling himself on an enemy’s sword, and offered her starboard flank to the massive bronze ram’s head.

  We heard the distant impact, the splintering of wood, the cries of the fishermen. The sail collapsed. The fishing boat convulsed and folded in on itself. The vessel vanished into the rolling sea almost before I could comprehend the horror of it.

  ‘By the gods!’ muttered Belbo.