Legionary (44 page)

‘I know a senator.’

A muted gasp rippled round the table as the fifteen leant back. Sura looked at him, astonishment curling into a grin. ‘Well that changes things!’ He chirped.

‘It’s not that easy,’ Pavo cut in. ‘He used to be my master.’

The rest of the table fell silent, turning to him, eyebrows raised.

Pavo pulled a wry grin at the utter lack of shame he would once have felt. ‘Aye, aye, I was a slave; get over it — it’s not like I buggered a camel, eh?’ The legionaries dropped their stunned expressions. ‘This senator is a…he’s a nasty piece of work. There are no guarantees, but it’s a possibility, okay? We might have to convince him that this won’t damage his career, but…’

‘What career?’ another legionary butted in. ‘Didn’t you hear? The senate’s been disbanded! The emperor’s pulled the plug. Rumour was that he thought they were getting too much power — corruption or something.’

‘Well thanks for sharing that with us, Kyros, only we’ve been sitting here for ages and you’ve not said a word — too busy stuffing your bloody face!’ Another legionary moaned.

‘Well how was I to know we had a senator’s bum boy amongst us?’ Kyros grumbled.

‘Enough!’ Pavo hissed. Kyros looked apologetic — and he certainly would if only he knew the pain Tarquitius had inflicted on his slaves. ‘Look, we don’t have any choice — whether the senate is shut or not, we’ve only got that dice to throw. So here’s what we’re going to do…’

The fifteen gathered around again, listening intently.

Pavo felt his mouth dry again as expectation rested heavily on his shoulders; to engineer a break-in to the Imperial Palace. Well, he thought, this is where experience will come in handy. He eyed each of the men.

‘Okay, this is going to be as rough as a badger’s arse…’

The summer sun drooped towards the west and a grey-purple haze hung in the air. Constantinople was at its busiest at this time of day. Exhausted traders shifted their stock mercilessly, coins rattling into their purses as the spices and fruit vanished from their stalls. The throng of the crowd had thickened all afternoon and was now a sea of exhausted, sweaty and dusty faces.

Cutting sharply into a side street to avoid the crush, Tarquitius, dressed defiantly in his senatorial purple trimmed white toga, eyed the narrow passage. He wiped the thick sweat from his buttery pate with a rag; tenements on one side, shrub lined aqueduct struts on the other, but brightly lit and open, there might be a chance that he wouldn’t have to part with his purse by taking a shortcut through here. ‘Fronto, how I miss your big, dumb presence,’ he cursed under his breath. He had been too wary of hiring a cutthroat replacement for his slain bodyguard, and had chosen to spend most of his time in the villa anyway. Since the senate had been effectively abolished, he had no purpose to be out and about. Fear of the bishop’s hired blades lurking in every street corner had penned him in, but weeks of constant introspection had driven him to the edge of madness. Now, as he trod the flagstones of the alley gingerly, he channelled his fear into bitterness; his life had been a black void since the emperor had destroyed one of the oldest institutions of the empire, of the republic.
The fool!
And the bishop, he seethed, that most unholy of creatures had used him like a pawn.
Damn him to Hades!
All he stood for had been taken from him, with only the empty shell of his life left. One chance, any chance to claw back power and respect was all he needed, but had so far proved elusive. Better to die on the streets, he pouted stubbornly, jutting his wobbling chins up. Nothing could scare him anymore. Then, five hooded figures dropped from the aqueduct channel above and landed like rocks in front of him.

‘Oh, by the gods!’ Tarquitius trilled, throwing up his hands to shield his face. He dropped to his knees and clawed at his belt, feeling for his purse. ‘Take it, take it! Just leave me unharmed!’ He waited on the sensation of a dagger plunging through his skin — what would it feel like?

‘Shhhh, For Jupiter’s sake!’ A familiar voice hissed.

Tarquitius cracked open one eye; the shadowed face of one of the hooded thugs loomed over him.

‘Stand up, will you?’

Tarquitius felt his fear melt into confusion as the hooded figure reached for his forearms and hoisted him to his feet, and then pulled the hood back slightly. In the dusty haze, a bruised and battered, sunken, hawk-like face was revealed. Tarquitius yelped with joy.

‘Pavo!’ He whooped before a hand was quickly clamped over his mouth.

‘One more word, you fat pig, and I’ll have to knock you out,’ Pavo hissed.

