The Death of Kings

Brutus shifted from one foot to the other uncomfortably as he considered his choices. He cursed Renius under his breath, partly for sleeping during a crisis, but mainly for convincing him that a horse would eat through their savings by the time they reached the coast and found a berth for Rome. Renius had said that a legionary could march the distance without any trouble, but even a thin pony would have been handy for a quick escape.

The angry beard vanished above and while Brutus hesitated, Livia appeared at the window, her skin still flushed from their activities. It was a good healthy glow, Brutus noted idly, appreciating the way she rested her breasts on the sill.

‘Get away!’ she called in a harsh whisper. ‘He’s coming down after you!’

‘Throw my sandals down, then. I can’t run like this,’ he hissed back. After a moment, the articles came flying at him and he laced them in a frenzy, already able to hear the clump of her father’s tread as he came to the door.

Brutus heard the man’s pleased exclamation on finding him still in the yard. Without looking back, he sprinted away, skidding as the iron studs of his soles met the cobbles. Behind, Livia’s father shouted for the town to stop him, which seemed to cause a stir of excitement amongst the locals going about their business. Brutus groaned as he ran. Already there were answering yells and he could hear a number of others had joined the pursuit.

Feverishly, he tried to remember the streets he’d wandered through only hours before, thankful to find anything with cheap rooms and hot food. Livia’s father had seemed pleasant enough then, though he hadn’t been carrying the axe when he showed the tired men to his cheapest room.

Brutus thumped into a wall as he turned a corner at full speed, dodging round a cart and knocking away the grasping hands of its owner. Which way to get out? The town seemed like a labyrinth. He took roads to the left and right without daring to look back, his breath rasping in his throat. So far, Livia had been worth his trouble, but if he was killed, she wasn’t his choice for the last woman in his life. He hoped the father would take his anger out on Renius and wished them both luck.

The alleyway he ran down came to a dead end around a corner. A cat scrambled away from him as he halted against the nearest stone wall and prepared to risk a glance back. There was nowhere to run, but perhaps he’d lost them for the moment. He strained his ears before inching towards the edge, hearing nothing more threatening than the cat’s complaints disappearing into the distance.

He eased one eye around the wall and pulled back at once. The alley seemed filled with men, all heading his way. Brutus dropped down into a crouch and risked a second glance at them, hoping he wouldn’t be seen so low down.

A voice called out in recognition and Brutus groaned again as he pulled back. He’d picked up a little Greek in his time with the Bronze Fist, but hardly enough to talk his way out of the situation.

He made his decision and stood, firming his grip on the sword hilt, his other hand falling to the scabbard where he could fling it away. It was a fine blade that he’d won in a legion tournament and he would have to show the farmers that he’d earned it. He hitched up his bracae one more time and took a deep breath before stepping out into the alley to face them.

There were five of them, their faces filled with the enthusiasm of children as they rushed down the alley. Brutus pulled away the scabbard with a flourish, in case they were in any doubt about his intentions. With great solemnity, he lowered the point at the men and they pulled up as one. The moment held and Brutus thought furiously. Livia’s father had yet to appear and there could be a chance to win free of the younger men before he arrived to encourage them. They might be open to persuasion and even bribery.

The largest of them stepped forward, careful to remain outside the range of the unwavering sword in Brutus’ hands.

‘Livia is my wife,’ he said in clear Latin.

Brutus blinked at him. ‘Does she know?’ he asked.

The man’s face coloured in anger and he produced a dagger from his belt. The others followed his example, revealing clubs and blades that they waved at Brutus whilst beckoning him forward to meet them.

Before they could rush him, Brutus spoke quickly, trying to sound calm and unruffled by the threat.

‘I could kill every one of you, but all I want is to be allowed to go on my way in peace. I’m a legion champion with this pretty blade and not one of you will leave this alley alive if you make the wrong decision.’

Four of them listened with blank faces until Livia’s husband translated the speech. Brutus waited patiently, hoping for a favourable response. Instead, they chuckled and began to edge closer to him. Brutus took a step back.

‘Livia is a healthy girl with normal appetites,’ he said. ‘She seduced me, not the other way around. There is nothing worth killing for in this.’

He waited with the others for the translation to begin, but the husband remained silent. Then the man said something in Greek, which Brutus barely followed. Part of it was certainly to try to keep him alive, which he approved, but the last part involved him being ‘given to the women’, which sounded distinctly unpleasant.

