The Leopard Sword: Empire IV (43 page)

‘No. Prefect Belletor doesn’t believe in encouraging the use of any but the standard issue weapons. You?’

‘No, our archers are all concentrated in one century. I’ll see what I can do while I’m inside the walls. I’ve got an idea that might allow us to keep Obduro’s men at bay for a while, even if it is a bit risky. It would help if you had a fire burning by the time I’m back, and some torches ready to go. There’s a stack of them on the cart.’

He turned away, one hand reflexively straying to the knife’s handle. Sergius put a hand on his shoulder.

‘Wait. A red tunic will stand out like a horse’s cock once you’re through those gates. You!’ He pointed to a soldier of similar build to the hulking centurion. ‘Get out of your armour and switch tunics with the centurion here.’ The legionary took one look at the determined expression on his officer’s face and put down his weapons, gesturing to his mates to help him unfasten his segmented armour’s complicated straps and buckles. Julius nodded and unfastened his belt once more, pulling off his own tunic to reveal his muscular body.

‘Appreciated, colleague. A different colour will be one more thing to give anyone that comes after me a moment’s pause.’ He winked at the soldier busy divesting himself of his equipment. ‘Mine was clean on today, so it doesn’t smell too bad. And I’ll try not to get blood on yours; it’ll never come out of white wool.’

Julius rapped at the city’s south gate with the handle of his dagger, hammering its iron pommel on the brass rivets that studded the door’s wooden surface.

‘Julius, Centurion, First Tungrians! I need to get back into the city! Open this door or suffer the consequences!’

With the sound of bolts being pulled back the wicket gate opened a crack, and a beady eye regarded him through the opening.

‘Leaving’s one thing, but letting you back in’s another. We’ve got orders from our commander not to admit . . .’

Knowing that his mission into the city would be over before it even began if the man on the other side secured the man-sized opening, Julius acted without conscious thought, kicking hard at the door and sending it flying open, battering the man behind it with a face full of wood. Stepping quickly through the doorway he switched the knife to his left hand and scooped up the fallen gatekeeper’s spear, looking grim-faced around him at the remaining two men.

‘Recognise me now, do you? I’ve private business in the city, and you’d be wise not to get in my way!’

One of the men, dressed like his fallen comrade in the uniform of the city guard, raised his hands in recognition of the Tungrian’s evident willingness to do them grievous harm, while the other backed away slowly, putting a hand to the hilt of his sword. Julius appraised him for a moment, noting the swirling tattoo that sleeved his right arm.

‘Petrus’s man, are you? I thought I caught a glimpse of someone just like you scuttling along behind us as we marched down from the barracks.’ He stamped forward without warning, slinging the spear so fast that the gang member’s sword was less than half drawn when the flying iron spitted him clean through the sternum. Julius ripped the spear free from the dying man’s body as he lay kicking and gasping on the cobbles, lifting the knife to the remaining gatekeepers. ‘It’s time to make a choice, lads. If I find this gate heaving with Petrus’s men when I come back it’ll be an inconvenience, but nothing more. And if you do sell me out, then once this is all sorted I’ll make a point of coming for you. And when I do, mark me well, what he’s going through now will look tame by the time I’m done with the two of you.’

The city’s streets were almost empty, Tungrorum’s population clearly having taken fright at the threat of impending violence by the gangs that ruled so much of their everyday lives. Whether it was fear of Obduro’s band or Petrus’s enforcers, hardly a soul was out of doors despite the fact that there was still an hour or so to sunset. Julius walked with swift caution into the maze of streets that was the city’s eastern quarter, deliberately taking a roundabout route to his objective in hopes that Petrus’s men would be concentrated mainly to the west. Hearing voices from a street that opened barely twenty paces to his left he ducked into a doorway and hefted the spear, ready to fight if need be, silently cursing himself for not bringing his sword.

‘. . . so it looks like Petrus missed his chance to grab the gold, and now the bastards have gone to ground somewhere in the city, so it’s a shared venture. Whoever finds them only has to get the word out and make sure they don’t move again, before the other gangs come together around them. They may be soldiers, but there’ll be too many of us for them to hold off, and we can always burn them out if need be. So keep your eyes open for any sign of them; I’ll pay a double share to the man that takes me to them.’

