Attila Drinks From A Human Skull | Saved By a Cat | A Hungry Wolf |
Caia Fights to The Death | Nice Kick | Pirates Attack! |
Saved By The Hound | Peta Begs For Posion | Peta Is Filthy with Hate |
Attila Drinks From a Human Skull
Tulli’s party arrived at Attila’s wooden walled city at the third hour past dawn.
“Here comes the welcoming party,” Otho said. A Hun, who said in perfect Latin, “Attila sends greetings to the Senator and General of the Wolf Legion. He will see you at the sixth hour. Don’t enter they city without me. Take your men that way.” He pointed. “About two of your Roman miles. You’ll find a stream and grazing for your horses. Camp there. I will return to accompany you to your meeting with Attila.” He turned and rode away. He wore goat skins, was filthy, and his face was scarred.
“Talkative,” Gaius quipped. “Flawless Latin. Didn’t expect that.”
“Everyone remains in camp,” Tulli said. “Tell the men that to enter the city is death.” Tulli paused, then, “After the Hun tires of torturing them.”
“No one will leave camp. Never thought I’d have a hundred thousand Huns for neighbors. Might we invite them to dinner?” Otho said with a laugh. “And General, we’ll protect the women as long as we can, but….” Otho said, while maintaining eye contact with his General.
“They know not to be taken alive,” Tulli said sadly but it was too late to do anything else. They were committed and the only way to survive was to see it through.
Though he did not show it, Tulli was touched by the loyalty and love of his men. He would never forget that these men risked death and torture for him.
At the sixth hour, high sun to the enemy, Tulli’s Hun guard arrived and accompanied him to his meeting with Attila. Entering the city, Tulli saw thousands of Huns trading, making bows, arrows, saddles, tack, plaiting horsehide into lariats, blacksmiths making axes and swords. Much of it patterned on captured Roman weapons.
A smith was forging iron tires for Hun wagons. This Tulli found this worrisome as he had never seen a Hun wagon with them. They had always been quick to copy others, but still, he found it unsettling. If they started to copy Roman ballista, he wanted to know about it. It looked like Rome would be in an even greater defensive position, if that were the case. That thought troubled him, as if he needed something else to worry about.
Entering Attila’s headquarters, the sun was high in the sky. He was shown to Attila’s office where he found his Roman secretary, and several Huns he didn’t recognize. This confirmed Tulli’s suspicion that Attila would humble Tulli in front of witnesses. Walking past Attila’s secretary, Tulli ignored him.
The office was magnificent, with walls of polished wood and a large desk. In one corner was a vast table table covered with maps and scrolls. Which Attila could read and speak. The Huns had spoken language only. Attila sat at his desk, drinking wine from a human skull. As Tulli walked in, Attila did not stand, saying, “Wine?” As an almost naked slave brought him a human skull filled with wine. The smell was that of unwatered wine, far too strong to drink. Tulli looked at her, “No thank you,” he said in Latin without rancor. She could no more refuse Attila than shecould fly.
“She doesn’t speak Latin,” Attila said.
“Tell her I don’t want the wine. Please.”
Saying ‘please’ to Attila was not easy. There were few men that were Tulli’s equal. The Eastern and Western emperors, one or two senators, and Attila. That was about it. Tulli had to be careful that he remained subservient even though it rubbed him the wrong way, but it was necessary if he was to manipulate Attila and get what he wanted.
The Roman secretary smirked and spoke to her in Hunnish. Smiling seductively, showing teeth almost black, she sat on Attila’s desk leaving nothing to the imagination. Tulli had conducted hundreds of negotiations and recognized this as a distraction. Attila would never try something this obvious if he felt it was a negotiation between equals. Tulli knew Attila thought he had the upper hand and could embarrass and humiliate him without consequences. This worked in Tulli’s favor. Yes, come on, humiliate me, show these fools how magnanimous you can be by giving me what I want. You’ve made your first mistake.
Good, Tulli thought. If humble is what you want. Humble is what you’ll get. Just like any other negotiation. Give ‘em what they want, so I get what I want.
The two men glared at each other until Attila broke the silence.
“Been a while. You’ve done well.”
“How long since I saved your life?” Tulli asked.
“Not sure. Twenty-five years? Still fight with two swords?”
“Yes,” Tulli said, nodding.
Attila continued, not letting Tulli speak, “Must be hard on you. Coming all this way to kiss my ass. You’re bigger than I remember. Married Peta, got yourself the Wolf Legion and access to all her gold. Why weren’t you at the Catalaunian Fields? Afraid? Hiding behind your wife.” This got smiles and laughter from those in the room.
“Senate talked the Emperor into keeping us in Ravenna. Lucky for you,” Tulli said, eyes narrowing. “My Wolves would’ve had you. We’re the finest Legion in the Empire, East or West.”
Changing the subject, Attila said, “I heard about the plot from Constantinople to kill me, if you’re waiting for that to release Annora.”
“I’m not. Heard about it myself. Stupid plan. Onegesius would never betray you…for any amount of gold. Never expected it to succeed.”
Attila was surprised that Tulli said it was a stupid plan, and that he was so well informed.
“You have excellent spies, General.”
Tulli sniffed, “Forty pounds of gold would make your killer the richest Hun on the steppe, but he wouldn’t live long enough to spend it. Did you capture Marcus’ delivery boy? Cut him up? Send him home in a sack?”
“Onegesius told me of the plot. We arrested the Roman bringing the gold. When we asked him why he was carrying so much, what do you think he said?”
“Can’t imagine. Forty pounds? A fortune. What would anyone buy with it?”
“Said he was going to buy horses. We held him for ransom and got another forty pounds for his release.”
At this Tulli laughed, “You doubled the assassin’s price?” Shaking his head, Tulli looked at Attila. “Well played, I congratulate you.” Meaning every word.
“Some of my men wanted to return him in pieces. Didn’t do that. No need.”
“We want Annora back,” Tulli said. “What’s her ransom to be? Tell me, and we can end this. But before you answer, I have presents for you, as a token of good faith. I hope you like them. One is very rare,” Tulli said. Approaching and handing Attila a beautiful wooden box, being careful not to bump into the slave on his desk.
“How’s Peta?” Attila said, accepting the gift. He didn’t say thank you.
“Sick with grief, as any mother would be. Is she the reason you’re doing this? Do you hate
us so much as to destroy the life of an innocent girl?”
“Have you looked at her? She’s no girl,” Attila said, while looking Tulli full in the face. “First time I saw her, I thought it was Peta come to torment me. But to answer your question, yes. I hate you and Peta that much. Especially Peta.”
Changing the subject, he continued, “We’re to be family. Did you know? I’m marrying your Annora. My thirty-first wife. I’ll be the father of your grandson who you can expect in your Roman December. And a beautiful boy he’ll be. Half patrician Roman and half Hun. Your Annora will be lovely with her belly filled with my son. You’ll want to see him. And you can. Just resign your commission and move to Etzelburg. Instead of a five thousand man legion, I’ll give you twenty thousand Huns to command. Think of it.”
For some moments, Tulli couldn’t speak. The image of Annora pregnant with Attila’s child was too terrible. All he could think was, my worst fear has come upon me. Attila enjoyed his misery.
Almost whispering, Tulli said, “I am…thinking…of it…twenty thousand Huns under my command.”
Attila laughed. “Yes, I’m sure you had nothing else on your mind. I look forward to it. And to giving you orders. To you and Peta living in my city.”
Getting himself under control, Tulli said, “Peta and Livia would like to see Annora.”
“How’s Peta?”
“Excited to see you again,” Tulli said.
“To see me dead more like. What was it she used to call me? Stinking barbarian? Filthy Hun. Can’t remember.”
“Filthy barbarian. She’s missed you these many years. Hopes to tell you how much.”
“Yes, I’m sure. There’s no shortage of courage in her. A magnificent woman, smart, strong, beautiful. Wealthy. Did I ever thank you for saving my life? I don’t think I did.” And he didn’t
now.
“Attila, let’s stop this and get to it. When can we see Annora? Surely, you wouldn’t deny us that?” Tulli knew full well that not seeing Annora was part of his cruelty. He would let them see her…once. Just once, and then they would never see her again. Play along, Tulli, play along, he thought. Give him what he wants to get what you want. Everything depends on it.
“Of course you can see her,” Attila said magnanimously for the sycophants in the room. “You can all see her. Have a tour of my city with Peta and your Livia. Dark hair. Lovely in her own right, I’m told.”