Livia’s husband leered at Brutus. ‘Catching a criminal means a festival for us. You will be the middle … the heart of it?’

As Brutus began to frame a reply, they rushed him with a flurry of blows and, though he pricked one of them with his gladius, a whistling club connected behind his ear and knocked him unconscious.

He woke to a slow creaking and a feeling of dizziness. While his wits returned, he kept his eyes closed, trying to sense his whereabouts without letting unseen watchers know he was alert. There was a breeze playing about a fair portion of his body and he had a sudden suspicion that his clothes had been removed. There could be no reasonable explanation for this and his eyes snapped open despite his intentions.

He was hanging upside down, suspended by the feet from a wooden scaffold in the centre of the town. A surreptitious glance upwards confirmed the fact that he was naked. Everything hurt, and a memory of being hung from a tree when he was a boy came back to make him shudder.

It was dark and somewhere nearby he could hear sounds of revelry. He swallowed painfully at the thought of being part of some pagan ritual and strained at the ropes that held him. Blood pounded in his head with the effort, but there was no give in the knots.

His movement made him spin in a slow circle and he was able to see the whole of the square at intervals. Every house was lit in a show of life far greater than the dull little place he had imagined on arrival. No doubt they were all boiling pig heads and blowing the dust off home-made wines, he thought dismally.

For a moment, he despaired. His armour was back in the room with Renius and his sword had vanished. He had no sandals and his savings would no doubt fund the very celebration that would be the end of him. Even if he could escape, he was naked and penniless in a strange land. He cursed Renius with some enthusiasm.

‘After a refreshing sleep, I have a good stretch and look out of the window,’ Renius said by his ear. Brutus had to wait until he swung round to face him.

The old gladiator was shaved and clean and clearly enjoying himself.

‘Surely, I say to myself, surely that figure hanging by his feet can’t be the same popular young soldier I came in with?’

‘Look, I’m sure you’ll tell a very amusing story to your cronies, but I’d appreciate it if you’d stop rehearsing it and just cut me down before someone stops you.’

The creaking ropes carried Brutus away again. Without a word of warning, Renius sliced the ropes and spilled Brutus onto the ground. Shouts sounded around them and Brutus struggled to rise, pulling himself upright against the scaffold.

‘My legs won’t take my weight!’ he said, trying to rub at each one in turn with desperate energy.

Renius sniffed, looking around.

‘They’d better. With one arm, I can hardly carry you and keep them off at the same time. Keep rubbing. We may have to bluff it through.’

‘If we had a horse, you could tie me to the saddle,’ Brutus retorted, rubbing furiously.

Renius shrugged.

‘No time for that. Your armour’s in this bag. They brought your kit back to the rooming house and I swiped it on my way out. Take your sword and brace yourself against the scaffold. Here they come.’ He passed over the blade and, for all his nude helplessness, Brutus felt a little comfort from the familiar hilt.

The crowd gathered quickly, Livia’s father at the head, carrying his axe in both hands. He tensed enormously powerful shoulders and jerked the blade in Renius’ direction.

‘You came in with the one who attacked my daughter. I’ll give you one chance to gather your things and move on. He stays here.’

Renius stood dangerously still, then took a sharp pace forward, sinking his gladius into the man’s chest so that it stood out behind him. He pulled it out and the man fell face down on the cobbles, the axe head clattering noisily.

‘Who else says he stays here?’ Renius said, looking around the crowd. They had frozen at the sudden killing and there was no response. Renius nodded sternly at them, speaking slowly and clearly.

‘No one was attacked. From the noises I heard, the girl was as enthusiastic as my idiot friend.’ Renius ignored Brutus’ sharp intake of breath at his back, keeping his sweeping gaze locked on the crowd. They barely heard him. The gladiator had killed without a thought and that held the people still.

‘Are you ready to go?’ Renius murmured.

Brutus tested his legs gingerly, wincing at the fire of returning circulation. He began to pull his garments on as quickly as possible, the armour clanking loudly as he searched the bag with one hand.

‘As soon as I’m dressed.’

He knew the moment couldn’t last, but still jumped as Livia came shoving through the people, her voice shrill.

‘What are you doing standing there?’ she screamed at the crowd. ‘Look at my father! Who will kill his murderers?’

Behind her back, Brutus rose, his sword ready. The sweet smiles he remembered from the afternoon had twisted into hatred as she screamed abuse at her own people. None of them met her eyes, their desire for vengeance cooled by the sprawled figure at her feet.