The Sword of Revenge (41 page)

The thought that the man was a fool was the first thing that entered his mind: there was nothing of value amongst those maps. It was unlikely he could read, so he had tried the wrong cupboard but that did not alter the fact that Thoas was trying to steal something from his papers and there was only one way to deal with such a thing. The Numidian was tall, muscular and could prove a difficult opponent. This was no time to take a chance.

Thoas started to turn as Quintus stabbed him, which meant the blade took him in the side of his leg rather than the back, and in turning he added effect to the sideways motion that Quintus used, tearing his thigh muscles even more than the senator had intended. Quintus was a soldier, as adept in the martial arts as any of his contemporaries. The left-handed punch hit the slave on his open mouth, removed several teeth, and killed the sound that Thoas had started to make. Quintus kicked his other leg from under him and dropped, with his knees thudding onto the slave’s chest as he hit the floor. Then the knife was at the Numidian’s throat.

‘Make a sound and I’ll take out your gizzard.’

Terror made Thoas’s eyes look white against his dark skin, fear made him gurgle, the knife pressed into his throat made him stop. The slave’s mind was racing, since there seemed no way out of the trouble he was in. Then he had an idea. It would be pointless to plead mercy on the grounds that he was acting on Claudia’s behalf, but what about Lucius Falerius Nerva? Everyone in Rome was afraid of Lucius and gossip in the wine shops had it that this included Quintus Cornelius, so when the question came, he gave the answer that he thought would save him.

They found his body in a street leading to the market-place, the throat sliced open. Rome at night was a lawless enough place for murder to be commonplace and Thoas, who was much given to staying out drinking in places he could not afford, spending money he should not have, on women he could never hope to get, had met a deserved end, probably at the hands of someone jealous of his attentions to his paramour. Claudia, as a favour to help her heartbroken maid, paid for a funeral for the Numidian, even though she did wonder what he was doing out at that hour. Even more mysterious was the way that Quintus, without a word of explanation, handed her the note she had written out for the priests at the Temple of
Juno
Moneta
. As he did so, her stepson cursed himself again for that moment of blind fury, when he heard the name Lucius Falerius. That had made him slice the man’s throat without asking him what he was looking for.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

It was immediately obvious that the slave army, despite the promises of their leader, had taken over the city. The guard at the gate had been an ex-slave and the entrance to the palace, normally the meeting place of the local oligarchy, was also guarded by runaways, simple questioning establishing that it was now the sole residence of the ‘King of the Slaves’. Cholon waited, in a very privileged spot, as the crowds gathered and watched this paragon emerge into the square before the palace. He was surrounded by his advisers, one of whom, a tall blond fellow with a single eye, towered head and shoulders above his leader. The crowd, now a dense mass of bodies, who had gathered for a mere glimpse of this man, erupted into wild and unrestrained cheering.

Hypolitas was still thin, just as bald with the same wild eyes, but he had shed his simple smock
for more elaborate garments, made of finer materials. He wore jewellery on his wrists and neck and the way he carried himself, the gestures he used to acknowledge the cheering, made it easy to imagine him wearing a diadem. The speech, to Cholon’s ears, was less impressive, but he was prepared to admit to himself that bias could play a part in his judgement. The ritual with the fire, shooting out of Hypolitas’s mouth, to form a great ball above his head, certainly stunned the crowd, even those runaways who had seen their leader perform this magic before. Then came another speech full of messages of peace and brotherhood, which ended with six white doves flying out from Hypolitas’s sleeve.

As soon as the assembly was over Cholon composed his request. The leading priests from the Temple of
Diana
, who would add their voices to his plea for a private audience, would deliver this. Discretion had to be exercised if he was to keep his head on his shoulders, but the relish he took in his new role was undiminished by the danger. His impression of the man he had seen, that morning, contrasted greatly with the little information available to Lucius and the Romans.