“Yes, she has my black hair.” At this Tulli was careful to show some exasperation. He must play the part because if this went too easy Attila would be on guard. And then all was lost.
“Annora has Peta’s white hair. Are you sure she’s yours?” At that, he laughed in Tulli’s face, enjoying the insult. The sycophants laughed as well. No one with any brains would keep silent. Attila was enjoying himself immensely. Tulli could kill him with his bare hands, but could do nothing while Annora was under his control and Attila wanted everyone to know it. Tulli made sure they did. He hung his head, arms at his side, slumped forward, hiding his size. Attila saw what he wanted to see, a great man humbled, beaten, in the depths of despair. Which is precisely what Tulli wanted him to see and made sure that was what he saw.
His laugh finished, Attila said, “Peta may want to do some shopping before she returns to Ravenna. We’ve Roman gold merchants. Superb artisans.” His eyes narrowed and his voice hardened into the cruelty that Tulli knew was just beneath the surface. “You can see her the day before we marry. The day after you will leave and never return, or I’ll nail your family to the city gate.”
There he is. That’s the vicious Attila I remember.
“You will keep your people outside the city. Roman soldiers aren’t loved here. You and the women may enter only with an escort, or you’ll be killed. Understand?”
“I do. Thank you, your hospitality is appreciated,” Tulli said, looking at him with sad eyes while being careful to thank him in a submissive voice. “What day do you marry?”
“Eleven days from today, March twenty-seventh. That daughter of yours is a smart one. Got her mother’s intellect. She’s helping me make the Huns the greatest nation under the sky. Surprised?”
“That you find her smart? No,” Tulli said, wondering where this was going. And not wanting to discuss Annora, how smart she was, and what she was doing in Aquileia.
“She suggested we start with gold and silver coins that bear my likeness. What do you think?”
Tulli looked thoughtful, nodding his head, “Good place to start,” then changing the subject before the conversation could get to Annora and the Wolf Legion, “I need to get back to camp. As to the tour and shopping trip?”
“The day before we marry. They’ll be quite safe. You have my word that they will be accompanied by guards and my best chief. You’ll not go with them,” he said, emphasizing the word ‘not.’
Tulli ignored the taunt as it had no bearing on anything important and could take the
discussion where it could ruin everything. He had no need to go with the women.
“And they can see Annora?” He intentionally asked again.
“They can, and go shopping. Later they may visit in Annora’s rooms at the House of Women.”
“Thank you, in eleven days, then.” This time Tulli meant it, while keeping his thoughts neutral lest his emotion show on his face. He had arranged the audience with Annora that was vital to their plan, and would not risk having it snatched away by a chance comment or defiant look.
“Will we never see Annora after she’s married?”
“No. You leave that day, never to return,” enjoying the stricken look on Tulli’s face.
“I see,” Tulli said, with sadness and sorrow in his voice. “Our gift. You haven’t opened it,” Tulli said.
Attila opened the box and his eyes went wide. He gasped. The golden arrow meant nothing, but at its tip? A diamond. The rarest of all gems from the mines of India. Magic steeped in mysticism with power rivaling that of the gods. He could not have hoped for such a gift. With the Sword of Mars and a mystic diamond, his nation, his empire, and his immortality were assured. He was truly a god. On the steppe he walked with men, but now? He was a god. Immortal.
Tulli said nothing, but watched Attila’s eyes go wide, wondering if it boded well or ill. Attila looked up at him, unable to speak, so in awe of the diamond he held in his hand. “You can’t imagine what this means. Now, I am truly invincible.”
It bodes ill.
“There’s more,” Tulli said. “The material in the box is silk. Under it? Pearls. I hope you them.”
But Attila was transfixed by the diamond. The pearls meant nothing as he held the diamond to the light and marveled at it.
“Yes,” he said absent-mindedly. “Get out. Go.”
Outside, the sun had hardly moved, though it seemed like he’d been with Attila for hours. So far, so good, Tulli thought, but the diamond’s effect was troubling, as he thought of telling Peta and Livia that they would see Annora, but not for some days. That he brought good news and bad news would not make things easier.
Climbing into his carriage, he sat heavily. The pressure was taking a toll on his iron will. He could only imagine what it was doing to Peta and Livia. Then he heard children laughing and squealing with delight. He looked to see what they were doing and found that they were riding goats, and riding them well. In their hands were child sized bows and they shot arrows at small animals and other targets. That’s how they do it, he thought, that’s why they ride so well. First goats, then horses. The looks on their faces and the sound of their laughter gladdened his heart. They were having a great time. Who would have thought? Tulli rode back to camp with a smile
on his face.
Saved By A Cat
It was the sixth hour of darkness, about midway between sunset and dawn, and Sextus was walking the ship under a waning full moon. There was little to hear but the creak of the rigging. The wind brought the smell of the sea in the darkness. It was as if Minerva was alone in the world. Only a skeleton crew was aboard as Minerva rode at anchor, the men ashore for the night.
“Pilot, quiet night?” He asked.
“It is Tribune.”
“Let’s hope the winds favor our way east,” Sextus said. As he turned to walk toward the bow, he noticed the Centurion fishing off the stern. “Luigi,” he said, using his first name. “You have a taste for fish?”
“I don’t, Tribune.”
Sextus’ face formed a question.
“The cat,” the Centurion replied.
“Heard you hate cats.”
“Hate ‘em all,” the Centurion said.
Sextus understood this type of man. Hard as a rock on the outside, but soft-hearted. He had no hate for Bacchus, but could not show the affection he kept hidden. “Carry on.”
Saying nothing more, the Centurion returned to his line. He would set it and return before dawn. Bacchus would eat well. Sextus continued toward the bow to speak with the watch.
As Sextus walked forward, eyes hiding in the darkness watched him; then slowly, silently, followed.
When Sextus moved, his stalker moved. When Sextus turned, the stalker disappeared into the shadows. Only following again when Sextus’ back was to him. After speaking to the watch, Sextus went below to return to his berth. The stalker followed on silent feet.
“Tribune. You’re up late.”
Hearing the Captain’s voice, the stalker froze.
“Walking the ship. Talked to the pilot and the watch.”
“Old habits, Tribune?”
Sextus nodded in the darkness, “Yes, and you?”
“Like you, the stern, then the watch. Usual worries. Too much rain, not enough, pirates, too much wind, too little, the rowers.”
“You need not worry about Minerva sinking.”
“True enough, she can’t do that.”
“Good night, Captain.”
“And you, Tribune.”
Sextus reached his berth. Getting into his bunk, he pulled a rough woolen blanket over him. Reaching into his tunic, he took out Annora’s earring on its gold chain. It was a snake, a beautifully wrought fertility symbol. Holding it in his fist and closing his eyes, he saw her smile as she took it off and give it to him. Then she kissed him a long, lingering, sensuous kiss. Her lips soft. Her perfume delicious. Her long white blonde hair a river of delight as she leaned her breasts, hips, knees into him. Pressing herself against him.
Then the stalker leapt, striking his chest.
“Bacchus. You scared me near to seath.”
Tucking away the earring, thoughts of his wife interrupted, Sextus rubbed the cat’s ears. Bacchus purred and nuzzled into the blanket. “Wonder what you want?” He said, as Bacchus kneaded the blanket, stretched out, and went to sleep.
Shaking his head, “Thank you for leaving me so much room. Very kind. Are you comfortable?” Sextus said, laughing. “Not exactly my first choice for a bed mate.”
The assassin’s chance for a silent kill was gone. Sextus was powerfully built, intelligent, and an experienced veteran who had fought sword to sword with Rome’s enemies. He had to be taken unaware. And alone. Worse, the assassin could not chance Bacchus blooding him; it would mark him as the killer. Should that happen, he would meet an ugly fate at the hands of the crew. Missed you, this time, but I can do something about the cat. As he thumbed the keen edge of his killing dagger. Yes, I can.
Filthy With Hate
As Peta walked out of the House of Women, Attila rode up. They recognized each other and locked eyes. Neither looked away. The color drained from her face. Attila, taken aback at seeing her, stopped.
“Livia, get in the carriage. Take the hound,” Peta said, her eyes never leaving Attila.
“Yes, mother.”
Peta held her ground. Still in the saddle, he looked down at her for a long moment, then dismounted and waved away his guard. Anger flared within her. The object of her hate stood before her. She wanted to rip him, claw him, gouge him. She did not.