‘But why…’ his words trailed off as the four other hooded figures converged on him.

‘We need to talk — in private.’

Tarquitius opened his mouth to speak, and then stopped again, feeling the glares of the five. He nodded, turned to leave the alley and beckoned the five with a flick of the hand.

The sun straddled the skyline in the late Constantinople afternoon, casting yawning shadows of the Imperial Palace walls across the streets, silhouetting the buildings and colouring the sky a pink-orange.

At the palace gates, the imperial guard eyed Tarquitius with disdain, glancing down at a piece of parchment. Tarquitius shuffled uncomfortably; he should have insisted the five standing beside him stayed at the villa. Despite a wash and shave, they still smelled like vagrants. A jug of iced fruit juice had pacified the runts and they had planned quickly and carefully. A plan that would suit all parties, he mused smugly. Insisting on an audience with the emperor might well ruin him if he did not possess such scandalous information. So the XI Claudia had formed suspicions of the bishop’s treachery — while the quiet senator had remained anonymous so far in the whole affair. Yet today would see him hailed as the saviour of the empire, and Bishop Evagrius would be doomed to a public execution. Yes, the bishop would protest his innocence, and then he would doubtless point the finger at his co-conspirators, but before such stories could be heard, a hired assassin could easily slip into the jail and sink a blade into the holy man’s ribs. How ironic, he thought, that his own slave should come stumbling back from the lost lands to the north to present him with salvation?

‘Senator Tarquitius, you don’t have an appointment to speak with the emperor, and you turn up with these sacks of garbage who could be anyone…and you expect me to let you in?’ The urban guardsman scratched at his side in distraction. ‘The senate is dead anyway — what business could you possibly have?’

‘Well I appreciate that. But think for a minute what harm could be done if you don’t let me through. When what I have to say comes out, you could be lauded as a hero for trusting in me.’

‘Aye, or end up being stoned for being the whoreson that let an assassin into the palace.’

‘Fine then, escort us in — six unarmed men can easily be contained by, what, a few urban guards? Or do you think this would be a job better suited to the candidati?’

The urban guard took the bait, his top lip stiffening. ‘Watch your tongue, Senator.’ He eyed the party carefully, then spat a thick glob of phlegm onto the sand. ‘Okay, you can come in, but these five scoundrels wait outside.’

Tarquitius looked to Pavo. His ex-slave nodded. The boy was clearly desperate to save the rabble of dogs he called his legion. But once inside, he alone was the one who could word the message to the emperor. It just kept getting better and better. Tarquitius turned back to the guard. ‘Very well, lead the way.’

The guard grunted and flicked his head to beckon Tarquitius and then yelled in through the guard gate. ‘Open up!’

As Tarquitius stepped through into the palace grounds, he felt empowered and proud once more.

Then a voice screeched out over the rooftops.

‘He is an assassin. Slay him!’

He spun around. That white cloak and the snow-white hair, but the face was curled into a fury.
The Bishop!
Evagrius’ eyes were burning on Tarquitius’ skin and his outstretched hand pointed a gnarled finger at the senator. A twenty of urban guards surrounding him poured forward, swords drawn and teeth bared.

Pavo’s heart hammered as their hopes and lives wavered before his eyes.

‘Protect the senator!’ He barked. The five, unarmed and wearing only grubby tunics, hesitated for only an instant, before lurching forward to shove Tarquitius into the palace ground and block the entrance to the guard gate. ‘Get this gate closed,’ he spat to the urban guard behind him. Confused, the guard stuck with protocol and moved to slam the gate shut.

‘Keep that gate open!’ The bishop roared to his twenty. Before the gate could be locked, a plumbata plunged into the guard’s heart and he fell back, eyes wide, mouth spewing blood. ‘Now finish these dogs and take down the senator!’

As the wall of twenty lunged for them, Pavo kicked out, crudely parrying a spear thrust with his boot. In the same breath, he called out; ‘Claudia!’ From the bushes across the flagstoned walkway, ten more filthy subjects popped up, bearing spathas and shields, and raced towards the melee. A bundle of spathas were hurled forward, and Pavo leapt to catch one.

