Insurgent of Rome

by Ken Farmer

  Ah. Melglos knew that he was speaking of the sailmaker merchantry. He had seen such in the distance, with a stone tower and various poles planted to allow for sails of different sizes and shapes to be given test in actual wind. "Keep talking, scum. And with haste. We are short of day." Indeed, the inside of the shed was growing darker with the gathering departure of the sun. "Tell us of the old man that was taken." This was only a guess by the Thracian - Patroclus might yet be found sharing cups with yet another found comrade of his birth-land, although such wishing was without much hope.

  Still with eyes almost bursting with wideness, the man hesitated, to allow understanding of the question, then said, "Nay, Kurios. I know of no such." With the moment of the blade above his eyes, his denial with violent shake of head. "Mercy, Kurios! With oath, I have given no follow to any oldster! Only to yourselves."

  "What is the name of your principal?"

  "My... principal? I have not his name - only the offer of a coin for the labor of a day."

  "Dionysophanes, mayhap?" offered Melglos.

  Now with mouth open as a gasping fish, the man shook his head again. "The master of the trading guild? How would such as I even have auspice to speak to such?" It was obvious that this was truth. Such scum of the street might be hired by the merchant - or by an attendant more likely - but would be considered as little more worth than the dust under foot. "Nay! My offer came from... just a strapper with coin to display for use. He waits with his men in the Apothíki."

  "Men? How many in count? And for what purpose do they gather?"

  "Kurios! I have no knowledge of such. There were a handful of men at the building in my view, but I was only given offer to watch the ship, following any who left, then returning my seeings for a coin."

  Melglos stood up, followed by his comrade. In Latini, he said, "This scum can tell us no more. Let us move to find the nest of these vipers." To the man, he said, "We will examine the truth of your words. You should give plea to Zeus that your words are not with falsehood." A pause for thought, then, "You will remain here until we return with such evidence." Of course, the Thracian knew that once the pair were out of sight, the man would flee as if the furies were in pursuit of his being.

  Or mayhap not. Ngozi nodded, then stepped back to stoop at the feet of the man. With quick moments of his wrist, he cut a gash in the soles of both feet, not of such depth to cause lasting disability, but enough to preclude any movement of walk for days to come. It took a heartbeat for the senses of the man to realize what had been done, then a scream began to issue with some volume, cut off with the quick stooping of Melglos and a hand over the mouth. A pause for the man to gain some sense of purpose, then, "Hold your protest, else we have need to do so the same with your throat." It was with great effort that the man ceased his need to bellow, then lapsed to a whimper as the Thracian stood again.

  Quickly, both turned and left the stable, Ngozi pointed to the shore, only a few handfuls of strides away and behind the structures across the street, "Our progress will be less evident if we avoid the road."

  Behind the merchantries fronting the water in this area, their path was cluttered, but except for a single servant stacking bags behind a structure, they were given notice by none. However, the yard of the sail-maker was fenced and with men in some number giving tasks to end their day. Should they vault the barrier to cross, they would be confronted as to purpose, without doubt. And moving out to wade into the water would also give wonder at such action. Casually, as two men returning from their labor for the day, both walked back to the street, then along to pass the large yard of the sail-maker.

  Now both realized the insufficiency of their previous requests from their shadower. Beyond, and following the curve of the shore was not a storehouse, but an entire line of such. "We have made error in not asking closer description of our destination from that scum," muttered Melglos. They could not begin hacking at doors to gain entry, one by one. From the substantial appearance of the buildings, the entries would be as sturdy, and two men seen pounding in the darkening of the workday would be accosted by the port watch and in haste. Finally, the Thracian said with a wave, "Come. Let us walk the rear of the buildings. Mayhap we can find some hint for our use."

  The warehouses were separated from adjoining neighbors by a narrow alley only, leading from the port road almost to the water, which was only a handful of strides from the rear walls. Any wonder that either had of why valuable harbor edge would be taken by buildings, and not wharfs, was seen immediately - the water was shallow at this curve of the port, spotted with rocks and scarfs of mud for a half stadium from the shoreline. Even a shallow draft fisher would ground fifty long strides out, at least.

  The backs of the wooden warehouses were just that - mere walls of planks and without opening or window. And they were not derelict, with warping wood that might give one a view of inside. These were well-kept and no doubt, in use as storage of lading entering or leaving the port of Antioch.

  At the end of the line was a stone yard, and beyond, a long stretch of lumber stacks - nothing for a man to use as his place of wait. "Mayhap we must need return to give further query to our shadow, if he has not crawled back to his hole," said Melglos, looking up and down the row of building walls.