That hinted at some person, near God-like in his simplicity, a man beyond avarice, yet he sensed that he was, in his fine clothes and flashing jewels, not like that. The apparent magic with the flames might
impress an ignorant crowd, but it did not have the same effect on him, since he was sure he knew how it was done. If anything convinced Cholon that he could talk, profitably, with Hypolitas, it was the way he had accepted the accolade ‘King’, shouted from numerous throats. There was no attempt to curtail this, no modesty, more an apparent welcome in the eyes and an acknowledgement in the gestures that such a title was nothing less than his rightful due.

The message he sent had to be couched in language that hinted, discreetly, at the nature of his mission. If, indeed, this Hypolitas was an upright man his request would meet with a blank refusal. The venal priests, accepting the largesse that he bestowed with ill-concealed greed, listened carefully as, verbally, he outlined his instructions. Nothing that could compromise him, or the recipient, could be committed to paper.

‘Say that Cholon Pyliades, a native of Athens, an ex-slave yet also a citizen of Rome, seeks private audience. I would speak with the King of the Slaves personally and alone. Take care to acknowledge his majesty, since he relishes the title. You may say that I bear an offer from the chosen representative of the Roman Republic, one that will guarantee him and those he leads, peace, life and prosperity. I exert no pressure for this meeting and I am willing to depart without it, sure that the fates have already laid out
the future course of events. Perhaps his enterprise will prosper, perhaps every road in Sicily will be lined with crucifixes. As a Greek and an ex-slave, I can sympathise. As a Roman citizen, I am only too aware of the power available to that state.’

He looked around the assembled priests. Well-fed men of few real scruples, they would accede to only two things: power and money. He tossed the purse, full of gold, in his hand.

‘They have a saying about the Romans. When they sack a city, they are very thorough, they even slaughter the animals.’ He raised his head and looked around the rafters of the wooden temple. The way the priests shuddered convinced him it was enough. ‘They will come and they will burn and be assured, the Romans will kill every man, woman and child in Agrigentum if this revolt is allowed to continue. Hypolitas is bound to ask you, as augurs and priests, for a prediction. You will tell him that you see this temple a smoking ruin, the city razed to the ground, the plain before the walls a mass of dead. Do that, and I promise you that this wooden structure will be replaced by a larger one, made of the finest stone.’

‘How much did you pay the priests for that doom-laden prophecy?’ asked Hypolitas.

Cholon raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. ‘Pay? I’ve given them something for my lodging.’

‘I think you lie.’ Hypolitas, lounging, like Cholon, on a gilded divan, put no emphasis in the words, but he sought to hold Cholon’s gaze with those compelling eyes.

Cholon replied smoothly. It was no business of envoys to show temperament, even at personal insults. ‘If you’re convinced of that, I fear no words of mine will sway your opinion.’

‘So Rome is afraid of me?’

‘That could be a fatal assumption. It would be more accurate to say that Rome is cautious. You have succeeded, Hypolitas, but only up to a point.’

The Palmyrian Greek was prepared to play the same game. If he was angry, he kept it in check.

‘Which is?’

‘Rome cannot grow enough food in Italy. Too much of the land has been given over to rearing cattle, so it depends on Sicily for grain. If that crop is less than normal…’ Cholon tailed off with a shrug, sure that his host knew the rest as well as he did.

‘I have offered to supply grain, quite possibly more than Rome receives now. All the grain you need, as long as we are left alone. Get the Romans out of Sicily, and leave the slaves. It’s very simple.’

‘What a tempting prospect,’ said Cholon, wearily. ‘Yet you know it cannot be. You are, after all, no fool, Hypolitas.’

‘By the time your legions arrive the walls will be
impregnable. Not that I’ll wait here in the city. I’ll meet you, with a properly trained army, at the river crossings. Your fleet will have to fight my ships if they want to blockade the city.’

‘I saw few ships in the harbour, certainly not a fleet.’

‘There will be one, never fear. Is it worth it to Rome, to sacrifice men and money for something they can have without a fight?’

It was a good time to alter the course of the conversation, which, judging by the rising tone of Hypolitas’s voice, was threatening to become a confrontation. ‘It seems that these people want to acclaim you as their king.’

