The Death of Kings

‘Don’t stop … yet,’ he whispered through the pain, wanting it to be over.

When they were finished, Fercus would return with Tubruk to his own home, leaving the rented room behind without a trace of them. Tubruk would be chained into a coffle of slaves leaving the city, his face swollen. His final act before the slave market had been to sign a chit of sale under his own name. Fercus would deliver one more anonymous slave to the estate outside the city, ready for a back-breaking life of work in the fields.

At last, Tubruk raised a hand and Fercus stopped, panting and amazed at how much effort the beating had taken to give. The man who sat in the chair bore only a small resemblance to the one who had come in from the streets. He was satisfied.

‘I never beat my slaves,’ he muttered.

Tubruk raised his head slowly.

‘You have not beaten one now,’ he said, swallowing blood.

Brutus ducked below a ridge of stone, panting. Their pursuers had brought bows and his quick glimpse had shown two archers hanging back while the others crept cautiously towards their position. As soon as he and Renius were forced to show themselves, the shafts would bite into them and it would be over.

Brutus pressed as closely as he could to the dark rock, thinking furiously. He was sure he’d recognised Livia’s husband as one of the archers, so it looked as if the man had been persuaded of her innocence while there was no one to argue with her. No doubt she would welcome him home as a hero if he dragged Brutus’ body behind him.

The thought of her warmed Brutus for a moment. Her dull husband would probably never appreciate what he had.

Renius had given his dagger to the younger man, preferring the solid weight of his gladius. Brutus had his own sword sheathed and a small blade in each hand as he waited. He knew he could throw them well enough to kill, but they would hardly give him a chance to aim before the archers sighted on him. It would be close.

He put his head over the ridge and took in the positions of the men climbing towards him. The archers shouted a warning to their companions, but Brutus was already out of sight and moving to a new position. This time, he rose fully and sent one knife flashing before he threw himself down.

A shaft buzzed overhead, but Brutus grinned as he heard the knife strike flesh. He moved again, further along the ridge near to Renius, the second knife ready in his hand.

‘I think you just scratched him,’ Renius muttered.

Brutus frowned at him for disturbing his concentration, flushing as a stream of raging oaths sounded over the crest.

‘And annoyed him,’ Renius added.

Brutus tensed for another attempt. He would have loved to aim at one of the archers, but the bows could just be picked up by another and they stood furthest from the small ridge that hid the Romans.

He leapt up to find one of them almost on top of him. The man gaped at the sudden apparition and Brutus sank the blade into his exposed throat, dropping back and scrambling away on his stomach, raising dust.

Two more came at Brutus then, swinging blades. He rose to meet them, trying to keep an eye on the archers behind and spoil their aim with sudden steps left and right.

A shaft creased the air by his legs as the first Greek was impaled on his gladius. Brutus hung on to the slumping body, using it as a shield. Though he was dying, the man shouted and swore at Brutus as the young man danced him to one side and then another. An arrow came from nowhere to spear into the man’s back and blood spilled out of his mouth onto Brutus’ face. Brutus swore and heaved the body into the arms of his companion, then whipped his gladius up into the man’s groin in the classic legion thrust. They fell away in silence onto the shrubs and flowers and Brutus found himself looking at Livia’s husband at the moment he released his arrow.

He began to move, but the blurring shaft reached him as he turned, knocking him onto his back. The armour had saved him and Brutus blessed his gods for luck as he rolled. He came up to see Renius punch Livia’s husband flat before facing the last of them, who stood terrified, with his arms quivering under the strain of the bow.

‘Easy, boy,’ Renius called to him. ‘Go down to your horse and go home. If you fire that thing, I’ll bite your throat out.’

Brutus took a pace towards Renius, but the old gladiator held out a hand to stop him.

‘He knows what he has to do, Brutus. Just give him a little time,’ Renius said clearly. The young man holding the taut bow shook his head, looking pale with tension. Livia’s husband writhed on the ground and Renius pressed a foot onto his neck to hold him.