Julius waited in the doorway, barely breathing, and after a moment a pair of men stalked past without sparing his hiding place a second glance, deceived by the way the white tunic blended with the house’s dingy paintwork in the shadowed evening light. Blowing out a long, slow breath of relief, he muttered a quiet prayer of thanks to Cocidius and, once the hunting gang members had vanished from sight, stepped back into the street with the spear held ready, shaking his head at the good fortune with which he had evaded discovery and muttering under his breath.

‘Enough of this subtlety, then.’

Moving quickly, sliding along the walls of the houses on the shadowed side of the street, he made a beeline for the Blue Boar, taking shelter in doorways at any suggestion of the men hunting for gold through Tungrorum. The voices of the hunters echoed through the empty streets on several occasions, but simple luck kept them out of his path, and soon enough he was within a hundred paces of the brothel, peering cautiously round the corner at its imposing bulk and measuring the time it would take him to reach the spot he recalled from his last visit. Without conscious thought he was moving, sprinting across the empty street and fetching up against the shrine with a scrape of hobnails on stone that echoed down the street.

A voice echoed around the corner from the brothel’s entrance, swelling in volume as whoever it was left their position at the main door and headed to investigate the sound.

Fumbling with fingers that felt like sausages he reached behind the tiny statue, slid the heavy key home and pulled it to the right, easing the massive iron bolt out of its stone slot just as he’d done before, then he put his shoulder to the door’s stone-clad wood and heaved it into the passage beyond. Diving through the narrow gap he turned to push the hidden entrance’s door closed, and slid its bolt home with a soft click of well-greased metal, breathing as shallowly as he could. After a moment muffled voices reached him through the tiny holes drilled in the shrine’s wall for the purpose.

‘Well, I know what I heard. And that candle I lit for Arduenna is on the ground. Someone’s been here all right, and not long ago; this wax is still warm. You’d better get inside and get some of the boys out here.’

Another voice answered, unmistakably that of the man called Baldy.

‘If you want to disturb Slap while he’s busy giving the queen bitch a good fucking, you be my guest. Everybody thinks Stab’s the dangerous one, but I’ve seen Slap’s eyes when he goes after a man, and I know which one of them scares me the most . . .’

Julius’s lips pulled back in a snarl, and he turned to pad silently up the pitch-black stairway that led to Annia’s room.

‘
Horsemen!
’

Scaurus followed the Votadini scout’s pointing arm, squinting into the setting sun. He paused for a moment, shading his eyes with a hand and staring hard into the sun’s glare, his frown deepening. ‘Those are
our
horsemen.
Shit!
’ He stared at the ground while Clodius stared at him in bemusement, then shook his head in barely controlled anger. ‘We’ve been fooled! Get your men turned around and ready to march back to the city, and pass the same order to the legion centuries.’

He walked away from the leading century’s front rank, stopping after fifty paces to await the arrival of the riders. Decurion Silus reined in and jumped down from his horse with a weary salute.

‘Greetings, Tribune. I have to report that—’

‘I know. You rode all the way west until you ran headlong into the First Spear Frontinius’s command, and never saw any sign of Obduro’s men. We’ve been fooled, Decurion, and badly! I’ve thrown almost every man we had left in the city into what I thought was going to end with Obduro between the hammer and anvil, and now I find that I’ve left him a juicy prize for the taking. How far behind you is the first spear?’

‘A mile or so, no more, Tribune.’

Scaurus’s face brightened a little.

‘He must have turned them around sooner than I would have. Thank Mithras that at least one of us is thinking with his head today. Decurion, take your men and scout forward towards the city as fast as you can. I want to know what’s happening there before it gets too dark to see.’ Silus saluted and remounted, leading his men away to the east. ‘Centurion!’

Clodius ran to join him.

‘Tribune?’

‘Tell your men to be ready for a forced march back to the city. And tell them that anyone that falls out of the column can expect to be making his way alone, in the dark, and with a long spell on extra duty waiting for him at the end of the walk!’