Pavo ducked as a spear ripped past him and plunged into Cato’s chest. The young lad slithered to the ground, rasping blood. Pavo snarled; ‘
Whoresons!
Let’s see how you fight against real soldiers!’ He barely recognised his own growl as he smashed forward, hacking one spear tip clear of its shaft before ramming his sword point through the mouth of one of the guards, whose eyes and nose erupted in a volcano of blood. The ten XI Claudia reinforcements clattered into the back of the urban unit, and soon the two sides were tangled in a storm of crimson and iron.

‘We’re barely holding them!’ Sura yelped as he ducked a sword cut.

Pavo stepped over the fallen Kyros to stand back to back with his friend. ‘Doesn’t matter what happens to us, so long as we hold out long enough for Tarquitius to get to the emperor.’ He jinked to his left as a spear jabbed at him, roaring as the blade ripped open his shoulder.

‘More company!’ Sura wailed.

Pavo looked up over his shoulder; another urban twenty hared in on them, being swept forward by the snarling bishop. ‘To the last, Sura,’ he barked. Then the twenty hit them and enveloped them. The vice-like crush intensified; there were only seven of his party left against roughly thirty of the urban guard. He roared in fury as another XI Claudia legionary was hacked down in front of him. As the body of the legionary fell, He looked up at the three bloodied and grinning faces that closed in on him.

‘You’re dead, sunshine, an’ you know it,’ the central guard shrieked. But then three thuds stopped them in their tracks, their faces dropped in confusion and blood rocketed from their mouths and nostrils. They tumbled to their knees and then collapsed forward almost in unison, the arrows lodged in their necks still quivering.

‘Don’t hang about, knock the shit out of ‘em!’ a familiar voice growled.

Spurius!
The stocky legionary was poise with his bow still raised, at the head of the five he had taken with him, together with a band of filthy and gnarled characters —
the Greens!
Armed with swords, daggers, slings, bows and rocks, they were every bit as dangerous as soldiers. The remainder of the urban guard turned to face the mob that now outnumbered them.

Spurius barged through to Pavo. ‘I’ve sorted out my business,’ he grunted with a typically ferocious grimace, ‘thought you could do with a hand!’ With that, he plunged into the melee.

‘
Spurius
?’ Sura gasped, spitting blood and shards of tooth onto the flagstones. ‘Never in a million…’

‘It only counts if Tarquitius gets to the emperor — come on, you’re with me!’ He yelled, pulling Sura by the wrist through the guard gate.

They slipped out of the rabble on the streets and down a long colonnaded path before bursting into an expanse of greenery; lawns, hedgerows, foliage and flower beds, studded with explosions of coloured blooms and gilded figurines. A marble fountain babbled without a care in the world in the centre of the garden, and the palace dominated the vast walled enclosure at the far end. Slaves bobbed in amongst the foliage, trimming, seeding and watering the lush beds, completely oblivious to the melee on the other side of the gate.
Too easy
, he wondered, slowing to a crouch behind the fountain, pulling Sura down with him. Then he spotted the pristine white tunics and froze; two pairs of candidati patrolled either side of the garden, and where in Hades was Tarquitius?

‘I see him,’ Sura hissed, jabbing a finger towards a hedgerow maze that zigzagged across the western half of the gardens, waist height at first and then expertly pruned to slope up to be tall as a man. There, behind one of the strolling candidati pair, the first bank of waist-height hedging ruffled a little, and the shiny pate of Tarquitius gleamed in the sunlight. A most imperfect hiding place.

‘In the name of…he’ll get skewered in a heartbeat — those guards are nearly on him,’ Pavo growled. ‘We need him — he dies then we’ve got nothing. We’ll be executed — no questions asked.’

‘Aye, I’m hearing you. But I’m not so keen on taking on those two.’ Sura nodded towards the candidati.

Pavo watched their path as the pair strolled up to the front of the garden, and then back down towards the maze. He noted the alternating path of the two on the other side, and the fact that the wall guard faced out towards the city. ‘When they walk behind the high hedgerows, then we slip round behind them, grab Tarquitius, duck down, wait for them to do another circuit of the garden, then…’

‘Then have breakfast and a game of dice?’ Sura cocked an eyebrow. ‘
Come on
, we need to move!’ As if to underline his point, the bishop’s roar filled the gardens and the ground shook with the trampling of boots. The pair spun; urban guards, at least forty of them, thundered for them, armour clanking, barely forty paces away, swords drawn. The bishop hobbled in their midst, roaring them on.