Veterans of Rome (Book 9 of the Veteran of Rome Series)

by William Kelso

  “Shut up,” Dylis hissed furiously. “I am trying to save your life, brother. This is the only way I know how.”

  Marcus did not immediately reply, as he turned to look away at the crowds milling around them. Then he reached out with his right hand and gripped his sister’s shoulder.

  “I know. I know,” he muttered. “And I am grateful sister for everything you have done. All shall end well.”

  ***

  It was after noon and the three of them had just left the busy streets outside the huge and newly completed stone amphitheatre and were heading southwards to the public baths, on the banks of the Thames. Suddenly an old gladiator’s net came sailing through the air, crashing down onto Marcus. Instantly, the devious meshing and weight of the net brought him staggering and then tumbling down onto the paving stones. In the narrow street someone screamed, and the pedestrians scattered in panic. Dimly, Marcus was aware of three burly men armed with knives, pushing through the crowd towards him. A fourth had launched himself at Indus. Frantically Marcus tried to free himself from the net, but the thin but strong meshing had snagged and wrapped itself around him, restricting his movement. Desperately he yanked his knife from his belt, as he struggled to free himself. Then the three men were upon him. One of them, a bald man with piercing blue eyes, hit him in the face with his fist - sending Marcus flying onto his back and crying out in pain. As he crashed onto his back, he lost his knife, which went clattering away down the street. Rough hands grasped hold of him and, before he could react he was struck in the face again, by one of the men’s fists. Despite the pain, Marcus tried to fight back but the net was making it very hard.

  “Get him up onto his feet,” a laboured voice hissed. “Get him out of here.”

  However, before anyone could act, another scream rang out in the street and the man who had attacked Indus, staggered backwards with Indus’s knife sticking out of his chest and blood pouring down his tunic. With an explosion of rage and violence, Indus kicked the man backwards, sending him crashing up against a wall. Swiftly the Batavian bodyguard yanked his knife from his assailant’s chest and rammed it into the man’s throat. On the ground, Marcus was furiously struggling with the men, who were trying to drag him back onto his feet. His assailants were swearing and shouting, and he was close enough to them to smell their foul breath. Then one of the men shrieked, as Dylis came up behind him and hit him in the head with an iron hammer. The force of the blow sent the man crashing sideways into a baker’s stall. Loaves of bread went flying in all directions.

  “Get away from him,” Dylis screamed, in a fearless and outraged voice, as she swung her hammer at the remaining men. “Get away from him. Get away from him.”

  In the street, Marcus suddenly felt the pressure relax. The two remaining assailants seemed to have had enough. Without a word, they abandoned their efforts to drag him away and fled down the street, vanishing in the chaos and confusion. A moment later, Indus was at Marcus’s side and furiously pulling the net off his body. As he staggered to his feet, Marcus, gasping for breath, turned in the direction in which his attackers had fled. Close by, Dylis abruptly wheeled round as the man she’d hit with her hammer came staggering out of the shop entrance with blood pouring down his face. Before he had a chance to see what was going on, she hit him again, striking him full in the face and, as he collapsed onto the ground, she kept on hitting him until his face was a bloody pulp.

  “You all right Sir,” Indus gasped, as clutching his bloodied knife, he turned to stare around him. In the deserted street, anxious, terrified and silent faces were peering at the scene from windows and doorways, but no one dared set foot outside and take a closer look at the two bloody corpses.

  “I think so,” Marcus growled, with a painful expression, as he raised his hand to touch the bruises on his face.

  In the doorway to the shop, Dylis staggered backwards, clutching her bloodied hammer as she stared at the assailant lying motionless on the ground. Her face was splattered with blood and there was a madness in her eyes.

  “Who were they Sir?” Indus gasped, as he turned to form a protective circle around Marcus. “Who would do such a thing Sir?”

  “Bounty hunters,” Marcus hissed angrily, as he reached down to pick up the discarded net. Examining it for a moment, he contemptuously flung the net into a corner and turned to stare at his sister. “Scum of the earth. Nigrinus has announced a reward for my capture,” Marcus snapped. “This is the work of bounty hunters. They know I am here. The streets are no longer safe for us.”

