Fists of Iron: Barbarian of Rome Chronicles Volume Two (19 page)

Flavia let out a small animal cry, surprised at the rapid passage of events.

The Spaniard released his grip on his sword still imbedded in his nemesis’s leg. Discarding his shield, he staggered like a man drunk, both hands clutching at the gaping wound in his neck. His eyes stretched wide, rolling up in his head. He took a few wobbling steps then fell to his knees. He tried to speak but only succeeded in coughing up thick goblets of blood.

The Gaul limped up behind him, grasping his oiled top-knot. He looked to Flavia for the inevitable signal.

She paused a moment, enjoying the authority that she wielded; the power to snuff out a life as easily as crushing a beetle. Despite the Spaniard having one foot in Hades she’d relish her next act. Her hand cutting slowly, knife-like to her throat, she signalled for
sine missione –
the death stroke.

With as small nod of his head, the Gaul yanked his opponent’s head upwards, stretching out the neck. A wide sweeping cut of his
gladius
separated the head from the body. He held the trophy aloft, a tribute to the dead.

Flavia watched as the mourners trickled away, Clodian and his friends first among them. When the bloody remains were removed and the Gaul’s wound hastily treated, she beckoned him to her. His body was splattered in blood and the strain of combat showed on his young face. His eyes appeared the colour of iron in the torch light. He bowed his head and she held out a pouch of silver, the victor’s prize.

Now alone, apart from the house attendants, she coaxed him closer with a lazy crook of her finger.

She conveyed her instructions to him, quietly, clearly. As the gladiator turned about, she could smile at last.
Yes, my dear, departed husband
, she mused,
my entertainment tonight with be altogether more enjoyable than that of your beloved son.

Flavia sensed the visitor’s presence at the entrance to the bed-chamber before she saw him. She wore a filmy red night-gown that fell to the tops of her thighs. There was nothing beneath it and her feet were bare.

She instructed the visitor to come closer and to remove his cloak.

The Gaul obeyed. His body was besmirched with the blood of the Spaniard and his own. A similarly stained loincloth covered his groin, and his leg had been heavily bandaged. He flinched as he moved.

Flavia’s hungry eyes took in every detail of his body, every red stain.

“I’m glad to see that you followed my instructions,” she said, wearing a sultry smile.

The Gaul nodded in response.

Flavia walked a slow, sensual circle around him, moving her hand over his shoulders, his firm arms and tight buttocks.

“What is your name?” she asked softly. “And how old are you?”

“My name is Galerius, and I’ve seen twenty summers.” His accent was thick, the Roman words oddly pronounced.

“Good, a young warrior in his prime,” said Flavia standing before him, both palms open, resting on his chest. His eyes were grey, and fine, red hairs covered his cheeks. He was a head taller that her.

Leaning forwards, she slowly ran the tip of her tongue across his chest, tasting his unwashed saltiness, the bitter tang of blood. She felt her cheeks grow hot.

She pulled his head down to hers, spearing her tongue deep into his mouth. At the same time she deftly undid his loin-cloth and cast it aside. She seized his swollen manhood hard, before pulling her mouth away. She took a step away, still holding him, and he reached out to grip her firmly by the shoulders, to pull her close again.

“Patience Galerius, you have a long night ahead of you,” she instructed coyly. Then with a firm edge to her voice, “And, if you wish to see twenty-one summers, you’ll do
everything
that I request.”

Her grip intact, she led him limping to her bed.

Chapter 22

THE SERPENT KNOWN

Belua craned his head from side to side, trying to stretch away some of the tension in his neck. He’d brought his own wine, knowing that Neo rarely touched the stuff. It was strange to see Neo’s lodgings empty of customers. Whenever he’d visited Neo in the past he’d been occupied with one poor wretch or another. The empty rooms now had a lonely, discarded feel. The aching in his neck had spread to the back of his eyes and he pinched their inner corners where they met the top of his nose. It didn’t help and he felt as if a band of iron was being tightened around his head. He took a swallow of Falerian.

Neo stood close by, looking worried. He noticed the lines around his eyes, like deep lines cut in pastry. He’d not spoken a word since they’d arrived.