  Ngozi did not answer, standing against the far building with ear pressed to the wood. In only a heartbeat, he walked back down the way they had come, listening to each in turn. It was obvious what the black man was doing, although the Thracian doubted that voices could be heard through the planks, unless the owners were in shout - even assuming that any inside were in converse to each other. At the first warehouse, Ngozi stood away from the wood to just stare into the distance. Finally, Melglos said, "There is likely none in..." He ceased his words as the black man held up an open palm in need of silence. Then...

  At a wave from his comrade, he followed the other down the narrow alley between the first and second long buildings. Each was about forty strides long, and windowless as expected - no merchant-Carpenter would add openings for the use of thieves and pilferers in the night. The structures were of hefty build, and in goodly repair, but still not with planks joined and caulked as if the hull of a ship. As the black stopped to examine the walls - each within arm's length of the men - Melglos finally had need to ask quietly, "What is giving call to your ears?"

  The alley was growing darker and quickly. The unseen sun must be under the horizon by now, but the shadow of Ngozi still stood with his only his head in movement, swiveling this way and that. Finally, he answered, "I can hear the call of digitus ossis in play."

  The black man had taken learning in the tongue of Latium after his join of the Petrel, but even now, years later, his diction could sometimes become smothering, using words that he had heard from the educated Sage - words that might have little meaning for the average man in a taburna. Melglos thought for a moment, then gave his guess. "Knucklebones?" At the barely seen nod in the dark, he bit back a reply of some asperity at the over-ornate description of a common game, replacing his words with, "Where away?"

  Rather than answer, Ngozi began to walk down the alley, slowly, but strangely - bending at the waist, then straightening while looking sideways at the long sides of the two adjoining buildings. Suddenly, he stopped, frozen in stare for a moment, then stepping to put his ear against the wood, once again.

  In only a heartbeat, he turned to his companion and said with a useless pointing in the darkness, "There."

  Confused, Melglos stooped to give gaze at a blank wall, for no reason that he could determine, then gave the same sudden reaction as his comrade - suddenly stopping his movement as if turned to stone by the Gorgon. Between the cracks of two boards was a long sliver of light - a torch or such, inside the second building. After the stare of a moment, he put his ear to the wood to hear - barely - indiscernible voices beyond. Finally, he stood and said very quietly, "My apologies, friend. You have the ears of a ferret, to accompany the eyes borrowed from an eagle." He looking
up and down the long - and now dark - alley, then said, "Come. Let us see if the entrance is usable by two miscreants in the night."

  The port road was now dark, with a torch in a holder here and there, but none close to their place of watch. Labor around the harbor had stopped, with the men either returning to their homes or in search of wine and women. This end of the port, far around the curve of the harbor, was almost deserted, now. In the compound of the sail-maker, they could see a flame moving here and there - no doubt the merchant giving secure to his property for the night before making his own rest.

  The doors of the building were wide, as was normal for a warehouse in which a wagon might be drawn for loading or unlading of whatever might be stored there, but there was a smaller door, made for entry without the bother of moving the large wooden portals and no doubt, the huge bar that secured such. With hand on hilt, Melglos pulled on the handle, finding that the door was not fastened from within, but swung noiselessly outward on its rope hinges.

  Peering within, both could only see a flicker of light about midway down the area. This long and wide building was almost empty of lading of any kind, other than a few piles of something barely seen in the flickering light. From the calls and shouts and japes, they were kneeling around their apparent game of bones.

  Neither had drawn their blades, as the malevolency of the men inside had not been discovered. All may well being innocent of wrongdoing, doing nothing more than enjoying the company of each other after a long day of labor. In fact, the only suspicions being laid on any in this building were mere accusations of a man who had given follow to crewmen from the Petrel. Thus far, absolutely no connection to the apparently missing Sage had been found. Indeed, the old navigator might even now be back at the ship, sitting in a chair with cup in hand and giving wonder with all as to the whereabouts of their two mates.

  Slowly, both stepped inside the building, allowing the door to close without sound, then, testing each step in the dark, began to move, staying close to the wall and thus at a distance from the torches near the far side. Soon, they had advanced past the intervening stack of... whatever blocked vision from the door, to see a pair of flaring torches held by two poles jabbed into the dirt of the floor. Now they realized that this building was more than a storehouse - at least at the present. Along the wall, next to the gaming men, was a raised platform and long enough to hold the sleeping mats of the six men - and more. A barracks - or at least, a temporary shelter for the group.

  Moving slowly and far from the illumination of the torches, both knew that they were invisible to any even should they glance across the almost empty warehouse. And, all in the pool of light cast by the flames would be fire-blind to some extent. Still in wonder at the nature of the group, both stopped to listen, hearing only the gab of men in contest with the throw of the bones - calls of jubilancy from some and good-natured groans from others as the spots were counted.

  They slowly stepped further along, to examine the far extent of the storage building, and knowing that, if seen, they would, no doubt be taken as thieves in the night and with need to fight their way to the door. And mayhap against honest men giving honest call to protect the property of their principal.