“Lovely to see you,” Attila said, with no trace of a smile as he confronted the only woman he hated and desired in equal measure. A woman he had not seen in over twenty-five years. A woman, who seeing her, brought back the feelings he had for her.
“If only that were true. You would take me in place of Annora, but that would deny you the pleasure of tormenting me, wouldn’t it?”
She walked closer, and like her daughter, looked down her nose at him, saying, “wouldn’t it?”
Attila turned white, then laughed. “You’re still beautiful. And still insult me. You’re right, I don’t want you. Your daughter will do for my needs.”
As he was turning away he looked back, “Did Tulli tell you we’re to be family? Annora will have my son in her belly before I campaign. Expect your…first…grandson in your Roman December.” At that he mounted and rode away, leaving Peta seething, crying, helpless, hopeless, and terribly alone among her enemies. She wanted nothing more than to scream, but did not. She would not give the beast the satisfaction.
In the carriage, Peta and Livia were unconsolable. Even Ursus was quiet, his head in Livia’s lap. Silently watching her with sad brown eyes.
The women were back in the Roman camp as the sun set. Tomorrow Annora would wed and they would leave for home, and never see her again.
Later that night, Peta fell into a troubled sleep. Exhausted and emotionally drained, she slept fitfully in a nightmare chased by Hun children. Their faces hideously scarred, screaming, ‘Grandmother! Grandmother!’ Wrenching herself awake, she was covered in sweat. Filthy with hate. All she could see was Attila’s face leering at her in the darkness.
Behind Etzelburg’s wooden walls, Attila lay awake, his mind in turmoil with thoughts of Peta. He did not want to see her again. Her long white hair. Her magnificent beauty. But he had. And found that he still yearned for her. His love was as fresh as it was all those years ago. Her insults he missed most of all. Missed her blazing eyes because then they were his; and his alone. And when he finally slept? It was Peta who lay with him…in his dreams.
Dawn was gloomy. Annora awoke to her wedding day. Glad only that by marrying Attila her family would be spared. She prayed Attila would keep his word.
There was a pounding on her door. “Annora, you patrician bitch. Are you in? Is your royal self up? Today you marry. And tonight you will be with child. I will come for you after Attila’s midday meal. After that, he spends the rest of the day drinking with his chiefs. Such is his love for you.” Haughty laughter followed, but Annora knew Kreka was right. He cared more for his horse than he did for her.
“Thank you, Kreka. I was concerned that your husband had changed his mind.”
“After you’re married, you go to the bridal suite to be with one who has fathered many.”
With that, Kreka stomped away. Annora smiled, but it didn’t last.
“Don’t make her your enemy,” Drusa said.
“It seems I’m only allowed to pick enemies.”
“Quiet, your words will kill us. I’ll get you some food,” Drusa said, leaving to see the cook. Being admonished by a slave was something she would have to get used to. But, Drusa was right in this house saying the wrong thing could get you killed. And staying in Attila’s good graces? Did he still want help with nation building, or am I to be used to torment my parents? I’ve nothing but this poison between a life of misery and getting out of here.
Drusa came back with food. “Kreka is talking. After Attila leaves, things will not be good. She says you told him lies when he asked for help. Says you want to be senior wife. No one is senior. Kreka only”
“She lies, Drusa.”
“Everyone lies. All words are lies. You should eat.”
Annora’s hand found the iron vial and squeezed it. She wasn’t hungry. So she told Drusa not to disturb her and went into another room and closed the door. She removed the iron vial and twisted it open, found the lead vial and twisted it enough to know she could open it, then put them back together and into her tunic. Realizing she was hungry, she went and ate. After she had some food, Annora laid down for a nap, but could not sleep.
Then Kreka was there, “Come on, bitch. Your wedding awaits.”
As Annora came out, Kreka grabbed her roughly and pushed her. “Your man awaits.”
Then Annora was outside the room where Attila was drinking with his chiefs. Coming in, she was taken to the front table. Onegesius got up and walking to her, said “Attila, is this your woman?”
Attila put down his favorite wooden cup reluctantly, making her wonder if he liked the wine better than her. “That’s her,” he said, pouring more wine.
“Use her well,” Onegesius, said. “She’s your wife. We drink to your new bride and the sons she will bear.”
Kreka pulled her out, dragging her to the to the room she laughingly called the bridal suite. It contained a bed, wine, and little else.
“After he’s done drinking, he’ll get around to you. Get used to it, you’re his thirty-first wife and wait for his pleasure to see you, talk to you, use you. You’re nothing, just like all the rest of them.” With that, she walked out.
Attila had no interest in bedding his new wife. He’d had hundreds of women. Annora was no better than any other. Had she not been Peta’s daughter, he would have ransomed her. Now that
he married her she was useless. What she told him about building a nation was smart enough, but he could never trust her. So he stayed drinking with his chiefs, getting very drunk.
Finally, his chiefs started leaving and Attila headed for the bridal suite where Kreka was
waiting for him.
“Your new wife is waiting with plenty of wine.”
Grunting, he passed her with little notice.
Nice Kick
It was a cool day, but Tulli was sweating. With a sword in each hand, he hacked at the stout wooden post. He was worried. He was angry. There were wood chips in his hair and across his muscular chest. The exercise felt good, as did the swords he held. He slashed and followed a quick stab with one hand and a torn throat with the other. Sweat ran in his eyes; he brushed it away and resumed his attack.
Livia and Peta came down to the practice field to get out of the house and away from the relentless worry and pressure of Annora’s captivity.
“Pappa,” Livia called as she and Peta sat down to watch.
Tulli said nothing, but gave them a wave.
It was then that Vitus Silvanus, Tulli’s third in command, walked onto the practice field, saying loudly to Tulli, “Is that your family?” knowing full well who they were.
Tulli ignored him, but shifted his position to keep Vomitus in sight as he moved toward Peta and Livia.
“Are they your family?” Louder this time. “I’ll kill them for you.” Of course, he would do no
such thing, but saying it Tulli could see Peta tense up, putting her arm around Livia. He would never do it, of course. It was a dominance move to put Tulli in his place.
Tulli bellowed and charged, angry that his third in command would threaten Peta and Livia. Running straight at him, Vitus knew he had made a mistake as the General bore down on him.
Vitus drew his sword. Tulli came on at full speed and fell on Vitus like the vengeance of God. Striking with both swords, again and again and again. Tulli’s attack didn’t letup, didn’t
slacken. He did not back up. Did not slow down, but was on the offensive, Tulli did not give up up a single step as he drove Vitus against the wall in his wrath.
Tulli’s Centurion guards heard his roar and came boiling onto the practice field, ready for anything.
Seeing them, Tulli yelled, “He’s mine.”
Then Tulli pinned Vitus’ sword hand while the other sword went to his throat. Vitus dropped his sword and smirked, knowing Tulli wouldn’t kill him, “You fight well. For an old man.”
“No one need fight well to best you,” Tulli said through clenched teeth as he released him and backed off.
Peta was livid that her daughter had her life threatened. Walking onto the field, she smiled sweetly at the nearest Centurion, then pulled his knife from its sheath, and quick as a cat pressed it to Vitus’ throat.
Vitus sneered, “Your women do your fighting? Shall I use my short sword?”
Peta’s eyes narrowed as she pressed the knife. “Your short sword? You think that little thing will satisfy a woman? Do you see my husband? It takes much more of a man to satisfy me than you’ll ever be. Look at you, you’re half his age. And he bested you after hours of hard training.”
Then, pressing harder, his blood trickled down his neck. “Shall I show you how the women in this family fight?”
“Don’t kill him,” Tulli said. “Taking a life is no small thing.” Then in a soft voice, “Don’t do it. Stays with you forever.”
Peta pushed the blade harder. His eyes went wide. Vitus was afraid.
Looking at him, she said, in a flat expressionless deadly voice, “Vomitus, if you threaten my daughter again, I’ll feed your short sword to the dogs. While you watch.”
Vitus, his neck leaking nicely, had never been so close to death and stank of fear.
Taking a deep breath, Peta exhaled slowly, stepped back, and handed the knife to her husband. Then Livia kicked him. “If Ursie was here, he’d tear you apart.”
“Livia, enough,” Tulli said. As she kicked him again.
Livia felt a calloused hand on her shoulder. Looking into the smiling face of a Centurion, “Nice kick.”
