Fists of Iron: Barbarian of Rome Chronicles Volume Two (28 page)

Clodian’s face was healing well, with no sign of infection or distortion of the facial muscles. Neo finished applying the salve that would speed healing, and then wiped his hands with a clean cloth. He briefly looked around the newly rented quarters in the city. They were clean and roomy and practically, had only one stairway. Anyone ascending the stairs would have to pass Belua’s room first to reach Clodian.

Clodian sat up on the bed, flexing his mouth and cheeks. “It itches like the furies,” he complained.

“That’s good,” said Neo.

“How do I look?”

“Worse than it is,” said Neo. “The swelling is going down, and with time the redness will fade. The scar will be…impressive.”

“As I thought,” said Clodian, rising to his feet. Orbiana looked on, smiling at them both. “Not the handsome fellow I was.” He directed the comment towards her.

“I think it gives you character,” she responded, eliciting a painful grin from Clodian.

They are well matched
, thought Neo,
and lucky to be so much in love
. His mind briefly skipped back to his time with Placidia; and the ache was still there. He shook himself back to the present. “I’ll take the stitches out tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” said Clodian. “Have you spoken to Belua today?”

“Yes, I have,” answered Neo, sensing what was coming next.

“I believe I’ve offended him beyond redemption.” He hesitated before continuing. “I even wonder why
you
are so generous in your manner when in my company…after what I’ve done.”

“Each of us is unique, thank goodness.” Neo talked as he packed away his instruments. “We all perceive the world differently; with its joys and tragedies, its victories, successes, and its sad mistakes. All men and women stumble on their journey through this life, and it’s the wise person who learns a little from the mistakes they make. I believe everyone deserves a second chance, and I’ve not yet met anyone who hasn’t stumbled.”

“With Belua there is no room for second chances,” said Clodian pensively.

Neo shrugged his shoulders. “Only the gods know what the future brings. And men do change. They bend their own rules if there’s a good enough reason.”

“What of your future?” Clodian asked, catching him unawares.

Thinking for a short while he answered, “I grow weary of my current life. I plan to return soon to Greece, to Thessaly, the place of my birth.” It felt a little strange sharing his plans with Clodian, as he’d never discussed this with anyone, even the few friends he had. “Before my family came to Pompeii, I grew up in a small village in the mountains, a quiet place where time seems to pass very slowly. I have a few cousins there, no one else. Of late I have felt drawn back there, and it’s where I plan to see out my days.”

“Will you still tend to the sick?” Clodian asked, seeming surprised by his revelation.

“I probably will.” Neo smiled to himself. “They say a rooster cannot stop its crowing. And you, what are your plans? Life will soon become very different for you. I’m sure that you’ve thought well about the time after your manhood ceremony.”

“First,” said Clodian, walking to Orbiana’a side and holding her hand, “I will give Orbiana her freedom, and then…I will ask her to be my wife.” Orbiana blushed and slipped her arm through his. She looked so very happy.

“I cannot say that surprises me,” said Neo, suddenly feeling old as he saw the way they looked at each other – a tender indifference to the rest of the world. He envied them.

“After, I would like to train as a physician, like you.” Clodian’s words were said without hesitation or trace of self-doubt.

Neo cleared his throat. “You are on the brink of becoming a very important man in Pompeii. And, I believe you to be a good man with a righteous heart. Rome needs such men. It will be a great sacrifice to turn your back on such a position with so
much influence, and to take the road I have.” He searched the young man’s eyes, and saw only clear resolve. “Are you sure of this?”

“My father’s road was never for me, and Rome needs men of healing too.”

Discerning the honest confidence in Clodian’s words, he knew there was nothing more to say.

Chapter 33

THE DEEPEST CUT

Flavia dabbed at her brow with a silk handkerchief. She felt angry, frustrated, and the day’s draining heat didn’t help. Two of the house’s retainers stood at a discreet distance away, armed with swords. Flavia understood the deadly game she played and took no chances. Akana sat opposite her in the shade of the garden’s lemon trees. No doubt Akana sensed her foul mood and appeared reluctant to speak.