  ***

  It was night and across Londinium the city seemed to be asleep. Carefully, Marcus undid the latch, opened the door to Senovarus’s house and peered out into the street. He was clad in a dark cloak with a hood drawn over his head and, hidden within his tunic were a knife and a short sword. Outside, in the alley nothing moved. In the darkness all seemed quiet, except for the occasional drunken roar and shout coming from the late-night revellers a block away. For a moment, Marcus strained to listen, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Then, without further hesitation, he quietly slipped out of the door and into the street and stole away into the night.

  Chapter Twenty-Six – The Trial

  Senovarus’s slaves were standing in a row along the corridor, like an honour guard, as Marcus came down the stairs from his room in the lawyer’s town house. At the door leading out into the street, Dylis, Indus and Senovarus were waiting for him, all of them dressed in their finest clothing. The lawyer had a leather satchel slung over his shoulder and Indus was armed with a knife and short sword. Dylis looked tense but managed to flash her brother a quick, encouraging smile.

  “Are you ready Marcus?” Senovarus said quickly. “They are waiting for you outside. Do as they say and don’t make a fuss. Most of it is for show anyway.”

  Marcus, looking composed, said nothing as he strode towards the doorway. He was unarmed and clad in a long black cloak with a hood. As Senovarus opened the door and stepped out into the street, Marcus caught sight of a party of legionaries from the governor’s personal guard. The soldiers were hanging about in the street, patiently waiting for him to appear. Stepping out into the bright sunlight, Marcus stopped as the centurion in command of the legionaries came up to him.

  “I am the captain of the guard,” the officer said. “Are you Marcus?”

  “I am,” Marcus replied.

  “I have orders to escort you to the governor’s mansion,” the centurion snapped. “You are to stand trial. Bind his hands behind his back,” the officer called out, turning to his men.

  As the legionaries bound Marcus’s hands behind his back with a thin rope, Marcus stood still and gazed quietly ahead, his face composed and unreadable. In the doorways and windows of the terraced buildings opposite him, silent and curious faces were peering back at him.

  “Ready Sir,” one of the legionaries called out.

  “All-right, let’s go,” the centurion cried out, as he started off down the street raising his vine staff in the air. “Close formation,” the officer called out. “No one is to harm the prisoner or get close to him.”

  Abruptly Marcus turned and, followed by Dylis, Indus and Senovarus, began to follow the centurion, as the officer led the way down the narrow street. The squad of legionaries, clad in their body armour and helmets and carrying their spears and large shields, quickly formed up in a protective formation around Marcus. As the party strode on down the road, the tramp of the soldiers hobnailed boots on the paving stones filled the street with an ominous sound. Reaching an intersection, the centurion turned right and, as he followed the officer into the street, Marcus was suddenly conscious of the people pausing to stare at him. As the party marched on the pedestrians in the street ahead hastily moved out of their way.

  “Murderer,” a lone voice suddenly cried out from the crowd and Marcus caught a glimpse of a red-faced man glaring at him and shaking his fist.

  Further down the street, the crowds of onlookers seemed to be gr
owing, lining both sides of the thoroughfare. All were gazing at the small party and its army escort. Then, as the people caught sight of Marcus, a large cheer went up. The cheering, clapping and yelling grew louder as the centurion began to push his way through the mass of people. To Marcus’s surprise the people seemed to be on his side.

  “Marcus. Marcus. Marcus,” the cry went up and, as it was swiftly taken up by hundreds of voices, the legionaries started to force people backwards with their shields.

  “He’s innocent. He’s innocent. Set him free! Long live emperor Hadrian! We want Marcus. We want Marcus. Set him free!”

  The yells and shouts grew in volume as the party struggled on through the crowds. Along the edge of the street, dozens of hands and arms reached out, straining to touch Marcus and the noise was deafening. Gazing silently ahead, Marcus kept on walking, forcing his way down the street, his hands bound behind his back, his face composed and unreadable. Not all in the crowds however, seemed to be on his side, and occasionally he heard a man shouting abuse at him. Yet it was clear where the sympathies of most of the onlookers lay. As they approached the Temple of Neptune, the solemn looking priests came out of the temple and gathered together to watch the procession making its way down the street. Quickly, Marcus turned to look back at Dylis, who was following on behind him. He had not been expecting this reaction from the crowds. Had the news of the incident with the bounty hunters spread throughout the city, or had his sister arranged this display of public support? But Dylis avoided his gaze, and instead, kept her cold, hard eyes firmly on the crowds ahead.