  Their move to the rear of the building was fortunate. Suddenly, there was a noise of wood on wood, and another torch appeared in the small doorway, with four men entering. The loud chatter of the newcomers gave notice that such were not interlopers, but other men come to join their comrades kneeling around the flat board that served as a playing surface.

  The building was empty to a great extent, with only a few stacks or piles of something here and there - mayhap trash or empty containers. But such gave fairly good cover for the two men far in the back and in total shadow. Moving across to gain the same wall against which the gaming men were in play, they moved rapidly at first, secure in the far darkness of the long building, but slowed their pace as they began to approach. The addition of two more torches to the pair already flaring above the heads of the men gave now gave considerable light. Ahead was another pile of trash, rubbish, detritus - no matter the content, it was only waist high but gave good cover to the men, now stooped in quiet move. Finally, they came to the pile, realizing that it was either rags or empty bags such as grain was given haulage, but it was only a double handful of strides from the kneeling players.

  The conversation was easily heard, but consisted only what would be expected for a group of men engaged in the universal game of knucklebones. Even as they watched and yet another torch appeared, showing the entry of two more men, but one of these was not a mere underling come to take rest. The game stopped in mid-throw, as all stood waiting for the newcomers. It was obvious to the pair of watchers that a man of importance had entered.

  With just eyes lifted above the pile of bags, they saw a large man, neither young nor old, and - interestingly, not short-bearded as was the norm in this land. Indeed, the man could have been taken by a citizen of Rome, but it was obvious that he was no mere messenger and his speaking was not as a comrade to the group. "What news of the ship and crews?"

  One of the men spread his hands in reply. "Armad came with report at sundown. The crew of both have abandoned the inn and the grounds used for the encampment. All are onboard. Or were when the dolt left his post to bring his declaration."

  The leader thought for a moment, then muttered, "They do not wish to be surrounded without path to retreat." Then he demanded, "What of the other scum? Trojus, you called him."

  "Nay, Kurios. He has not appeared to give report. Mayhap he has taken disinterest in our offer of coin."

  "He is laying behind a taverna in his cups, more like." A pause, then, "No matter. End the gaming and take your rest. The morrow will be full." He pointed to a man, then finished with, "At first light, take the men to break their fast, then to gather at the Saltos grounds."

  The leader turned and strode toward the small entry but immediately was a call from the man just spoken to. "What of the putrid oldster, Kurios? He has little more to say until he is mustered into Hades."

  The leader did not pause to reply, only called back over his shoulder, "Give him to the fish."

  Both men in hiding looked at each other, both in surprise at the question. The old man spoken of could only be their crewmate, but there was certainly no sign of Patroclus in the building. The door swung shut and all sat again in their circle, now jabbering to each other. "...he gave that we make halt to our bones..." "Aye, but let us finish the game. I have some goodly coin in play and Tyche is smiling on my throws this night." "The goddess is fickle, Belos. I wager a tetraobol that your run is ended on the next toss..." All knelt and began again with the sound of chanting for fortune from the gods and the oaths of mock despair as the spots gave evil count.

  The game quickly ended, the pile of coins being taken by the winners and all began to settle onto their mats, unlacing sandals and some even their tunics in this warm night. The man who was the apparent minor leader of the band suddenly said, "Thoas. Lykon. Drag that wretch to the water. In this heat, his entry into Hades will not give goodly scent to our noses by morningtime."

  Grumbling, two men halted their preparations for sleep, then stood and began to walk toward the pair hiding behind the stack of empty bags. Silently, and as one together, the two watchers drew their blades, moving that only their eyes showed above the pile. They were still confused as to the supposed presence of another man to be disposed of, knowing that they had neither passed nor stumbled across such in their creep from the back of the building.

  Just as the hiding pair - in quivering stance for their inevitable discovery in mere heartbeats - began the order for the sinews of arms to thrust blades into chests, both of the oncoming men stopped just at the base of the pile, one stooping from sight. It was only a moment, then, "This reeking dotard is a tough buzzard. He is still warm."

  "That is easily mended. Stick your blade in his gullet."

  The stooping man had little chance to act on the
suggestion nor to even register surprise as two apparitions suddenly appeared across the pile of empty bags. Both were cut down even before realization of happening was gained. Now, standing, both assailants could see a prone figure at the base of the pile and without doubt, their quarry and fellow crewman.

  Unfortunately, while neither of the marks had made exclamation in their sudden entry to Hades, the clatter of metal on stone as the standing man fell was enough to gain attention of their fellows. It was as if a nest of waspus had been struck by a stone thrown by a gamboling boy in the street. Shouts rang out as men, some as bare as newborns, took up their swords and hastened to give chastisement to the intruders.