Hypolitas sat up suddenly, his voice earnest. ‘A mere title, less than what I am to them now.’

‘What are you to them now?’

‘All powerful, close to the Gods, a seer who reads their dreams and speaks with fire through my mouth.’

Cholon had been looking forward to this claim of divinity. His voice was like silk. ‘Take care the walnut shell does not pop out one day.’ The Palmyran tried not to react and he very nearly succeeded, but he could not keep the surprise out of his eyes. ‘It is a walnut, is it not, with holes in it and you will be wearing flints on your wrists. I have never come across the fluid you secrete in the walnut. I daresay that is where the mystery lies.’
Then he smiled; by his previous actions Hypolitas had betrayed just how much he coveted the trappings of kingship. ‘So, you would like to be King Hypolitas?’

‘I told you, a mere title.’

‘Yet pleasant, nevertheless, though I fear such a move would only serve to anger the Romans even more.’

‘I enjoy angering Romans!’

‘I wish to speak freely, Hypolitas, putting aside the finer points of diplomacy, because your illusions will cost you your head.’ He continued, despite the angry look on his host’s face. ‘The first thing you must understand is that no other force will be allowed to hold Sicily. It is simply too important to the Republic. If necessary, they will sacrifice Spain to keep this island. The second illusion is that the men who hold power in Rome act as a rational body.’ It was now Cholon’s turn to sit forward. ‘Whose land do you think you’ve despoiled, whose slaves do you think you’ve freed? Some of the senators make millions of sesterces a year from their holdings in Sicily. Do you really think they’ll give that up?’

‘The price!’ snapped Hypolitas.

‘Why should they worry when others will have to pay it? They will vote to crush you to protect their wealth, then sit in Rome carping if it takes more than one campaigning season, and care nothing for the farmers you kill. The third illusion is the worst.
Do you really believe that a people who have conquered half the world will permit slaves to defy them? They’ll crucify every one of your men and throw you personally into the pit of the Tullianum to be eaten by rats, as you die of starvation, just to prove they’re invincible.’

‘Did you come all this way to tell me that, you Athenian donkey?’

Cholon sat back suddenly, leaving the angry Hypolitas looking slightly foolish. ‘No, I did not. I came here to offer you all your lives.’

Hypolitas reclined then, struggling to compose his features. ‘Go on.’

‘The person sent here by the Senate was given the task of enquiring into the disturbances. This could easily be stretched to include the causes.’

‘Those are plain enough,’ said Hypolitas coldly.

‘This man is that rare creature, someone entirely free of personal avarice. He is also a man with the power to change things. On top of that he has the power to protect you.’ Cholon began to speak quickly, since he had reached the nub of his proposal. ‘Steps will be taken, in the Senate, to limit the excesses of the landowners, so the slaves, when they return, will come under the protection of the Roman state. You and the other leaders will be freed, given pensions, and allowed to live out your days in comfort.’

‘You’re asking me to betray my army?’

‘Getting them killed or crucified would be the ultimate betrayal. I mean no threat, Hypolitas, but there will be no more emissaries after me, only legions.’

The silence that followed lasted for a full minute. Hypolitas held his visitor’s gaze, as if by doing so he would somehow establish the truth of what he said. Finally he spoke. ‘I could have you torn apart.’

Cholon stood up, then gave a small bow. ‘So you can, King Hypolitas.’

In the hothouse atmosphere of this revolt, suspicion was natural; the first time Gadoric rode out alone his departure caused little comment, but as it became a regular occurrence, Pentheus, particularly, was afire to know where the Celt went on these solitary trips, leaving at dawn and returning before the gates closed at night. The answer, when he followed him, afforded the man no pleasure at all. As soon as the Celt returned he was called to face Hypolitas, who without confiding that he already knew, asked him gently where he had been. Gadoric made no attempt at concealment, openly admitting that he had ridden into the hills for a rendezvous with Aquila.