  The size of the crowds seemed to grow larger the closer to the governor’s palace they got. Around him, the legionary escort were grunting and swearing at the populace, as they jostled and struggled to forge a path down the street with their large shields. Along the edge of the street, Marcus suddenly noticed men in familiar looking uniforms and, as he strode on by, here and there in the crowds, a Batavian veteran sprang stiffly to attention and saluted.

  “We are with you Sir,” a voice cried out, in the Batavian language. “We stand with you Sir! “Thunder and lashing rain, so Wodan commeth. Courage Sir!”

  The cries and shouts were barely audible amidst the noisy tumult. Up ahead the great stone palace suddenly appeared, looming over its neighbouring buildings. A row of iron-faced legionaries clad in their armour were standing in a long line in front of the building, keeping the crowds back with their large shields. As the centurion of his escort reached them, the soldiers quickly moved aside, allowing the party to slip through and into the palace beyond.

  ***

  The windowless-room inside the palace was bare, stuffy and airless. Marcus, with his hands still bound behind his back, stood in a corner, with a silent legionary guard on either side of him. A table had been placed in the centre of the room and, arranged around it were three chairs, two of which were empty whilst the third was occupied by Senovarus. There was no one else in the room. The lawyer looked bored as he sat waiting, calmly drumming his fingers on the wooden surface of the table. From outside the building, Marcus could hear the faint noise of cheering and shouting emanating from the city streets.

  At last, after what seemed an age, the door opened, and a man strode into room. Looking up, Marcus recognised Felix, one of the speculatores, law enforcers, who had conveyed the summons to him in Reginorum. For a moment Felix stared at Marcus. Then, carefully he cleared his throat.

  “Senator and former Consul of Rome, governor of the province of Britannia, you will stand for Marcus Appius Bradua,” Felix announced in a grave voice before stiffly stepping to one side. Moments later, two men came striding into the room. The first was a tall, aristocratic-looking man of around fifty, with a receding hairline and large bulging eyes. He was clad in a fine-looking senator’s toga with a thin purple border. On his fingers, a multitude of rings gleamed in the light. As he came into the room, Senovarus rose to his feet and lowered his head in a respectful gesture.

  The second man was shorter, younger and fatter than Bradua and there was a slyness about him, as if he was a thief on a reconnaissance mission, eying up what he could steal. As his gaze settled on Marcus, a little contemptuous smile appeared on the man’s lips.

  “Be seated,” the governor said as he gestured at the chairs. Glancing quickly at Marcus, the governor gave no indication that he recognised him, nor did he say anything to him. Instead Bradua turned his attention to Senovarus.

  “You are here to defend your client?” the governor snapped.

  “I am,” the lawyer replied.

  “Good,” Bradua said, in a business-like voice. “This is a preliminary hearing. The gentlemen beside me,” the governor said, indicating the second man. “His name is Otho. He has come all the way from Rome. He is a lawyer and he will lead the prosecution on behalf of the senate and people of Rome.”

  “It’s good to finally see what I am up against,” Senovarus said with a bemused smile, as he stretched out his hand in greeting, but Otho declined to take it.

  “As this is a preliminary hearing, I would like to get the formula for the trial agreed as soon as possible,” the governor said sharply. “First then the nominatio. It is agreed between plaintiff and defence council that I, as governor of this province and having jurisdiction, shall be the judge of this case. It is however the right of the defendant, who is a full Roman citizen, to have his trial heard in Rome. Does the defendant wish for his trial to be transferred to Rome?”

  “No, he wishes it to be held here in Londinium,” Senovarus replied.

  “All right, that brings us to the intentio,” Bradua snapped. “Otho, would you like to make clear the reason for this trial and the charges against the defendant.”

  “Thank you, Sir,” Otho replied, speaking in a crisp clear voice. “The defendant stands accused of treason and the murder of two leading senators. These crimes took place in Rome last summer. I have evidence and a witness that prove the defendant’s guilt and, I will be seeking the death penalty.”