Tulli nodded, as the centurions dragged Vomitus to the door. Threw him into the street. Getting to his feet, “What do I tell the Emperor? Your brother-in-law beat the shit out of me, your sister cut my throat, and your niece kicked my ass? What a family.”
Walking back, a centurion said, “Who said women can’t fight? Livia was right about the
hound. Vomitus got lucky. And the General? He can still fight, that’s for sure. With two swords.”
Tulli had done well, as did Peta and Livia, and in the doing earned the respect of three battle hardened Centurions.
Pirates
They were at sea, Minerva passing between Greece and Crete, heading east. Soon she would turn north into the Aegean and then north and east to the Hellespont, then into the Sea of Marmara, and finally, Constantinople.
It was dawn, the first hour of daylight, and the world should have been bathed in light, but it was not. They sailed under black skies that did not rain and offered little wind.
“Captain, where’s our wind?” Sextus said.
“With God, I think. We progress, but not as well as I’d hoped. Today we row. This morning we gained a shadow and I dare not exhaust our men. Soon, our shadow will see that Minerva is a
warship and go their way. I hope. But these grey skies may hide who we are? We may be attacked. This I wish to avoid. So, I use only one rank. To conserve our men’s strength for the battle I hope does not come. Ah, the Centurion brings his marines on deck. Good.”
As he said this, archers, the two scorpions, and slingers came up from below.
“Where do you make our position?” Sextus asked a pilot under the ship’s covered stern.
“Crete’s on our right, certainly. We’re not yet opposite Salmone, I think. Soon we turn north before we see Rhodes as that means we’re too far east. I hope that doesn’t happen, but should this foul weather not lift anything is possible. I would give much to see the stars, Tribune.”
Then thinking of something, the Captain said, “Excuse me Tribune.” He walked to the Centurion, “Our shadow was last seen off the stern. They will attack us there, I’d say, as I would.”
“My scorpions and slingers will tell them who we are and can reach them before their bow can hit us. I’ll keep my archers in reserve until our shadow gets close,” the Centurion said, looking into the fog. “Should they be stupid enough to attack, my slingers will rake their decks long before their archers can touch us. We’ve not yet fire-pots for the catapults. They’re being lit, but take time. Too long, I think.”
Nodding his agreement, the Captain continued, “The General ordered us to avoid a fight if possible, but if attacked, the ship must not be allowed to come against us again. The Tribune must reach Constantinople. That is all important. Should she bear away, let her go.”
“Better we sink her.”
The Captain ignored that comment, saying, “Row Master, deploy oars on first horn, even if it’s the pirate’s.”
“Sooner we turn, the sooner we put brass into her,” the Row Master said, smiling.
Sextus walked the deck, knowing that a single file of oars would make Minerva look like a merchantman. Things may get interesting, loosening his sword as he watched the men ready for battle. He was particularly interested in seeing the efficiency of the scorpion crews. The vicious
little ballista were spot on deadly at one hundred paces.
Two men watched the ship in the distance begin rowing; they smiled as she headed east. They need not change their plan of attack. Greed kept them from determining if she was a merchantman. Why bother? Only one file of rowers.
The watch said, “What are you waiting for? She’s fat and slow. We’ll be rich.” Thinking of whores and wine, “Take her now, afore the fog be letting up.”
“Shut your face, I’m master here. Not you.”
His pirate crew were ready with swords and bows telling each other they would kill the crew and burn her to the waterline.
“We attack,” the captain said, “as planned. Blow the horn.”
The pirate ship came alive as oars went into the water and her horn blew to coordinate the rowers. The pilot began angling to attack as her crew stood ready to board, kill, loot and burn the evidence to the water line. Like they had done so many times before. The pirate ship picked up speed slowly, she had been in the water for years and her hull was heavy with absorbed water.
The pirate’s horn pierce the silence and found Minerva ready.
Much happened in short order. The scorpion crews grunted as they manhandled the heavy twisted ropes back cocking and locking the bow; rowers put the remaining oars in the water; slingers loaded lead balls; archers stood ready; and Minerva started moving, slowly at first, then faster and faster, as she turned smartly to starboard heading for the sound of the horn. Toward a ship she intended to kill.
As the pirate ship came out of the fog, Minerva was already turning. Her rowers pulling hard to bring her greatest weapons to bear. Speed and maneuverability, her bronze ramming prow sliced the water hungry to gash the enemy.
Coming within range, the Centurion shouted, “Archers hold. Scorpions and slingers. Shoot.”
The pirate’s attack was flawless, but the captain’s smile turned to horror when the man next to him took a scorpion bolt through the head. A second bolt pinned a sailor to the mast. He screamed, then became deathly silent.
“Warship! Warship! She’s a warship!” The master shouted, as iron balls, bolts, and arrows drove his men to cover.
On Minerva, the captain blew his horn to inform the Row Master that they were to ram. Minerva’s steersmen adjusted course as she picked up speed.
The pirate changed course. His target was not where it was just moments ago. The master never expected this cow of a merchantman to turn into a heavily armed warship with experienced Roman Marines. And rowers? God, she’s three files of rowers.
He was in trouble and in a fight for survival. Worse, his hull was heavy. To escape was all he wanted, but that was not possible without a fight. Should have run. Should have turned away. Too late, he knew, as he looked at the ruined man who talked him into attacking. He paid a terrible price. Most of his head was gone. Taking a scorpion will do that. Thankfully, no more of his men were wounded or killed.
Going to the stern, he spoke to the steersmen, “We’ve got to cripple her or we’re dead. Cut inside. Archers will keep ‘em down. Protect you.”
They did not complain, which surprised him, but they were experienced sailors and saw the situation.
“It will be as you say.”
“Then we get lost in the fog.” They nodded, but the look on their faces told a different story. “We may live through this,” he told them.
They did not believe him, but it was their only chance.
Next he went forward to speak to his archers. They had to suppress the marines, or they were finished.
“Keep the Romans busy,” he told them. “Protect the steersmen or we’re dead.”
Minerva’s watch saw the pirate change course and realized that they were going to cut inside. He signaled the captain, but there was no need, he saw it, too. “Hard over. Turn us into her,” he told the pilots. And they did.
The Centurion told his men, “Kill every damned one of ‘em.” As he said this, Minerva’s
deck rolled as she turned hard. As the range closed between the ships, pirates died from shot, arrow, and bolt.
On the pirate ship, their best bowman, a Nubian, loosed an arrow that took a marine through the body, killing him instantly. This heartened the master, as he watched the Nubian scuttle across the deck and loose again, this time wounding a slinger. Again he moved, another slinger fell.
On Minerva, a man on a scorpion crew marked the Nubian and watched his movements because he just killed a friend of his. To the scorpion’s shooter, “Look for a Nubian on your left. He will stand and shoot, duck and move.”
The only answer was a terse nod as he rotated his vicious scorpion, finger on the trigger. And there he was. The scorpion loosed its bolt, and the Nubian died.
The spotter said, “Well done.” The shooter grunted as his scorpion was made ready for another kill. Then they heard the sound of the pirate’s hull being ripped apart, but it was not a fatal blow as she was turning away. Some broken oars and a gash that did not disable her.
“Bring us about,” the captain ordered. “We’re not leaving her to attack us again.”
The pirate’s captain ordered the broken oars replaced, he did not need to tell the steersmen to get lost in the fog. He went below and was happy to see the damage was not as bad as it could have been. “Looks like our broken oars and the grace of God saved us,” he said to the men repairing the damage. They grunted their reply, but did not stop working.
Back on deck, the captain looked for the warship and was sorry to see that she’d turned and was pursuing. The good news was that they were close to the fog. Thankfully, the steersmen were alive and not wounded, but he could not say that for everyone. He lost four dead and five wounded. Two of the wounded could still fight. And they were still afloat. If they could just lose that damned warship they would live, but she was gaining on them now that all three ranks of her rowers had oars in the water. They could not outrun her, and could not out fight her. Only the fog could save them.
On Minerva, the captain watched the pirate making for the fog.
“I’ll bet you a case of Falernian, her hull’s heavy. She should be faster than that.”
“I agree,” Sextus said.
“Unless she loses us in the fog she’s finished.”
“It’s a race then,” Sextus said.
“One I intend to win,” the captain said, as flaming pots and large rocks came on deck for his catapults.
Nodding forward, “Any luck we’ll set her a afire.”
Sextus smiled, the General chose this ship and crew well. He had seen other ships and other crews, but knew that Minerva and her people were among the finest in the empire.