‘You’ve had your battle, boys, now go home and impress your wives with the story,’ Renius continued, gently increasing the pressure so that Livia’s husband began to claw at his foot, choking.

The archer eased his grip and took two paces away.

‘Let him go,’ he said in a heavy accent.

Renius shrugged. ‘Throw your bow away first.’

The young man hesitated long enough for Livia’s husband to go purple and then threw the bow over the rocks behind him with a clatter. Renius removed his foot, allowing Livia’s husband to scramble up, wheezing. The old gladiator didn’t make a move as the two young Greeks put distance between them.

‘Wait!’ Brutus called suddenly, freezing them all. ‘You have three horses you don’t need down there. I want two of them.’

Cornelia sat with her back straight, her eyes bright with worry as she faced Antonidus, the one they called Sulla’s dog.

The man was merciless, she knew, and he watched every change in her face as he questioned her with a terrifying concentration. She had heard nothing good of Sulla’s general and she had to fight not to show fear or relief at the news he had brought. Her daughter was asleep in her arms. She had decided to call her Julia.

‘Your father, Cinna, does he know you are here?’ he asked, his voice clipped as his gaze bored into her.

She shook her head slightly. ‘I do not think so. Sulla called for me from my husband’s home outside the city. I have been waiting in these rooms with my baby for days now, without seeing anyone except slaves.’

The general frowned, as if something she had said didn’t ring true, but his eyes never left hers.

‘Why did Sulla summon you?’

She swallowed nervously and knew he had seen it. What could she tell him? That Sulla had raped her with her daughter crying at her side? He might laugh or, worse, think she was trying to blacken the great man’s name after his death and have her killed.

Antonidus watched her writhe in worry and fear and wanted to slap her. She was beautiful enough for it to be obvious why she had been summoned, though he wondered how Sulla could have been aroused by a body still loose from birth.

He wondered if her father had been behind the murder and almost cursed as he realised there was yet another name to add to the list of enemies. His informants had told him Cinna was on business in the north of Italy, but assassins could have been sent from there. He stood suddenly. He prided himself on his ability to spot a liar, but she was either witless or knew nothing.

‘Don’t travel. Where will you be if I need to bring you back here?’

Cornelia thought for a moment, fighting the sudden elation. She was going to be released! Should she return to the town house or travel back to Julius’ family estate?

Clodia was probably still there, she thought.

‘I will be outside the city at the house where I was sought before.’

Antonidus nodded, his thoughts already on the problems he faced.

‘I am sorry for the tragedy,’ she forced herself to say.

‘Those responsible will suffer greatly,’ he said, his voice hard. Again, she felt the intensity of his interest in her, making her own expression seem false under his scrutiny.

After a moment more, he stood and walked away across the marble floor. The baby awoke and began to whimper to be fed. Alone and deprived of a nurse, Cornelia bared her breast to the child’s mouth and tried not to cry.

CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_44d05926-fc5f-5b32-8e5a-e6482a1bbbf6)

Tubruk awoke, cramped and stiff with cold in the darkness of the slave house. He could hear other bodies moving around him, but there was no sign of dawn in the chain room where they slept and were made ready for travel.

From the first hours with Fercus, working out the details, it was this part that he had barely allowed himself to consider. It seemed a small worry with the possibility of torture and death to come if the attempt on Sulla’s life had failed, or if he was caught escaping. There were so many ways for him to suffer a disaster that the night and day he would spend as a slave had been pushed to the back of his mind, almost forgotten.

He looked around him, his eyes making out shapes even in the dark. He could feel the weight of the metal cuffs holding his hands to the smooth chain that clinked at the slightest movement. He tried not to remember what it had been like the first time, but his memory brought back those nights and days and years until they clustered and murmured within him and it was hard not to cry out. Some of the chained men wept softly, and Tubruk had never heard a more mournful sound.