“How I hate fucking funerals,” said Belua.

Still silence.

“Why not join me for a cup?” he proposed, hoping Neo would say something, say anything.

“I will,” said Neo, reaching for a cup on one of his shelves. He held it out for Belua to fill. Belua started to worry in earnest.

Neo took a long draught then coughed, unused to the heady grape.

“Steady,” said Belua.

Neo wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and then announced, “I believe that Clodian’s life is in danger.”

“From…from who?” Belua asked, his mouth suddenly very dry.

“From his step-mother,” said Neo. “I believe that she poisoned his father. She now has temporary control of his estate and she will move to eliminate Clodian before he comes of age and can displace her. Did you not suspect?”

Belua let the words sink in for a moment before replying. He knew Neo well enough to take his words very seriously.

“I know that men of influence like his father always have enemies. They can never sleep easy. Yet, I wouldn’t have suspected that bitch from Rome. I’ve heard the rumours that she’d fuck a frog if it stopped hopping long enough, then, she’s not alone in that respect in the city, and what people do within their walls is their own affair. But, to kill such an important man as her husband and risk death by stoning if found out? That’s another matter.”

“She poisoned him with the very honey that he asked for…and welcomed. I suspect her Egyptian maid used the honey from the yellow oleander flower; which is rare and very poisonous. It’s a slow killer and difficult to detect.” Staring into his cup he added, “It can be obtained in the city for the right price.”

“Egyptian slut, I’ll break her fucking neck!” cursed Belua, bulling to his feet.

“You’ll do nothing for the present,” said Neo, gripping both of his arms, obviously afraid that he would storm off. “Sit down,” he coaxed.

Belua looked to the door, his anger boiling inside him.

“Sit down I tell you!” Neo raised his voice this time.

Surprised at the strength in Neo’s grip, he sucked in a great breath and sat. Both hands clenched then unclenched as his thoughts turned to matters of blood.

“We must be careful,” Neo cautioned. “Flavia currently wields great authority. Enough to send both of us to galleys if we confront her without proof. And Gaius is now only ashes.”

“So we do nothing. The sort of answer I’d expect from a fucking Greek!” he retorted, his anger and frustration getting the better of him.

“Insulting me will not help,” said Neo, his tone even.

“What will then?”

“To keep Clodian safe. I suggest that he takes a holiday.”

“A holiday…where?”

“We can hopefully persuade him to stay at my villa in Stabiae. It’s small and needs a clean, but its existence is known only to my few friends. It’s not an unpleasant place to grieve a great loss. The young woman…”

“Orbiana,”said Belua.

“Yes, Orbiana,” said Neo. “He’s quite taken with her, and she can go with him. And Prudes, too.”

“Very well,” said Belua, feeling his anger settle a little. “Do you think Clodian suspects?”

“He’s a very perceptive young man, but still very naïve about the world and the treacherous folk that live in it. I think that he’s been too worried about his father to look further than his nose, poor boy. I believe that he’s safe for the present, as Flavia will not risk acting so soon after Gaius’s death.”

Nodding his agreement, Belua topped up his cup.

“We have thirty days before his manhood ceremony, but he’ll need to return to the city before then to prepare for the ceremony,” said Neo, speaking his thoughts aloud.

“That will be a crucial time,” said Belua, “one of great danger for him.”

“Flavia knows we have the scent, my friend.” Neo held out his cup for replenishing. “It will be a dangerous time for us all.”

Clodian knocked on the door, the noise seeming very loud as it echoed along the landing.

“Who is it?” came the tentative reply.

“Me, Clodian.”

There was the metallic click of a lock being turned and then Orbiana was standing before him at the half open door-way. He stepped through and into her arms.

They stood that way for a long time.

Orbiana eventually prised her head from his shoulder. She looked up at him in the dim lantern light.

“You look tired,” she said softly. “And it seems foolish to ask how it went? But, I’ve tried to imagine, and I’ve been thinking of you since you left.”

“I’m just glad it’s over,” said Clodian his voice nearly breaking. He felt exhausted. The effort of masking his feelings had drained him totally. “Could I have some wine?”