Sextus watched as their catapults were loaded with smoking shot. Below deck, the rowers toiled in coordinated action while on deck the Centurion and his marines saw that all weapons were ready. The catapult crew waited only for the command to shoot as a ruthless Minerva pursued her prey. They would have ignored the pirate had they not attacked, but attack they did,
and now every stroke brought Minerva’s vengeance closer.
On the pirate ship, the captain watched the warship with its catapults smoking. He knew that meant she could destroy them with a single lucky shot. He looked at the fog then at the warship. Saw she was gaining and that he would soon be in range of the smoking death in her bow. He looked at his rowers. They were pulling for all they were worth. No help there. He went to the stern.
“The rowers work to exhaustion, what make you of our chances?”
They shook their heads. One saying, “This heavy hull will be the death of us. You pushed it
one voyage too many. Have you seen? Flaming shot.”
“I have.”
“Soon she’ll be in range. If we steer for safety we lose time. If we don’t, we lose the ship. Not a pretty choice.”
“Steer to dodge,” the captain said without hesitation.
One pilot looked at him like he was right; the other though he was mad. The captain saw both looks and hoped they would work it out…soon.
“She’s fired on us,” the captain said.
One pilot leaned on his oar to veer to starboard. The other held fast. The result was that the ship did little to change course as the flaming shot flew through the sky missing them by a wide margin.
“They missed,” the captain, said, To the relieved steersmen.
Then the second catapult fired and no one moved as they watched the flaming shot leave it’s smoke trail. It missed, but not by much. No one spoke.
Minerva’s catapult crew was finding the range. That the pirate ship continued on a straight course helped, but it was a strange thing to do. They made catapults ready. And loosed them.
Aboard the pirate ship, the captain was apoplectic, “Change course, steer to port.”
But the pilots would not act together as the flaming shot reached the top of its arc and began its deadly descent. The captain could almost smell it. The first hit them amidships, the second in the bow. Setting them alight.
“Fire! The captain yelled, but his crew was below at the oars and seeing to repairs, so the captain tried to throw the burning shot over the side, but only got burned. By the time the crew came on deck the fire had spread and as another flaming pitch hit them killing the pilots as a fourth went went into the sea.
“Now we’re for it,” one of the crew said.
“Ain’t dead yet,” said another.
As Minerva bore down on them, she pounded the pirate with lead shot. Then a boulder was loaded into a catapult. It went through the pirate’s deck and out her hull. Water poured in as the
men sought to save their lives.
“We’re close to land. I’m swimming for it,” a man said, as he jumped overboard. Others looked at Minerva bearing down on them and followed.
Arriving at the burning hulk, there was no one left alive and no one to be seen.
Minerva sailed past the wreck.
“None left alive?” The captain said. “Strange that.”
“Swam for it,” a pilot said. “Seen it before, but you’re right, captain. Ain’t no where to go. We’re well out to sea. Still though saves us having to deal with ‘em.”
“No argument there. How far off course are we?”
“Half a day?”
“Put us back on course,”the captain said.
“Yes, Captain.”
To slow his rowers, the captain blew his horn.
Seeing things were over, Sextus asked the Centurion, “How’s the men?”
“One killed, four wounded. They’re with the doctor. All expected to live.”
Seeing Sextus, the captain came forward.
“Gentlemen, Minerva’s performance was superb,” Sextus complimented them. “Well done.”
“Thank you, Tribune,” they both said.
Minerva had performed brilliantly in her first engagement. She and her crew proved
themselves a force to be reckoned with.
It was the sixth hour of darkness, about midway between sunset and dawn, and Sextus was
walking the ship under a waning full moon. There was little to hear but the creak of the rigging. The wind brought the smell of the sea in the darkness. It was as if Minerva was alone in the world. Only a skeleton crew was aboard as Minerva rode at anchor, the men ashore for the night.
“Pilot, quiet night?” He asked.
“It is Tribune.”
“Let’s hope the winds favor our way east,” Sextus said. As he turned to walk toward the
bow, he noticed the Centurion fishing off the stern. “Luigi,” he said, using his first name. “You have a taste for fish?”
“I don’t, Tribune.”
Sextus’ face formed a question.
“The cat,” the Centurion replied.
“Heard you hate cats.”
“Hate ‘em all,” the Centurion said.
Sextus understood this type of man. Hard as a rock on the outside, but soft-hearted. He had no hate for Bacchus, but could not show the affection he kept hidden. “Carry on.”
Saying nothing more, the Centurion returned to his line. He would set it and return before dawn. Bacchus would eat well. Sextus continued toward the bow to speak with the watch.
As Sextus walked forward, eyes hiding in the darkness watched him; then slowly, silently, followed.
When Sextus moved, his stalker moved. When Sextus turned, the stalker disappeared into the shadows. Only following again when Sextus’ back was to him. After speaking to the watch, Sextus went below to return to his berth. The stalker followed on silent feet.
“Tribune. You’re up late.”
Hearing the Captain’s voice, the stalker froze.
“Walking the ship. Talked to the pilot and the watch.”
“Old habits, Tribune?”
Sextus nodded in the darkness, “Yes, and you?”
“Like you, the stern, then the watch. Usual worries. Too much rain, not enough, pirates, too
much wind, too little, the rowers.”
“You need not worry about Minerva sinking.”
“True enough, she can’t do that.”
“Good night, Captain.”
“And you, Tribune.”
Sextus reached his berth. Getting into his bunk, he pulled a rough woolen blanket over him. Reaching into his tunic, he took out Annora’s earring on its gold chain. It was a snake, a beautifully wrought fertility symbol. Holding it in his fist and closing his eyes, he saw her smile
as she took it off and give it to him. Then she kissed him a long, lingering, sensuous kiss. Her lips soft. Her perfume delicious. Her long white blonde hair a river of delight as she leaned her breasts, hips, knees into him. Pressing herself against him.
Then the stalker leapt, striking his chest.
“Bacchus. You scared me near to death.”
Tucking away the earring, thoughts of his wife interrupted, Sextus rubbed the cat’s ears. Bacchus purred and nuzzled into the blanket. “Wonder what you want?” He said, as Bacchus
kneaded the blanket, stretched out, and went to sleep.
Shaking his head, “Thank you for leaving me so much room. Very kind. Are you comfortable?” Sextus said, laughing. “Not exactly my first choice for a bed mate.”
The assassin’s chance for a silent kill was gone. Sextus was powerfully built, intelligent, and an experienced veteran who had fought sword to sword with Rome’s enemies. He had to be taken unaware. And alone. Worse, the assassin could not chance Bacchus blooding him; it would mark
him as the killer. Should that happen, he would meet an ugly fate at the hands of the crew. Missed you, this time, but I can do something about the cat. As he thumbed the keen edge of his killing dagger. Yes, I can.
Hound
It was morning and Livia and her mother were off for breakfast and then shopping at their favorite gold merchant. Ursus trotted along beside their sedan chair.
As they traveled across the city, everyone gave them a wide berth because of the hound. They arrived and were browsing along the street before going in for breakfast, not paying attention to what or who was around them. Worse, they were not paying attention to the man who was paying attention to them. When Peta and Livia moved, he moved. When they stopped, he stopped.
While the women didn’t notice him, Ursus did because the man was watching Livia. So, Ursus was watching him. The smile was gone from the hound’s face. His black eyes followed the ragged man’s movements. As the man got closer and closer to Livia, Ursus became more and
more alert.
Two hundred pounds of battle trained Roman killing machine was eyes on, brain fully engaged, knowing only that his mistress was being hunted and that no harm would come to her while he lived. Head lowered, he jogged across the street, moving toward a point between Livia and the ragged man whose name was Geta. Not that the hound cared.
Geta looked around. Good, no one watching. The girl was unaware. Mother dickering over a trifle.
Ursus came closer; and closer.
Geta reached for Livia’s golden necklace.
Ursus leapt.
Livia, seeing something big and black fly by, screamed.
Peta was about to scream when a hand rudely clapped over her mouth and a voice croaked, “Quiet, Peta. He’ll kill us all.”
Ursus flattened Geta. His unconscious head in the hound’s jaws.
Livia spoke to him, her voice the only one that could stop him from crushing Geta’s skull. As she talked, she ran her hand along his back only to find her Ursie gone. Under her fingertips was Ursus, a mountain of rock hard bone and muscle.
“He didn’t hurt me, Ursie. Let him go,” Livia said, stroking his ears.
The hound heard her voice. It was far away. Then…it was closer. Then he was back and Livia was safe.