“So, the snake has failed and my step-son has returned to the city,” said Flavia.

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” confirmed Akana nervously.

“Time is very short and I’ll not be thwarted.” She could not keep the anger from her voice. “We must instigate our back-up plan. Immediately, do you understand?”

“I’ll make contact today, and urge the need to act tonight.”

“Urge!” shouted Flavia, losing control. Spittle flecking onto her chin. “You’ll tell them that if it’s not completed tonight, I’ll wear their fucking skin by sun-up tomorrow, and that of their kin too! Is that clear enough?”

“Yes, very clear.”

“Because if something should go wrong this time, I’ll be looking to blame someone, and believe me, those people will suffer very badly.” She saw the fear clearly etched on Akana’s face, the sweat beads appearing on her forehead, top lip and cheeks.
You understand the consequences of failure,
she thought,
but regardless of tonight’s events your time in this world will soon be coming to an end…unsuspecting fool.
A few more fucks and it’s the fishes for you, my dear.
“Now go, and make sure you carry my words
exactly
as I have relayed them.”

Akana tilted her head in abeyance, before quickly scuttling away.

Jupiter’s cock!
thought Flavia
, I’ll be happy when that fucking boy is on the funeral pyre, and then I’ll deal with the trainer and physician
.

She wiped her brow, turning her attention to one of the retainers. She believed his name was Felix.
Young and muscular, with mischievous eyes
…
and doubtless very willing.

Pushing her earlier misgivings aside, she consoled herself with plans for the rest of the afternoon.

Clodian coughed outside Belua’s room.

“Come,” a deep bass replied.

He brushed the hanging drape aside. Belua sat on a bed that looked too small for him, methodically sharpening a knife with a wet-stone. The dagger looked new, a likely replacement for the one he’d gifted to himself. A sheathed
gladius
rested against the wall, within easy reach.

“A fine morning,” Clodian ventured. Discussion between the two of them had
been cursory and restricted to only practical matters since they’d returned to the city. He wanted to say so much, to try to undo his foolishness in some way, but he’d been too wary to say anything specific, afraid of the response he’d receive.

“Is it,” said Belua, not looking up.

He stood there, feeling awkward for what seemed a long time, before deciding to take the plunge.

“Do you ever intend speaking to me as you once used to?”

Belua raised his head, his expression flat, tired. There were dark smudges under his eyes.

“What does it matter? Your manhood ceremony is almost upon us. After, you’ll be able to banish the witch and hire an army of guards to protect you, if you so wish.” He cleared his throat, turning his attention to the edge he was putting on the blade. “Then, my contract with your father will be fulfilled and there’ll be no reason for us to speak at all.”

Clodian felt a hard knot form in his chest. “You never told me about Prudes’ funeral. I would have liked to have attended, and Orbiana, too.”

“I saw no reason. It was a quiet ceremony in the gladiator cemetery, as Prudes would have wanted.”

“Was anyone else there?”

“Just Zamura…and me.”

“How is she?”

Belua took a long time to answer. “She loved him, and I believe she was special to him, too. She plans to leave the city…it has too many memories for her. I asked her if she needed anything and she told me that the one thing that she desired now waits for her in the next life.” He paused again. “She is young and has enough money to start afresh, somewhere else.”

“And, what of
our
friendship?”Clodian knew he had to ask, before his building emotions stopped him getting his words out.

Belua fixed him with a look that was tinted with sadness as well as resolve. “Yes, we were friends,” he agreed, “but there are some things that cannot be unwoven. Prudes was as a brother to me and his death…his death will always stand between us.” His voice thickened and he turned back to his blade.

“I understand,” said Clodian, his mouth trembling. “Yet, I want you to know that I would give anything to bring Prudes back to us, even to the forfeit of my own life. He was also a special friend to me.”

When Belua looked up, the gently swaying drape marked Clodian’s silent departure.

His father called to him again, but he could not make out the words.