  “All right, I agree to the prosecution,” Bradua said with a nod. “Defence council, do you contest these charges? Is there any possibility that we can avoid going to full trial by having your client declare his guilt right now? It would save all of us a lot of hassle and time.”

  “My client is innocent of all the charges levelled at him,” Senovarus replied. “They are politically motivated. He is also willing to swear an oath in front of the gods, that he is innocent. If he is allowed do so, he should go free. Swearing a solemn oath before the gods is a serious matter and proves his innocence. However, if this is not possible he has instructed me to proceed to a full trial, Sir.”

  “Otho,” the governor said, glancing at the prosecutor.

  “No,” Otho said sharply, as he shook his head. “This case is too serious to be decided on a simple oath. I do not trust the defendant’s word and will not agree to it.”

  “Very well,” Bradua said in his business-like voice. “Then we shall proceed to full trial. A jury of twelve leading citizens of this city has been chosen and are waiting for us in the court room. I shall meet you both there in an hour.”

  As the governor got up and turned to leave the room, without so much as a glance at Marcus, the two lawyers quickly rose to their feet and respectfully lowered their heads. After Bradua had left, followed by Felix, Otho turned and slowly walked over to where Marcus was standing. The prosecutor’s face was filled with malice. Pausing in front of Marcus, he took his time examining him.

  “I am going to have them decapitate you,” Otho hissed suddenly. “And once I have your head, I shall take it back to Rome and put it on a spike for all to see. Nigrinus wanted you to know that this will be your fate, to be remembered as a traitor to Rome and to your colleagues.”

  “Fuck off you little dog,” Marcus growled.

  Before anyone could react Otho had spat straight into Marcus’ face. Then abruptly, the prosecutor turned away and strode out of the room.

  Co
ming up to Marcus, Senovarus pulled a piece of cloth from his pocket and hastily wiped the spittle from Marcus’s face.

  “May I have a few moments alone with my client?” Senovarus asked as he turned to the two legionaries. “Don’t worry. He is not about to make a run for it.”

  The soldiers glanced at each other and then, without a word they trooped out of the room and closed the door behind them.

  “Stay cool,” Senovarus said, lowering his voice. “Don’t let that arsehole rattle you. He is just trying to get you angry and flustered. But tell me. Otho mentioned that he had evidence and a witness incriminating you. What could he be referring to?”

  “I don’t know,” Marcus replied.

  Senovarus reached up to stroke his chin with a thoughtful expression. Then he turned away and looked down at the floor.

  “Don’t worry,” he said at last. “Whatever they have got against you, I am going to pour darkness over this jury. We are going to win.”

  ***

  The large state hall inside the governor’s palace was packed. Up in the public gallery, every available inch of space was taken by a crowd of eager spectators and onlookers. Legionaries from the governor’s personal guard stood stiffly on guard duty beside the three entrances into the hall and, gazing down at the proceedings from a plinth, was a life-size stone statue of emperor Trajan, clad in military clothing. Close to the main entrance, stood another life-size statue of a veiled and naked woman holding a cornucopia in her hand. As Marcus was led out into the centre of the hall, his hands still bound behind his back, a hush descended on the room, and all eyes turned towards him. Leaving Marcus standing facing the bench where the governor, his advisers and the court officials were seated, the two guards took up a position either side of him, their eyes staring into space. Slowly, Marcus turned to glance to his right, where the twelve men of the jury were seated in comfortable chairs. The men looked solemn and grave, giving nothing away as to what they may be thinking. Hearing someone softly call out his name, he turned to his left and saw Cunomoltus leading Kyna to the spaces reserved for family members. Kyna was clad in a fine white cloak and her face was calm and composed. As she reached the spot where Dylis was standing, the two women quickly embraced and kissed each other on the cheek. Then they both turned to look at Marcus and, as she gazed at her husband Kyna lifted her chin a little in a proud and defiant gesture. At her side Dylis’s eyes were hard as stones. Directly in front of the section reserved for family members, the advocates for the prosecution and defence and their teams were sitting at their desks, gazing solemnly at Marcus. Otho it seemed had brought a large team of assistants, but Senovarus was sitting alone.