The restaurant owner quietly handed Livia a large bone with plenty of meat on it.
“Look what I’ve got, Ursie,” she said, holding it out for him.
The hound opened his mouth and Geta’s head fell. Ursus growled, a low dangerous snarl, jowls curled back, revealing lethal white teeth.
Livia rubbed his ears. He loved that. He loved Livia.
“C’mon boy. Here’s your bone. Look at all the meat on it,” she said, gently tugging his collar. “Come on, good boy. Come Ursie.”
The restaurant owner was a retired veteran who had seen these hounds in battle. Once they started killing, sometimes they didn’t stop. Better to give away a prime soup bone than be torn to pieces.
Ursus took the bone. And Livia was smiling. He did good. Then Livia hugged him and he smiled when she said, “Thank you, Ursie.”
When they thought to look, Geta was gone. He’d left for the other side of town just as fast as his shaking legs could carry him. The hound’s bite marks took days to go away.
Peta, Livia, and the hound went home. Peta wanted no more shopping.
Peta Begs For Poison
The day began cold, and overcast with a drizzling mist that soaked you to the bone. Peta had been thinking and had the germ of an idea. The beginnings of a plan that was crude and nowhere near complete, but it was there and her intellect would not let it go because she had a glimmer of hope. A way to recover her Annora. First, she had to talk to Technikos. Had to find out more
about the poison she’d seen at the coliseum the day she brought him and Malcenta home. It could be the key to everything.
She seemed to remember Technikos saying something about a poison called Goat’s Blood, or something like that. And that it was a nice way to die. So, she invited him for a game of Backgammon and was just getting the board out when he arrived.
“Peta, you wished to see me?” Technikos said, before entering Tulli’s study.
“I do, come in. I would speak with you. Sit, make yourself comfortable.” The game forgotten.
“What can I do for you?” he asked.
“The cakes and grapes are lovely. Help yourself,” she said, pouring wine for both of them. Then she sat next to him, not behind Tulli’s desk. What’s this? He thought, she’s pouring me wine? She wants something.
“The day that I found you at the coliseum, we watched a man die. He bled to death before our eyes. I seem to remember you saying something about a poison. What did you call it?”
He was munching an oat cake, so it took a little while to answer, as he intended. It gave him time to think and with a mind like his, a few moments was all it took. So intent on his deception was he that he didn’t notice that Peta was watching him keenly.
Avoiding her eyes, he said, “The poison? I don’t remember calling it anything. Watching that poor man die was most distressful.” He would have said more, but knew to say as little as possible because when lying the less said the better. Especially with Peta. She missed nothing.
“Technikos, look at me. Not the wall. Slaves, Centurions, Tribunes, gold merchants, my brother have lied to me. I know when someone’s lying. And you’re lying now.”
He looked at her, but could not hold her gaze. His eyes kept sliding away.
“Tell the truth, Technikos, please. Please Technikos, I beg you. It’s important, or I’d never ask like this. You know that. It’s name, please old friend. How it’s made, how it’s given? Much may depend on what you say.”
Peta said all of this tenderly, knowing he would go to any lengths to protect her.
“Peta, you were my most brilliant student in a long life of teaching. Believe me when I say
that knowing of this poison will bring you heartache. For its knowledge, there are those who
would kill everyone in this household. Ask me no more.” At this, he rose.
“Sit,” she commanded. “I need to know. Why I need to know, I won’t say.”
“No, I was a dead man before you found me. If my death keeps you safe, it’s a small price to
pay. I won’t reveal its name, won’t tell you how to make it. You’re the only person who ever cared if I lived or died. I will not repay your kindness with death. Knowledge of this is as deadly as the poison itself.”
Peta knew him as a man of principle. She did not know, until just now, how strong his feelings were for the kindness she showed him.
Blinking back tears, “Technikos, please help me. I have an idea, perhaps a plan…to recover Annora…. My Annora…. Please, Technikos, please, help me,” she had not called him by his name since he caught her climbing through a window after sneaking out of the house many years ago. She begged him not to tell her parents. He didn’t. He could not deny her then, could he now? Perhaps, but she held his arm in her two hands in a woman’s tight grip. She was literally begging him.
“You like those honey cakes, I see,” she said.
Nodding with a mouthful, “I do. And yes,” he said around a half a cake as she handed him a cup of watered wine. “I’ll help you,” he said, draining the cup, “but…my dear, though I love you more than my own life, I will not,” emphasizing his words, “reveal how it’s made. Toad’s Blood. That’s its name. One of its names. Also called Sleep of Dreams, Everlasting Night, Eternal Embrace. In India, Shiva’s Love, Kiss of the Gods.
“It can kill by scratching the skin on a knife blade, an arrowhead. To be used in wine, it must be made differently, but leaves an odor,” he said, speaking in cultured Latin.
“Knowledge of it can bring death and misery to this house and everyone in it.” This time he stressed, ‘everyone,’ while looking at Peta meaningfully. “And yes, I will make it for you in the amount you require. But know this,” his eyes boring into hers, no longer the crazy old man, “we must test it on a living man. And that man will die as you saw at the coliseum. Last, you tell no one of my involvement, except the General. To do so would doom me to death by torture. I trust you with more than my life. No one must know what I do. No one.”
“Agreed, old friend.”
Outside someone walked by, Technikos made meaningful eye contact, nodded towards the door and changed the subject saying, “So, how did you catch a man who is a General and a Senator? Other than being ravishing and the wealthiest woman in the empire?”
Peta smiled, “We were discussing Pliny the Elder and Celsus.”
“Pliny? And Celsus? When you fell in love? I mean? Hardly a romantic topic.”
“Yes, at first I thought him a big oaf who only wanted sex. Was I ever wrong? He stated that Christianity’s lack of intellectual rigor worried Celsus, then followed up by quoting Pliny the Elder, ‘I deem it a mark of human stupidity to seek to discover the shape and form of God. Whoever God is – provided there is a God’ then went on ending with, ‘he consists wholly of sense, sight, and hearing wholly of soul, wholly of mind, wholly of himself.’
“He didn’t stop there, saying, ‘Jesus came to save sinners, why not to save those without sin? What evil is it to never have sinned?’ he asked me. Then, not waiting for an answer, he
continued with, ‘Let no one be educated, no one wise, no one sensible draw near. For these abilities are thought by us to evil.’
So, I tested him because all he’s done is rattle off a couple quotes. What about us being made in the image of God? I ask. And he says, ‘Nonsense, nothing to do with our body. It means to stand between the darkness and the light. To protect our loved ones. Our society. From harm. Want to see God’s grace on earth? Look at a mother loving her child. At a man protecting his family. God is one mortal helping another. Protecting us from evil. God existed before he made the earth. So, what need did he have for feet? There was no water, so what need for drinking? No, little lady, it does not mean that we look like him.’ Technikos, He called me ‘little lady.’
Me? Taller than most men, but you can see why. He’s huge.”
Then she blushed.
“Back to the story,” Technikos said, nodding.
“Yes, as I was saying, the size of him. Yet, for all his size, he’s gentle with me and the girls. And the hound. He loves that hound. Though I can’t imagine why.”
Pausing and looking wistful, “That’s when I fell in love with him. Intellect…loving softness…beauty. He’s more than I ever hoped for.”
“I think both of you got more. As to his education? First rate. What he’s accomplished points to that and strength of character.”
They paused. It was time to get back to business. “Your terms are acceptable,” she said
without hesitation.
“There is more before you agree.”
At this, Peta showed surprise. Not waiting for her to speak, Technikos went on.
“You have a spy in your household,” he said, quietly. And held up his hand before she could speak.
“One of the kitchen slaves. Running his mouth. Heard him myself.”
Her eyebrows shot up. Mouth forming a silent, No.
Yes, Technikos nodded. “Your slaves look upon me as one of them,” as if in explanation. “And Malcenta? I don’t trust her. She was your brother’s. Maybe still is.”
Peta looked at him, nodding, “Which kitchen slave?”
“I’ll take care of it. Best it’s me, so you and the General know nothing. Who he passed information to we may never know,” he said, shaking his head. “One of the many who supply
this house, would be my guess. I’ll question him, but when he disappears, his contact will as well. Doubt we’ll ever find him, and in the looking reveal far too much.”