At the top of the hidden stairway Julius crept forward until he found the door, sheathing the knife and groping for the heavy iron bolt. Sliding it out of its keep, he eased the door away from its frame with slow patience, mindful that any movement in the wall hanging disguising its presence might alert whoever was in the room. A mewing squeal sounded in the room behind the curtain, an involuntary expression of pain as whatever was happening to Annia took a fresh turn, and a second later the sound of a flat palm slapping bare flesh rang out.

‘You’re loving this, aren’t you, bitch, loving having a real man up you rather than your army faggot? He couldn’t make you squeak like that, could he? He’s run away and left you to take the heat for him.’ He grunted again, and again, clearly going at the helpless woman with all the force he had. ‘I’ve wanted to do this to you for years now, but Petrus wanted to keep you for himself. Now that he’s got no more use for you I’m going to make up for all those years.’

Recognising Slap’s voice, and tensed on the balls of his feet ready to sweep the heavy curtain aside and attack, Julius held onto his rage by a fingernail’s width, waiting to be sure of his bearings before striking, but then another voice spoke.

‘Fucking hurry up and lose your load. I’ve been watching you and nursing this bone for long enough. Let me have a go, and later you can take all the time over her you want.’

He recognised Stab’s voice, close enough to the hidden door that if it weren’t for the wall hanging Julius knew he could have reached out and taken him by the throat. He swept the tapestry aside with a flick of his left hand, snapping the blade into the wiry man’s neck and leaving it buried there, smashing him aside with a flat palm. Taking two steps to the bed he grabbed Annia’s rapist by the hair just as Slap realised what was happening. Heaving the big man off the prostrate woman’s body, he put a hand on the struggling bodyguard’s chest and threw him bodily across the small room to smash against the far wall with a roar of anger, nodding down at Annia and gesturing for her to stay where she was. While Slap lay momentarily stunned on the room’s wooden floor, Julius stepped round the bed and slid home the three bolts that secured the door.

‘A nice big oak plank like that ought to keep your boys out for a few minutes, until they find an axe or two, and we’ll be long gone by then. With your head, of course.’

The bodyguard groaned and climbed to his feet, rolling his head and clenching his fists.

‘You should have done me while you had the chance. No man’s bested me with bare fists in ten years and more. I’m going to break your fucking back and let you watch while I gut your woman in front of you.’

He stamped forward, supremely confident in his physical prowess as Julius shook his empty hands and wrapped them into big, scarred fists. Pulling his head aside smartly to dodge the bodyguard’s opening shot he grabbed the other man’s extended left arm, pulled it down onto his raised knee by simple brute force and broke it at the elbow, drawing a shriek of pain and horror from his suddenly agonised opponent. Snapping his head forward into Slap’s nose he sent the other man reeling back, his face a bloodied mess, and watched him as he staggered back against the wall next to where Stab lay inert in a pool of his own blood, Julius’s knife still protruding from his throat.

‘It’s a pity for you that nobody with a bit more about them than your usual brainless muscle thought to educate you in the ways of real fighting. Unlike you, I’ve been fighting with real men ever since I left this place at fifteen, soldiers who’ll leave you bleeding at the slightest provocation, whether intended or not, and I rose to the rank of centurion by beating the living shit out of anyone that got in my way. All that deference I gave you before was just my way of avoiding a fight that could only end badly for you, and then for her.’

The door to the corridor shook in its frame as whatever reinforcement had arrived in response to the bodyguard’s shout attacked it with their boots and shoulders, but the sturdy timber and heavy iron bolts seemed to be resisting their assault easily enough. Julius tipped his head to Annia, who had risen from the bed and was putting on a tunic. Slap nodded slowly, then reached down with his good arm to his dying comrade and pulled the knife free with an audible sucking noise, watching as Stab convulsed for a moment and then subsided back into the spreading crimson puddle of his lifeblood. Slap’s reply was tight with the pain of his injuries, but an angry light was burning in his eye.

‘Fair enough, hard man. Let’s see if you can do knife work as well as you can talk.’

He came forward, crablike, his wrecked arm turned away from the Tungrian while the knife weaved a deadly pattern in front of him. Julius stepped forward cautiously to meet him, swaying back as the knife hand darted for his eyes, then wincing as the blade sliced across his gut, leaving a line of blood weeping through the slashed tunic.