“Of course, and I’ve prepared some food in case you were hungry.”

“No food, just wine please.”

Orbiana returned with a full cup. He drained it in one. He held out the cup for her to refill it. “I need it,” he stated in response to her concerned look. She refilled his cup and they both sat down on the room’s large bed. She stroked his face gently then pushed his hair back from his forehead; just as his mother used to do.

“I need to give you a hair-cut or you’ll be labelled barbarian, and that won’t do will it?”

He understood that she was trying to distract him from his maudlin thoughts, even for a short time, although both of them knew that words were so very inadequate at times such as these.

“I doubt I could have gotten through today without Belua, Neo and Prudes being there, and knowing that
you
were waiting for me.”

“I will be here as long as you need me, I promise, and out of choice.”

“That pleases me more than anything,” he replied. “It’s just that his passing seems unreal. I expect him to enter the room at any moment, confirming that he is feeling well again and then question me about how my training is progressing? I cannot accept that he’s gone, and I worry that he never knew how much I respected him…and loved him. I should have told him more often, and, as hard as I try I cannot remember when I last told him.”

“He knew,” confirmed Orbiana, “I promise you he knew. It’s your grief that makes you doubt such things. “

“I feel so empty and angry at the same time.”

“It will get better with a little time, Clodian. You have my word, and I would not lie to you. I know how it feels. It will never go away, but the pain
will
ease.”

Placing his head in her lap, he closed his eyes. At last he allowed the tears to come.

Chapter 23

FRESH BLOOD

Albus was seated in his usual place. Close by, a new strong-arm leaned against the wall, arms folded. The new man had the look of a northerner, probably German – big, fair, with a badly broken nose and paunch sagging over his belt.

Drilgisa approached the
lino
confidently. He knew the strength of fear.

Albus swallowed hard and the strong-arm pushed himself off the wall and took a step towards him.

Albus held up a hand.

“It’s all right Ragnar, there’ll be no trouble.”

Drilgisa smiled cynically, before stating directly, “I’ve heard that you have a new boy, a German.” He looked to the strong-arm, his smile stretching wider, a vindictive gesture as he was aware of the Germans’ distaste for the practice of men pleasuring men.

“Yes, we have,” said Albus. “A boy of twelve summers or there about, fresh from the slave block in Ostia.” His voice was unsteady as he tried to hide his nervousness. “He’s very popular, but expensive.”

“How much?”asked Drilgisa.

“Five denarii for the usual time.”

“There’s three,” said Drilgisa, contemptuously rolling the silver coins onto the table. He saw the strong-arm bridle. Albus looked down biting his tongue, before quickly snatching up the silver.

Still unable to meet Drilgisa’s gaze, the
lino
stated, “I’ll send the boy to you, in the last room on the landing.”

“Good,” said Drilgisa. He waited a moment and then commentated spitefully, “I see you have a new man.” He titled his head towards the strong-arm. He waited for the reply that Albus didn’t want to give.

Albus eventually spoke into the silence. “Piso was found dead outside the city walls.”

“Who knows what the gods plan for us?” jibed Drilgisa, his tone mocking.

Clearing his throat, he hawked then spat a thick ball of phlegm onto the table in front of Albus. Pushing by the strong-arm he sauntered towards the room at the end of the landing.

The room had only a large stone bed covered with a straw mattress. A small lamp sat on the floor by the entrance, weakly lighting the bare interior. A small shuttered window was closed, but did little to blot out the street noise.

The heavy curtain at the doorway was pushed aside, taking Drilgisa by surprise even though the wait had been brief. The young German stepped through.

“My name is Ebbe,” he said, smiling. His Latin was poor, heavily accented.

“Ebbe…” Drilgisa repeated the name, as though in a dream. He stood by the bed, naked, his cock erect. He watched the boy’s face as he stared at his body. The boy was fair, pretty and tall for his age, as was common for his race. He’d grown his hair long and it fell loose to his shoulders. His eye-lids were shadowed with some dark colour, emphasizing their blueness, and his painted lips glistened bright red as he wet them with his tongue. He wore only the smallest of loin-cloths.

“Come here,” directed Drilgisa.