Then he paused. “Malcenta may be innocent, but she should not be around you whenever you go on an errand related to your plan. Normal errands are fine. She’s a bodyguard after all and it would look strange to leave one’s bodyguard at home. But be circumspect. So, keep her with
you as you normally would. This is no time to arouse suspicion. As long as she is here, we control her. And before you ask, no, we must not kill her. She’s far too well known. Leave her to me. I’ll keep an eye on her.”
“You may watch her as you wish, but I’ll have no murder here. I will tell Ennius that one of the kitchen slaves is to be sold. Today. Which one?”
“The Nubian,” Technikos said, with obvious relief.
“Let me be the one to sell him.”
“Why?” She said, her brows furrowing.
“So, he will not show up in a neighbor’s house. I want him far away.”
Peta nodded, a smile slowly spreading across her face, knowing that this man, this good man, would go to any lengths to protect her.
Looking gravely at him, “Did you think I forgot your lessons? You taught me how to survive duplicity and lies. As well as giving me a fine education.”
“Forgive me lady, I meant no disrespect,” he said, taken aback. She had learned her lessons
well.
“None taken, you old goat,” she said, smiling.
Later that day, Technikos took the Nubian into the city and sold him as a field hand on a farm. As Technikos suspected, one of the household delivery people was never seen again. Technikos was watchful, whoever controlled the Nubian would know he’d been uncovered. Technikos watched everyone, especially Malcenta, who he made it his business to get to know, and sleep with. No further attempts were made to turn a slave in the household. Peta and the General treated everyone well and cared for them when they were sick or hurt. Technikos’s
questions to the kitchen slave about what caused him to turn were not answered. Technikos was thus disappointed as he dearly wished to know.
Returning, Technikos ran into Malcenta, “You left with a kitchen slave, return without him?”
“In the General’s navy.”
“What?”
“Galley slave,” Technikos said, telling an obvious lie. Only free men were on the General’s ships. No one knew what happened to him. Which was what Technikos wanted them to know.
A Hungry Wolf
The wolf was crouched under such cover as he could find a couple thousand paces down hill from where Caia lay. Thunder and lightning lashed the forest in the gloom before dawn as the heavens poured rain into the world. He could smell Caia, but not see her, the moon a yellow smudge that cast too little light even for his predator’s eyes. Getting up, he stretched, shook himself off, and began walking uphill when his hair stood on end. Lightning crackled, pelting him with blown off bark. Then came the deafening thunderclap. Caia forgotten, he took the path of least resistance and ran downhill, putting more distance between them.
• ● ● ● •
Caia lay under her blanket; cold, hungry, hating every drop that found its way through the branches to fall on her. There was much to hate.
“Won’t sleep on a hilltop again,” she said to herself.
She had not made a kill, a fire, or eaten anything for two days to throw the wolf off her scent. The storm helped, but not having smoke and carrion on the wind for him to follow was better. Trouble was, she could no longer go without food. Today she must eat. Lying under her smelly, wet blanket, she prayed this nightmare would end and that somehow she would live through it as she fell into a fitful sleep.
Caia awakened to the smell of fresh air and the sound of footsteps loading her sling she peeked out. A fox. The sling whirled and the fox fell.
“Thank you, God, for sending me this animal. I take no pleasure in killing it.”
Picking up the fox, she tied it to a branch to bleed and then went looking for wood to shave into dry kindling. In her hunger, she gave no thought to where the blood dripped and that its odor would be carried by the wind. Over a small fire, she cooked the fox and ate. Smiling ruefully, she remembered an old saying, ‘Hunger is the best spice.’ She agreed.
Looking at the fox, she cried, “You beautiful thing,” she said, running her fingers through its fur. “How I would love your company.”
Sobbing, shoulders quaking, she put out the fire and dropped the remains of the fox between some rocks. “He can’t hurt you down there.”
She wasn’t thinking that the unburied offal, like the blood, would be on the wind. And it was windy following the storm.
“Come on Caia,” she said, removing a twig from her sandal. “Wonder how wolf tastes?
Stewed? Roasted? Roasted would be divine. With carrots, Asparagus Frittata, from egg to fruit. And sauce. Oh, the sauce. And wine. And marmalade? Mint? Yes, mint marmalade. Being served lying on a couch after a day at the beach with a man. That would be heavenly.” Walking along, she remembered the sumptuous dinners in Ravenna, “And conversation, oh how I miss talking to people.”
• ● ● ● •
The storm over, the wolf roused himself and walked uphill. Ravenous, he found some berries and ate them. Then he saw some grass in a clearing and ate that. The breeze brought the smell of burned wood, blood, roasted meat, and the remains of the fox.
Walking to where Caia slept, he ignored the charred remains of the fire, and went straight for the fox’s offal. He could see them. Smell them. But could not reach them. He tried to force his head between the rocks. Tried digging.
Unable to reach the fox’s remains drove him mad. In his madness he howled for his pack. Howled and howled and howled without reply.
Fangs dripping, his yellow eyes raked the forest, ears pricked, then he scented her; his prey. After drinking from a puddle, he loped off…to make the kill.
Caia Fights To The Death
Caia was running for her life as a Hun arrow whispered past her ear, hitting a tree its iron arrow head penetrated with a thunk, the arrow vibrating loudly in the quiet. Skidding to a stop, she hit the ground, bashed her knees and elbows and tore her clothes as another arrow sang its death song. Had she kept running, she’d be dead. More afraid than she had ever been, her vision had contracted to a single spot. Tears ran down her face, her stomach in knots. She had never known such fear and for a few minutes could not move and did not feel her bruises. Preying to somehow escape, she lay in hiding, panting, covered in goose bumps.
The forest limited the range of the Hun bow. Indeed, it was the trees literally keeping Caia alive. That and the Hun’s inexperience fighting in the forest. Lucky for Caia, the Hun had stupidly kept her horse with her. Skittish and afraid in the dappled light, it blundered about making plenty of noise.
Caia knew the Hun would tie up the horse until then she had an advantage, but one that would not last long. Soon the Hun would stalk her and when she had a clear shot, Caia would be wounded or killed. The thought of being taken alive terrified her.
Caia suspected that the Hun knew about where she was and abandoned the heavy goat skin and blanket, but kept the knife. It clicked against Annora’s iron ring. Better to run than wait for an arrow. She broke cover and ran hard for a tree thirty paces away. The Hun was ready, and an arrow passed just over her head. Right quick, another arrow sliced her hip.
“Caia, Caia,” she admonished herself, “get smart. Be a rabbit. Don’t run in a straight line.” She knew this from her childhood when she hunted them.
Still on horseback, the Hun no longer had a target and realized that her horse was worse than useless as it gave away her position. Yet, she did not abandon it because a Hun is nothing without a horse. Soon, she would realize the horse was a liability, but not yet.
Caia watched the Hun nudge her horse to a trot, then bend low to avoid a limb as the horse jumped over a fallen tree. The limb hit her full in the face, knocking her to the ground where she landed on her ass, only to watch her horse run deeper into the forest. Checking her weapons, she found just five useable arrows. The others had broken. So, she was deep in the wood with only five arrows and no horse. The shame was overpowering. Her bow was unbroken.
Standing up uncertainly, she stepped on a rock. It was painful through her soft riding boot. Must watch every step, went through her slow Hun mind.
Unlike the Hun, Caia wore stout Roman sandals that laced to the knee, not unlike those worn by the legions as they conquered most of the known world. Watching the Hun get knocked off her horse, Caia hoped she would not get up. She did, but walked slowly and stiffly. Then she stepped on something sharp that caused her to jump around, favoring her hurt foot. She then stepped on it again and fell again. Caia was laughing, but silently. As the Hun slowly got to her feet, bow at the ready. Caia stopped laughing.
The Hun realized she had to look for her horse, watch for the Roman, and be careful of every footfall. In her belt was a Roman dagger and Hun axe. Both had sorely bruised her in her two, or was it three?, falls to the ground. Her thinking was confused and she could not remember. She made slow progress in this strange environment that so favored her enemy.
Seeing the horse, she approached slowly and quietly as she tied it to a tree. Then she drank from a small goatskin, and ate some half raw meat. Caia had seen Huns eat half-raw meat before, but it still turned her stomach. To her cultured Roman palate, it was disgusting and marked Huns as uncultured, uneducated, louts no better than pigs.
As the Hun walked away from the horse, she did not think to notice its location or blaze a trail. Caia noticed this with a nod of satisfaction. Soon, she hoped, the Hun would get lost. Then perhaps Caia could slip away while the stupid Hun went in circles looking for her horse.