They were in the garden at the villa; the place his mother loved so much. He looked around, hoping to see her too, but she wasn’t there. He looked to his father again and smiled. He looked well, strong. Clodian started to weep, happy that he was healthy again. The tears freely coursed his cheeks but he didn’t care, they were joyful tears.

His father was calling to him again and waving his arm. He tried to cross the garden to him, but although his legs were moving he barely got any nearer. It was if the ground was moving with him.

“I love you father, and miss you. Is mother there with you? Tell her I sorely miss her too,” he shouted, then repeated himself, and again and again.
He surely hears me
, he told himself,
in this strange, familiar place where the very ground keeps us apart.
His father was calling again and was urgently waving both arms.

He made his legs work harder and he slowly edged forwards, his father’s words becoming a little clearer. He was surprised to see that his father’s face looked worried, desperate even. He pushed his muscles harder, and it felt as if he was walking through mud up to his thighs. Then, he recognised the words, “Beware the viper in your bed! Wake up my son, wake up!”

His eye-lids flashed open.

Orbiana rested one hand on his chest as she targeted the ivory hair-pin on his right eye. Her own eyes looked wild, her teeth clenched tightly together. Her hand flexed downwards and he knew that he’d be unable to avoid it.

Then his face was drenched in blood. More blood pumped onto his chest and shoulders, and the weight of Orbiana’s hand was gone from his chest. He frantically tried to clear his vision of gore, hurriedly swinging his legs off the bed to stand.

The rich coppery stench of fresh blood filled the room. His foot nudged something heavy on the floor by the bed. He looked down.

Orbiana lay dead, her neck skewered by a broad dagger. Her right wrist, still holding the long hair pin was snapped at an obscene angle. Belua knelt by the body, covering it with a white drape. The blood seeped through, shaping Orbiana’s broken head.

As he dropped to his knees he felt Belua’s arms wrap around him.

He cried out the only words that came into his mind,”Why!...Why Orbiana?...Why?”

Chapter 34

PROPOSITIONS

Zamura tried not to look back at the city, as it would only make her feel worse. She fought back the tears that seemed to come unbidden throughout the day, and the night too when she woke. Her heart seemed to break afresh each day. She hoped that leaving the city and the passage of time would heal the wound in her soul and lessen the pain.

“We should make excellent time leaving the city this early,” said Vespillo, sat at her side holding the reins. He was an ex-soldier and friend who’d agreed to safely accompany her south to Salernum. Never one of her customers, she’d met him when he’d married one of the young whores she’d befriended at the
lupanare
. He had a genial nature and she’d always liked him. She trusted him enough to accompany her alone on the road.

“Good,” she answered, the small wagon containing her belongings shaking her bones as it rattled along the stone road. She’d never been to Salernum, but she loved the sea. The coastal town would suffice to begin with; to try to forget and start anew. She’d told Belua her whoring days were finished, and meant it. Perhaps she’d turn her hand to dress making, as she always been handy with a needle and thread? She certainly didn’t lack for coin, but she knew that she’d have to keep herself busy, or her despondent heart would wear her away, and Prudes would not have wanted that.

“It seems we’re not the only ones taking the road at this ungodly hour,” quipped Vespillo, slowing the one horsed wagon.

Her reverie broken, Zamura looked up from her lap to the road ahead.

Two mounted figures walked their horses slowly towards them. As they drew nearer Zamura recognised one rider.

“It’s quite an event to see you abroad at this time of day,” said Zamura dryly.

“To see you in all your glory is certainly worth my trouble I assure you,” replied Gordeo.

The
procurator
was accompanied by a sturdy individual with the look of a gladiator. It was a look she recognised easily enough. And, Gordeo was not a man to risk his well–being in any way. “A man never short of smooth words, as always,” she stated, feeling annoyed at being delayed, even briefly.

“May I have a word with you, before you bid the city farewell,” Gordeo asked.

His clothing revealed blotches of dark sweat even at this cool hour. Zamura winced a little as she recalled the times that she’d lain with him, how she’d mounted that great tub of fat when he’d paid good coin to fuck her. Never again.

“How did you know I was leaving?”