Watching her walk off carrying that ever-so-deadly bow, Caia remembered her sling. If I had it I’d kill this filth. As an arrow sped past her ear. The thought of a bone tipped arrow ripping her apart almost made her vomit. As Caia crawled to cover, another arrow flew by. Even in the forest, she could not give the Hun the slightest opening. Caia’s knees hurt, and she skinned them again. Worse, the wound in her side throbbed and bled. Between the pain, blood, helplessness, despair overwhelmed her.
Annora? What will become of you if I die here? She wondered, fingering the iron ring. She couldn’t abandon Annora any more than she would choose to die like a rabbit. Rabbit? Hunted ‘em with a sling. Then a thought struck her. I’ve got sandal laces, but what do I do for a pocket? Her hand flew to the back of her head. The leather hair strap and its tie were still there. She took them off, cut her sandal laces, leaving only enough to retie them, and quickly tied the laces to the hair strap. It would do. It had to.
No easy prey, the Hun thought. Ashamed of being unhorsed and unable to kill an unarmed Roman, she hoped her ancestors were not watching, thinking that it will be even more enjoyable taking her head.
“Then they will see what a warrior I am, and Dogo? He will see, too,” she mumbled. Between staying hidden and preoccupied with working the leather, Caia lost track of the Hun. She picked up several stones. They were dirty and not round like those from the river she hunted rabbits with. She wiped them on her tattered clothes, hearing the Hun behind her. It was then that she saw the blood trail she was leaving. Soon the Hun would find it and then she would die.
Caia loaded a stone. It fell out. She almost screamed with despair. She cut a slit in the pocket. The stone stayed, but the laces needed to be straightened. She pulled them against her knee.
Not perfect, but not bad. Can I hit anything?
Caia whirled her sling and let fly. The stone flew powerfully, hitting a tree with a loud thwack. Caia noticed where the stone hit and launched another. Thwack. And another. Thwack.
Not bad for a sling made from sandals and a hair strap. Not bad at all.
Being armed with a weapon every bit as deadly as the Hun’s bow heartened her. She was a hunter and would run no longer.
What was that? Deserters? Survivors? Would they dare approach our army? What’s going on? Flew through the Huns mind.
Caia reloaded her sling with her best stone and began stalking her enemy.
The Hun dropped to one knee as she looked and listened, becoming more and more confused. What made that noise?
Caia crept slowly and quietly, keeping to cover. The sling dangled in her right hand. She wanted to hit the Hun in the head because sling stones crush and brake bone. Why didn’t I think of this before? Creeping along, she found a handful of small stones. She removed the larger stone and loaded them, placing the larger stone in her left hand.
The Hun stood up, not knowing Caia was armed, thinking, why am I creeping around?
Caia saw the Hun’s hat and silently began moving toward it. Sling at the ready, watching the hat turn this way and that.
Caia was within striking distance, but had no clear shot. “Patience, Caia, patience.” She knew four stones would not kill the Hun, but they had a better chance of hurting her and setting her for a kill shot. Caia would then follow up again and again. Oddly, the Hun was not moving. Caia closed in. Then, seeing the Hun stand up, she loosed her stones, ducked to cover; reloaded.
The stones flew. Two missed, one took off the Hun’s hat, and the fourth broke a tooth.
The next stone took the Hun on the side of the head, knocking her down. She got up and ran for her horse, but realized she didn’t know where it was and stopped to look for it.
Caia watched her run, then stop. Launching a stone, it hit the Hun full in the head and knocked her flat.
What happened? Did I fall off my horse? Where’s my bow?
Caia muttered, “She’s terrible hurt.” Then, she picked up a rock and threw it, just to make
noise. To draw attention.
The Hun stood and shot without aiming. Then pulled a second arrow, but didn’t shoot.
Good, Caia was ready with her last and best stone. Then, remembering what the hunters told her as a girl, she waited. Let her bleed. Caia had time. The Hun didn’t.
Only thinking of getting to her horse, the Hun got to her feet and staggered toward a cliff she could not see. Stepping into thin air, she fell onto the boulders below. For the first time in her life, she was so badly wounded that she couldn’t fight.
Drawing her dagger and axe, she waited for death. I should have died last year with my family. I will be ashamed to meet them. Killed by an unarmed Roman slave.
Caia saw the Hun fall, but thought it a trick. She would not give her the slightest target, so deadly was her bow. Hearing and seeing nothing, Caia crept forward. There was the Hun. Just sitting there. Holding her dagger and axe. Praying,
“Lord of all that flies,
O Lord, I pray,
Rain down tonight
Drown every light,
Rain down tonight.”
Does she think I’m going to climb down there? Never happen. Ain’t that stupid Caia thought. Then loosed her best stone. The Hun slumped backward, unmoving.
Certain the Hun was dead, Caia climbed down and began trembling uncontrollably. Then she vomited and cried.
“You’ll not have this head, barbarian,” she whispered to the body, already drawing flies. Then, looking at the death before her, she added quietly, almost reverently, “May you find your way to your ancestors and be welcomed into their company. I take no pleasure in your death.”
Her eyes fell on the bow. She picked it up and broke it on the rock wall. Then she stripped the Hun of everything she had; turned her back on the naked gore; and stopped. She was a Roman, not a barbarian. Caia laid the broken bow gently on the Hun’s body. “You may need this.”
Climbing out, she picked up her goat skin and blanket, bundled everything together, and took a long drink. Her bruised knees and elbows hurt, her clothing torn, and her hip bleeding, but she didn’t care, so great was her joy at being alive. She tore off a piece of her clothing and held it to the wound. The air smelled wonderful. The water tasted delicious. She tried to run but her legs wobbled, so she sat for a while, then got up, cleaned the twigs and pebbles out of her sandals, and walked away.
After a while she could go no farther, and took a long drink. Her wound no longer bled, but was terribly painful. She tried walking twenty paces and running twenty paces, but the wound hurt too much and started bleeding again. So, she went on as best she could. Tomorrow, or the next day, she would use this ground eating gait, but not today. Pausing only to drink and listen for pursuit, she pushed on until sunset.
Shaken by her pitched battle, as anyone would be, Caia knew that even veteran soldiers who come close to death were affected by it, and she was no veteran soldier. So, she took a long drink. She was tired from walking, from being afraid, from carrying the goatskin, the blanket, the quiver. From knowing that she would survive by her wits. That’s when the pent up emotion hit
her and she fell to her knees and cried for all the death she had seen. For the pile of human heads. The streets running with blood. The screams of the dying and of those to be sold into slavery. She had seen adult slaves that weighed only forty or fifty pounds because they were fed rarely and worked from sunup to sundown. Between the beatings and being sold from one horrible master to the next, their existence was a life not worth living and offered only death as an escape. The Christians were the lucky ones, because suicide brought them to their heaven and many took that
escape.
She crawled under some low branches. It was as good a place as any, but it did nothing for her fear. Though her wound no longer bled, it hurt, oozed, and her elbows, knees, and arms were a misery of aches, pains, scratches and bruises. And she was hungry. Thinking of food made her mouth water as she remembered the dinners in Ravenna. The memory was too much. So, she turned her thoughts to being tired. And she was. The tiredness that only comes from a day filled
with combat and running for your life.
How many days since I had anything to eat? She wondered. Don’t even know if it’s today or yesterday. One thing’s sure, tomorrow I must hunt. Can’t go on like this. Crawling into her shelter, she opened her bundle and took out the Centurion’s dagger, sheath, and belt. All beautifully made. Then the Hun axe. Next was a fine silk shirt which puzzled her. Beautifully embroidered goat skin breaches and jacket. Dirty, but in fine condition. Then, two flints, three bow strings, a couple arrows, her sling, and a few stones she’d picked up along the way. Thinking, tomorrow I’ll look for better ones. It was not fully dark, and the forest sounded like a forest should. Dirty or not, she would wear the Hun’s clothes tomorrow. Though hers were
ruined, she would leave nothing behind to mark her trail.
The sun was going down and it was cold as she wrapped herself in the thick wool blanket and was profoundly thankful that she had it as she snuggled down. Covered in goose bumps, she lay there, tears streaming down her cheeks, trembling violently, while the moonlight made frightening shadows. She thought of being sold into slavery again, of killing the Hun, of being
killed by the Hun, and running for her life. Loneliness, fear, dread and the howling of a wolf were her companions. And cold company they were. Then she collapsed into a deep sleep.
She only forgot one thing.